by Shane Mason
Argus stood amongst the small craters where the canon shells had landed and stared at the dead bodies scattered all around. He crouched and turned one of them over. A caveman looking figure with messy hair and a scraggly beard stared back at him. Pock marks and scratched-in tattoos embellished his skin and his clothing consisted of furs. One by one Argus checked them and found nothing different until he reached the last six bodies. He turned one of them over and stopped, astonished. An attractive woman’s ashen-white, dead face stared up at him,. Something deep in her death repose touched him and a long-forgotten sadness panged him.
He turned the other bodies over and discovered two more identical women and some smartly dressed men with short hair and clean shaven faces. He pulled their eyelids up. A purple haze spread across the white portion of their eyes. He grabbed their hands and pulled back their sleeves. Each wrist had old burn marks where the flesh had been melted and healed over, leaving folded smooth skin like wax on a table.
Their parents.
The cousins were not here so either they escaped or had been kidnapped. Weariness hit him and his legs buckled. He sat, producing a bar of chocolate and started chewing on it, and the sugar flooded his empty stomach, surging warmth into his aching legs.
He surveyed the damage around him and calculated that a small army had been sent here.
How did they find this place?
The journey by foot, would take at least a week. As it was his flight in and the subsequent parachute jump took six hours. And something about the dead attackers seemed familiar.
SNAP!
Something trod behind him.
Argus rolled forward and spun around, leaping to his feet ready for action. A man, identical to the dead attackers, brandishing a meat cleaver growled at him from six feet away.
***
Quixote ran to another tree in time to hide himself yet could not resist watching the two men fight. Fists, weapons and feet flew in a flurry of fury that lasted mere seconds, leaving the old man in the camouflage suit standing.
He nearly called out to him but the appearance of a second man halted him and again he watched expectant of another fight. The two men spoke though he could not hear them, and then they quarrelled, raising their voices. The second man held Quixote’s fascination. Like a character from the middle ages, he had a cloak draped off his shoulder, and the clothes under it appeared leather and ornate.
Wanting a closer view he dashed to a tree and then another tree and then to the last tree behind their burnt out home, and shimmied up it in silence. He could only see the man’s face in the camouflage suit; the caped man had his back to him.
‘Have you gone mad? He is dead,’ said the man in the cape.
The man in the camouflage suit bent over and played with the dead body.
‘Yeah. Died for your so called lord and master.’
‘He is from the southern wasteland, a man of Ori. Death is all they are good for.’
Argus pointed to all the dead bodies.
‘Cannon fodder!’
‘YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND. THEY TOOK IT THIRTY YEARS AGO!’
The words echoed around the hills.
Both of the men whipped out pistols and pointed them at each other. Quixote’s heart leapt into his mouth.
A gunshot boom rang out across the valley and in his excitement Quixote lost his footing and fell out of the tree. He scrambled to his feet dazed and spun around a few times to orient himself, catching a blurry sight of someone running across the valley toward their training playground. Quixote stumbled past the dead bodies keen to see who fled, though an object caught his eye and he stopped in mid motion. With caution he scooped up the pistol and felt the heaviness of it. He had played with toy guns before but this was real.
Pistol in hand, he trotted out from under the trees’ reach - his camouflage net still on his back. Before disappearing into the trees, the man Quixote pursued stopped and spun around, and Quixote dropped to the ground, covering himself.
The fleeing man turned and threw his body flat to the ground. He could have sworn he heard someone following him. He peered back through the grass, raising his head higher and spied the fake mass of camouflage that had appeared out of nowhere.
He stood up with purpose so that his pursuer could see him and trotted into the training-playground.
Within seconds Quixote scampered after him.
***
From out of the woods above the cousin’s smouldering house, descending like a slow moving fog, men clad in furs appeared. Their slow deliberate pace showed no hurry, nor signs of relenting. They trudged forward in silence as if only death would stop their advance.
***
Melaleuca held Ari clear in her sight. His stronger legs moved faster through the forest toward their house and she needed not to lose him. The gunshot made her think their attackers had returned and that maybe Lexington had been right, though with Quixote on the loose, it wouldn’t have surprised her if he had something to do with it.
Ari halted and crouched, something appearing to spook him.
‘What?’ she called ahead and picked up speed to catch up to him.
‘Someone is ahead of us. Listen.’
Noises of someone pushing through the bushes came from in front of them.
‘Quixote?’ Melaleuca asked.
