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

by James Alderdice

  “Let us draw in there and I will divine where he is.”

  The skiff glided in across the waters and they remained in a still place beside thick mangroves that led them to believe they would be sheltered from any possible humans passing by, though the onslaught of the insects was intense.

  Lighting his iron brazier, Tang Shook called upon the spirits and asked the smoky apparition that appeared three questions. “Is Gathelaus alive?”

  “He is.”

  “How far away is he from our position?”

  “He is two days walk to the southwest.”

  Tang Shook now pondered carefully what he must ask next. He looked expectantly at Niels and Galen.

  Niels shrugged.

  Galen blurted out, “Can we get home again?”

  “Yes.” And then the voice in the smoky mist faded away.

  “I like those odds,” said Niels. “I’ll head out to find him, some of us should stay here and keep our means of escape safe.”

  “It is my ship, I will remain here,” said Tang Shook.

  “I’ll come with you,” said Galen.

  Two others volunteered to remain with Tang Shook, while the other two men, Myles and Terah said they would come with Niels.

  “Then we best get moving and travel while still concealed by the dark. Two days is still a bit of travel.”

  “May the benign gods protect you,” said Tang Shook, waving them off as they boarded the long boat and crossed the mirrored lagoon.

  Blood Hunt

  Gathelaus moved through the verdant greenery and found a road not far from the sunken pyramid. The hard-packed earth made it plain this was a well-used path. He would need to be wary of other travelers and such. The last village took umbrage at his passing, and as out of the way as they were, they wouldn’t have likely even known of his escapades against the coatl or anything else in the arena. No, here he was the foreign devil and as such could expect little in the way of kindness or sympathy. He needed to find his comrades and Coco and see that she was all right. And what about what the old woman said? She had said he needed to destroy the gods here to open the way. Open the way? Was she talking about the Invisible River? Was it possible to destroy it by slaying the Nine Blood Gods and then having the way clear to sail home? It might be the only way.

  Because the jungle was especially dense on either side of the road, he remained upon it but slunk low and quick like a panther on the hunt. As he approached a long wide curve ahead, he warily made his way, listening for anything that might give warning of enemies.

  A rustle amongst a copse of trees ahead gave him pause. A deer leapt out, stopped on the road and looked at him. It was just as surprised as he was at its sudden appearance. Then it twitched its ears and dashed back into the thick foliage.

  Gathelaus glanced behind, curious as to what the deer had heard that he could not. A trio of men came into view from around the corner. They moved along the hard-packed road with soft moccasins and betrayed no humanly sound of their approach.

  Gathelaus instinctively determined the most advantageous position to fight them. He had only the knife and they bore macahuitls.

  They bayed like hounds catching a scent.

  Gathelaus stood his ground, waiting to see if they would charge him.

  The three of them did charge ahead, but within seconds, a dozen more men followed behind them.

  Gathelaus took off down the path of the deer and dove into the jungle. No matter how great a fighter, one man with but a dagger is ill met against a score of men with swords and spears. If only he had the blades of his sellswording days and the armor as well, he’d turn and make a bloody mess of these Tultecacans with their obsidian weapons and wicker armor. But in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

  Brambles caught at his legs and arms. He did not worry about leaving a trail, not yet, besides, perhaps there was a place ahead he might lay a trap for his pursuers, but he needed time to breathe and plan.

  He caught up to the deer which had turned to face him. It gave him only a moment’s curious glance and bounded a few paces away. A panther leapt from a tree and took the deer down with bone breaking efficiency. It turned and roared at Gathelaus, challenging him to try and steal its kill.

  Turning to race a new direction, Gathelaus crossed a narrow defile and raced up a steep leaf and detritus covered slope. This would be a dead giveaway even for a poor tracker, but give him the high ground and a better view of his next move.

  He struggled to climb, slipping many times and plowing long furrows into the black earth on his ascent, but he made it to the top just as he heard the panther growl at the shouting men. That should give him another minute or two.

