by Jeff Gunzel
Eric kept his head high and shoulders back, sword ablaze in his hands while circling the opposing monk with a staff in hand. Eric now wore the same orange garment with purple slash as the other monks. It flapped gently in the ever-present breeze up here on the mountain. A ring of staff-wielding monks circled around them, each sidestepping in the opposite direction. Outside of that circle was yet another circle of monks, each holding a small blowgun with a loaded dart.
It hadn’t taken long for Eric to realize that his stubbornness was not going to help anyone. He had made it this far, followed his destiny to this final place. These monks had waited generations for the coming of the Gate Keeper. And now that he was finally here, it was time to push him to his absolute limits.
Surprisingly, Eric didn’t feel overwhelmed by all of this. Mentally, he was a far cry from the humble blacksmith who grew up in Bryer. The shy boy who could barely speak to a girl and was incapable of hurting a fly was dead forever. There came a sort of freedom in knowing he could never be that person again, an odd relief in knowing the road he traveled could only end in death. Strange how calming it was to be able to foresee one’s own death. After a journey this harsh, any sort of end was a welcome one.
He tried to concentrate while the monk before him twirled his staff with breathtaking speed. He must be the only man alive who could rival Jacob with such mastery. But then again, this was all they had known their entire lives. Eric was witnessing firsthand the result of doing one thing ten hours a day...for a lifetime.
The monk lunged, snapping his staff high in a series of quick thrusts. Even being ready for the attack, Eric almost got struck, just barely parrying the blows in sequence. Even then, the contact was deceptively powerful, his hands numbing from the hard shots. A flash of movement from behind caused Eric to spin back, intercepting another staff strike from a monk in the outer circle. The oiled staff hissed in protest against his fiery sword, instantly blackening where the impact occurred.
The first monk attacked again with whirling precision. Eric’s blade clacked against the storm of heavy strikes, misdirecting each just enough so he didn’t get hit. Eric spun back again, blocking another from behind, but the split second it took was one he could not afford. An explosion of hot pain fired across his back, bringing him down to his knees.
Thinking the drill was over, Eric raised up on one foot and relaxed. Mistake. Three more blows landed, two across his back and one to the shoulder, each from different staffs. The compounded force drove him straight into the ground face first, filling his mouth with sand. Waves of pain and nausea radiated through his body, and his vision blurred. As desperate survival instincts took over, he crawled across the red sand, dragging numbed legs that simply wouldn’t respond.
Eric saw sandaled feet approaching from the corner of his eye. Spitting sand, he managed to crawl another foot before six staffs came down on him. His body convulsed from the simultaneous blows. Consciousness instantly fleeing his body, he never felt a thing.
* * *
After lying motionless on the cot for some time, Eric finally began to stir. His eyes fluttered slightly as consciousness slowly returned. His body felt both hot and numb at the same time. Remembering the violence of his last conscious thought, he bolted upright. But dizzying nausea gripped him and he dropped back down into the cot.
“Well, I see you’re finally awake,” said Yammon, seated on a stool in the corner. “You took quite a few hits to the head. We weren’t sure when you might get up.”
Eric groaned, his hand creeping towards the damp cloth on his forehead. It gave off a sour odor and felt tingly against his skin. “If you were that concerned about my wellbeing, then perhaps you shouldn’t have knocked me out in the first place,” he grumbled. “You could have killed me.”
“Yes, but we didn’t,” Yammon replied, rising to his feet. “The solution to your problem is simple. Don’t get hit.” He moved over to Eric and took the damp towel from his head, sliding it down towards his mouth. “Breathe deeply.” Eric took in a small breath, but the pungent odor was nearly enough to make him vomit. He turned away, sour faced like a child who didn’t want to eat his carrots. Yammon snatched the side of his head, and turned his face back into the rag. “I told you to breathe deeply. I promise you will feel better.”
