by Kody Boye
The constellations upon Mercutio’s staff began to spin.
Yellow light burst from its surface.
The dead recoiled.
The guards, bearing spears, advanced.
Carmen started forward.
She ran with speed and grace Nova couldn’t have imagined with her small and encumbered form and took advantage of the flanking maneuver she instigated. As she approached the undead, smelling of fish and the rotten sea, she slammed her mace into their kneecaps and topped them to their feet. Nova, in pursuit, was quick to make short work of them, as the moment they came within reach he lopped their heads off with his scythe.
The world was alight with battle.
Nova fell into the role he knew he was most apt to do.
The number of corpses within the clearing did not intensify as the battle raged on. One felled by an arrow, another decapitation, the third trampling by a horse that ran forward as its owner became overwhelmed—the small populace that had once lived here numbered only in the dozens, so the work required to put down the dead was little. So far as Nova could tell during the times he was not killing the creatures, the only man that had been injured was the one infested with urchins, and even then that could possibly not be a life sentence.
He swung his scythe.
A head came off.
A rammed his scythe behind him as the sound of footsteps came clear before turning and slamming his blade into the creature’s chest.
He cut it in half instantaneously.
The horrific reality came clear.
People, he thought. Like before.
Pure, innocent people—individuals who had done nothing to deserve the punishment that had been inflicted upon them. It had obviously been the work of dark magics that had shrouded these people’s lives, but were they of Herald’s bidding, of his command? And if not, just who, or what, were the things that had done this—the thing that had nearly killed him with but one thought?
Nova raised his head.
A corpse drew near.
He slammed his scythe into its skull and watched its putrid insides slides out a moment later.
“Are they dead?” one of the men asked, breathless.
“I think so,” Carmen replied, panting, rubbing sweat from her brow. “Is everyone ok?”
“I think so,” the blonde hunter said. “No one’s hurt except—“
“Look out!” someone cried.
Nova turned.
A corpse lashed forward and wrapped its hands around his neck.
Fuck, he gasped. Fuck.
He couldn’t kill the thing. His weapon was too long, its blade too sharp and curved for him to be able to get it between him and the undead monster, so for that he dropped it and reached up in an attempt to pry its hold from his neck. Its flesh was waxy, its bones brittle. Its sagging face held a forlorn expression that reminded him, oddly, of his wife, as in that moment it seemed he would never again see the woman he loved.
“Luh-let,” he managed, “go—“
A snarl cut through his struggles and a blur of movement flashed at his side.
The corpse was knocked to the side.
Nova stumbled and fell to the ground, his elbows jarred into the dirt with enough force to make him squeal.
He looked up just in time to see the dog wrestling with the corpse, its mouth around a mangled wrist.
“Are you ok?” the blonde-haired hunter asked.
“I,” he gasped, “it—“
Carmen screamed and ran forward.
She slammed her mace on the creatures head again and again.
When it ceased to twitch, she let out a long exhale, then looked at the dog. “Hey buddy,” she smiled. “Pretty honorable of you, huh?”
The dog barked and wagged its tail
“Honor,” the Dwarf nodded. “Yeah. That’s it. Honor. There’s no better name for a dog like you.”
Yipping in joy, the dog ran over to Nova, pressed its nose against his cheek, then gave him one long, slobbery lick.
“Thank you,” he coughed.
The dog tackled him to the ground, licking his face the whole way.
The afternoon was spent in silence. Performing minor surgical procedures on an unconscious civilian, whose urchin-infested body was plagued with sores that oozed a grim liquid; tending to the injured, the few and far between; mourning the loss of the people of Kaprika and tending to the dead that plagued the grounds—Father Mercutio wandered the plantation blessing the homes and preparing funeral rights over the bodies, his face a mixture of pain and peace.
“How are you feeling?” Carmen asked.
“Fine,” Nova said. “I’m all right.”
The dog—rightfully named Honor—pressed its head against Carmen’s side as the Dwarf continued to rub its back. Its condition was favorable, despite its troubled circumstance. Already it had eaten several pieces of jerky and even a few slices of fruit, a sad testament to how long it must have gone without food.
“He saved my life,” Nova said.
“I know,” Carmen replied. “When I saw I was on my way, but I was on the other side of the plantation. He was faster than I could’ve ever been.”
“He’s a good dog,” Nova agreed. “But you saved my ass twice today. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
“Comes with the territory. You watch my back, I watch yours—or, in this case, your ass.”
Laughing, Nova slapped the Dwarf’s shoulder and raised his head just in time to see one of the hunters cover the civilian’s body with a cloak. “He’s dead,” the blonde-haired man said, confirming what everyone already knew. “Poison.”
“We need to get away from here,” Father Mercutio said as he came forward. “Now.”
“What was it?” Carmen asked.
The priest raised his head from his place in front of the fire and looked at the Dwarf with troubled eyes. Lips pursed, body a sculpture of unease, he took a moment to compose himself before sighing and saying, “An Anamdala.”
