by Jim Galford
“Start running, puppet,” On’esquin told her and then spun his spear around in a grand flourish, finishing with its leather strap over his shoulder as he turned to leave. “We will see you in Turessi.”
The group walked away from the carnage in silence as the Turessian woman fled back toward the city on foot, with Raeln barely able to fathom the magic that could destroy an army so completely, let alone turned and used against its creator the way he had seen. On’esquin had gone from quirky and out of touch to terrifying in that single minute.
Looking at the others, Raeln saw similar confusion on their faces. No one would even glance at On’esquin, who led the way, hiking on ahead with a stupid grin splayed on his face. Behind them, small whorls of dust continued to tear at the vast army that lay on the ground, surrounded by their broken horses.
For not the first time, Raeln wondered why On’esquin even bothered to bring the rest of them. While wondering, he saw a faint glow along the horizon and realized that staying in one place might not be wise. Even On’esquin had spoken of the mists as a threat.
*
It had neared midnight by the time any of them were confident enough in their distance from the city to stop again. They had crossed the first wide section of the plains north of Pholithia before turning somewhat northwest to head into the woods that lined the foothills. They hoped to avoid discovery there and get some extra distance from the mists Yoska had also spotted glowing along the horizon to the east. The trees ran north and south far beyond Raeln’s sight, giving him some confidence that, even if the Turessians sent troops to pursue, it would take days to even attempt to locate them.
They had wandered for hours in the woods, trying to find somewhere sufficiently sheltered. It took them several hours after the moon had come up to locate the tightly wooded area near a creek that Raeln hoped might provide some fish, as well as much-needed water for their travels. The dense tree cover would help conceal them if the Turessians came looking.
“What do we have left in our supplies?” Raeln asked once they had begun to settle in.
Yoska and On’esquin shook their heads grimly and Yoska added that he had not found time to grab anything during their flight from the city. They all had a few items that Ira and Thomin had packed for them, but the vast majority of the supplies had been left behind. Estin held up a small sack he had managed to save, but it would not keep them going long.
“We’re worse off than when we arrived in the city,” admitted Estin as he sat down and began emptying his pouches alongside the sack. He produced dried fruits, hardtack bread, and a few pastries he had managed to stuff into his bags before running—or, Raeln realized, he had stolen from the house’s pantry when no one was looking. Sighing, Estin moved to rub his head and winced as he touched the thickly dried blood on his brow. “This won’t last us more than a day or two. Everything else was left behind.”
Every member of the group began laying out everything they had taken with them, consisting largely of weaponry, which had been all they had thought about when the house was raided. They had many of the basic tools they would need, but little else. Raeln saw three swords, the spear On’esquin held, a dozen knives, and Estin’s book of magic. Raeln, Yoska, and Estin all had one spare change of clothing, packed the night before. They had the tattered remains of On’esquin’s map, and Yoska laid out a rolled piece of parchment Raeln guessed was the information Thomin had left them or another map. Other than those items, Yoska’s battered old cup, the bag of ashes Estin carried, and their own capabilities, they had nothing. They did not even have a single bedroll or blanket among them.
Estin looked over their supplies and shrugged, sitting back and touching the gash in his forehead more gingerly. His eyes went distant for a moment as he covered the wound, and when he took his hand away, Raeln could see the cut was closed, though the skin still looked raw there. For him that injury would have taken days to close, let alone heal properly. He had plenty of scars that would have been far less trouble had he met someone like Estin earlier in life.
“We’re alive,” Estin said, though he sounded as though he were trying to convince himself that it was enough. “Has anyone seen my fox?”
Raeln shook his head, as did the others. “I saw her in the house but never outside,” he said. “She might have gotten caught inside or she may have hidden from the fight. I’m sorry…”
Shaking his head, Estin dismissed Raeln and went to sit a little farther from the group. Though Raeln could tell he was not really angry about the loss of the animal so much as the loss of Thomin and Ira, Estin rubbed at his wife’s claws that still hung on the necklace he wore. Raeln could see in him a mirror for his own feelings: they were both sick of losing people, whether old friends and family or newly met strangers.
“Get yourself cleaned up before something finds your stench. All that blood will attract attention we don’t want,” warned On’esquin, sticking a thumb in the direction of the river.
Raeln agreed with him, trying not to look at the gruesome stains that covered the front of his clothing and fur. The hole in his shoulder ached fiercely, but he would trust in his tourniquet until Estin was ready to deal with more injuries. He could feel dried blood all through his coat, from his chin to the tips of his fingers and all the way down to the matted fur between his toes.
Leaving behind most of his gear but taking the rolled-up single change of clothing he had brought with him, Raeln headed into the woods toward the stream. He moved cautiously, knowing the water was likely farther out than it sounded and not wanting to be the one to accidentally lead a raiding party back to the camp or tumble clumsily into the water.
He soon reached the edge of the water—a narrow stream that raced downhill through jagged rocks. It was thankfully deep enough that he could wash himself without having to scoop water and splash himself—a small thing, but one that made him feel far more relaxed, as he could keep a watch while bathing.
