Coyote Chronicles (The Veteran Book 1)

by Anton Le Roy

  Hurling up a grapple tied to a rope there’s the sickening sound of metal embedding itself into flesh and soon, after a difficult and tiring vertical climb, I’m on the wall. Once I’ve taken a breather the final two sentries fall silently to eager arrows. Easy part done.

  Across the small compound is a very old stone structure, much older than the rest of the town and these walls. Looking like it was designed to be a keep it’s now fallen into disrepair and claimed by the Newborn. Low lights are on within, silhouetting a couple of gallows from where hang two barely decomposed bodies – probably townsfolk who were unfortunate enough to have upset Satipo or the Reeve. I hope that wasn’t on my behalf. One single sentry walks the compound until an arrow appears in his throat. Can hear him gurgling from here as he thrashes about on the floor and by the time I reach him he’s bled out. Keys are on his belt. Finding a side door to the building, I unlock it and slip inside.

  I’m almost there, Satipo.

  Chanting voices echo through the cold corridors badly lit by spluttering lanterns, enticing me in as if the chanting was made for me. The last five kills had been performed in a kind of daze as I merely follow my body’s wishes. I am floodwater racing down this corridor; an unstoppable force that will drown everything in its path until it reaches its goal. There’s a need for nothing more than to stand face to face with him. None can stop me. Not this unsuspecting man lingering in the corridor, or the rest of the cretinous Newborn. My knife swiftly takes this stranger down and I’m walking on with nary a backward glance at his twitching corpse. I’m different, more focused, maybe because I know that, one way or the other, tonight ends it all.

  Homing in on the source of the noise while two more oblivious thugs fall to my blade with blood soaking the walls. Their dying eyes mean nothing to me. Impatiently finding myself wanting to eagerly run I force my legs to remain at a steady pace lest I stumble into danger. A big room waits behind a man standing with his back to me. A hand over his mouth and a knife up into his body. He silently convulses in my arms as I lean us both against the wall and look over his shuddering shoulder.

  It’s a large hall with a few dulled lanterns dotted about doing little to eradicate the gloomy corners. Better for someone like me, allowing me to take my new friend and carefully lay him to one side in the gloom. A lot of Newborn are standing in two circles around the centre of the room, dressed in their usual shadow robes with flashes of the cult crest on their chests, faces obscured by hoods. Raised hands all show ash dots on palms.

  Standing to one side is the Reeve. He’s huge and in perfect proportion like an ultimate athlete. His superbly toned arms on view, with one big hand holding onto a metal pike topped with a vicious bladed head and finished with a simple spike at the base. Instead of a hooded cloak a grey silk bandana is over his head with an emblem marking his allegiance to the Newborn, while there’s a permanent arrogant smirk on his young and handsome face.

  For a moment I wonder if Satipo is here after all and then a robed figure strides through the two rings of people to stand at the centre. Don’t need to see a face to know who it is. When he draws back his hood it only confirms what I already suspected.

  Satipo!

  Not the Satipo of the past though, oh no, this one is different. Gone are his elegant locks of hair. Gone are his handsome features. Now there is only pain. Fierce looking burn marks cover his whole head in angry patches and he’s completely bald, not even any eyebrows. Behind blots of melted disfigurement I can still see my old friend. Those piercing eyes are still the same, that little smirk he holds is still the same and that arrogant swagger is still the same. What about the mind within? Is that still the same?

  Doubtful.

  He raises his scared hands and in response the chanting intensifies. A wider smirk signals his approval. Before I can watch my old pal any further, before I can think about when to make my entrance known, I’m distracted by something even more remarkable in the form of magic.

  On the floor are markings, all drawn in blood; various bizarre symbols within three circles of power joined by a five-pointed star. This is a summoning. From the centre of the star begins to stir a power taking the form of grey smoke, similar to that wielded by Vim and Tolvik, although theirs paled in density compared to this. Strange that I can see this clearly, considering all the shadows within the big room, and yet this is more than just smoke. It does not disperse and instead it coalesces into a twirling cloud where some parts are grey while other parts swirl into a deep dark blankness. Blacker than the blackest night, deeper than the deepest cave and thicker than the heart of the thickest forest these black holes hint at a terribly deep depth of power. Not only that, this darkness has substance, solidity and it’s alive. The chanting intensifies and Satipo smiles wider, his wild blue eyes glittering in excitement.