  Hogs grunted behind him. Despite being upon the high ground, he was surprised to find that the top of the slope was a thickly wooded mire. The hogs rooted at small trees but retreated when they noticed him. All across the face of the top of the hill was deep mud. There would be no concealing a trail here. The only advantage to staying would be if he was only pursued by a couple men. But with a score or more, several could attack him and others would surely find a way around the slope and come at another side. Time to move on.

  He danced across the leaves and bits of rotted wood that cascaded across the jungle floor but still found himself stepping into deep pockets when there was no other placement possible.

  The roar of water ahead let him know why this spot was so moist.

  Coming through another copse of trees was a powerful waterfall and whitewater stream cascading across jutting black stones. Most of the torrent veered to the left and gushed away but it was running overly high and a good portion flowed right and created the mire through which he had just come.

  As he glanced about for a place to attempt a crossing, he heard the shouts of his pursuers. They were too far to cast spears or arrows but could see him across the muddy ground.

  Gathelaus climbed up a boulder and jumped to another. About a third of the way across he spotted a large stone that might afford a midway point, if he could leap that far.

  The white water was deafening.

  His pursuers still struggled crossing the muddy track, but once they reached the stream, he would be overwhelmed.

  Gathelaus dashed one way then other and leapt. His fingers raked over the top of the boulder, but his feet went low and slipped on the wet stone. He went down. The current grabbed him and pulled, forcing him down, and slammed him against another stone. He kicked away from the one that razed his skin and grabbed the peak of a triangular point a few feet away. Again his feet slipped on the slick bottom and he missed his goal. But he was moving swiftly away and out of sight of the hunters.

  Loud as the water was, he could hear another dull roar that meant another set of falls. He scrambled to reach the farther shore, but the relentless pull of the river carried him away. His back was struck again and then his fingers were banged and bruised by an underwater obstacle. Just as he thought he gained his bearings, he flew into nothingness. Any cry of shock was drowned out by the booming falls.

  He splashed down into a deep pool. The undertow slammed him to the floor and then pushed him aside. Begging for air, he swam across the pool and dragged himself to the shore. At least he was on the far side of the river from the hunters and a decent distance ahead of them.

  He crawled into a low hanging alcove and waited, hidden by a thin curtain of falling water.

  The hunters didn’t take long. They ran along the edge watching for any possible point of egress. They scanned the pool a long time, but seeing no obvious sign of his traveling on from there, no trail of water leading along the rocky shore, they hurried on downriver.

  Gathelaus waited another long few minutes in the cold pool. It was worthwhile. Some stragglers of the hunting party came by slowly, still scanning the waters. Hoping to find a sign once the larger body had gone by. It was crafty, but he was craftier.

  Waiting a few moments once they’d passed by, he edged around the few rocks w
hich could best give him cover and then made his way up the steep embankment. He moved like a panther ever wary of each and every step and careful to betray no sound.

  He lamented the very idea of slaying gods and yet running from men whom he would be able to beat in a simple duel back home. This alien land was as crazy and mixed up as anywhere he had ever been. And he thought the Kathulians were crazy, at least theirs was a madness he could understand.

  At the top of the embankment he watched a long moment again to see if the hunters doubled backed.

  Sensing nothing, he moved into the glade, only to find himself face to face with a score of men. Their spears and macahuitls pointed threateningly his way.

  A war chief with a feathered head-dress stepped forward and said, “This is our land, barbarian. We know its secrets. You don’t. But that won’t matter anymore. Your heart will be ripped from your chest, placed on the altar, and the smoke of its boiled blood will feed the gods.”

  Gathelaus considered racing back down to the pool behind him, but his peripheral vision caught men moving down there as well.

  “I saw you in the arena. You’re a dangerous man. But I brought a lot of men and you didn’t bring any,” said the war chief.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” said Mixamaxtla. “Take them.”

