Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater

by Brent Michael Kelley

  "So why does that dagger make you bleed out the mouth?"

  "Dunno," he replied. "Just does."

  "So, put it down."

  "It makes me focused. And I see the hidden geometry," said Chuggie.

  "Chuggifer, I don't know what you're talking about." Faben bent over with her hands on her knees and spat some blood of her own.

  "The dagger makes me fast. It's the only way I could keep up with you." Chuggie wiped his mouth again.

  "Well, you're in luck," she coughed. "I think you'll be able to keep up without it now."

  Chuggie watched her reach a trembling hand inside her shirt. She grimaced as she touched her stomach wound. When she pulled the hand out again, it dripped with blood.

  "Did I get a little blood on you there?"

  "Not to worry, Chuggles. It's just a scratch." She smiled up at him.

  Chapter 15

  A rumble pulsed through the ground. Trees shuddered and boulders vibrated. Dust filled the air. The sound came from every direction. Half-man, half-goat, creatures thundered into view. Like an infestation of rats purged from a sewer, the tiny needle-mouth creatures surged in behind them.

  Faben cried out and pointed, but Chuggie already knew.

  "Shit, we're surrounded." Faben plunged her podium into the dirt and opened her book.

  With blood streaming from his mouth, Chuggie charged into the midst of the monsters. Their decayed, lurching forms scuttled to see which could clutch him first. The bone dagger infused him with deadly speed and pinpoint precision. His right hand slashed with the blade while his left, clutching his anchor, shielded him. In his usual state of mind, he didn't have anything like this kind of control over his limbs. He grinned a bloody grin as he tested the limits of his newfound ability.

  Desecrated goat-men flew through the air as Chuggie bashed them with the anchor. He sliced others to pieces as they charged. As soon as he finished off one, another took its place. More and more swarmed from all directions.

  Faben clapped her book shut and snatched up her podium. She spun it in a figure eight up around and over her head. The weapon sliced through the snarling, snapping creatures and cut them into neat little portions.

  "Were you just summoning?" Chuggie yelled as he swung his anchor.

  "That's right." Faben lopped off two heads with a single stroke.

  "Did it get lost on the way here?" Chuggie shredded a quintet of the little needle-mouths as they flew through the air at him.

  A scream, as if from an enormous bird, blared from above. The sound swelled and expanded until it obliterated the sound of the goat-men.

  Faben laughed as she hunkered low to the ground. Chuggie, puzzled by her actions, followed her example.

  Severed heads with flames spraying out the back plummeted toward the ground. They screamed with demented laughter as they fell. With a sickening crunch, they struck the ground. The heads exploded with a flash of lightning-white light, ripping nearby goat-men with bony shrapnel. The head-bombs blasted a path through the mob. Faben and Chuggie rushed through.

  Within moments, the desecrated throng regrouped and resumed its pursuit. Chuggie's gore-caked anchor plowed through one after another of the dead-eyed devils. He and his partner slaughtered scores of the monstrosities, but the numbers never seemed to deplete. Desecrated minions raced to be butchered in endless, rancid, waves.

  "How are we getting out of this?" Faben called between swings. Sweat drenched her face and she wasn't swinging with the same enthusiasm.

  Chuggie could see the way. With his perception enhanced by the dagger, it couldn't have been clearer if the Gooch had painted their escape route in blood.

  "This way," Chuggie yelled as he led on, slashing and swinging.

  "We need a diversion," Faben shouted. She waved her hands in the summoning gestures, and poured vials of powder on the ground. She screamed herself hoarse until a pair of bone hounds, dog-shaped skeletons the size of horses, materialized in the center of the mob. They rampaged through the decayed masses, chomping and stomping.

  With their desecrated pursuers occupied, Chuggie and Faben ran until they put some space between themselves and the scuffle.

  "It's not enough. We need more." Faben skidded to a halt and spun around. Without book or podium, she raised her hands in the air. With more passion than a maestro she waved her hands. The ancient words poured from her lips with the fierce vitality of a summoner at war.

  With the Bleeding Jaws of Glughu clutched in his fist, Chuggie perceived the invisible energy of Faben's words. He saw them converge overhead. He understood the shape they were becoming. Chuggie felt the very air cringe as the Gooch's minions caught up to them.

