Stormcaller (Book 1)

by Everet Martins

The searing acid in his legs became burning magma as he willed them to move faster. “We’ll make it, we’ll be OK,” he said.

  “It doesn’t look like it has other weapons, but you really need to move–” Juzo was cut off as his head smacked into Walter’s back when they came to a sudden stop. Another armored beast came into view from the east.

  “They’re circling us like wolves,” Walter said. He turned on his heel, heading south while readjusting Juzo. He slipped and stumbled to one knee on a patch of dark wet moss, tearing his trousers. A third Cerumal came into view from the north, beating a menacing blade on a ghastly spiked shield. The pounding summoned the distant roars of others. Walter’s breath heaved in his lungs, inching closer to his breaking point with Juzo on his back.

  Walter’s next step did not find purchase with solid earth, but slipped into a brush-covered hole, snapping small twigs and branches that hid it. He barked in surprise. His lurching forward trajectory carried his body, unable to stop as he and Juzo crashed into the rim of the hole at Walter’s chest, bouncing from the rim and plummeting at least four paces underground.

  They landed hard, Juzo cushioning Walter with his body. A loud pop emanated from Juzo’s chest. Juzo screamed, “My ribs! Ah!” Walter, running on pure adrenaline, kicked to his feet, clutched Juzo under his arms and dragged him from the hole’s center, knowing the Cerumal would be upon them. Two spears slammed into the subterranean floor in the shape of an X where the boys had been a moment before. Walter laughed shakily, awareness burgeoning that the Cerumal were too large to fit down such a small hole. Maybe there were advantages of not yet being full-grown, Walter thought.

  Fierce roars bellowed from above. “Are you OK?” Walter heaved out.

  Juzo wrapped his arms around his chest. “Oh, it hurts so bad,” He winced, a drop of blood sliding down his cheek.

  “Let me see,” Walter said, reaching a hand to Juzo’s chest. “A fractured rib is a common injury that happens when a bone in the rib cage cracks or breaks. The common method of injury is from a fall or forceful impact. While very painful, cracked ribs aren’t as life-threatening as those shattered into multiple pieces, where there are increased chances of lung puncture,” his mother had taught him. Walter gently palpated Juzo’s ribs. “You’re going to be OK. I know it hurts terribly now,” he said, massaging his friend’s neck.

  A Cerumal dipped its head into the hole, like a gopher seeking fresh squash to obliterate. It snapped its vicious teeth at them like a hungry dire wolf, releasing a breath smelling worse than a latrine. Walter dragged Juzo father away from the hole. The monster rose, and boldly plunged into the hole, stopping halfway through as its thick armor plate ground it to a screeching halt.

  “No way, there’s no way they can fit,” said Juzo, white-knuckling the roots behind him for support. The Cerumal’s legs worked furiously against the air. It started twisting its hips in a vain attempt to free itself, bellowing angrily.

  “Ha! They don’t seem to be that intelligent after all!” laughed Walter, pointing at the wriggling legs.

  “By the Dragon, I can’t believe it. Do you think it will stay stuck like that?” asked Juzo, raising an eyebrow. Walter moved closer, inspecting where the beast was firmly wedged in the black-and-auburn-veined stone rim. “It looks like it,” he said, snickering.

  “Well, the bright side is, it seems we’re now safe from the others with a cork in the hole,” he added, nodding to the kicking armored legs. Walter pulled the two lethal spears from under its legs – one was coated with fresh blood that had started congealing – and he handed the other to Juzo.

  Streams of pink light from the setting sun filtered through the spaces that the Cerumal hadn’t blocked, coating Walter’s face in its hues. “Thanks for breaking my fall, man, I always knew you were a good friend,” Walter said, smiling. Juzo started to laugh, and then immediately stifled it, supporting his ribs, but then resumed laughing at the horror and absurdity of it all.

  Chapter 8 – Blackout

  “Find the edge of my destructive hand. Feed it the essence of life and redeem mastery of the dark plane.” –from Necromancy and Wolves: The Veiled Darkness

  On the cold earth the boys slept, huddled together for warmth. Walter felt that they were passing through the eye of the needle, metamorphosing. They had initially considered sleeping in shifts, but realized they would both fail to stay conscious in the wake of the trials of yesterday. They agreed to a mutual rest despite the potential risks.