With little choice, Eric inhaled the sour fumes. Similar to the way it felt on his skin, a tingling sensation trickled down his throat and into his lungs. Once again his whole body began to feel hot. His head began to clear, the throbbing around his back and shoulder seemed to drift away, leaving behind an icy sensation.
“Better, yes?” said Yammon, handing off the rag so Eric could use it all he wanted. “You should be back on your feet in five minutes, which means we’ll see you outside in six.”
Eric peeked over the rag at the old man. “What happens in six minutes?”
Yammon grinned the way a father might when encouraging his son. “You try not to get hit.” He left the tent, a spry spring in his step.
“I think he enjoys torturing me,” Eric grumbled, taking one more whiff before throwing the rag aside.
* * *
The monks surrounded Eric just like before, one facing him head on with two circles stalking in opposite directions. Members of the inner circle each held staffs while the second layer of monks gripped loaded blowguns. Eric grew nervous as he circled the first monk, his angry sword pulsing with flames. He had already taken a serious beating, proving that these guys were not holding back.
Very well, then. If they’re not holding back then neither shall I. He dropped into his low stance, reaching out with his mind. He could feel the man in front of him, twirling his staff with impossible speed, the surrounding circle, each gripping their weapons while waiting for him to make a mistake.
The man in front of him exploded with movement, striking out like a hurricane. Eric intercepted each strike with similar speed, then burst into his own offensive flurry. He slashed high, middle, low, pushing the monk back. Eric whirled back at the last second, blocking a strike coming in from behind, then turned on the monk once again. With all his strength he slashed straight across, driving his blade right through the defending staff. It burst into a shower of splinters, scattering across the sand.
Eric spun back and dipped, narrowly ducking a staff strike as it whizzed over his head. With a forward thrust, he drove the attacking monk back on his heels. Black smoke trailed his sword as it danced at his will, deflecting a torrid of strikes coming in at all angles. Even using all his skill and speed, the best he could do was fend off the never-ending assault. Going back on the offensive seemed to be impossible while being so outmanned.
White-hot pain tore through his leg as a dart zipped into his flesh. With an angry growl, Eric instinctively turned that direction. Another wave of staff strikes exploded across his back, driving him down to one knee. This was impossible to defend against!
Spinning on his knee, he slashed his sword through the second staff. It too exploded into wooden shards that scattered into the air. Two more strikes from behind found his shoulder, followed by two more darts that bit into flesh. Eric began to flail about, swinging wildly to fend off the numerous attacks. With his focus gone and panic sinking into his combat form, the skilled monks converged as one. It was over quickly. Lucky for him, he’d never remember half the beating he took.
* * *
Up on a nearby hill, Jacob and Kelus sat in the shade of a tree while watching the soldiers train down below. The blue-feathered tassels on the ends of their spears rotated in sweeping circles as they transitioned through the various forms. General Yavin Asuma stood at the front, grunting his commands as his men flowed smoothly through the dance as a single unit.
Jacob watched the stout general spinning his staff in unison with the men. He couldn’t help but remember the altercation they had a while back. A clash that took place due to the general’s mistrust of the Gate Keeper—a notion shared by many at the time. Jacob lost control of his temper
and almost killed Yavin that day. If it hadn’t been for Amoshi’s timely intervention, the general certainly would have died.
Even since that day, Jacob had grown more callous. He’d abandoned any notion of ever going home, and lost the love of his life due to a most unlikely affliction. But despite growing cold in many ways, he had not once lost his temper since that day. His anger was channeled now. Focused. A tool to release at just the right time, not a burden that needed to be controlled.
“They’re all going to die, you know,” Jacob said, sounding disinterested, as if speaking of the weather. “Those men down there don’t stand a chance. Their training is too soft, too focused towards mortal enemies that can be beaten with superior skill, not the immortal nightmares summoned by the darkness. They will need to become savage animals overnight to even stand a chance. The lucky half will run as terror grips their hearts, the rest will die shortly after.”
Kelus whistled a sharp breath through his nose. “If what you say is true, then we’re all dead anyway.” Jacob shrugged in response. “And what of Jade? What of the Gate Keeper? Do you dismiss them so easily as well?”
