by M. K. Gibson
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
The damn broke and the tears came hard. Everything. Everything came to me at once.
The prison.
The torture.
Gh’aliss.
I brought my hand to my face, hiding my shame. I felt the scar under my chin from the hook, and I shook harder.
“I’m sorry, Salem!” TJ pleaded.
“It-it’s OK,” I said. ‘T-thank you, TJ. Just . . . thank you,” I said between sniffles. I brought another cigarette to my lips and forced my shaking my hands to obey my command to use the lighter.
TJ came and sat next to me. Taking the lighter from my trembling hands, he flicked the wheel, sparking the flame. He lit my smoke and handed the lighter back to me.
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry you had to go to prison because of us.”
After a few puffs, I willed my emotions in check. I regarded the boy. He didn’t know the impact of his words. “For you all, I’d do it all over again. Now, I need some sleep, kid.”
“OK.” TJ nodded, going back to his blankets.
I finished my cigarette and took a healthy swig from the flask of scotch. Then I took two more. I let the alcohol burn down my throat and numb myself just enough to try sleep.
Closing my eyes, I saw Chael looking back at me. The giant said nothing, but he too had a tear in his eye. The big man nodded in silence, then returned to staring out of the cave. I let myself drift as exhaustion claimed me.
********
A Long Time Ago
It was night and Isaac was almost home. It was winter, and he was frozen to the bone. He was starving and tired. Isaac had long since abandoned his militia-issued rifle and most of his gear, for it only weighed him down. His squad had been wiped out. Dead. He only survived because of his Collective and the appearance of the man known as Rictus.
Isaac shook his head, burying the memory with the rest of his squad. Danvers, Keller, Chuckles, Abernathy, Tiny, and Ortiz. All gone in the attack.
Isaac traveled across the country at night, sleeping in dug-out warrens by day.
If you could call it “sleep.”
Always afraid.
Always hungry.
Alone.
Over the next ridge, Isaac saw the chimney fire against the night sky. His family’s cabin was nestled deep in the backwoods of western Maryland. A place far from the fighting. Far from the blood and horror. A place where he could get through the night without screaming.
Just one more ridge to go.
Isaac was so focused on getting home that he never realized he was being followed.
Isaac found himself running despite the knee-deep snow. Pure joy drove him. He saw the cabin, and it awoke something in him. A need for home. He could smell the chimney smoke, even late at night. His mother always made sure to keep a fire burning.
As Isaac ran, he called out. Damn him for a fool, but he called out. All his training about keeping silent at night to avoid detection, moving in short bursts, not running in straight lines . . . gone.
"Mom! Dad!" Isaac yelled, his voice cutting the snowy night. He was too far away for them to hear him. Yet Isaac swore he saw a light turn on. This gave him just the surge he needed to finish what he had started. To go the final distance and be “home.” The war was finally behind him.
But so was a cohort of demons.
Isaac was tackled from behind when he reached the property line. A hellion mutt, strong with a bulldog's underbite, wrapped up his legs. Isaac fell face-first into the hard snowy ground. He got up as fast as he could, swinging hard and cracking the hellion that tackled him in the jaw, breaking it.
The mutt moaned and tried to crawl away. Isaac saw the remaining pack, three more hellions and a pair of hellhound Kudjas. Isaac was weaponless. But the hellion wasn't. He had a kraak, a spiked mace-like weapon from the infernal realm. Isaac took the weapon from the mutt and caved its skull in with one swing.
The oncoming pack of hellions hesitated. Isaac was no easy target.
Then the front door of the cabin opened.
********
“Salem, Salem!”
I snapped awake, blinking away the dream and the bad memories.
Damn. It’d been a long time since I’d had that particular dream. The events from that night forever haunted me. Hell, the events of that night shaped who I would become in each incarnation of myself, be it Reynolds, Winston, or Salem.
I realized TJ was still calling my name.
“What, what’s wrong?!”
“It’s Chael!”
I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand and looked over at the giant. He was balled up in the back of the cave. He rocked back and forth, shaking his head.