  The thing materialized and hovered in midair. The head and wings of a raven stretched out from the body of a serpent. Gravity grabbed the black stone that made up the body of the raven-snake, and it crashed to the ground. Dozens of the Gooch's soldiers were crushed into a smear on the creature's stone underbelly.

  Chuggie turned back just in time to catch the collapsing summoner.

  "Took… took a lot out of me." Faben grimaced.

  "Let's get you out of here," said Chuggie, supporting his friend as they got moving again. "Why didn't you use that thing on the Gooch?"

  "Because it turns into a statue," Faben wheezed. "Can't be sure when, either. When it gets sick of fighting, I guess." Faben coughed blood on herself. "Hard to control, too. I've seen what happens when those things turn on a summoner."

  "Let me guess, it cooks the summoner a nice meal? Takes her to the track and gives her some bettin' money?"

  Faben coughed a weak laugh. "Screaming. Lots of screaming."

  "Well, that does sound like a hoot."

  Chuggie glanced back and saw nothing but fog. He listened, but couldn't hear anything. "They'll be after us again soon."

  They slowed down and Chuggie opened the front of Faben's jacket, trying to see the extent of her wounds. His mouth had leaked so much blood it covered most of his own front side. He couldn't tell if Faben had bled all over herself, or if the blood on her shirt was from him. The invisible geometry he perceived on her stomach told him her injury was quite serious.

  They reached the edge of the desecration. The thorny bushes that had closed up when they entered were too thick to push through. Chuggie slashed an opening with the dagger. Spitting blood every few seconds, he tore through the brush with fury. Faben dragged herself along behind Chuggie, holding onto his jacket as though it was a life preserver. As they passed through, the branches closed up behind them.

  Chuggie hacked until finally they stumbled out of the thick, thorny brambles. Faben breathed hard and clutched her stomach. She leaned against a tree, slid down, and landed with a thump.

  Chuggie tucked the Bleeding Jaws of Glughu into his belt and hunkered down in front of her. "Feeling better yet?" His tried his best to make his voice upbeat and cheerful. He wiped at the blood on his chin.

  "Let's see this thing," Faben said weakly, reaching out for the goat-face purse.

  Chuggie handed it to her. Faben ran her hands over it, smelled it, looked at it from all angles. She unclasped it.

  "I advise against that," said Chuggie.

  "What's in here?"

  "Ruin." Chuggie spoke the word ominously. "Or so I'm told."

  "Then you keep it." She passed it back. "What about this knife here?"

  They both looked at the dagger in Chuggie's belt.

  "The Bleeding Jaws of Glughu," Chuggie said. "Dunno what it is, but my mind's sharp like a razor when I hold it. I'm so sloppy drunk all the time, but not when it's in my hand. But the clarity is more than clear-headed sobriety, mind you. Much more. I can make out invisible geometry, the lines and curves connectin' everything to everything else."

  "What do you see when you hold the knife and look at the purse?" she asked.

  "The purse glows without light. It has an energy. They both do. Not good or bad, just powerful. Dangerous, each in their own way."

&nbs
p; "Like a viper." Faben jerked in a full-body cough and spat blood. "The deadliest snakes don't know good or evil either, but they'll kill you in seconds if you aren't careful."

  Chuggie nodded thoughtfully. "All right, Faben, get up. We have to get you back to town to see a doctor or somethin'."

  "Chuggie," Faben wheezed, "take my book. Get it to the Lodge of Woodsmen. You can give my podium to Dawes."

  "Oh, come on. I'm not listening to your last will and testament. Those dead bastards are coming after us. We gotta go!" Chuggie put his arm around her waist and started to lift her, but she pushed him away.

  "Give me my book, and… open it to an empty page." She could barely hold her bloodshot eyes open.

  Chuggie opened the book and placed it on Faben's lap. She pulled a pen from her shirt pocket and dunked its tip into her stomach wound. Blood coated the instrument. She scratched it across the page.

  Chuggie squinted at the writing, but he couldn't make out the words. Her penmanship grew progressively more weak and sloppy. He looked into Faben's exhausted face. A trickle of sweat ran down her pale, blood-flecked cheek.