Jacob shrugged a second time. “I don’t question their hearts or determination. We both know either one of them would willingly die in the line of duty, without a moment’s regret. No, I question the support they will receive when the time comes.” He scoffed. “Even the mighty Gate Keeper can’t take on a mystical army all by himself.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Kelus admitted, looking up as a flock of red birds flew overhead. “If you have something on your mind Jacob, now would be a good time to share it.”
A long silence followed. They continued to watch as Yavin began pairing the men in twos, setting them up for sparring practice. Kelus couldn’t help but think that Jacob might be right. They were trustworthy soldiers for sure, but they had no idea what they were up against. Nothing done here on the practice field could possibly ready them for what was to come.
“Tell me about the Tryads,” said Jacob, breaking the silence.
“Wha—” Kelus started, completely caught off guard.
Jacob turned, his blank stare falling squarely on Kelus. His eyes were so void of emotion it gave Kelus chills. “The Tryads. The swords for hire who failed to kill the Gate Keeper. I understand that they’re the most skilled assassins, possibly in the world. Tell me more about them.”
“Jacob,” Kelus said slowly. “I don’t think I like where this is going.”
“I don’t see how that matters,” Jacob replied, his voice dripping with frost. “I simply asked you to tell me more about them. Since we are most likely dead anyway, I don’t see the harm in exploring other options.”
“Jacob, they don’t operate that way,” Kelus said softly. “They are killers of the highest level, but they fight only for the highest bidder, and only through an underground chain of contacts. Even a king doesn’t speak directly to them. Their services are for hire, but not to someone like—”
“Someone like me?” Jacob cut in.
“Even I don’t have the contacts to arrange a meeting.”
“But you could tell me where to find them, couldn’t you?”
Kelus sighed, his shoulders slumping downward as he seemed to deflate. “Yes, I could. But if I were to do that and you were to just walk into their camp unannounced, you would never be heard from again.”
Jacob began laughing as he got to his feet. “I stand here staring down at hundreds of dead men. Are you telling me you’re worried about the soul of just one?” He laughed a second time, patting Kelus on the shoulder. “Well, don’t. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not one for taking the cautious approach. If they kill me, I don’t see how that changes anything. But I’m not going to sit here and do nothing while we wait to be slaughtered. Draw me a map, then feel free to look the other way as I do what must be done.”
Chapter 7
Thick, gray fog seemed to rise up from the moist, swampy ground, making visibility beyond ten feet nearly impossible. Shadows drifted across the full moon as it shone brightly, surrounded by distorted rings of light. Jacob pushed forward cautiously, each footstep sinking deep into the soft, wet ground. The fog was especially dense around his feet, so it was difficult to tell if there was a rock or a log in his path.
Ancient trees, gnarled and twisted, loomed about in all directions, standing tall like shadowy guardians. Sickly and flaking thick black bark, they seemed to warn of what might lie ahead. The night was deathly quiet. Not a sound could be heard except for the slurping of his own footsteps.
There isn’t a living soul for miles in any direction. Why am I here? What am I doing— A shadowed figure skittered through the fog up ahead, breaking his train of thought. He stopped moving, frozen in place and unsure what to do. “Who’s there?” he called out, squinting his eyes while scanning through the fog. “Show yourself!”
Was the light from the moon playing tricks on his mind? It was so eerily silent he could hear a faint ringing in his ears. Suddenly, he saw the shadow again as it zipped back across the path. How could anything move at such speed without making a sound? But there was no doubt he saw it that time.
Staff in hand, he broke into a light run, still wary of the fact he couldn’t see the ground below. “Who are you? What do you want?” Approaching the area where he had last seen the dark figure, Jacob slowed, feet slurping from the ground with each slowing step. He scanned the immediate area, not sure he even wanted to find what he was looking for.
Startled, he whirled his staff to his left. A featureless dark outline stood there in the fog, motionless. He couldn’t make out a face but he could feel its gaze staring right through him. “What do you want?” he asked, his quiet words booming against the silence.