  The air was still when the morning sun rose and nourished the birch forest above. Annoying Rot Flies buzzed about them, seeking necrotic tissue to feed upon. The subterranean floor was carved as if by a massive disc, a perfect concave arc except for the occasional clump of gnarled roots or fallen stone. The tunnel was high enough for a man to stand in, and had a sinuous texture from the erosion of the rain season. It was damp and quiet, providing the illusion of safety one needed for restorative sleep.

  Walter lobbed a fist-sized stone at the Cerumal’s metallic legs, the clang waking Juzo and the beast.

  “So this isn’t a nightmare after all,” Juzo said, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

  “I’m afraid not. We need to find a way out of here. I can see more light around the next bend,” said Walter, craning his neck.

  “The bigger question is, where is here?” said Juzo, opening his arms.

  “I don’t know – I’ve never seen anything like it, have you?”

  The barrel-chested Cerumal roared and struggled desperately against its stony fetters.

  Juzo pondered a moment. “You know, this tunnel does look a lot like a drawing I saw in one of my Pa’s books, The Hunter’s Beast Compendium. That’s about all I can remember.”

  Walter rubbed at his chin. “Are you about ready?” Juzo appeared not to have heard him.

  “Not quite yet,” he said at last. A flurry of anger lit his eyes as he stared at the suspended legs. He hobbled to the Cerumal, wielding its jet-black spear in both hands. He growled and jabbed the point through the creature’s hamstring muscles where it wore only leather armor. Juzo tugged the barbed spear, pulling hard against its flesh, inflicting a terrible wound. The creature screamed, spouting gibberish. He repeated the process for its other leg, dark pools of blood forming around its bladed sabatons. Walter watched, dumbfounded, unable to thwart him or unleash his anger in the same capacity.

  “Doesn’t feel too good, does it?” Juzo said, huffing. It writhed, screams of anger becoming wails of pain as Juzo started hammering its gaping wounds with savage spear strikes. Juzo was in a blood rage – tunnel vision with a vengeance. His blows started thudding on bone. Each thud sent an icy shiver across Walter’s legs, stupefying him. The beast’s thick flesh surrounding it was torn and shredded. The Cerumal no longer screamed, writhed or kicked its legs in revolt.

  “OK!” Walter said, snapping him out of his onslaught.

  “OK,” Juzo said, catching his breath and turning, dropping the weapon. “OK,” he repeated, and slid down the wall, clenched fists trembling, eyes remote.

  “This hasn’t been easy, everything that’s happened, but we have to keep ourselves sane,” Walter said reassuringly, for both himself and Juzo. He rubbed his hand through his hair, pulling out a tiny dead root. “If we stray too far down the wrong path, there may be no turning around. We can’t become like them.”

  Juzo had occasional fits of explosive anger, but this was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Juzo sat slumped, dark eyes unfocused. His sagging posture combined with the dark blood spattered on his face was an accurate reflection of how Walter felt. Walter had trained longer than Juzo, enabling him to maintain the image of a man less affected, digging deep for internal strength.

  “Easy for you to say,” Juzo sighed.

  “And you think this has been a casual stroll in Breden Square for me?” Walter snapped.

  Juzo rolled up his trousers and removed his bandages, inspecting his wound. It was a grisly sight, despite repeated applications o
f antiseptic Ribwort oil. It had a black and greenish hue, obvious signs of infection. A Rot Fly landed on it, sticking its plunger-like proboscis into the wound. This certainly explains his spirits – it must be agonizing, Walter thought, drumming his fingers on his chest.

  Walter helped Juzo change his bandages and lifted him to his feet. “We’re going to be alright. We just need to get to Midgaard and get help. It’s just another three days’ march. I know we can make it,” Walter said, setting his jaw.

  “Yeah, we’ll be OK,” Juzo smiled feebly. “How do you know it’s only three days?”

  “Dad took me once for an elixir delivery. We didn’t stay long, but it’s an incredible city, truly. You’re going to love it,” he said with mild enthusiasm.

  “Are there lots of beautiful women with big tits and round behinds?” Juzo asked, the hint of a smile touching his eyes.

