FIERCE: A Heroic Fantasy Adventure (BRUTAL TRILOGY Book 2)

by James Alderdice

She pulled away and stood with a single tear running down her cheek.

  “It’s not the end,” he said.

  “I like you, Gathelaus. I will miss you,” she said.

  Other travelers who did not move as slowly as the slave train, hurried to be down the mountain before dusk.

  “Why are they in such a hurry?” Gathelaus asked.

  “They think the smoky mountains are haunted and the abode of malevolent gods.”

  “Are they?” he asked with a grin.

  “I don’t know, but it is what folk say. I should not doubt it.”

  A dozen men garbed in cloaks stained in blood came from the city. They stopped and spoke to Tezomoc. After a heated conversation the twelve men continued on their way.

  “What was that about?”

  Coco watched nervously as the men strode back down the mountain road in the opposite direction. “They are priests, acolytes of the Nagual shaman, Cuauhtémoc.”

  “And who is that?”

  “He is the sorcerer king of black magic. He serves king Itzcoatl, but rumors say it is he who truly rules the land.”

  “What did they want?”

  She looked about to be sure no one could hear her. “They reminded Tezomoc to pay tribute to the gods of the mountain or that something evil might happen to his property.”

  “It didn’t look like he agreed.”

  “He didn’t. He told them to go fornicate with tapirs.”

  “What is a tapir?”

  Coco shook her head. “You don’t understand. They weren’t really asking, they were demanding. And if Tezomoc doesn’t pay what they want, we could all suffer.”

  Gathelaus apparently didn’t look like he understood the gravity of the situation, so she emphasized. “Tezomoc is vain, he thinks his royal blood puts him above the law. But he is playing with fire.”

  A man near to Tezomoc’s palanquin barked at Coco. She gave a half-smile to Gathelaus and hurried to heed her new master’s call.

  As night came on, the wind flailed and it grew chilly between the snow-capped mountains. Smoke rose in long spindly columns from the tops of the volcanic mounts, but Coco had told him earlier that they had not erupted in centuries.

  Stars winked into existence until the full wheel-like image of the cosmic serpent reeled overhead. A few of Tezomoc’s retainers pled with him and he haughtily shot them down until finally he had his men prepare a small repast of food and put it at the far end of their camp upon the stone idol of a reclining man who held a warped tray upon his chest.

  Gathelaus couldn’t understand the words but the meaning of the muttering slaves beside him was simple enough to understand. Tezomoc had given an offering, but it was regarded that he had left a miserly appeasement and that trouble might soon follow for his stinginess.

  Not knowing nor caring much for the customs of the land, Gathelaus paid it no more heed and went to sleep.

  Gods of the Mountain

  Gathelaus awoke to bloodcurdling screams and awful cries of fear. The fires of the camp had been extinguished. The black ground merged in unholy union with the night, making it almost impossible to tell where earth ended, and sky began. The slave chain jostled back and forth as the folk cowered each way, pulling him in a tug of war.

  Defiant and confused snarls came from Tezomoc’s guardsmen, followed by the deep guttural roar of beasts with such depth that its resonant bellow rattled his bones to the core. The low-pitched sound induced a primal fear, difficult to shake. The folk beside him smelled like they had soiled themselves.

  Shapes of large men darted in the gloom like black lightning. They took up a few choice people and just as suddenly vanished among the crags.

  A guardsman shouted and loosed an arrow. A guttural wince confirmed an arrow had found its mark. A towering form stood near and yanked a slave from beside him, rending the rope that bound the slaves together as if it were twine. A warm splash hit Gathelaus in the face, and by the salty flavor he knew it was blood.

  The terrible mysterious giant had just rent a man in twain.

  A pair of slaves to his left tugged on the rope still caught between the yoke upon Gathelaus’s neck. It pulled loose, partially freeing him.

  A woman screamed somewhere out in the cold distance and he was sure that it was Coco. Slamming his yoke against a nearby boulder, he shattered the wood until he was free.

  “Coco! Coco!”