  This obviously isn’t good, not good at all! Looks like the Newborn have far exceeded what I expected. I hate being proved wrong. Was a damned fool to underestimate them and I get the feeling I’m really going to regret doing that! Whatever they’re summoning isn’t some minor daemon or spirit either. It’s big and it’s bad. If Gregor were here he’d be spewing his guts up by now from the magical intensity of it all. My brain is screaming at me to hightail it out of there. Not a chance. No way that I’m leaving this. I came in here to finish things and I will do it, even if it’s the last thing I do.

  The smoke continues growing like expanding liquid, thick and gloopy and a few of the Newborn bounce on the spot in uncontrollable excitement. The chanting reaches its peak with Newborn arms raised high and at last the smoke takes form; the being has arrived. Just like they said she would.

  And she is mighty.

  The silhouette shaped like a curvaceous woman stretches seductively and I find myself in a trance, ensnared by her strange beauty and the immense power she emanates; an energy so overwhelming as to reduce some of the Newborn to collapse onto their knees in wonder. Satipo declares her as Umbra, Queen of Shadows and Mother of the Newborn, to which the Newborn welcome her in a new chant. In response she opens her arms to silence her worshippers and the words from her hidden mouth slip all around me from the shadows. She’s everywhere, in every dark corner and every stretched shadow and every paled shade, black or grey.

  “My Children,” her voice soothes from everywhere while she hovers in the air. “You are all my children.”

  Satipo strides up to her and dark tendrils ripple out in response, sensuously caressing him. “We’re nearly ready, Mother,” he says with not a hint of fear, as if he’s talking to someone of equal measure. “We got a whole bunch of artefacts for ya and ya other disciples is readying the final ritual as we speak. Not long left to wait and then this world is ours!”

  Every single shadow in the room flinches. “This world is mine!”

  Satipo corrects himself. “Aye, yours.” He provides a sly grin. “In three days’ time ya’ll be free!”

  There’s a moan of pleasure from all around us. “And the Newborn shall all be rewarded, as promised.” The shadows near me twitch and dark vines appear from nowhere to inspect my body. Shit. “There is another soul here,” Umbra utters thoughtfully, “One that is not your brother.” She spins towards me and everyone else follows her gaze. “One that is not my child!”

  Umbra surges at me while screaming that final word and I stand stunned, too slow to react before her whole body passes through me. There’s only emptiness within her. A terrifyingly hollow void that threatens to turn me mad until other things then enter my mind: her intent, her deepest desire and her reason for existing. Images form from this, transporting me somewhere else in the process. A vision, a foretelling of what will come. There I am, riding the shoulders of a flaming comet, surging down from way up high towards the planet we call home. I can sense Umbra buried deep within that missile of inevitable destruction and when it impacts into the unlucky city a flaming shockwave surges across the surface of the whole globe to annihilate everything. Animals fall. Trees fall. Buildings
fall. Mountains fall. And man falls. The world plunges into shadow, her shadow. Then, free from the comet, she claims all as her own and takes up all the magical artefacts provided to her by the Newborn, rendering her unstoppable. A Goddess. The Newborn are all that remain of life and they become her children in a new world of her making.

  Shit…

  Saying I underestimated these Newborn is a fucking understatement!

  Suddenly, words spoken in the past finally hit home and I’m aware of their awful significance.

  “Our High Brother stands in Mother’s embrace and he will lead us to glory,” said the Ellen Herald’s bodyguard. “You will be punished. Along with everyone else!”

  “You cannot stop Mother’s arrival. She will shape this planet as she sees fit and… my family will be children to a new world.”

  And from Tolvik, “Soon, our Mother shall wipe all of their kind from the face of the world anyway.”