  “More than you could possibly handle – c’mon, let’s get moving.” Walter beckoned. They proceeded down the subterranean tunnels towards the other light source, leaving the twitching Cerumal legs behind. About fifteen minutes later they passed under what appeared to be another brush-and-sticks-covered hole above them. Walter peered up at it, beams of light glittering on his face.

  “By the Dragon, they’re traps,” said Juzo gravely.

  “And we fell through one…” Walter trailed off.

  “Who or what makes traps underground like this?” asked Juzo.

  Walter shook his head. “Let’s hope we don’t find out.” He hefted his dark spear, gripping it firmly, reminding himself of its existence.

  They traversed various bends in the tunnel, and encountered a fork, Walter leading them to the right. It felt like they were ants working their way through an artery. The tunnel gradually sloped downward, further into the depths, becoming increasingly colder. They rounded another bend, following where a faint beacon of light shone through the tunnel roof ahead of them.

  A dull crack resonated in the tunnel. The sticks strewn about the hole ahead gave way, raining organic debris. A black spotted fawn tumbled gracelessly onto the tunnel floor, smacking face first. The creature bleated in pain. Walter and Juzo froze, staring agape. The trap hole now clearly illuminated the creature to the detriment of their acclimated night vision.

  Something flowed from the darkness beyond the trap, like a living water skin. It moved as though it didn’t have bones. It was covered in thick gray fur, with small nubs where arms should be, studded with deadly spines. It didn’t appear to have eyes, but made up for that with an enormous maw and teeth the length of a man’s hand. It pounced on the fawn, its mouth outstretched, and brutally ripped a chunk of the bleating fawn’s throat out.

  Walter reached back for Juzo, not removing his gaze from the bulbous pincushion of a creature. They inched back, hardly breathing lest it detect them. They cautiously made their way around the bend from where they’d come.

  Walter’s hands were slick with perspiration. His spear slipped from his grasp. Grip too tight! He scolded himself. Luck was not on their side. The spearhead rattled when it made contact with a blunt stone. A sharp hiss slashed the air where the creature was. “Run!” Walter yelped, retrieving the weapon.

  The creature flowed across the ground, tumbling towards them and gnashing its grisly fangs. Walter dashed, leading them back to the last fork they’d passed, veering into the other branch. He hoped the creature would continue to follow the most direct path towards the trap they had fallen through, leaving them behind. Maybe it will find the Cerumal and feed on that.

  It seemed to be working as the spiked blob passed them. They watched from ten paces into the fork’s other branch. Juzo slipped on his bad leg, sliding on a patch of loose gravel. The creature paused, turning in their direction. Its enormous mouth opened broadly and a green, tendril-like tongue flickered in the air. Two large passages opened atop its tongue where it was widest. The verdant tongue appeared to be leading its mouth towards them, lapping at the air.

  “Not going to work,” Juzo mouthed in silence.

  He met Walter’s eyes, tapping his nose to indicate what the beast was doing. Walter nodded in understanding. Walter and Juzo stealthily slid further into the tunnel.

  The beast squatted low to the ground, its tongue inspecting the ground where they had been. The tongue retreated into its maw. It charged directly towards them, soft hisses darting through the air.

  Walters’s eyes widened. “Go!” He pushed Juzo ahead of him into a run. He glanced behind him as the creature gained ground. Juzo groaned in pain and forced himself to push through the agony. His wound opened, fresh blood oozing through his pants. They were approaching a dead end, the tunnel narrowing into a rounded point like a worm’s head.

  “Shit! Shit!” Juzo cried. He started to slow before the end while Walter looked back. Walter ran faster, as it was nearly upon him. He saw its razors-for-teeth clacking in the air. Walter crashed into Juzo, slamming him into what should have been hard earth at the dead end. They impossibly fell through the dead end, landing with a thud on something hard.

  They gathered themselves and stood in awe, Juzo taking in the crypt and Walter the dead end they had just passed through. The shape of the earthen dead end could be observed from this side. Its concave end penetrated the crypt, and then abruptly ceased without a speck of brown earth on the ground of the stony crypt.

  “It’s an illusion, or magic of some sort, like from the stories,” said Walter, eyebrows raised and mouth open. He watched the creature paw at the dead-end wall, its spiny nubs seemingly unable to penetrate it. Its tongue inspected it a moment and then, dissatisfied, it rolled back down the tunnel. Walter heaved a sigh of relief. “I don’t think it can get in, but how did we? Are you alright?”

