Destroyer of Legends

by Clayton Wood

  Something dark made its way through the thick vegetation far ahead, barely visible between the trees and bushes. Something that walked on two feet. The creature had seen such beings before, and a part of it remembered them fondly.

  But still it remained utterly still, watching as the dark figure made its way across its field of vision. The thing moved with a terrible quickness, zipping by and vanishing into the forest to the left.

  Minutes later, the creature stirred, stepping slowly toward the path the dark figure had taken. Eventually it reached the path, lowering its head and sniffing at the ground. There were red spots on the leaf-litter, forming a trail leading where the black figure had gone.

  It was blood.

  The creature paused, lowering its head further and licking at one of the red drops tentatively.

  A voice called out from behind.

  The creature froze.

  It strained its ears, but heard nothing save for the wind rustling through the leaves and the chirping of birds overhead. Still it waited, knowing that its best defense was to stay utterly still.

  Minutes passed.

  The creature raised its head slowly, plodding forward, following the trail of blood. The dark figure was long gone, and it did not fear the figure’s return.

  Voices cried out in the distance.

  The creature froze again.

  Minutes passed, and again, there were only the usual sounds of the forest. At length the creature continued to move, staring down at the bloody trail before it. A sudden hunger pang gripped its belly, and it paused, surprised by the feeling. It rarely needed to eat, as long as it spent enough time resting in the sun.

  But now hunger called to it, demanding to be fed.

  It stared at the bloodied leaves on the forest floor, then lowered its mouth to them, snatching them up and chewing slowly. Then it moved a little further, eating more of the bloodied leaves and swallowing them.

  But the hunger was not appeased.

  The creature stepped forward, more quickly now, gathering up more blood-spattered leaves into its mouth, barely chewing them before swallowing. But with each mouthful, the hunger only grew.

  And when the voices returned, far-away yet growing louder with every passing minute, the creature didn’t even bother to stop, following the bloody trail as it ate, without knowing – or caring – why.

  * * *

  When Hunter and Xerxes emerged from the entrance to the Shrine of the Ancestors, they found Kip waiting for them. Their jubilant guide took them back across the lake with the giant turtle Sassamon’s help, reaching the opposite shore in a few short minutes. Kip turned to Xerxes then.

  “I will show you a place to stay,” he offered. “Hunter, you can go to each of the five Temples. When you’re done, come back to the entrance to the kingdom. I will bring you to a wigwam to sleep in.”

  Hunter nodded. He knew from going to pow-wows with his mother as a kid that a wigwam was a dome-shaped hut used by the natives.

  “How do I get to the Temples?” he inquired. Kip smiled.

  “Just look around,” he answered. “The towers will show you the way.”

  “Alright,” Hunter agreed. He turned to Xerxes. “See you around I guess.”

  Xerxes nodded, clapping Hunter on the shoulder…and nearly throwing him to the ground. Hunter caught himself, grimacing at his smarting shoulder…and watched as Xerxes chuckled.

  “Really gonna miss you,” Hunter grumbled.

  Kip and Xerxes left him then, and Hunter sighed, looking around. The nearest spire was the one he’d studied before, with all the birds flying around it. He stared at it uneasily; Sannup had requested that he visit all of the Temples before he be allowed to go to the Deep. Hunter might get away with skipping one, but then again he might not. There was no point in testing that theory…they were on a time-crunch, after all. He sighed, starting the long walk toward the bird-spire.

  Might as well get this over with.

  It wasn’t long before the scenery changed from grassy fields with occasional trees to a dense forest. The trees here grew much taller than the ones he’d seen before, rising well over a hundred feet above the forest floor. Hunter spotted more huge birds perched on the uppermost branches. It was almost certainly his paranoia – he was too far away to even see their faces – but he could almost swear they were staring at him.

  A narrow path through the forest led to the spire ahead, and Hunter took it, trying to ignore the fauna above. Eventually he spotted a large black stone building in a clearing ahead, much like the Shrine of the Ancestors. But this one was considerably larger, and the huge black spire rose up from its center. Birds were perched on short ledges all the way up the spire…huge birds.