  The war chief’s eyes flared in shock as the gladiators poured from the trees with their own weapons and slashed with wild abandon.

  As great a fighter as the king’s men were they were not the equal of the gladiatorial men and slaves. Men that fight for pay are never so motivated as those that fight to the death.

  Screams of the dying echoed across the glade and then it was done. Two of the gladiators were wounded but none had died. Only two of the king’s men remained.

  “Hormahotec,” said Mixamaxtla. “You are in the wrong. This man from far across the sea has shown us the error of our ways with the Nine. He has slain some of them and broken the power they had that held all of our people in an unspeakable thrall.”

  “You lie,” spat Hormahotec. “The gods cannot be slain and he brings about our destruction by even spreading such trickery.”

  Mixamaxtla shook his head. “He slew the plumed serpent and the Mizquitli. And then even mighty Tlaloc is fallen beneath his blade.”

  Gathelaus tried to correct him on that, but Mixamaxtla shook his head, saying, “We met the old goddess of our lands, Coatlicue, and she told us of your victory. Now only Kama-Zotz remains and he, too, must fall and the dark doorway to their realm must be destroyed. Then we shall all be free as brothers.”

  Hormahotec laughed cruelly. “You’re all insane. Misled by fallen spirits and demons. I pity you.”

  Mixamaxtla looked to Gathelaus. “This is my land and I would see it purified. King Itzcoatl must know the truth. The Nine are demons who feast upon our flesh and soul. They must be banished, and Coatlicue has shown us the way with a man not born of our lands. It is time.”

  Hormahotec spit upon Mixamaxtla. “Go to Xibalba, you traitorous cur! I’ll see all of your entrails strung out while you live and that of your family too!”

  Mixamaxtla held his composure until his family was mentioned. Then he back handed Hormahotec hard enough to knock the war chief unconscious.

  “You met the old woman?” asked Gathelaus.

  “Old woman?” asked Mixamaxtla, quite puzzled.

  “Yes. You said you spoke to Coatlicue and she told you of her guiding me here and helping me to defeat Tlaloc.”

  Mixamaxtla looked puzzled, but then his face warmed as he realized something. “Oh yes, we met Coatlicue. But to you, a barbarian from the north lands, she appeared as an old woman. To us, her native-born sons, she appeared as her true self.”

  Gathelaus gestured, “And?”

  “She is a monstrous two-headed snake woman. She stands twelve feet tall and has great claws upon her hands and feet and when she speaks it is like a great shaft of whirlwinds. If she had appeared to you as such, you would have thought her a monster and attacked. She came to you in a form you could listen to and understand.”

  Gathelaus nodded, grateful that she had concealed her true identity.

  “We also have some men that we wish to show you,” said Ptemauc, one of the fellow gladiators from his former ball team.

  “Why?” asked Gathelaus. “You must know your own people better than I.”

  Mixamaxtla raised a finger and strode into the tree line. He reappeared a moment later with three men, bound and gagged. “These men are pale like you. We found it curious that they were in our lands and so captured them.”

  The bound men mumbled through their gags.

  “Let them speak,” said Gathelaus.

  Mixamaxtla pulled o the gag from the closest man. He left the bindings upon his arms and the blindfold intact.

  “King Gathelaus. I’m glad we were able to find and rescue you,” said Niels, with some effort because of his uncomfortable bonds.

  “Niels! How came you here?”

  The Pool of Sacrifice

  After a brief reunion and explanation of their arrival, Gathelaus explained the bizarre happenings with the Nine Blood Gods and his intent to find and rescue the woman, Coco. “But first we must find where she has been taken.”

  Mixamaxtla suggested, “Perhaps these two,” he motioned to Hormahotec and the man beside him, “know where the Nagual has taken her.”

  “That’s as good an idea as any,” said Gathelaus.

  “My Blood Brother,” said Mixamaxtla.

  The name caught Gathelaus by surprise, but he readily accepted it. “Yes?”