“Anamdala?” a civilian asked. “One of the Merpeople?”
“The Anamadala are not anything like the Mermen or maids that inhabit our seas,” Mercutio replied. “As legendary as they are, it would seem the great sea people do, in fact, exist.”
“Who are they?” Nova frowned. “And why did one of them attack the plantation?”
“It is thought that the Anamdala are much like human beings. They live in groups, raise their young from birth until adolescence, and make society much like we do. Famous rendition paint the cities they live in as—“
Barren landscapes, great towering spires, twisting and turning in formations of rock that is said to be living but is also not dead, where the great and wonderful creatures of the sea gather around this great quagmire to worship the things that command with their very eyes the lives and souls of—
Nova blinked. The image fading, he gained sight just in time to find the entire camp looking at him—most particularly Mercutio, who frowned as he studied his recovering expression. “Son,” the priest said. “Are you not blessed with the Sight?”
“Yes, Father.”
“And were you not touched by one of these creatures?”
Trembling, Nova nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I was.”
“The Anamdala are heralded in legend for their cruel and strange tenacity to feed off the free will of other living things. Lady Carmen said this creature did not possess a mouth.”
“No. It didn’t.”
“And when approaching you, it stunned you in place with melody and magic?”
“Yes. It did.”
“I don’t understand something though,” Carmen said. “What would a race of sea people want to do with the people who live on land? Why come all this way just to attack a plantation?”
“That I do not know,” Mercutio sighed.
“Do you think this has anything to do with the war?” another man asked.
“Likely not,” Mercutio replied. “I see no reason for
such creatures to meddle in our affairs. What purpose would it serve them? They are but a sea-dwelling people that supposedly… well… seem… to wander on land.” He lowered his hand and clasped his fists around his staff. “Friends… if I may… let us have a moment of silence for those this great country has lost.”
Bowing his head, Nova closed his eyes and placed his hands on his thighs.
Just as he began to pray, a single low note hummed through his head.
The shiver it brought was not a result of the cold. It was of something else.
*
Time seemed endless beneath the slight canopy of trees and the bushes under which they hid. A man could have breathed his final breath, a child could have been born, a mother could have led her children along the street of a freshly-crowned Ornala and toward their home, and perhaps even a dog could have given birth to a litter of puppies that would soon grace the homes of several happy children. People could play, people could live, people could die and, most certainly, be reborn, if only a bit of dark magic were used. However, in that moment that there could be none of these things, for beneath the canopy of trees, bushes and the open fresh air that lay not smelling of bark and needles, there existed nothing but madness—pure, isolated madness, which could consume one whole and then spit them out with nothing but their bones.
Between the realms of consciousness and sleep, Odin pressed the book as tightly to his chest as he could and rolled onto his side, near where Virgin, too, remained somewhat awake but mostly asleep. In response, the older Halfling set an arm across his shoulders and pulled him close, though there was little room the two of them could have shared with the book mashed between their chests.
“Are you awake?” Odin whispered.
Virgin offered a slight nod that sealed his question.
You need to be quiet, he thought, offering a nod of his own as he bowed his head against Virgin’s brow. They might hear you.
Would the Elves have stuck around this long to have waited for them—and could, he wondered, they hear the words he spoke? He imagined they could, given their innate ability to hear things that most beings couldn’t, but if they were to have already heard them, wouldn’t they have already come to claim what was theirs?
Of course they would.
No longer content with the reality that they were still being watched, Odin pressed the book to the ground, rolled over as carefully as he could, then wedged his head into the bush until he could see into the Great Divide.
No. There couldn’t be. It couldn’t be true.
What in the world?
As far as he could tell, he could see no one anywhere within the gorge that separated the Whooping Hills and the Abroen Forest.
“Virgin,” Odin said. “Virgin. Virgin!”
“What?” Virgin whispered.
“There’s no one out there.”
“Even so, we should probably stay here until nightfall.”
“We should get away while we can!”
“You need to be quiet, Odin.”
“But there’s no one—“
“They could be waiting behind the tree line. Did you think about that?”
No.
Unable to directly respond, Odin sighed, closed his eyes, then spread his arm out along the ground before setting his head atop it.
“We’ve been going for a long time,” Virgin whispered, stroking Odin’s opposite arm before cracking his eyes open to slits. “Why don’t we just lay here for a while, Odin? We’ll get some well-deserved rest, won’t we?”
“I guess,” he whispered.
Closing his eyes, Odin extended his body along the line of bushes before forcing himself to no longer worry about whether or not the Elves were watching them from afar.
Things would be fine. He just had to believe in that.
He woke to the sound of crackling flames and the triumphant barking of dogs.
Heart in strings, nerves shot and mind ready to crack, Odin opened his eyes to find Virgin’s attention set on the bushes directly behind him, eyes alight with fear that could not have been described even if Odin had the urge to try.