  Great, he muttered to himself. Just great.

  It took all of his courage to continue walking toward the building, and when he did, a bird leapt from its perch high above, swooping down…and gliding straight at him!

  Hunter cursed, pulling his longsword free from its sheath. But the bird slowed abruptly, landing a few yards from him.

  “No need for your sword,” the bird stated calmly.

  Hunter blinked.

  For the bird was not a bird at all. Or at least, not completely. Its feet were part human, part talon, with long toes ending in short claws. Its legs were mostly human, although the knees bent backward instead of forward. It had a humanoid torso, but with a chest that was narrow and pulled outward. And its face was almost completely human, save for striking yellow eyes. But instead of hair, fine white feathers graced its scalp, and most of its body was also covered in feathers. And its wings were utterly massive, far longer than human arms…which it didn’t have.

  “You can put your weapon away,” the bird-man insisted. Hunter blinked, then looked down, seeing his sword still in his hands. He sheathed it, returning his gaze to the…thing.

  “What…?” he began.

  “My name is Pukwa,” the bird-man greeted. He gestured with one wing at the building behind him. “Welcome to the Shrine of Wobsacuck.”

  “Uh…” Hunter mumbled, clearing his throat. “Wobsa…what?”

  “Wobsacuck,” Pukwa repeated. “It means ‘eagle.’ A shrine to all birds.”

  “Ah.”

  “I assume the Elders sent you here,” Pukwa continued. Hunter frowned.

  “How’d you know that?”

  “I watched you come into the kingdom,” Pukwa answered. “And follow Kip to the Shrine of the Ancestors, and then come here.” He smirked. “I can fly, you know. And we who take the spirit of birds have excellent vision.”

  “So you really do have eagle-eyes,” Hunter joked rather lamely. Pukwa chuckled.

  “Literally,” he agreed.

  “Sannup sent me to each of the shrines to check them out,” Hunter informed. He glanced at the building ahead. “You know where the entrance is?”

  “Of course,” Pukwa answered. “But you won’t be able to get to it on your own.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “It’s on the roof.”

  Hunter frowned; the roof surrounding the spire was a good four to five stories up, and the spire had to be hundreds of feet tall.

  “There a ladder or something?”

  “No,” Pukwa answered. “I’ll have to fly you up.”

  “Oh hell no,” Hunter blurted out.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m not flying up there,” he stated.

  “Why not?”

  “What if you drop me?” Hunter asked. Pukwa chuckled.

  “I’ve carried a lot heavier,” he reassured. “I’ll grab your arm and bring you up.”

  “No thanks,” Hunter replied. “I’m good. I’ll just skip this one and go…”

  Pukwa leapt into the air, his huge wings swooping down, a blast of air striking Hunter. Before he knew it, the bird-man’s talon-feet had gripped his right arm, latching on with incredible force. With a few beats of his wings, Pukwa shot up into the air…bringing Hunter with him.

&n
bsp; “Oh SHIIIIIT!” Hunter yelled, kicking his legs as the earth dropped out from underneath him. Pukwa took them higher, his powerful wings bringing them upward until they were well above the five-story roof of the shrine ahead. Then Pukwa spread his wings out wide, gliding down toward the rooftop. The roof came at them with terrifying speed, and Hunter cried out again, bracing for impact. But at the last moment, Pukwa slowed their descent, and with a few beats of his wings, dropped Hunter gently on the rooftop, releasing his vise-like grip on Hunter’s arm. Pukwa landed beside Hunter, gesturing at a doorway at the base of the spire ahead.

  “There’s the entrance,” he informed. “Come on,” he added, walking toward it, “…I’ll show you around.”

  Hunter followed behind Pukwa, rubbing his right arm where the man’s talon-feet had gripped it. They made it to the entrance, and Pukwa tucked his wings close to his body, stepping inside. Much like the Shrine of the Ancestors, there were stairs leading downward. These, however, spiraled downward for a short distance before opening up into a large room, the stairs turning rightward to descend alongside the nearest wall. The room was octagonal in shape, and perhaps a hundred feet in diameter, with a ceiling fifty feet up. Hunter and Pukwa had emerged near the top.

