by K. Ferrin
It was in one of these valleys that everything changed.
[ 10 ]
They had spent the last two days high in the mountains crossing through a pass just a hair’s width lower than the towering peaks surrounding it. The pass might have been lower than the hulking giants around them, but it was still far above the tree line. The landscape was barren; nothing but enormous boulders, jagged rocks and the wide brilliantly blue sky lived here. Magicless had never seen anything like it. Accustomed to the closeness of the Oakwood around Aclay, the vast openness made his head swim. Or maybe it was the lack of adequate air—he wasn’t sure which. Regardless, he could only take it in with swift, sweeping glances before he had to lower his eyes to the barren terrain around him in order to regain a proper sense of the world.
They had left trees well behind them. And shrubs. And grass. The only foliage visible was the multi-colored algae that decorated the rocks with a riotous variety of color. They had seen no wildlife or water for days and were subsisting on the little dried meat they had saved from their last kill and a small bit of dried fruit. The last of their water store was quickly vanishing, as well.
Ashier had spotted the valley during their last rest, and while it was somewhat out of their way, they all readily agreed that a delay of a couple of days was well worth a break to rest and restore their food and water supplies.
The terrain was rough going. Boulders bigger than any building Magicless had ever seen were scattered everywhere, as if the gods themselves had battled here, hurling entire mountains at one another and laughing as they shattered and sprayed rock in every direction. The thought reminded Magicless of the crackers set off in Aclay during festival days, exploding high in the sky and sending arcing sizzles of light scattering across the darkness.
Where there were no house-sized boulders, the ground was scattered with stones of every other size, leaving gaps and holes waiting to turn an unsuspecting ankle or break a careless leg. The rock was rough, crystalline, and jagged, and every exposed bit of skin was abraded or sliced from contact with it.
Their descent was slow, and as the day passed and the group drew closer, the valley below filled with an impenetrable fog. Magicless swore it was intentional, as if the valley itself were trying to hide from invaders. The wind that lifted Magicless’ sweaty hair and cooled his brow whirled and spun the fog below, turning the valley into a seething mass of swirling gray. Occasionally the breeze gusted and opened gaps in the dense fog, and Magicless could see abundant undergrowth and large trees filling the valley to bursting.
Foliage and trees meant game and water, and he ached in anticipation of fresh meat and cool spring water.
Elisa began to sing, her rich, throaty voice filling the empty air with a bawdy tune about a naïve sailor in a whorehouse that left all of them laughing as they continued their treacherous descent toward the trees below. Magicless noticed Elisa shooting sidelong glances at Jobin as they scrambled and clattered over the stone, and being none to subtle about it. Magicless chuckled to himself as he watched Jobin blush furiously under her attentions.
Eerie silence greeted them as they came closer instead of the bright twitter of birds you’d expect in a woodland, even one as isolated as this. The fleshy fog muted sound and choked the light. Giant fronded plants and dead trees loomed suddenly out of the grayness around them and vanished just as quickly behind. Rock was replaced with scummy mud that sucked at their boots as they walked, and thorny brambles began to rise up and grasp desperately at their cloaks as they passed. The fog was heavy with un-fallen rain. It drenched their clothes and soon their hair was plastered to their faces. Elisa stopped singing.
The more they pushed into the thicket, the taller the foliage towered over their heads—giant fronds that climbed fifteen or twenty feet into the air before falling back to the earth in a graceful fan. Vines draped over dead tree branches and fell densely to the ground. Some of the trees were draped so heavily it was a wonder they could even remain upright. Magicless passed shrubby brush as tall as a horse with thick, waxy leaves and brilliantly hued red and yellow plants that littered the ground, busily intertwining with Viper Vines sprouting thorns that were as long as a person’s hand. The mist swirled and danced its way through the thick foliage, playing hide-and-seek with the sun-bleached tree trunks and towering fronds. The effect was mesmerizing—they could see only the area immediately around them, everything else remaining hidden from view by shifting fog. Magicless felt the hair on his arms stand on end at the shifting nature of the world around him, and thoughts of the stories of the fearsome monsters that lurked near the Bogul Noz spun in his mind. He struggled to keep his knives in their sheaths in an effort to avoid looking—and feeling—like a coward.