Are they, Odin mouthed.
Virgin shook his head before he could continue any further.
You know they’re there, his conscience whispered, tracing the back of his skull like a mother would a poor, insolent child. Just listen.
Were one to clear their mind and channel their ears, they would have heard the sound of Elves talking—of rushed whispers and even higher laughs. Even the dogs made their own noises when occasionally a bird would flutter somewhere in the woods around them, barking and, in some cases, yipping when their masters likely smacked them for such obvious behavior. Odin couldn’t help but wonder what kind of canines the Elves would bring along with them for a hunting mission, but regardless, it appeared they’d just been found, or at least as close to found as they could possibly be.
Virgin’s moving lips tore him from thought.
What? he mouthed.
We need to leave, the Halfling’s lips whispered, their words almost audible in the midst of the crackling fire and one whining dog.
How?
Shaking his head, the older Halfling reached forward, secured the book in his grasp, then reached down by his ankles, where he pulled the pack from his feet and pushed the massive tome inside it.
Unsure what to do and even more afraid at the possibility of being caught, Odin waited for his friend to say or do anything further.
From his place in an almost-upright position, he could faintly see the fire reflecting off Virgin’s eyes.
We’re going to get caught, he thought, trembling, trying his hardest to maintain control of himself for fear that he would cause the bushes to shake and draw the dogs’ attention. Oh God, oh God, we’re never going to make it.
This was it. This was finally it. After all this time, after all these measures and after all the undeniable, painstaking torture from which he’d shed blood, sweat and even tears, they would finally be taken into custody and judged before one of the highest courts in all the land.
At his side, Virgin pulled the drawstrings into place, then prepared to stand.
Odin reached out. What’re you doing?
Get up, the Halfling mouthed back.
What the hell do you think I—
A rogue’s cloak is his best defense.
Odin blinked. What?
Instead of responding, Virgin slung the pack over one arm and drew the cloak around him in one quick flourish.
Before Odin’s eyes, Virgin vanished. Nothing could be seen except the woods and bushes where he had once been standing.
What… the fuck.
Virgin had said he couldn’t use magic, hadn’t he?
Unless this isn’t magic, he thought, rising carefully to his feet.
His foot landed on a lose twig.
It snapped.
The noise sounded something akin to a hammer striking an iron anvil.
In the distance, one of the dogs raised its head and began to bark.
Just as Odin turned to view the progress that lay no more than a few hundred feet before them, a hand fell upon his shoulder.
He gasped and would have screamed had the second hand not clamped over his mouth.
“You really need to learn to keep your wits about you,” Virgin whispered.
“How did you—“
“A rogue’s cloak is his best friend.”
“But you… I…”
“Now’s not the time to worry about it. Come on. There’s enough room for both of us.”
“”How?” Odin asked, stepping to the side as Virgin gestured him forward before slinging his cloak over their bodies.
“Call it a parlor trick.”
“A what?”
Virgin shook his head and tapped Odin’s shoulder with his free hand, signaling him forward.
This isn’t going to work, Odin thought, panicking, his breath beginning to rise and fall in fevered pitches as t
hey advanced out of the thicket of trees and onto open ground. They’re going to find us and there’s nothing at all we could do about it.
Were they not to hear the sound of their feet falling, then the dogs would smell them—carefully, knowingly and articulately before leading their Elven masters across the grounds directly to where they were standing. It need not matter whether or not they were beneath the guise of what could have been pegged as something of an invisibility cloak—any true mage would know such trickery upon first glance. At that very moment, though, Odin couldn’t help but wonder if they would even manage to get the look he so desperately was afraid of.
Slow, deep breaths.
In, out, in, out—over and over again until what felt like a rhythm developed beneath their guise. He led them around the scope of the pool of water and to the west, where, he couldn’t help but imagine, the town of Drianna lay at the end of a long, wayward expanse of land where even the bravest men were said to cower in fear beneath the Dark Mountains.
Behind him, Virgin maintained an amount of restraint Odin couldn’t help but envy, as it seemed with each step they only grew closer to the very things they were so desperate to avoid. It was any wonder he hadn’t panicked yet, given his lack of sleep and the ideology behind what could happen were he to trip and fall, but somehow he managed to restrain himself and led them forward. Even his breathing had slowed to a fairly-reasonable pace, that of which could barely be heard under the distant sound of the fire and the cackling birds.
Please don’t give us away, please don’t give us away, please don’t give us away, please…
Virgin pressed a hand to his back before extending a finger toward the land that lay distantly in front of them.
What is he pointing out?
So far as Odin could tell, he could see nothing, save the darkness that extended beyond the radius of the moon, which lay masked behind several clouds that likely foretold of even more rain that would not only dampen their spirits, but hinder their progress. But, then again, if it rained, the dogs wouldn’t be able to smell them, right?
Can Elves smell things through the rain?
Though he couldn’t be sure, he didn’t necessarily want to find out.