Stripping, Raeln stepped into the stream and waded until the water was up to the middle of his stomach. He checked the shores one more time for pursuit, but finding none, he settled in to scrub the filth from himself. Sinking to his knees, he took a deep breath and plunged his upper half into the cold water, rubbing his fur while he was underwater to get rid of as much blood as he could. When he came back up, he felt exhilarated, the chill water bringing back an alertness that had waned with each day he failed to sleep. Unfortunately, it made the pain in his shoulder that much worse, but he was willing to ignore that for the moment.
Raeln let his exposed fur dry a little as he stood in the stream, trying not to shiver. Then he prepared to dunk himself again and stopped halfway bent, smelling something different. He moved his ears every which way, trying to identify anything moving. It took him a second before he heard quiet sounds on the beach behind him, as though something were padding toward him. His first thought was a mountain lion or perhaps a wolf.
Spinning as best he could in the water, Raeln came around to face Estin’s fox, seated on the bank of the river. The animal sat atop three backpacks that appeared to be loaded with supplies…the very supplies they had left in Thomin and Ira’s home. Grinning like a self-satisfied child, the fox wagged its tail and waited for him to say something.
“This is too much,” Raeln thought aloud, marching out of the river. As soon as he reached the shore, the fox backed away nervously, averting her eyes. “Any one of those packs is heavier than you are. How the hells could you bring three and almost beat us out here? What are you?”
The fox slunk out of reach and sat down, giving him a grin he would have called cheesy on a humanoid. On an animal, it was eerie.
“We’re going to have a long talk with Estin about you,” Raeln growled, picking up one of the backpacks. Through the edge of the flap, he could see metal cans, a bedroll, and more clothing. “I’m done pretending you’re just an animal. Whatever you are, we figure that out tonight.”
The fox got up and walked over to stand in
front of Raeln, carefully keeping her eyes above his waist as he stood there, dripping. She glanced at the other two backpacks and then said in a clear voice, “Very well, Raeln. You and I will stop pretending. Don’t expect me to carry those packs again. As you were so observant to notice, they are heavy for me. Be thankful that the Turessians weren’t looking for me, so that I had time to collect what you all left behind. That was careless and could have gotten us all killed in time.”
Raeln took a step back from the fox, the chill from the water in his fur dwarfed by the shiver at having the animal speak. He tried to call for help, but words would not come. His voice came out as little more than a gasp.
“And put on your pants. No one here wants to see that,” the fox added before turning and walking away, swishing her white-tipped tail as she disappeared into the woods. “If you tell on me, I’ll be sure to let Yoska know that you parade around in nothing but your fur for the woodland animals. Think how long he will be able to find humor in that.”
Chapter Eight
“Something Found”
The cast-offs will be my true heirs. Not for power, not for wisdom, but for their suffering without merit. They will be the ones who understand what we have come from and why we must not be like those before us. They endure what we did, and unlike the others, they have not forgotten those pains.
We were slaves to the ignorant, to those who viewed us as the savages. We fought to free ourselves against greater odds and we won in time. It was that struggle that made us who we were, a humble people trying to help our neighboring nations against similar injustice. We were once the animals, the whipped, and the chained. It was that origin that those like my brother most fear returning to and are willing to inflict on others to avoid.
Those we discard as people will rise up through a few exceptional individuals. We place our hope on them, and it is from this fate that the man of black and white will come. It is through our own choices that we create our fate. All of them will make many sacrifices, but if they survive, it will be worth it all.
A prophecy is only as good as the drive to crush it. We will cause much pain to create those who will save us from even greater.
- Excerpt from the lost prophecies of Turess
Departing from Pholithia and Urishaan itself proved almost trivial, surprising Estin. He had expected the Turessians to return within hours, but they never showed themselves again as the group traveled the old roads through the woods ever northward. The paths were overgrown and abandoned, making them ideal for their purposes. Anyone with a wagon or other carriage would find the woodland trails nearly unusable. Even a week later, they Estin had seen no hint of pursuit.
After their escape, Raeln had become unusually quiet, even for him. At first Estin had thought it was a reaction to his shoulder wound, which Estin had hurried to mend once he knew about it. That seemed to change little, though. The man openly avoided the fox that had managed to make her way back to them, which struck Estin as bizarre. When Estin had asked about it, Raeln had given the fox a nervous look and then walked away without explaining.
Estin rolled over on the hard dirt, trying to find a position where he could get comfortable and possibly sleep another hour or two before the sun rose. The others had taken to a rotating watch during the night to allow them all to sleep in the dark, in hopes that any pursuers would have more difficulty finding them without the light. That had proven disastrous to Estin’s ability to sleep—from what he knew of himself, he was either a night-person or his breed was, making it difficult to sleep more than passingly at night.