  “Wow,” Hunter blurted out, stopping in his tracks. There were dozens of people down below, some of them bird-men hybrids like Pukwa, and others appearing completely – or mostly – human. The hybrids were of many different types, some as short as four feet tall, others over eight. Some had brown feathers, others had black, and still others had white or gray. A few even had beaks, much to Hunter’s surprise.

  “Come on,” Pukwa prompted. “The stairs are more difficult for me, so I’ll fly down.” He did just that, leaping off the edge of the stairs and gliding to the floor far below. Hunter watched him, then made his way down the stairs. Not without some jealousy; it took him a whole lot longer to reach the bottom and meet up with Pukwa. From here, he could see that there were wide hallways leading away from the room at each wall of the hexagon.

  “So,” Hunter stated, glancing around. “What now?”

  “Each shrine has a central hub like this room,” Pukwa explained. “The hallways lead to the rooms where our people choose and acquire spirits, and the many floors below-ground house the spirits themselves.”

  “Okay…”

  “Come,” Pukwa urged, tapping Hunter’s back with one wing, then walking toward the nearest hallway. Hunter followed alongside the man-bird, glancing at other people as they went. Some of them had wings instead of arms, while a few had wings and arms.

  “Why do some of these people have arms?” he asked.

  “There are many ways to acquire spirits,” Pukwa answered. “I chose to be closer to a bird and forgo my arms. Others wish to keep theirs.”

  “What do you mean by ‘many ways to acquire spirits?’” Hunter pressed as they stepped into the hallway. There were several men and women within, all of them gazing at various birds bolted to the walls. Dead birds, of course, stuffed in an impressive feat of taxidermy. These were quite large, although Hunter didn’t recognize most of the species.

  “You will see,” Pukwa replied. He gestured with one talon-foot at the wall to their left. “These are the larger birds of prey…those that hunt other animals. That is what your people call a bald eagle,” he added, gesturing at one of the displays. “I chose its spirit. That,” he continued, pointing at another display, “…is a type of falcon, and that is a type of condor.”

  “So if you see a bird you like, you can absorb its traits?”

  “You can share its spirit, yes,” Pukwa agreed.

  “And the spirits are below-ground.”

  “Correct.”

  “So their bones are down there?” Hunter inquired. Pukwa nodded. “But what if my…spirit is too strong to be changed?”

  “Your spirit is strong,” Pukwa stated. “But the spirits below are the strongest.”

  “You mean they’re all Legends?”

  “Yes,” Pukwa confirmed. “Over the millennia, we have collected powerful spirits of almost every species of bird.”

  “Wow,” Hunter mumbled. And to think that the kingdom of Tykus was all excited about having the bones of one Legend. He glanced at Pukwa as they continued down the hall. “But if they’re Legends, won’t people just be turned into birds? How can you control the process?”

  “We have perfected it,” Pukwa replied. “We have many ways to transmit spirits. You can gain the eyes of an eagle, or its wings, or its feet, or all of these things…whatever you choose.”

  Hunter stopped, and Pukwa stopped with him.

  “You’re saying that – if I wanted to – I could grow wings? And fly like you?” Hunter asked. Pukwa smiled.

  “Of course.”

  Hunter stared at the bird-man for a moment, then turned back to the exhibits, staring at a few of the birds. One of them caught his eye; a large bird with a wingspan that had to be seven feet long. It had pitch-black feathers on top of its wings and white feathers – with the occasional black-striped feather – underneath.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “A harpy eagle,” Pukwa answered. “They were found to the south on Turtle Island. They are very strong, and are great fliers. They fly between trees with great speed.”

  “Nice.”

  They continued down the hall, until at last they reached the end. There were so many birds that they all began to blur together.

  “The owls and kites are on the next floor up,” Pukwa explained. “The third floor has the hawks, and the fourth the condors and vultures.”