There was no path through the valley, not even a game trail, and they were forced to push their way through dense underbrush that threatened to steal their packs and shred their clothes. Tredon and Leali led the way, followed by Ashier and Magicless. Magicless watched the others’ clothes as they were yanked and snagged by thorns and branches, their boots sinking into mud so deep it threatened to suck their boots from their feet. Scratches appeared on their arms and hands and faces as they pushed thorny Viper Vines out of the way and scraped through the underbrush.
Magicless saw the Viper Vines and underbrush. He saw the mud and heard it sucking at their boots, but he felt that he was walking on dry, clear earth, not trying to push his way through brush and swampland. He looked behind him, thinking that the ease of his passing was simply a product of the others clearing the path ahead of him. But behind him Jobin wrestled with the sucking mud, his arms and face lined with scratches from the thorns. Elisa, in the rear, was swearing as she pulled bits of thorn from her hair.
Magicless spoke without thinking, breaking his month-long, self-imposed silence. “Alekka, What do you feel about this place?”
If she was taken aback by his sudden return to the land of the speaking, she didn’t show it. She stopped and turned toward him, her eyes clouding as her attention moved elsewhere.
“I don’t know, Micah, I...” She shook her head. “I feel…nothing. Not the trees, not any animals, nothing. It’s as if this place simply doesn’t exist. I have never felt anything like it from a place so obviously filled with life.”
She senses nothing, and I feel nothing, Magicless thought, brows drawing further together in confusion.
“Do you sense a threat?” Tredon asked her sharply, pushing his way back toward her.
“No. No threat. No menace. Just, well—nothing. We may as well still be up there,” she motioned back up to the barren mountaintop.
“I wish this damned fog would clear so we could see what we’re walking into,” Ashier muttered, his patience obviously wearing thin.
“Alright,” Tredon said, drawing himself up to his full height. “We need food and water, and there must be dry land somewhere in this valley. Let’s keep pushing through, but be on your guard.”
Magicless considered telling the others about his peculiar observation, but thought better of it. They’d likely not even stop long enough to listen to him say it.
“Ligetu,” Tredon muttered, and Magicless wrinkled his nose as the smell of ozone filled the air around him. He watched as lightning flashed into both Tredon’s palms and twined up his arms until the man practically crackled with energy.
“Aeledfyr,” Ashier joined in, his hands flickering with a brilliant blue flame. Magicless felt the familiar moment of envy at the power they possessed. The others huddled closer and watched on high alert, but they held their powers at bay. He sighed and pulled his sword from its scabbard, the sound of metal on metal ringing through the clearing. It seemed so small compared to the flashing lightning and hissing burn of Tredon and Ashier.
He held the sword in front of him as they began moving deeper into the swampland. He saw abundant plant life all around him, but a test swing revealed his sword to be as unencumbered as he himself was. It moved freely, not catching in the bran
ches that surrounded them. He looked around, but the others were too preoccupied with their own efforts of moving through the scrub to notice.
Alekka moved beside him, and he was grateful for it, regardless of whatever was going on between them. They moved forward in a tight group.
After about a half an hour, they pushed through the last of the undergrowth and stumbled into a swampy clearing covered by murky water that went up to their knees. The others’ pant legs were wet and dripping, but his were dry as bone.
“Magicless,” Jobin said softly. “Look.”
Magicless turned around and looked to where Jobin was pointing at a footprint—Magicless’ own, within which was nothing but dry earth and thick green grass. As they watched, the scuzzy swamp water filled the print and the wild brush seemed to melt into place, covering the print completely. Magicless looked up at Jobin, his eyes wide. “What does it mean?” He asked. “How could that be?”
Jobin shook his head and raised his hands helplessly.
