by Dan Brigman
Melek turned away from the fire. Did he just begin blushing? Kirian thought.
“Perhaps, if we find Arstle, he can help orient you. Based on your ramblings, you’re a fine tracker. I’ve seen little of that skill, though.” The large man’s shoulders shrugged.
“I’ve not had much reason to use the skill considering we’re the ones fleeing.”
“Sometimes tracking involves hiding your own tracks and paying attention to those who may be seeking you out.”
Kirian sighed. “There’s no sense in arguing over my abilities. If you think a watch is necessary, then you’ll do fine to begin with. Wake me in four hours.”
Melek nodded and Kirian rolled over, sleep taking him in seconds after he rolled up with a woolen blanket. Melek watched the sleeping figure’s even breathing for a few moments, then patrolled the campfire. Hours later, based on the moons’ light, Melek prodded Kirian’s ribs.
“Time to wake.”
Kirian groaned through gritted teeth and rolled to sit up. He knuckled his eyes then stood as Melek dropped to the soft soil of the prairie. His sudden soft snoring mixed with the spring peepers’ chorus of enjoyment of the early morning’s cool air. Kirian stamped his feet and rubbed his arms, feeling some warmth return to his limbs.
The flatness of the terrain gave Kirian the perfect vantage to see anyone walking upright, but the plain’s tall grasses would keep anyone hidden who did not want to be seen. With the moons’ light and occasional wind pushing the grasses, in all directions, Kirian could make out no details. He felt disoriented without seeing the light flickering above. The darkness of the grass met the blackness of the sky. Only stars punctuated the sky, offering a discernable view of the horizon to the east.
For hours Kirian strode around the campsite, careful to keep the meager fire lit with the few logs they had found. A gentle southeastern breeze tussled the brown grasses making his footsteps impossible to discern as he walked. The horses offered no notice of Kirian’s passage within ten feet of where they slept. Must be as tired as their lord. He glanced at the still-sleeping figure. How did I get myself involved with him?
Thoughts and struggles flitted away as Kirian crouched. He stared to the east, Sol’s rise touching the vast flat horizon. Kirian stilled while the early-morning rays glanced off the brown plains to reveal a field of luciferum just ten paces ahead. He stared downward at the vast panorama of white five-petaled flowers. The point of each petal could prick even the most calloused fingers. He jumped before a smile took some of his fatigue away. With luciferum surrounding him, Sol’s light seemingly brought them to life in a span of seconds. He turned toward Melek and his grin grew larger. Melek no longer slept, but held a luciferum in his hand. With tiny flower in his massive hand, the flower’s whiteness stood out in stark difference to his tanned skin.
“Day Star,” Melek whispered, his lips forming the smallest of smiles. Kirian could only nod in agreement.
Sol’s incremental rise brought more of the flower into view. A few moments passed, and Kirian sat upon the soil plucking a flower, careful to avoid the points. He held the stem between his fingers and turned it to let the sunlight glisten off its snow-white petals.
“Spring. Finally,” Melek whispered as he sat up, careful to not crush any of the flowers around himself. He lifted the flower to his nostrils, inhaling long and deep.
“Smells of mead from freshly sought-out honey, collected by the best clover bees.”
Melek nodded, sighing deeply before placing the flower on the ground as if it held the greatest value in the provinces. “Luciferum is an odd name for such a beautiful sign of spring.”
“You know that name?” Kirian asked. “Odd. I didn’t know your people still learned that long-dead language.”
“The language of natural history, you mean?” Kirian nodded, and Melek continued as he stood up. “Arstle taught me and my people much over the years.”
“Apparently.” Kirian turned back to the plains. Whiteness popped nearly every place he could see. “Knowing such beauty will be gone at sunset is a heavy burden to bear. This name, luciferum, must have carried a heavy weight long ago considering the flower blooms only for a day. Its beauty burns bright, then falls so quickly.”
“Agreed. But we don’t have time to linger our gaze upon such splendor, nor ponder the name of such a flower no matter how odd it may be.” Melek paced to horses, and within moments both companions had mounted to stare at the horizon, Sol’s lower edge just raising upon the skyline.