  “That’s a lot of birds,” Hunter grumbled. He was surprised that he wasn’t more paranoid here, being surrounded by things he hated. But they weren’t alive…which is probably why he hadn’t run out screaming. He hesitated, stepping toward one of the last exhibits…another eagle-like bird. “Can I touch it?”

  “Gently,” Pukwa answered.

  Hunter stopped a few inches from the eagle, taking off his helmet. Then he bent down, touching his forehead to the top of its head and closing his eyes.

  And jerked back with a gasp.

  “Whoa,” he breathed, shaking his head. Pukwa frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I…absorb memories,” Hunter explained. “I could feel myself flying…diving down toward the ground to kill a rabbit.” Pukwa’s eyebrows rose.

  “You can sense memories?” he asked. “That is a rare gift.”

  “It was a hell of a rush,” Hunter admitted.

  “Do you want to see more birds, or would you like to see how we acquire spirits?”

  “The second,” Hunter answered, putting his helmet back on.

  * * *

  Pukwa led Hunter to the fifth floor of the shrine, where – instead of the usual exhibits – there were long hallways with rooms on either side. The rooms were small, the walls, floors, and ceilings covered by sheets of compressed wood. In the center of each room was a wooden cot; Pukwa brought Hunter to a room occupied by a woman. To Hunter’s embarrassment, she was utterly nude, and lying face-up on the cot. A bird-man with arms was standing over her, taking long strips of what looked to be bark and wrapping them around her legs.

  “Will she mind if…” Hunter began, gesturing at the woman.

  “She does not mind,” Pukwa said. “Watch.”

  More sheets of bark were wrapped around her legs, spiraling up to her groin. Then her pelvis and abdomen were covered, stopping below her breasts. The bird-man attending her took a wide sheet of bark, turning it upside-down, then grabbing a brush from a nearby wooden table. He dipped it in a clay jar of thick, clear liquid, painting the underside of the bark carefully.

  “The bark absorbs spirits poorly,” Pukwa explained. “It will protect her legs and body from the effects of the bird-spirit.”

  Hunter nodded. It made sense; Master Thorius and Vi had taught him that wood absorbed and transmitted traits poorly, which was why most of the buil
dings in the Outskirts had been made of wood…as had the paper-thin walls of the Guild of Seekers.

  The bird-man attending the woman finished painting the clear gel onto the bark, then flipped it right-side-up, having the woman stand up while he placed it carefully over her breasts.

  “The liquid was exposed to the spirit of a bird,” Pukwa explained. “The chest muscles are needed to use one’s wings. She wants to keep her arms,” he added, gesturing at her bark-wrapped arms. “She will need to double her chest muscles and back muscles, one on top of the other. One set will move her arms, the other her wings.”

  “So her chest is exposed to the liquid, but nothing else is?” Hunter guessed.

  “Her back will be,” Pukwa corrected. “The wings are like arms, and will grow from a second set of shoulder blades on top of the first. Watch,” he added.

  The rest of the woman’s body was wrapped…and then a layer of what looked to be peat moss was glued to the bark everywhere…and a second layer of bark was wrapped around her body. And then a third.

  “They will use many layers,” Pukwa explained. Each layer helps block the spirits.”

  Hunter nodded again. Subsequent layers did protect against the transmission of wills…a fact Master Thorius and Vi had also taught him. Each time a trait was absorbed by a substance, the power of that trait was diminished considerably. With multiple layers of different materials, very little of one’s will would be able to be transmitted.

  “You guys really have this figured out,” Hunter murmured. Pukwa smiled.

  “We have been perfecting this art for over ten thousand years.”

  Hunter gave a low whistle, then watched as the bird-man took a smaller brush, dipping it in the clear gel and gently painting the woman’s closed eyelids. He took a wooden mask then, placing it on her face.

  “This will give her the sight of a bird,” Pukwa explained. “The mask helps prevents her nose from becoming a beak.”

  Hunter turned to Pukwa, noting the man’s yellow eyes.