  “Gathelaus!” came her distant answer, from somewhere up the slope well beyond the ribbon of road.

  Gathelaus reeled at the answer. These gods of the mountains had suddenly attacked and taken the girl and already raced far up the mountainside. What could do such a thing?

  He had no weapon at hand but raced up and after her. He wondered at how any man could have carried Coco up the steep mountainside, as he had a hard time himself in the dark finding purchase on the treacherous and jagged basalt. Once he struggled past the initial steep incline, he found a ledge ten yards up and a trail that slithered up the mountain.

  These night raiders must have planned an auspicious attack and escaped in their secret ways before Tezomoc’s men could mount a counterattack.

  Still having no weapon, he constantly scanned the dark ground for any sign of his opponents, whether a trap or blood trail. The muffled sound of Coco’s struggle seemed already a good deal farther on than he would have supposed. The mountain goat like surety of these raiders must be keen.

  The roaring wind blew in Gathelaus’s face. Good. It would help conceal his approach. Between the wind, darkness, and fear they had wrought, his enemies should not expect that he trailed them.

  The trail wound around the mountain, leading between the two volcanoes and to the far side more than a league above the road and camp of Tezomoc below. Despite the gloom, Gathelaus mused how men hiding upon these crags might have watched the caravans completely unseen.

  Once far head, Gathelaus thought he saw the tease of the orange glow of a lantern, but it disappeared just as swiftly as he saw it.

  The trail split into three forks and, though he tried to read the sign of passage, in the dark it appeared possible that feet had trod all three recently. Suspecting a trap, he warily kept to the top most track.

  The false dawn gave an eerie cast to the sky. Gathelaus listened intently but heard no more sign of the raiders, nor of Coco. He continued on the path until it became a dead end at a shallow cliff face. He scanned all around the edge but could find no continuing trail or path. He saw no hand holds where someone might have scaled the face and it was far too sheer for him to believe anyone ascended it without a rope. Above, a wide finger of the mountain shot out, eliminating the possibility that there was anywhere to go above.

  He pulled his tunic close about himself, as now that he had stopped moving, the biting wind and cold became urgent. Seeking some respite, he moved in close to the cliff face and sought a spot to shield him. Tired, he moved into the most comfortable spot he could at the base.

  As he attempted to rest his eyes, he caught sight of a horizontal crack with a miniscule gleam of light farther in. Wondering if it was but the fires of the mountain, he focused and became sure that it was not fire but an oil lamp upon the wall of a hidden interior chamber.

  A small ripped piece of silk from Coco’s girdle protruded from the seam and thus afforded the barest edge in keeping what would have been an ingenious hidden door invisible.

  Launching to his feet, he ran his fingers over the cold stone, searching for the hidden release. A curious pivot along the ground proved the catch and he swung the perfectly balanced door in and shut it behind him. Aware that the blast of air might alert the inhabitants, he had no choice but to come in and attack. Always, when there is nothing else to do, he reminded himself, you must attack.

  The intense warmth inside the tunnel hit him like the flames of a bonfire compared to the cold of the cruel mountainside. Whether it was by getting out of the winds or heat from a volcanic heart, he was not sure.

  Crudely carved
steps led down into a black abyss, but somewhere far down yet another winding passage, a soft glow revealed the existence of another lamp.

  Straining his ears, Gathelaus thought he heard a low mutter or chant of deep bass voices and the lusty throb of kettle drums. But his ears still rang from the outside and he was not sure.

  The tunnel reached up to at least twice the height of Gathelaus’s head. It was broad enough for three men to walk side by side as well. Moving cautiously down the steps, Gathelaus’s instincts had him coiled to react in an instant to whatever threat might present itself. The tunnel wound down steeply, but upon reaching almost twenty spans, it flattened and curved along, snakelike. Another torch at the bottom granted enough light that Gathelaus saw large footprints on the dusty ground. Some were as men, but a few were as large as the greatest of apes that lived in Valchiki or Bhustan; these measured nearly twice the length of Gathelaus’s own large foot.

  “By the gods,” he swore.