“Xavad’s slave still follows us, or at least I suspect as much. We will lure him in today and long before we near Tolsont.” Melek spurred the mount to a trot. Kirian followed and replied, “Perhaps. We shouldn’t kill this man; a dead scout means more questions.”
Melek frowned, and narrowed eyes offered little of what he thought. “I’ll get the mounts readied, but the thought of killing shouldn’t be among our first actions. He’s gathering information, nothing more.”
They exchanged no more words as Sol rose. The light glistened off the white petals while they ate a cold breakfast washed down with water. Kirian cleared the camp of their presence, then looked to Melek. He nodded, his frowning satisfaction bringing a slight grin to Kirian’s lips. Then, remembering himself, Kirian harrumphed under his breath, “Needing a Horselord’s approval—” He broke off at Melek’s stare.
“I didn’t catch that,” Melek stated.
“Nothing…let’s ride,” Kirian replied. He jumped atop and groaned at another day of riding bareback. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” Kirian began, but then at a sharp glance from Melek, he uttered, “but I appreciate the mount, anyway.” Kirian patted the brown with a full grin. The grin fell and when the patting ended, a thought formed.
Kirian continued, “You know, you may have seen this little leach that won’t leave us alone, but I’ve certainly not seen a horse. How’s he keeping up?”
“Not sure, but I’ve got ideas,” Melek offered. “Based on what I’ve seen happen in my own village, it’s hard to say what those damnable people have devised. Let’s make this ‘leach’ work to catch us.” Melek kicked the mount forward, soil churning under the hooves. Kirian took one look behind, then took in one more glance at the splendorous Day Star.
“Spring may finally be here, and life will bloom again soon, if we can reach Arstle.” Kirian let the words linger until he noticed where Melek’s mount had stood. The Day Stars, while crushed into the black soil, still captured Sol’s light. With a yell, Kirian kicked the brown forward to catch Melek.
The mounts eyed the five-petaled flowers along the trek of alternating walk-trot-gallop pace Melek had kept up for days. Melek had shooed them from nibbling on the flowers, out of respect for their importance, but they caught occasional bites when he turned backward to scan the horizon. By mid-morning the mounts’ energy still had not flagged, despite the pace.
“Interesting,” Melek mumbled when they stopped for a quick lunch when Sol hung above head. He dismounted, reaching for a flower. Melek twirled it between his fingers.
“What?”
Melek pulled one petal loose, put it in his mouth, and chewed it for a moment. He popped what remained in his mouth. His eyes relaxed for the first time Kirian in many days. Kirian tilted his head, squinting from the light’s glare. The browns and whites of the plain intermixed well enough to give Kirian a headache from the squinting. First full blue sky of spring.
“Once we finish this, after we stop that scout, I need to try a few things with the luciferum.”
“Why?”
Melek answered by picking up another flower and biting off one petal. He handed over what remained of the sole flower in his palm. Kirian reached for it, then pulled off a petal, careful to avoid the point. As he lay it on his tongue, the petal melted away. Seems wrong. Even stepping on one doesn’t sit well. A memory of a snowflake landing on his outstretched tongue floated through his mind until a sharp tingling assaulted his mouth, puncturing h
is thoughts.
The thought of a swallowed bee fomented in his mind, but the pain subsided in a breath only leaving a numbness. Clarity followed. His vision cleared. Sol’s glare lessened. The slight, yet annoying headache dissipated without a trace. Within seconds, the pain was forgotten.
“Unexpected to say the least,” Kirian noted. A grin replaced the frown plastered on his sunbaked face. It grew as Melek’s lips upturned ever so faintly. “Your smile, although cut from granite, seems to make things better, Horselord.”
Melek’s eyes tightened, shock glinting his irises. He reached forward, placing a hand on Kirian’s raising arm. “Stop. Don’t eat anymore.”
Kirian frowned, glancing at the petal. “Something this good can’t have any ill side effects.”