“Do you all feel that?” Leali’s voice was taut. “We are being watched. Can anyone see it? Or them?”
Most of the trees here were dead, the swamp filled with pale, dead trunks and barren branches stretching for the sky. Everything smelled wet and rotted and wormy. Magicless heard words of power drop quietly into the clearing around him as the others called on their magic. They moved to surround Jobin, ignoring Magicless. All except Alekka, who held her place by his side.
Magicless searched the shifting dimness around him, and through a small opening on the far side of the clearing he suddenly spied a small wood cabin far in the distance, woodsmoke cheerfully spilling out of the chimney and surrounded by a grassy clearing with a riotous cottage garden. It was tiny, as if he were seeing it through a looking glass and the house were miles away.
“What the...?” He moved across the clearing without a thought, trying to get a better look through the shifting fog.
“We know you’re there. Come out where we can see you!” Magicless jumped, and he turned from the cottage to look back across the clearing. Tredon had stepped out of the huddled group and stood halfway between Magicless—who had crossed half the clearing looking at the tiny cabin without noticing he’d done so—and the remainder of the group still huddled at the edge. He stood with his arms crackling at his sides, his chest and chin thrust forward. The breeze that had been their constant companion as they made their way down the rockslide stilled. Nothing moved. The quiet before the storm. Magicless suppressed a shudder.
“Come on! Face us like men, not like skulking cowards,” Tredon shouted into the fog. Magicless wondered if they were human at all, let alone male, but said nothing, and watched. Tredon turned back toward the others, searching the still fog behind them for any indication of movement.
Magicless heard it before he saw it—a sound like bird’s wings as they cut through the air, but much, much louder, and all around them. He saw a shape streaking through the fog toward Tredon’s back. Magicless yanked his sword high and leaped toward the shape, hacking through the air with all his might and hoping he connected with something. Metal clanged against metal, and Magicless saw an enormous sword bury itself in the muddy water at Tredon’s feet instead of in his back. The shock of the impact numbed Magicless’ arms up to his shoulders, but he sprinted back toward the others without pause. Whatever they were, more were coming—he could hear them flying all around him now. The sound of wings ripped through the air, whipping the fog to a froth.
Magicless saw Tredon raise his lightning-twined arms and the world slowed. Too late, he realized he was in between Tredon and whatever was attacking them. He tried to swerve out of the way but everything was happening too quickly. Tredon’s hand, alive with the force of his magic, moved to shove him aside as their bodies met, and Magicless shuddered in dread at what that deadly bolt would feel like shattering through his body. He braced himself, and was shoved backwards as Tredon’s meaty fist struck him in the chest, pushing him away.
Magicless waited, breath held, but there was no shock. The lightning that had been sizzling in Tredon’s palm guttered and fizzled out completely when it touched him.
Magicless’ jaw sagged with surprise, and he momentarily forgot the commotion around him. He should have been electrocuted where he stood. Tredon didn’t pause. He flung a fist toward an incoming shadow, a bolt of lightning arcing out from his open palm, striking it squarely. The thing flapped desperately, trying to right itself. The force from the creature’s wings knocked Magicless to the ground and his sword from his hand as it plowed into the muck, throwing a wave of filth over the gathered mages.
Magicless saw Tredon’s face twist with rage and a thirst for battle as he sprinted into the clearing, Leali and Ashier tight on his heels. The small clearing suddenly filled with the smoke and sizzle of magefire and the clamor of combat.
Magicless climbed to his feet. His head reeled with the implications of what had just happened. He tried to focus—there was no time to consider it now. Searching for his sword, he flailed around in what his eyes told him was mucky water but without feeling any wetness on his hands. Panic, thick and cloying like smoke, threatened to choke him. Without a sword, he had nothing with which to protect himself. Finally he felt cold steel under his hand, and he jerked the sword to the ready.