  I was a fool to ignore them. The artefacts they were stealing… The pipe… This isn’t just some loony cult!

  “Is it not written that Mother’s arrival shall be Armageddon and all those found unworthy shall be cleansed from the face of this world?”

  Armageddon…

  She’s suddenly gone and I’m back in the hall, which seems strangely brighter. I know that vision was real and how apt that my own metaphor has come to life. Indeed there is a comet bearing down on us all, ready to strike on the day of my reckoning. Not just mine: everyone’s. This is much more than just me and Satipo. This is something that will change the world and there’s only me here to stop it.

  I don’t think Umbra has much strength, not yet anyway, not until she falls. Until then she’s just a mere shadow of her real self. That gives me time to stop things before it’s too late. Without waiting for my cue I pull my swords free, my trusted blade in my left hand and Fussby’s rapier for my right, and I step out from the shadows.

  With Umbra now gone entirely Satipo finally speaks to me. “So ya made it, Vet! Well I’m glad.” His frown slowly shifts into his trademark smirk and his tone of voice is sarcastic. “Here I was getting worried that ya’d never show. In the end though, like a moth to a flame, ya came a calling. So, what’re ya gonna do now, old pal?”

  “First, I’m going to kill all these fuckers,” I say, before wading in.

  The Reeve’s Newborn brutes are keen to die on my two blades with their clumsy attacks. Mere seconds ago my metal blades had gleamed clean and now they’re slick with gore. I’m seriously outnumbered and I don’t care. Somehow it doesn’t really matter. They don’t get near me. There’s no skill to these mere thugs and it’s as if I’m young again anyway. There’s a once forgotten quickness to my movements, an extra alertness to my senses and a youthful recklessness to my attacks backed up by deadly precision. Aye, I’m no longer that aging man; there’s only the man I once was and I was damned good, one of the best!

  Chop, scream. Stab, scream. Slash, scream. Blood sprays into the air with each lethal cut. Looks of horror on dying or soon to be dead faces. Each one that stands in my way falls and my attack never falters, my direction never wavers. With barely a scratch on me I’m heading towards the centre of the room where stands Satipo. Doesn’t matter that my strength is flagging because I still got enough juice left before the end. I’m going to do this, I’m going to wipe out the Reeve’s gang and not just that, all the crazy shit with the Newborn Goddess will be stopped too.

  I furiously hack them all down, my mind thinking of those innocents in Awl, wishing Vim was here too. I’ll have to make do with the Reeve: at least I can take him down for Eve.

  Hacked up bodies litter the floor all around my feet and the last one crumples to the ground. A couple of others have backed away knowing that should they fight they’ll die – wise decision. They stand in shock at the slaughter they’ve just witnessed. These stragglers aren’t warriors, I can tell now, they don’t stand a chance against me.

  “Satipo,” I pant while someone else’s blood drips down my face, “I’m going to stop this madness! Then, once I’m finished, we need to talk.”

  Satipo sneers. “Ya right, Vet, we do need to, but I’d much rather ya talk with this chap first.”

  And then the Reeve steps in my way and after I growl, “Fine with me,” everything turns to shit.

  Our swords clash. My two against his spontoon pike. It doesn’t seem to matter that it must weigh a ton because the weapon twirls about the man with a life of its own as if made from bamboo. This little fight drags on and on, proving too lengthy. Shouldn’t let it be drawn out like this because the longer it continues the quicker an awful fact emerges: I’m fighting a losing battle here. With that recognition the youthful me has suddenly gone and only the old man remains. It’s funny that the youngster that was me a few moments ago now faces me. More than that, he’s like a merging of both Gregor and me as teenagers. By the gods, is he really that young? Fast, big, strong, nimble, clever, confident, natural talent: all of it in abundance. One of the most naturally formidable opponents I’ve faced off in ages and I’ve seen plenty of decent ones, let me tell you. Would give Tolvik a good fight too, I reckon. What the hell is this kid doing as some small time bad guy? He should be leading armies into battle, he should be clothed in royal armour upon a mighty steed and he should be beside a king or emperor as his right hand man. This isn’t good. I’m fucked, literally and figuratively.