“Wrong. It may have worse than just mere side effects. That’s why I said I need to try a few things. Considering our circumstances, this isn’t the time.” Melek turned, a hand at his brow, to scan south. Kirian followed his line of sight. “Besides, the scout gains. We will devise a plan to capture him. I think he doesn’t realize or care that we’ve seen him.”
Camp came easy that third night north of Lyrstra along the plains. Melek had scanned and back-tracked more times than Kirian cared to count before they reached the small, open wood. A small clump of vined-dogwoods and red buds mixed with post oaks, red maples, and shagbark hickories spread out for hundreds of acres east of the river.
“A perfect place to be ambushed. Or to perform one,” Melek offered while they walked the mounts deep into the middle of the wood. A tiny shack, ready to collapse under the weight of another large branch falling upon its walls, came into view. “Our friend will approach when the sun sets. We shall see if he is stupid enough to confront us, finally. We rest here until then.”
Kirian could only nod before Melek hobbled the mounts on a ramshackle hitching post near what remained of a rough-hewn curing shed. Hours later Kirian sat on the tall grass at the edge of a fishing pond less than a hundred paces from the shack. He held a make-shift pole, its line floating in the clear water. The gray hook glimmered beneath the surface in the light of the setting sun.
“Stay here and in plain sight,” he complained even after looking at the five small fish laying nearby. The smell of dirt and water still lingered on his hands even after pulling in the last of the wriggling samples. They look tasty, whatever they may be.
“I’ll be close by, but you’re the lure for a bigger fish than what’s in there,” Melek had said pointing to the pond’s blue depths. That was an hour ago, Kirian thought as he swatted at the thousandth mosquito. Spring had better break these blighted things. “Blighter’s tears,” Kirian cursed before throwing a few more downed limbs on the dying fire not two paces away. Smoke billowed up from the rotten logs and he turned back to the pond.
The sun’s final rays rainbowed across the surface as the peepers issued their chorus around the water’s edge. The slightest of breezes rustled the cattails and several mature willows, growing in a cluster, hid a few frogs offering deeper calls. Darkness shrouded the wood, yet stars popped through the opening in the canopy above the pond. Kirian glanced up from the blackening water to the stars to gauge their approximate location relative to Tolsont. A splash near where his line lay returned his attention. The pole jerked. Kirian barely gripped it before he felt bared steel at his throat.
“Put it down,” rattled a voice in his ear.
23 — The Aftermath
Jaken could only shake his head. He did not trust himself to answer. Jast nodded, uncertain as to whether to believe the sergeant. The Alterator stepped forward. “Sergeant, you’re the commanding officer now. The rest of them are dead.”
The meager sergeant peered around again for a breath to push down unbridled thoughts of disbelief. He worked past the fractures in his mind, patching them with layers of bazen. I can’t keep this up forever. He paused then sighed deeply with his eyes shut tight. Just until we can get back to town.
An hour had passed. Twilight shifted into darkness by the time Jaken regained order to his decimated army. My army. For now, at least. I won’t get used to that. I’ve no place to order these men and women. But the remains of Captain Pok, Oversergeant Pealt, and Lieutenant Arica had been lined up. Their faces offered enough resemblance for Jaken’s regard, but their bodies had been ravaged by the skirmishers once Jaken had charged forward. Hundreds more of the Sacclon army collapsed under the weight of the Blight-fueled abominations.
Jaken had wanted validation of Jast Four-Finger’s claim, and now, looking down at their bodies, he wished he had trusted the Alterator’s word. The several sergeants lower in rank than Jaken Holst quickly followed their new commander’s orders without faltering. Their faces marked despair in varying measures, and Jaken hoped he masked his own increasing despair. Each order Jaken barked out pushed his mindset into one of automatic action.
Gather the dead. Pitch the tents. Start cooking. Tend to the wounded and dying.
The two hundred and seventy-three remaining soldiers would reach Jasten. Most would reach their homes. None would ever be the same again. I can’t worry about that now. Tomorrow will worry about itself.