  "Chuggie," Faben whispered, "take the book to…"

  "I will, I will. You have my word. You die; I'll take it to the Lodge. Now get to your feet. We got miles to go, Woodsman."

  "Thank you, my friend," Faben said.

  "Thank me? Don't thank me, Faben. You're hurt bad, and it's 'cause you decided to help me. Now get up!" Chuggie's voice came out twice as harsh as he intended.

  "Don't bury me in Stagwater. I hate that place," Faben said.

  Chuggie grimaced and shook his head.

  Faben patted Chuggie's arm, gave a little smirk, and winked like she was up to something.

  She turned her gaze back to the book and began to write again. As the light left Faben's eyes, her hand dragged a line of blood-ink off the page.

  Everything is a door….

  For a long moment, Chuggie could do nothing more than look stare into her dead eyes in disbelief. He wrapped his arms around his dead friend and shed tears that his skin absorbed as soon as they fell.

  "Thanks," Chuggie whispered.

  Chuggie drew a deep breath. He grabbed Faben's book, snatched up her summoner's podium, and lifted her body on his shoulder. She could have been a bag of feathers, for all he noticed her weight. Her limp silence made him feel as cold and empty as a hollow log on the forest floor in the dead of winter. He carried her back to the clearing where they'd left Dawes.

  When he found Faben's apprentice once more, the young man looked pale and shaky. His eyes were large and hollow and haunted. The boy looked like he'd just seen a ghost. "What have you done?" Dawes wild eyes blazed. "You killed her!"

  "Calm down, boy. I didn't kill her. But the thing that did could be followin' me, so we have to move." Chuggie kept his voice calm

  "You killed her for her book!" The kid pointed a finger in Chuggie's face.

  "No, I did not." Chuggie laid Faben's body down in the tall grass.

  "Then give it to me!" Dawes face became fury-red as he screamed the order. He reached out for it.

  "Faben wanted you to have this." Chuggie tossed the summoner's podium to Dawes instead.

  Dawes fumbled it, dropped it, and snatched it back up. His hands trembled, nearly dropping the podium as he brandished it at Chuggie.

  "Give me the book! Give it to me!"

  Chuggie rested his hand on the Bleeding Jaws of Glughu. The invisible geometry came back in a flash, and so did the quick, dangerous feeling. He perceived Dawes' panic as a small, invisible coffin about the kid's head. He could do nothing more for the young man. Dawes had conquered himself with fear, and now he aimed to conquer Chuggie.

  With blood pouring out of his mouth once more, Chuggie lowered his head. "I knew a guy back in Knuckle Harbor, used to go around with this turtle shell everywhere he went. It never left his hand. Even slept with the damn thing. A couple of sailors decided they wanted to take it from 'im one night. Know what happened to them?"

  Chuggie stepped forward slowly, head down and mouth dripping blood. His eyes locked with Dawes' eyes.

  "He took every finger they laid on that turtle shell. Every damn finger." Chuggie took another step toward Dawes, and the kid took two frantic steps back.

  "If you think you can get this book away from me, you come and take it. She asked me to take it somewhere, and I intend to do that."

  Dawes charged, lifting the podium over his head. He tried to swing it, but Chuggie moved in close. With one hand on the dagger and the other around Dawes' throat, he bared his bloody teeth. They looked into each other's eyes. An understanding was reached. Chuggie tossed Dawes aside.

  Rummaging in his satchel, Chuggie found the old church key and put it in Faben's pocket. It might protect her from Desecration, might not. He had to try. With no help from Dawes, Chuggie built a hasty cairn for Faben.

  Chuggie knelt next to the stone pile. "Maybe someday, a little further down the road, I'll get another friend like you, Faben." His hand squeezed the spine of Faben's book. "But I doubt it."

  Chuggie lashed his goats together and hopped upon the strongest of them. He spoke to Dawes without turning around. "Stay here or follow me. I'm leaving."

  Dawes stood up, took three steps, and spat at Chuggie. "Murderer! She was going to make me a Woodsman, and you murdered her!"