“Chael, snap out of it.”
Outside, the winter storm raged and howled. Blizzard-like snow mixed with purple lightning. Deafening thunderclaps echoed like artillery fire.
Damn . . . how did I sleep through that?
“Chael, it’s just a storm. Relax, bud.”
“The land called and a response was heard,” Chael said, his hair hanging down, obscuring his face. “Go south. South and east. Find the river which bears the name. Follow it. Find The Tears. Remove the light so darkness may shine.”
“What are you babbling about?!”
Chael stopped, as if a switch inside him were suddenly flipped. Standing, the ten-foot giant walked to the cave’s mouth, past the Outrider and looked skyward.
“She is here. I must go.”
Chael suddenly blinked out of existence in a swirl of blue and black shadow-like mist.
“Chael? Chael?! What the shit?! We don’t even know where we are!” I yelled at the empty space where Chael was. “Get back here, you giant bastard!”
“Uhh, Salem?” TJ said.
“What?!”
“What is . . . that?” TJ asked pointing to the sky.
I looked up, trying to see what was freaking TJ out. “I don’t see anything. What is it, another Fleshwing?”
“No, bigger. Way, way bigger. How are you not seeing it? There! Do you see it?”
I looked, and between the lightning flashes, I saw the clouds move slightly, but nothing more. TJ grabbed my hand and pointed. “There!”
Then . . . I saw it.
“Jesus,” I whispered.
The clouds weren’t moving; they were swirling around an eagle. A goddamn giant eagle.
No, calling it “giant” was disrespect. It was . . . godly. The wingspan on the creature was hundreds and hundreds of feet across. Its black and white feathers shifted into reds, blues, and purples along the tips and tail feathers. The creature was so large it looked like it was swimming through the sky instead of flying. It owned the sky and the land that lay below it.
Churning the clouds across the entire sky, the eagle soared through the storm. No . . . it was the storm. With each flap of the creature’s incredible wings, thunder boomed and lighting crackled across the opens plains. The clouds and storm followed in its wake, a byproduct of its passing.
“What is that?” TJ asked.
“I have no clue, kid. I’ve never seen anything like this before. But my guess is that’s what scared Chael away.”
“No kidding. If you weren’t here I’d shit my pants,” TJ said, staring at the eagle in awe.
“That makes two of us, kid.”
A lighting flash lit up the plain for a brief second, and that’s when something caught my eye. Staring into the dark, I strained to see. I didn’t dare switch my eyes into night vision, lest a random lighting flash burn my retinas. Instead, I switched into thermal vision.
Across the plain and through the winter storm, I saw an ocean of blue. But in stark contrast, there were red heat signatures on the horizon. A lot of them. They were too small to be Abominations, but too many to not be a threat. Whatever they were, they were coming right for us.
“Shit,” I whispered.
“What is it?”
“We’ve got incoming,”
I said, my mind switching to my military days, immediately assessing the situation. An unknown number of hostiles twelve to fifteen miles out and closing. We had a functional vehicle and a working turret.
“OK TJ, get in the Outrider. Get the engines warmed up and be ready to punch it.”
“What about our stuff?”
“I’ll take care of that. You just focus on your job.”
I quickly gathered our meager supplies, and hauled the remaining turret up and mounted it in the back of the Outrider.
“You sure you want me to drive?”
“You ever fired a weapon from the back of a moving vehicle at high speed?” I asked, hopping up and taking the gunner spot.
“No.”
“Then you drive,” I said. “You got this, kid. Chael said to go southeast, and that’s what we’re going to do. “Just don’t run me into any more giant demon dicks.”
“I can’t make any promises,” TJ laughed as he slammed his foot down.
The Outrider hauled ass over the frozen, snowy ground. TJ did his best to maintain control, but the icy ground made our getaway difficult. I hated to make things worse, but we needed to be in stealth mode.
“Kill the headlights!” I yelled over my shoulder at TJ.
“Why?!”