  “I’m OK, are you? That spiny blob thing was almost on top of you,” Juzo said, brushing a fluffy coat of dust off his shirt. “Man, when people learn you can use the power of the Dragon, you’ll be in the Breden stories,” he said, smiling broadly.

  “Phoenix, I hope not,” Walter said, turning about the strange subterranean room.

  “I’m starting to think the stories are truer than anything else we’ve learned in school,” said Juzo, gaze transfixing an ornate sword in the corner.

  “Yeah, I don’t remember learning or seeing anything like this in history or architecture,” said Walter.

  The crypt was about the size of Walter’s modest bedroom. The walls were unnaturally lined with smooth, obviously carved, alabaster stone. A faint white glow emanated from the almost translucent stone, allowing them to see well enough. The air was dry and comfortably warm, the antithesis of the earthen tunnels. An almost imperceptible hum reverberated throughout the chamber. A thick carpet of dust covered the stone floor and obscure footprints led from a sarcophagus of shimmering black stone.

  Walter marched to the stone coffin. “Whatever was here isn’t here anymore,” he said, eyeing the footprints. The sarcophagus had heavy walls, thick as a forearm, strewn with bizarre, illegible inscriptions inside and out. The lid lay shattered in three pieces against an adjacent wall. On the underside of the lid there was an immaculately chiseled image of the sun behind a dueling Phoenix and Dragon in flight, their bodies entangling one another. Within the tomb were chains connected to the fragments of manacles glowing white like the walls. The chains were covered in a thick black substance that Walter was hesitant to touch. “You have to see this,” he said, incredulous.

  He looked up as Juzo strode by, ignoring him, heading towards the ornate blade resting in an equally ornate sheathe. As Juzo walked he kicked aside a small pile of bright, glittering stones. “Juzo, those are power-diamond marks you’re kicking, you fool!” Walter said. Walter snagged one from the floor, raising it to an open eye, the other tightly closed. “Do know what this is worth? We’re rich! We could buy a house in Breden for just one of these!” The stone was perfectly clear, other than the tiny dragon woven of flames that oscillated within, shimmering as the flames varied in intensity. “I
ncredible,” he said, stuffing the stone into his pocket, lips forming a broad smile. The only time he had seen one those before was in Midgaard’s Hall of Artifacts. He tossed one to Juzo, who caught it without looking, jamming it into his pocket.

  “Nice catch,” Walter said.

  “Yeah,” Juzo said absently. He reached the blade and intently unsheathed it before his eyes. The blade appeared to be swallowing the very light itself, visibly dimming the room. The blade wasn’t dark or black, but the very absence of light.

  “This blade is death – I could destroy anything with this weapon,” he said. Juzo’s eyes and face twisted for a moment, eyes briefly flashing with the same blackness as the weapon.

  I’m hallucinating – long day with little sleep. Though, that was bizarre… keep an eye on him, trust your gut, Walter thought. “Now that is a unique blade,” he said aloud.

  Juzo read the inscription on the sheathe: “Blackout, slayer of dreams. It seems appropriate, doesn’t it?” he asked breathlessly.

  “Indeed, let me see it.” Walter said, with his hand outstretched. Juzo started handing it towards him, and then paused.

  “This is mine, Walter, not yours or anyone else’s,” he said. He pulled the sword back to his chest, guarding it with both hands. “Let’s get out of here. We can look at it better when we’re outside in the sun,” he said.

  “Are you feeling OK?” Walter asked.

  Juzo shook his head, eyes down.

  “I just want to get out of this Dragon-forsaken, dungeon hole in the ground,” he said, vexed.

  “Me too, let’s go.” Walter knelt and stuffed the rest of the glittering marks into his satchel. In the corner opposite where the sword had been, laid something else encased in dust. Walter cautiously tapped it with his foot, dust cakes sliding off it. It appeared to be a gauntlet. He examined it, discovering its beauty. Sinuous curves coated the gauntlet, converging in the center to form a spiraled Dragon. Three thick leather straps hung loosely from the underside. His visceral reaction was to strap it to his dominant lash arm.