It moved towards him with the subtle grace of a ghost, silent as it seemed to drift towards him.
Jacob shook his staff threateningly. “Not another step, or by the gods I swear I’ll—”
Not heeding his threat, the figure drifted closer as the moonlight gave shape to the form, illuminating its familiar face. “Athel?” Jacob gasped, locking eyes with her. She smiled briefly, nothing but a flash of silver before spinning back and disappearing into the fog. “No! Wait!” he called, dashing after her through the thick vapor wall. “Athel! It’s me, please come back!” Jacob staggered through the mist, determined to catch up to her. How did she disappear so quickly?
Unable to see his hand in front of his face, he stumbled onward with reckless speed. He knew if he hit a tree or wall it would most likely cost him his teeth, but none of that mattered. He wouldn’t let her leave him again! Not when she was this close!
He stumbled into a clearing, the sudden ability to see giving him pause. He rubbed his eyes, looking about frantically. She couldn’t have gotten far. Athel stepped into view from behind a tree, gesturing for him to approach by curling a finger at him. He dashed towards the tree as she disappeared back behind it. He circled around, ready to embrace her and never let go. Nothing. She couldn’t have just disappeared! Where did she—
Once more he detected movement from the corner of his eye. He whirled about only to see her standing before a cave entrance twenty feet away. She smiled again, silver teeth catching the light of the moon as she curled her finger tauntingly. “Please don’t run away again,” Jacob pleaded, approaching cautiously as if not to scare a small animal. “Just stay there and I’ll come to you.”
Still curling her finger, she took a step back and disappeared into the darkness. “No! Please don’t leave again!” he shouted, sprinting towards the cave entrance. He stopped just before dashing in, and reached into the darkness of the cave. It was strangely void of any light. His hand disappeared completely as if being swallowed by jet-black silk, then reappeared when he pulled back. I don’t care what dark forces are at play here. I refuse to let her go. He leapt through the sheet of blackness.
When he reappeared on the other side, the sudden drop in temperature was shocking. It was f
reezing in here, and almost immediately his teeth began chattering. He bent over, hugging his body while trying to keep warm. I don’t care if I freeze to death. This cold won’t stop me from— But he wouldn’t need to search far. There she stood only a few feet away, hands on her hips in a relaxed pose. The cold didn’t seem to be affecting her at all.
“Athel,” he chattered, limping towards her. She looked exactly as he remembered, bows in her hair, eyes twinkling with mischief. “By the gods I missed you so. Are you alright? Please, you must come with me immediately.” She gazed at him a moment longer, then closed her eyes and leaned back against the stone wall. “Look, it’s freezing in here. We’re both going to die if we don’t get out.”
He reached for her hand, but she tucked them up under her arms. Eyes still shut tightly, she still said nothing. His whole body was trembled from the cold, and his chattering teeth made it hard to speak. “P...please s...say something. I don’t r...remember the l...last time I h...heard your voice.” Nothing. Although she appeared unaffected by the cold, her skin was beginning to frost over before his eyes.
He gripped her by the shoulders then began to shake her. “Please, say something. Anything! I...I need to h...hear your voice.” She finally opened her eyes, but they were no longer her own. Slitted eyes like that of a beast stared back at him. Her throat began to rumble, a slow gurgling growl like that of a lion. “No,” he whispered, releasing her and backing away. “No, I don’t w...want this for you.”
Her lower jaw unhinged like a snake, dropping down near her belt line as she howled, an inhuman wail that shook the walls. A second later her head shattered, a thousand ice crystals spraying into Jacob’s face.
With a sharp gasp, Jacob sat up. Cold sweat ran from his temples as his rapid breathing eventually began to slow. Seeing daylight from under the doorway, he fell back into the cot, pulling the blanket up to his face. “No matter how deep I push the pain, it just keeps resurfacing,” he said softly to himself. “By the gods, I miss her so much.”