  “I would send word to King Itzcoatl one more time, telling him of what the goddess Coatlicue affirmed. I believe he should have one last chance to accept the truth of the Nine before we make him and his minions pay with blood.”

  “A noble gesture, but he has the armies and men. Would he listen?”

  Mixamaxtla nodded. “I believe he would. He has always been an honorable man and the very life force of the Nine is so weakened in our lands that he cannot deny the shift in cosmic power. The very essence of life in our lands in changing and moving away from that of the Blood Gods. I ask that he have a chance to repent his ways and accept the truth.”

  Gathelaus nodded. “However, you want to do that, you have my blessing.”

  Mixamaxtla stood Hormahotec up and cut his bindings. “You have heard my words. Go and tell the king of our truth.”

  Hormahotec scowled at them and trotted away. Once he was a hundred yards away, he shouted, “Damn you all! The Blood Gods will feast upon your flesh!”

  “You will tell the king the truth,” shouted Mixamaxtla after him.

  Gathelaus looked to his own men, who were confused at the exchange as they could understand nothing of the Tultecacan tongue and could only interpret the animosity of it all. That, and they were taken aback that Gathelaus had the power to speak and be understood by any man there despite his only speaking Vjornish as near as they could tell. The confusion in their eyes had him say softly, “I have a magic stone. Everyone can understand me and I can understand everyone. It will be a shame when I have to give it back.”

  “Give it back to whom?”

  “The woman I am trying to find and rescue.”

  “What woman?” asked Niels. “You find someone everywhere you go. Tang Shook. Said that…”

  Gathelaus smiled and remembered bitterly the end of Nicene once again but he hid that from the others quickly with the remark. “You left YonGee and brought Tang Shook?”

  Niels nodded. “He is the one with the boat that was able to bring us here. He is also the one who told us that your actions were weakening the Invisible River and that we might not need to struggle to cross back over it.”

  “I was told that the slaying of the Nine weakens their magical barrier as well. I need to find out about Nicene, but first I must rescue Coco.”

  “Who?” asked Niels, but Gathelaus was already picking up the last hostage of the king
by the scruff of his top-knotted hair.

  “Where has he taken her?” shouted Gathelaus, nearly throttling the man.

  “To the City of the Sorcerer. The Black Necropolis. No one who goes there ever returns.”

  “Where the devil is that?” demanded Gathelaus, shaking him.

  “Southeast along the serpent road. But you must not go, it is certain death. All who are taken there are fed to the gods. It is the only way to preserve our world. If such is not done, all will be thrown into chaos,” protested the man.

  Gathelaus punched him, knocking him senseless to the ground. “Who is with me?” The freed slaves and gladiators and his new companions shouted their willingness to go with him.

  “Though death may find us, it will not find us willing,” shouted Mixamaxtla. “To the road of the serpent.” He swung his massive arm, pointing the way.

  Gathelaus realized this would be the slowest trek he had ever made on campaign for any reason and the thought burned. “My kingdom for a horse,” said Gathelaus.

  “What’s a horse?”

  “Doesn’t matter now,” grumbled Gathelaus. “We keep moving ‘til nightfall.”

  The thick forest canopy blocked most of the sunlight but still it was incredibly hot by the Northman’s standard. The birds and crawling things seemed to watch them and mock their trespass. The mosquitoes were unbearable, and each man suffered from numerous bites and sores. As they got further inland from the sea at midday, the insects seemed to let up a little. The lay of the land was predominately flat with only easy general rises here and there that let them know they were going ever upwards.

  They made good time, moving stealthy, like wolves at a good hunting pace. Just past dusk they came upon an elderly man with an equally old cart that he pulled himself.

  “How can we get around him?”

  “We could slay him and hide his body off the side of the road,” suggested Ptemauc.

  “He is an innocent man, we cannot slay him or we are no better than the Sorcerers,” said Mixamaxtla.

  “He is just an old man,” said another.