He looked up to find himself face to face with one of their attackers. Magicless could hear the shouts and screams of his companions, grunts and explosive outbursts of magic all around him. He ignored it all and focused on the creature before him. It was easily ten feet tall with the arms, legs, and torso of a man but with enormous, leathery wings bursting from its back. Its head was that of a bat, with small, beady eyes, a flat nose, and brilliantly white, sharp canines glaring from the red wetness of its mouth. It towered over him, grasping a sword the size of its body in a bony fist. It let forth a shrill screech as it moved toward him. Others answered, and a shiver of dread wriggled through Magicless as he saw four more of the monstrous beasts settle to the ground around him. He was surrounded.
There was no way he could fight off five of these giants. He circled warily, eyeing the enormous swords they carried and searching the clearing for help or for some advantage. With a jolt of fear, he realized he couldn’t see Alekka anywhere. Tredon, Ashier, and Leali were too far off, and judging from the bloodlust in their eyes, too far gone to even realize that he was in trouble. Elisa was close, but Jobin was closer. Jobin’s eyes were wide, his hands at his side, chest heaving—just like back in the square before Locke was killed.
“Jobin!” Magicless screamed, dodging and weaving around the oncoming creatures. “Jobin, I need help!”
Jobin’s head jerked toward him, and Magicless could see the fear in his eyes. Magicless felt his knees go weak with dread as he remembered. Jobin was bound. He had about as much power as Magicless did. Less. He didn’t know how to use a sword or a knife. Nevertheless, Jobin began wading toward him, his eyes going flat as he ran toward one of the creatures facing Magicless. He leapt onto its back, a scream ripping from his throat as his arms wrapped around the creature’s thick neck.
Magicless heard the whistle of a sword cutting through the air. He’d been watching Jobin and didn’t know which direction it was coming from. He threw all of his weight toward a dead tree standing nearby, hoping it would shield him from the swing. He crashed into the tree, stunned from the impact, and a moment later a heavy thud shook it as the creature’s sword buried itself deep in the wood.
Magicless had no time to waste. He shook his head to clear his mind from the jarring impact and darted around the far side of the tree. As he came around he swung hard and prayed his aim was true despite the ringing in his ears. He severed both of the creature’s arms above the wrist and thick, black blood spurted from the gaping holes that had once been its hands. The creature screamed, blood flying in every direction as it flailed madly. It leapt into the air, its wings knocking Magicless off his feet once again with the force of their beating, an
d as he fell he felt the breeze from another sword pass inches in front of his face.
He hadn’t even seen the second creature approaching. If the first hadn’t knocked him flat he’d be headless, and it would be his blood spurting from a gaping neck. The thought sent fresh adrenaline coursing through his veins. He was covered in blood, could hardly grasp the slick hilt of his sword. Jobin was nowhere to be seen, and neither were Alekka or Elisa.
His heart pounded in his chest and he could see a pulse of red at the corners of his eyes with each furious pump. He had insisted on coming—had believed he could handle himself in the face of any danger, but he was surely going to die here.
In desperation, he dove across the clearing, moving fast over the earth, at least not hindered by the sucking mud as the others were. He reached for one of the blades in his boot as he ran and launched it at the first creature that had attacked him. The knife buried itself to the hilt in the creature’s throat, and the thing fell to the ground without a sound.
Two more were tight on its heels. Magicless struck one of them with his remaining knife, which buried itself in the creature’s chest but too far to the side to hit its heart. The creature swung its sword, aiming to take off Magicless’ head. He saw movement behind and to his left—a quick glance showed Jobin running close beside him. The creature’s sword would take both their heads if it landed.
Magicless lurched back and to the side, shoving Jobin out of the way and barely managing to block the enormous sword. The impact tore his own sword from his hands. Magicless heard a whoompf beside him and saw a green barrier billow up around Jobin just as the creature’s sword hacked down on him. Sparks flew as metal met magic, and Magicless used the chaos as cover. He ran toward the beast and jumped high, reaching for the knife that still jutted from the creature’s chest. He got his hands around it, pulled his feet up to plant them on its chest, and pulled with all his might.