  A blast of air pressure told him someone had opened the hidden doorway above. Glancing about for anywhere to conceal himself, he was struck at how truly bare the tunnel was. It appeared to be half natural lava tube and half carved out by hand. There was nothing to do but race on to a point where perhaps he could ambush these men. If they were men.

  Rounding down the passage, he came to a section that held jagged natural cracks with a few places of concealment. A shallow ledge at the height of his calves twisted up, and there was a fissure he could just barely squeeze into to wrap himself in darkness. He had just wedged himself in, when the slap of broad heavy feet sounded from around the corner. The heavy tread masked the lighter step of men who strode past his hiding place first. Gathelaus counted four men with dusky brown feet and similar enough sandals to those in Tezomoc’s caravan—by the enormous feet of a creature that dwarfed even the tracks he had seen earlier. Its skin was dark grey and looked rough like a rhinoceros’ hide. Shaggy grey fur flowed down its calves and incredibly hairy ankles, but the sole of its foot was bare and man-like. Black nails sprouted from each of its toes and its arms were long and hung at its side just enough for Gathelaus to see the equally black, sharp talons upon its strong dexterous fingers. It paused a moment, directly beside Gathelaus’s hiding spot. The great inhalation of breath through its massive nose made Gathelaus believe he’d been caught, but a shout from one of the men ahead caused the monster to turn and follow them along the corridor. Nearby, a door shut.

  He stayed there for a long moment, waiting to be sure they hadn’t lain in wait for him to appear. What was that thing? At least it appeared to be intelligent enough to do as men bid it. One of those beasts must have been what he saw tear a slave in half back down on the mountain.

  Edging forward, Gathelaus found the door they had passed through. It was made of wooden planks banded together with ornate copper. He could see between the planks. But once he passed through, he saw that the doors were but a façade for the true doorway which was great slabs of stone and mounted on an intricate system of massive counter levers, pulleys and ropes that could make the door impassable. If the thing was shut, no one could ever batter it down from the other side of the tunnel. This could be a most secure refuge if needed. Beyond a short hallway lined with long draping curtains lay what looked like a grand gallery with many lights and folk inside celebrating.

  This underworld palace must surely be the realm of these gods of the mountain, but now it was clear enough that those who benefited from the fear and such were not gods but very human opportunists. Gathelaus swore to himself and pushed the door open just enough to slide through and creep forward. He clung to the shadows and crossed warily to a section of long curtains beside the gallery’s entrance.

  Over two dozen priests, servants of the one called Cuauhtémoc, stood in a circle surrounding a number of the plundered slaves—including Coco. Five great hairy men stood by as well. They were thickly set, with long arms and garish faces, long teeth like tusk’s leered upward from their lower jaws. They had yellow eyes deeply set in their thick skulls but there was an air of intelligence along with the animal in them. These would not be simple beasts to slay or trick like a guard dog, these would be the worst of foes imaginable.

  They seemed in a trance and Gathelaus wondered at how these priests held sway over such powerful brutes.

  There was a continual jabbering of the priests and Gathelaus could understand none of it. But he could tell they were readying something. A sacrifice?

  He crept through a curtained alcove to get a better look at the grand gallery and saw now that, at the far end and upon a raised dais rested a massive statue carved of obsidian that resembled the great ape men. It sat upon its haunches with an imperious scowl on its face and upon the statue’s brow was a great yellow jewel, set like the foremost spire of a crown. The jewel, as large as a man’s hand, was shaped like a teardrop. Lights from the myriad oil lamps danced from its multifaceted face and reflected off the walls.

  A brass gong sounded with an ear shattering shudder and the ape men sat in repose just behind the captured slaves. A trio of priests pulled upon a rope and a slice of moonlight shone through some aperture cut into the mountain far above.

  Gathelaus guessed that it must be magnified many times over with a crystal, for no regular light of the moon could be so intense.

  It struck the jewel on the stone god’s face and refracted outward in a dazzling display. Five of more than a dozen beams shone directly into the eyes of the ape men and held them transfixed.