“We need to hide in the storm! No lights!”
“I can’t see shit out here!”
“Just do it!” I yelled, summoning my old sergeant voice.
TJ flicked the headlights off and did his best to drive, using the lighting flashes to course correct. Keeping my eyes in thermal mode, I saw twenty-five heat signatures moving fast towards the cave.
Shit.
Well, at least they hadn’t spotted us yet.
High above, the whole freaking sky shook as an otherworldly shriek boomed across the land. I dared to look up. Amid the lightning flashes, the god-like eagle slowly turned in the sky, arcing right towards TJ and me.
As the storm shifted, the twenty-five incoming shifted with it. Double shit.
“Oh, fuck you bird!” I yelled. “If I could, I’d deep-fry you in eleven herbs and spices! I bet you’re delicious!”
“What now?” TJ asked. “Should I just go ahead and close my eyes to drive, make things even more dangerous?”
“No need now. Hit the lights and gun it, kid,” I yelled, pointing to the sky. “That eagle just guided our welcoming party right towards us.”
Unless my thermal vision was playing massive tricks, the outlines looked like . . . buffalo? But buffalo shouldn’t be able to match, let alone gain, on a vehicle pushing one hundred miles per hour.
As the lead buffalo approached to within ten yards, I took aim with the turret. I didn’t want to hurt an innocent animal, but I damn sure couldn’t take chances. I switched my eyes back to normal mode and held my finger on the trigger.
One look into the creature’s big, black eye, and I couldn’t pull the trigger.
That’s when the buffalo winked at me.
Chapter Five
Gnashing Wails of Hatred and Violence
Three months ago, The Hitherlands
The sounds of chirping birds and rattling chains brought Grimm to consciousness. Rolling over, he felt the damp earth against his face. He took a deep breath and he smelled the heavy, musty scent of the old forest. He did not need to open his eyes to know where he was. He knew precisely where he was and who was waiting for him.
“Coming here was foolish, old man,” a deep, rolling voice said in the Hidden Speech.
“It was not my choice,” Grimm replied in the same language.
As Grimm sat up, his head swam, and for the first time in a very long time, Grimm fought the urge to vomit. The trap that had transported him through the Ley Lines had sapped a great deal of his strength and power. Deep in the very core of his being, he felt the hunger begin. He would need to feed, and soon.
“Yet here you are. You know what that means for you, do you not?” the voice said.
Focusing his will, Grimm forced his body once again under his control. When he felt the nausea pass, he looked about him. Grimm was lying on a moss-covered stone dais. About him, he once again saw the forested majesty of The Hitherlands, the last kingdom of the Fae Folk.
Grimm knew the place well, for he’d helped to build the realm centuries ago. The reservation served partly as penance for his crimes against the Fae.
Grimm realized he was atop the stones of Baylor’s Eye, the hallowed place of judgment. The Eye rested within Loreholm, the capital of The Hitherlands, and represented all seasons and none. The last time he stood here, he was sentenced to death should he ever return.
Underneath a dark canopy of dense forest, the eyes of the gathered Fae flickered and glowed, like those of a hungry cat stalking its prey in the twilight. Silent they stood in their beautiful and horrible forms, bearing witness. Alien and otherworldly, the Fae seethed at the sight of their former tormentor.
Almond-eyed elves, in their wooden lacquered armor, stood alongside massive ogres, green and brown trolls, domovoi from Russia, dwarves from Scandinavia, and kobolds from Germany, among others. Every type of Fae creature from all mythologies was represented. And each one of them held an undying hatred for Grimm.
Well, if I am damned, then I shall be so with dignity, Grimm thought as he stood.
Picking up his hat, he brushed away the pine needles and dirt. He placed it atop his head, then smoothed out the folds of his ancient black cassock. Sweeping his gaze upwards, he looked to the voice that addressed him.
The being, even without sitting high above the gathered audience, would tower above every creature gathered.
The Green Man.