The fox came snuffling up alongside Estin as he adjusted again, checking on him to be sure he was all right. She was a sweet animal, constantly worried about him, but he hardly needed a cold nose poking him in the face when sleep was already elusive. Grumpily, he pushed the animal away and settled onto his tail, using it as a pillow.
For a while Estin remained awake, though so tired he could not fathom why he was not asleep as soon as he closed his eyes. Then, gradually, sleep came over him and he drifted off, the cold and the hard ground fading away.
Faces came to him as soon as his mind relaxed. He saw Feanne as she had looked the day they said their life-mating vows. She was stunning but nervous. It was one of the few times he had ever seen her truly shaken by anything other than fear for the lives of him or their children. She had faced armies without hesitation, but confessing her love of a male of a different breed in public had been almost more than she could manage. They had gone through so much to get to that simple statement of love.
Feanne faded into the background and other faces moved to the forefront. These were his and Feanne’s children, though Estin knew two of them could have been another man’s. They were his children as far as he was concerned, despite all of them looking more like their mother than him. Oria, the older female, a strong-willed creature like her mother. Atall, the older male, an incredibly powerful wizard despite the lack of real training. Alyana, the mischievous little female who tormented her bothers. Rinam, somewhat of a coward, but more than willing to back up Alyana in anything she tried to do. Theldis, named for Estin’s own father, with his slightly orange eyes and calm acceptance of whatever came.
Estin smiled at the memories of his family, but dread began to sneak in with the thoughts. He could feel something horrible coming and knew there was nothing he could do to prevent it. As was the way of dreams, his waking mind knew what pain accompanied the memories, but the dream was slower to remind him.
The first change in the dreams came when a robed man stepped between Estin and his family. Estin was powerless to approach, the dream holding him back as the man grabbed Atall. With an amused laugh, the man drove his fist into Atall’s chest the same way the Turessian had to Thomin so recently, shattering bone and spraying blood in all directions. Through it all and until he fell limply, Atall stared pleadingly at Estin.
Then the Turessian and Atall were gone. They were both lost to Estin. His son was dead and his body destroyed before Estin could have saved him and the Turessian—an insane man named Arturis—had died at Estin’s hand. There was nothing he could do to or for either of them anymore. His revenge was over and it left him empty. Revenge would not give him direction anymore.
The other children tried to run to Estin and Feanne, but brightly glowing clouds of mist rolled between them and their parents. Estin screamed for his children and could hear Feanne doing the same, but with the cloud between them, there was nothing he could do. Helplessly, he watched as Oria hugged the younger kits to her and the mists closed around them. The last thing he heard were Oria’s screams as the mists washed over them.
Estin knew what was coming next. His subconscious mind dreaded the next part of the dream, knowing it was all too final. The only member of his family who still lived was about to die. He had watched it each night in his mind, but it had grown no easier to bear. Instead of facing it, he clawed at the boundary of his sleeping mind, trying to wake himself, even as his actions in the dream went on.
Turning to reach for Feanne, Estin felt all the motivation drain from him as he saw she was already holding her side. She shook her head sadly and pulled her hand away, revealing the large open wound that poured her lifeblood out.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, stumbling as she grew weak. “No regrets, my love.”
Estin screamed in the dream as Feanne collapsed and he found himself sitting upright and awake. His heart was racing and his limbs trembled with the painful memories. Pulling his knees up to bury his face against them and wrapping his tail around himself protectively, Estin sobbed softly, trying to let it pass before the others woke. To him this was a weakness he had no desire to share with anyone else. They all had seen enough death that those he had endured were his problem and not theirs.
As Estin tried to contain his grief, he realized he felt something else. Deep within himself, he could feel the anger, the rage, and the power that came with the strange magical gift On’esquin h
ad given him. That…creature…within himself longed to come forward, to destroy his enemies and punish those who had hurt him and his family. Such a desire was alien to Estin, making it easy to recognize, though not as easy to push back down.
In an attempt to escape the desire to kill, Estin looked around the camp, hoping someone was awake to talk with. He could see Yoska and Raeln curled up and softly snoring, though Raeln shook and twitched in the throes of his own nightmares. On’esquin was nowhere to be found, as Estin had expected, given that the man was on watch.
Estin lowered his eyes and saw the fox was sitting attentively, watching him with concern. When he met her eyes, the fox cocked her head and then gave a pointed look at the bag with Feanne’s remains and then back to Estin.
“Yes, I was dreaming about her,” he admitted, having long-since stopped feeling foolish talking to the animal. He had taken to doing so only when Raeln was asleep, as he always looked nervous when Estin did so.
A crack of a branch put Estin instantly on guard, but On’esquin emerged from the woods nearby, his spear slung over his back. The man lumbered in and sat down across from Estin, giving the fox a curious look, and then returned his attention to Estin.
“We were followed,” the orc said softly, picking at burrs that were caught all over his robes. His armor seemed to be too thick for the prickly things to attach, but where it did not cover, he had hundreds of the small sharp bits. “I found thirty zombies. They’re trying to flush us out.”