  The high priest called out in an intelligible tongue and slowly the ape men stood. The light from the jewel rose with them individually, though by standing they were at least five to six feet taller than when they sat upon the floor.

  The gong sounded again, and a squealing girl was taken from the clutch of slaves and carried to the fore where a sacrificial table was set beneath the glowing gaze of the stone ape god.

  Four of the priests held her by arm, leg and foot as a fifth stood at the head of the table with a long obsidian dagger accented with turquoise along a snake-like hilt.

  With even a club, Gathelaus was confident he could cut down the score of priests, but what of those monstrous ape men? With their humongous size, they had to have the strength of a titan—maybe greater Their size was incredible, and their relative strength would be greater than a titan’s! What could he do against one, let alone five? The ape men appeared to still be in a trance. If he attacked would they suddenly become aware?

  Whatever fate was about to take the young girl would soon follow for Coco. Gathelaus gritted his teeth and looked for any weapon of improvisation.

  One of the priests near the back of the gallery leaned beside a pillar made from a stalactite and stalagmite meeting in twain. He was armed with a knife and spear.

  Gathelaus crept closer, silent as death, and took the man about the throat and mouth, jerked him back, and broke his neck like a rotten branch.

  He put the priest’s dirty black cloak on, but, standing a head taller than most of the folk on this continent, Gathelaus’s disguise wouldn’t fool anyone for more than a moment. But sometimes a moment is all it takes to succeed.

  Gathelaus detected a slight amount of movement in the moon beam. He guessed that as it moved across the sky, the light would reach its zenith as the blade fell and then be gone. He had to act fast, believing that the ape men would only remain in their trance so long as the light of the jewel struck their eyes.

  When the lead priest reached the final staccato verse, he raised the dagger high above the struggling girl. Gathelaus knew the priest’s invocation was nearly complete.

  He stalked forward with the spear in hand. Midway across the gallery, the high priest sucked in a deep breath, ready to plunge the knife. The girl’s screams went silent, facing that glinting death.

  Gathelaus coiled his arm back and let the spear fly. The obsidian point slammed through the high priest’s chest and stood out a foot beyond his spine. His mouth opened, but no soun
d escaped his lips as he toppled over. The four priests holding the girl cried out in shock and let her go. They wheeled to face the threat and she scrambled away.

  The priests’ faces were painted as death’s heads, white and black like bleached skulls. Drawing their own daggers, they cried out in union of surprise at Gathelaus’s appearance and rushed to meet him.

  Warily, Gathelaus watched the ape men for reaction, but they remained stationary, oblivious to everything as the streaming jets of yellow light burned into their eyes.

  Another handful of priests rushed in from the sides of the gallery to attack. Gathelaus selected how they would meet him first. He rushed to one side and then the other, ripping his knife along their throats and chests. Blood hit the floor in thick jets and men fell crying out to dark gods.

  The obsidian knife in his hand broke upon the sternum of one priest and Gathelaus took up a short stool in its stead, this proving an even better weapon against his foes since it extended his reach and the hard wood proved an able bludgeon.

  Still, the ape men remained transfixed and immobile, bearing no sign that they recognized the carnage flooding around them.

  Coco cried out to Gathelaus, but he couldn’t understand her words because of the heat of battle. She was still bound with cords and unable to move.

  Ten priests lay dead or dying on the cavern floor and another ten circled Gathelaus. Either they hadn’t thought to call for reinforcements or they didn’t have any. None had sounded any kind of alarm as far as he could tell.

  One of them bumped against one of the apes but the ape man, likely weighing near a thousand stone, was immoveable and did not respond to the priest’s coaxing.

  Gathelaus made his way toward Coco and the other bound slaves. He called to the girl who was free to cut the bindings but she froze in fear, cowering near the feet of the great idol.

  Coco called to her and the girl, hardly younger than Coco herself, shook her head and shrieked rather than try and assist in their escape.

  One of the priests ran to attack the girl before she could act on Gathelaus or Coco’s urging, but before he could reach her, Gathelaus threw his broken stool and cracked the man on the back of the head.