  "I wouldn't hang around here long, kid." Chuggie kicked the goat into a run and left Dawes behind.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The first goat either passed out or died from exhaustion. Chuggie poked it with a stick five times, but still couldn't tell if it was alive or dead. Either way, it wasn't moving, and Chuggie had places to be. He mounted the second goat and drove it on toward Stagwater as fast as he dared. Blood dribbled down his chin as he swatted the goat with the side of the bone dagger.

  Chuggie rushed up to the northern gate of Stagwater. The snorting goat skidded to a stop just inches from the lone guardsman outside the gate.

  "Halt!" cried the guardsman. "By order of… why is your mouth bleeding like that?"

  "I got good luck," Chuggie said. "Now let me in. You know who I am."

  The guardsman looked up to his comrades on the tower. They stared back and made no response.

  "I'm sorry, sir," said the guard. "I have to confiscate everything you're carrying. I need that book, that satchel, that dagger. I'll take that purse, and I'll take that chain."

  Chuggie narrowed his eyes. "You aren't taking any of it."

  "I'm sorry, my orders —."

  "You open up this gate!" Chuggie shouted up at the guardsmen on the tower.

  "Sir," said the man in front of Chuggie, "if you don't give it over willingly, I have to arrest you."

  Ever so slowly, Chuggie moved his hand back to the hilt of the Bleeding Jaws of Glughu. His mouth filled with blood, and he felt the quick deadliness return as if he'd turned into a hyper-intelligent jungle cat from Hell.

  "I told you to hand it over," the guard said, poking a finger at Chuggie's chest.

  In a swift and subtle flick, Chuggie severed the guard's finger. The shocked man watched it drop to the ground. He fell down to retrieve the severed digit as Chuggie stepped over him and up to the gate.

  The three guardsmen on the tower shouted for Chuggie to stop as they slid to the ground on ropes. One ran to the aid of their nine-fingered comrade. The other two brandished their spears.

  In three slashes, Chuggie sliced a barrel-sized hole in the gate's crisscrossed iron bars. He somersaulted through and dashed toward the center of town. Before the guardsmen could climb through after him, he'd sprinted fifty yards.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  A siren wailed. The sound of it rose up from Stagwater and rippled over the swamp. By the time it reached the south end of the swamp-bridge, it had a faraway, dreamlike quality. For a moment Kale looked back at the city. He expected to see plumes of fire and smoke, but saw only the near-dusk skyline of Stagwater. Something was wrong, though, or the
sirens wouldn't be sounding. It didn't matter. Stagwater would have to get by without him for the next few hours.

  "What's that noise?" asked the boy.

  "Nothing we need to worry about." Kale turned away from the lights of the city and led Olin into the forest.

  "Are you gonna tell me where we're going now?" The kid seemed as giddy as if he was on his way to the fair. His incessant questions had grown beyond tiresome.

  "I told you, we're going into the woods," Kale sighed.

  "But why?"

  "To see the future," Kale answered. "Please, son, no more questions. When we get there, everything will be clear."

  Whenever Kale called Olin 'son,' the boy smiled and did as he was told. Pathetic. Kale was glad for it, though. He needed to concentrate tonight of all nights. He couldn't make a mistake. An error this evening could get him executed.

  Behind him, Olin skipped and ran in zigzags across the trail. He made animal sounds as he bounced off trees and flung sticks into the brush.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Chuggie bolted down the center of the street with guardsmen struggling to catch him. Oxen reared up as Chuggie passed, spilling carts and coaches. People on goats hustled to get out of his way. Mothers snatched children off the sidewalk and pulled them to safety.

  Tearing past Stagwater's citizenry, Chuggie almost pitied them. To be more precise, he resolved to pity them later. For now, more important business required his attention. Faben's life was worth more than Haste's, more than Haste's goons' lives, more than all of their lives together. His only thought was to square that debt.

  By the time he reached the city square, the guardsmen chasing him were falling behind, but a half dozen more waited in the square with Fitch. Four carried hookswords, and two hefted Steel Jack-designed shockspears. They flanked Fitch, stiff and serious in their black and red uniforms. The cleric, dressed up in his fine silk vestments, looked feeble and pampered like a man who'd never fought his own fight. He smiled his crocodile smile.