A hundred yards west of where the Sacclon army’s line had originally stationed became camp. To his subordinates, he ordered, “Move our men and women away from the carnage. Let the carrion eaters do their work tonight. We will find our troops in the morning.” When Thela Ulia, his Prime Sergeant, turned her bloodshot eyes downward, Jaken followed with, “We have no other choice, Thela.” His quiet voice lulled her face back upward. While her brown eyes shimmered in the camp firelight, Ulia’s resolve had been hardened enough for her to nod in acquiescence.
“Find a drummer, Ulia. This night needs a tribute to honor the dead.”
Ulia nodded, then asked, “Sir, to honor our dead?”
Jaken hesitated with the younger women’s brown eyes fixed on his. After a moment, he shook his head. He knew other close-by soldiers listened and Jaken’s neck warmed. He knew his answer would not sit well with anyone, but the enemy had no one remaining to remember them. Most had been human before the blight. Jaken’s soldiers had still not found one enemy survivor.
“All the dead,” Jaken rasped.
When Ulia’s eyes widened in disbelief, Jaken continued, his voice loud enough to be heard by those close by. His words would carry throughout the camp within minutes. He wanted them to be carried with accuracy rather than ground down through the rumor mill.
“Pok and those other commanders may have not agreed. You may not agree. But we’ve fought the Blight-spawn for years. In battles. At ambushes. In cities and on farms. This day’s last desperate act shows me that we must not forget our own fallen, but we must not forget that even our fellow humans were once like us. Somehow, someway, they had been corrupted.” He paused. The air had stilled, and several soldiers moved closer to hear his words. “Even the Originators are not all evil. They can’t be, or none of us would be here now.”
He lifted Lighteater before him with both hands, as if to emphasize that his soldiers still lived. The greatsword emanated nothing untoward, nothing that Jaken could detect anyway. He had approached the blade, half-buried in the mud, convinced he would have been obliterated just by being in close proximity. Once in his hand, Lighteater felt no different than any other sword. Instead, the sword showed that even the greatest foe can be brought down. He had gathered the blade soon after Stoutheart’s final breath—he wanted to ensure the sword fell into no one else’s hands.
“This sword,” he paused to raise it above his head, “will be taken to a safe place where nothing like that foul being can use this abomination again.”
Is it truly an abomination? Jaken considered. In the growing campfire light, the gray black metal of the blade shown dully. Not one drop of blood had marred its surface, and now that Jaken looked out at the closest soldier, he acknowledged the terror lining their faces. Other than Ulia and Jas, all of them glanced upon the blade as
if it were filth, ready to throw to the offal heap. Yet none seemed ready to touch the filth—their stooped postures and sidelong glances offered a wariness keeping them back. They hoped the blade would simply disappear. Jaken let the blade’s tip dip onto the soil, the weight burying the point an inch deep.
“Lighteater can hurt none of us, now,” Jaken continued and released the blade. He let it fall and the sword’s thump against the soil boomed dully like a distant explosion. Despite Jaken’s words, the blade’s drop and contact resonated along the ground. The ground shook enough to unsettle wood in campfires, shooting sparks into the air. The rumbling continued for a few breaths, then slowly faded. Anyone within eyeshot glanced down in consternation, many not knowing whether to run or whether to accept that the sword may pull them along a path to their insanity. Their collective uncertainty calmed when a brown woolen blanket covered the entirety of the sword.
Many soldiers turned on their heel once the sword fell from view, leaving the scene cursing or spitting toward the blade’s location. Jaken spoke, following them with, “Take rest this evening. I’ve already chosen those who will guard us this night. They know who they are. The medics will continue their duties.” He paused, tiredness wearing him down, knowing the night he had ahead of him. “We will stand watch over the living and the dead.”
The departing soldiers turned to salute, appreciation lining their weary faces. Jast and Ulia would stay at the camp protecting the living and the sword. Jaken could feel the blade, its presence clear in his mind, even with the covering hiding it from view. He nodded to the Alterator and the sergeant to the side, further from the sword.
“Jast, you have the most knowledge about such things. You’ll take Lighteater this evening. By tomorrow, this time, we can put it in the authority’s hands.”
“Aye, sir,” Jast Four-Fingers replied rubbing his forehead. He waited patiently while Jaken offered Ulia her orders.