Nearly twenty feet tall with skin of the richest green and deepest earth, the Green Man was adorned in the crisp leaves of autumn and clover. The antlers that grew from his forehead swept along the ridge of his brow, creating a majestic crown. Thick field grass hung from his shoulders and back, forming a regal cape.
Had Salem been there, no doubt the snarky cyborg would have had a colorful turn of phrase.
“Well, fuck me running,” Grimm muttered, satisfied his wayward companion would have been proud.
“The language, while inappropriate, conveys an apt assessment,” the voice mused.
Grimm looked upwards at the giant being sitting high atop his monumental throne of stone and wood. “By which name should I address you now?”
“Do names matter, Grimm? You of all people know that a name is simply that.”
“Well, in this particular moment, I feel a name is important,” Grimm said.
“Why?”
“Because which identity you are currently under determines whether I bow, curtsy, or just tell you to simply fuck off.”
A murmur ran through the gathered Fae, accompanied by rasps of weapons coming unsheathed and the angry grunting of the more bestial creatures.
“You know how this will transpire, young one,” the Green Man said, standing up from his throne.
“I do.”
“Good,” the Green Man said, raising his arms and stepping forward. Vegetation sprouted with each of his steps, only to wither and die once his foot lifted away.
“Gathered children, we all know who this . . . person is. He is the adversary to your existence. The being who exposed your secrets. Exposed your weaknesses. The craven one who ensured your divine right to life was wiped from history and reduced to that of folk tales, fables, and myths.”
The creatures began to roar. From Grimm’s right he heard a cohort of goblins snigger and laugh. In their gutteral, perverted language, they discussed what to do with Grimm’s guts when he was dead. Elves slammed their spears against their wooden shields while winged creatures in the trees cawed, scratching at the boughs above him.
“I also saved all of your lives,” Grimm said, holding his head high.
When he spoke, what he spoke, caused the cackling ruckus to cease. In moments, it was silent. Grimm turned his head in a slow sweep, his g
ray eyes looking at each creature directly. A new burning anger swelled within him.
“You exist because I helped to create this refuge. You continue to breathe because of me. You have been kept safe when Hell invaded the Prime plane and tore it asunder. You remain safe because of my foresight. Hate me if you wish; I do not care. But you WILL show me the respect I have earned.”
The gathered Fae cursed and spat at Grimm, unmoved by his words. Gnashing wails of hatred and violence rippled through the Fae. Grimm simply took in the abuse while looking upwards at the Green Man, who tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. A bemused smile crossed his brown lips. His emerald eyes locked onto Grimm’s, and the two shared the briefest moment of understanding. The Green Man slowly nodded with the slightest hint of respect.
“Friends . . . he is correct,” the Green Man said. As the crowd began roar once more, his voice deepened and rang out clearly, sending waves of power behind it. “Silence!”
The Fae responded instantly, as all grew still and tranquil. Grimm prepared himself for what would come next. Once more, the Green Man spoke, this time in a lower, harsher tone.
“For all his sins, for all the blood on his hands, this foul thing before you did one good deed: assisting to create this . . . refuge, as he called it. But we know it truly for what it is. A prison. The sky we see is not the true sky. The forest is a facsimile of the lands we once ran freely through. The air tastes false and the game is meek. Our ways are no more. But . . .” The Green Man trailed off, once more catching Grimm’s eye.
The ancient mage nodded, accepting the decision.
“One of our traditions, perhaps the grandest, still holds to this day. Sinned against you he has. In his own twisted way, he helped us once. For that, he has earned this one chance of freedom. Once chance to escape The Hitherlands. Tonight, we enact The Wild Hunt.”
Chapter Six
Ground Beef
Now, in the Waste
There was a time when I’d consider a buffalo running at almost one hundred miles per hour, who then winks at you, pretty damn strange. Downright bizarre, even. But ever since God left and Hell rose, I’ve seen demons, gods, and wars. Hell, I’ve been in prison and fought a fifteen-foot tall demon while falling off a super skyscraper. So a roided-up, furry cow making eyes at me didn’t even crack my personal top twenty.