  The Reeve pushes me backwards with his attacks and it takes all my energy just to defend against it. No way can I beat him. That’s when one thing finally hits me stronger than any blow from the Reeve: doubt, and it makes me falter. With this emerges the fact that all stamina I had has now gone, my body yearns to sit down and rest and my wounds that Wetlock had healed now throb painfully, threatening to reopen if I carry on like this. The remembrance of even older aches and pains flares behind this all along with the realisation of my slowing speed and agility throughout the years. I’m not the great man I once was and I’m not going to do this after all, damn it!

  Heart is hammering. Lungs are burning for their next desperate intake of breath. I try one final hopeless strike, putting the image of Eve in my mind to try and boost my strength. Both of my swords are battered to one side and the Reeve steps in to thump the shaft of his spontoon against my chest before nutting me. Sudden spinning stars fuzz out an image of his perfect face with its perfect skin and perfect smile. He’s laughing at me. Roaring with glee. And so he should! I’m pathetic, worn out, a warrior as useless as Daida sitting crippled in his room. The Reeve decides to use fists and knees instead of a killing blow from his spontoon. It’s not too long before I’m splayed out on the floor. A cough splatters blood from my mouth.

  One final spluttering whiff of resistance as I gamely try to get to my knees. It’s not the Reeve who puts me back down, it’s Satipo himself with a fist to the jaw. Now I stay on the ground. I’m finished. Sorry, Eve. Hell, sorry world.

  “Is that it?” the Reeve laughs from above. “That’s the great Veteran I heard so much about? Satipo, after all your grand tales, I’m very disappointed!” The bottom of the spontoon thuds down next to my head and I sense him crouch down to say, “You’re nothing, old man!”

  Indeed.

  The point of the spontoon lifts once more and Satipo’s voice is heard. “Wait, don’t kill him!”

  The Reeve snorts. “Why? He doesn’t deserve to live.”

  “Because he’ll bear witness to the end of all things soon enough, as I planned. Just chuck him in the cells.”

  A disappointed sigh. “Very well.”

  The Reeve’s free hand grabs an ankle and I’m dragged from the hall.

  My aching body is limp; defeated. With my cheek on the cold flagstones my dull gaze registers the dust and blood coating it, before looking up at Satipo. The scariest thing I’ve seen tonight is not the Mother of Shadows, nor the ruthlessness of the Reeve, no, instead it’s that hateful glare in Satipo’s eyes. There’s no love there. There’s nothing
from our past there. I’m dead to him and it breaks my heart. This is what I feared the most. Rejection. Defeated, I let myself get hauled along the floor. My fallen swords pass by my limp arms and I do not claim them. Into the cold darkness I’m dragged and I do not kick and nor do I scream.

  I have failed and I am done.

  Chapter 23

  Before.

  I know this is not my memory and yet it feels real.

  Curled up, my snout rested on one paw while my belly faced the cracking fire and heat spread through my old limbs like elixir. Happy. Opened a lazy eye and pricked an ear towards the sound and movement of my master who stood strong and proud as any other elder. A smile down at me and a hand reached to my raising head to stroke my fur. A scratch behind one ear and I couldn’t help my tongue lolling from my open mouth in delight. I couldn’t stop wagging my tail. This young man was my great friend for such a long time. Standing up creaked my old joints and I slowly stretched and shook my body awake. A lick to my dry nose.

  Noise from outside the tent. Master pulled the canvas to one side at the entrance and snow drifted inside upon an ice breeze. As he peered outward he contemplated as always with that pipe to his lips. Could we not stay in the warmth? No, Master couldn’t ignore them, beckoned as he was by the chants from outside. They called for him, their great one of the mountains. They understood his power and they were drawn to it, they worshiped it. And he in turn? There was only love and devotion to the people of his clan and any others that wished to step into his shadow. He would remove their suffering and make peace in their hearts. He would take away their angers and fears and replace it with love and hope.