‘Not unless he is carrying an elephant.’
‘Move forward more. Quiet and observe,’ Melaleuca said with a snap.
She inched forward with Ari in front until the person heading toward them sounded close by. She nodded to Ari and he nodded back. She crouched and threw her camouflage net over her and stepped two paces away from Ari who in turn hid under his camouflage net. She held a rope in her hand and Ari held the other end.
***
Quixote brandished the pistol, feeling potent and waved it in front of him, though his arm began to tire with the weight of it. Every time the man in front stopped, Quixote leapt behind a tree and tried hard not to giggle. He felt like he was playing hide-tag, one of his favourite games. He wondered if he should squeeze the trigger and see what happened.
***
The man stopped short of Melaleuca. A bush obscured him from sight though she could see his hand. Blood dripped from it and in it he held a pistol. She wanted to signal Ari but the man turned and ran straight toward her. As he passed her, she yanked hard on the rope and then felt Ari pull back on it. The rope went taut across the man’s shins and he tripped and nose-dived into the dirt.
The earth came up at Argus quicker than he could react and with what little strength he had left he tried to break his fall. Two assailants charged him and he rolled over to defend himself though pain flashed through his pistol hand. He tried to lift it off the ground but saw a foot pinning his hand. Something sharp jabbed into his throat and through blurred vision he could make out the hulking form of a young boy, stick in hand rammed at him. He swotted at it though another stick jabbed into his throat. A girl held it.
It’s them. Thank God. Found them. I need sleep.
Melaleuca pressed her stick into Argus’s skin.
‘Who are you? Where are our parents?’
She saw relief flash across his face and he groaned and blinked at her with blood shot eyes, moving his jaw trying to speak. At first no words came out and after swallowing a few times he said hoarsely, ‘Here to save you.’
Melaleuca sharpened her gaze on him.
‘I can tell if you are lying. Where are our parents?’
‘Alive...led attackers...away – other direction.’
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, taking in several deep breaths until his breathing slowed to normal.
‘Someone’s tracking me. Got to get going. Ohhh man, am really too old for this.’
He pushed himself upwards and Melaleuca and Ari jabbed their sticks harder into his neck.
‘Our parents are coming back for us,’ Ari said. ‘You lie. You’re one of the attackers?’
‘Stay,
’ Melaleuca said.
Argus pushed against their sticks and the sharp ends pricked deep into his flesh. Ari shifted forward an inch and pushed his stick into Argus. A small trickle of blood oozed down Argus’s neck and Melaleuca considered pulling back though her instincts told her otherwise. Tiredness and pain registered on Argus’s face but an underlying steel-will let the sticks draw blood and with no fear he pushed himself up and stood unfrightened in front of her.
‘I have not been transported thousands of miles and run all night to be told what I am and are not.’
He grabbed at Ari’s stick and clenched it in his hand. Ari gripped back and Argus yanked it hard though it barely moved. Surprise formed on Argus’s face.
Ari raised his eyebrows at Argus.
‘I am Ari Hillary Shackleton Arrnor. I have an explorer’s heart and the grit of a soldier. If I decide you go no further, you go no further.’
‘Back up Ari,’ Melaleuca said. ‘Prove what you say. Who are you?’
‘I...I am...’
Melaleuca’s crisp blue eyes met with Argus’s and she felt herself push into his mind. Argus dropped to his knees and a strange enchanted look fell across his face. Puzzled she had an urge to introduce herself.
‘I am Melaleuca Willimena Enigma Arrnor. I am in charge. Nothing happens without my command. Who are you?’
‘Argus...Argus North.’
‘What are you saving us from?’
He shook his head.
‘I...don’t know...was just sent.’
She could detect no sign of malice in him and relaxed.
‘Why did you kneel then?’
Even before he answered she saw he did not understand his reflex. He shrugged his shoulders.
Ari growled and held his stick tighter.
‘I want more proof.’
‘I am being pursued,’ Argus said. ‘Whoever attacked your parents follows me now.’
‘I say he is one of them,’ Ari said.
‘Sent by whom?’ Melaleuca said.
‘By your parents!’
She looked into Argus’s crinkled eyes again, and saw he spoke the truth. She started to see deeper and could tell there was more he was not telling, lots more. Argus pulled away.
‘Later. Danger is nearly upon you.’
She pulled her stick away and pushed Ari’s down.
‘What you say may be true. We will go and see for ourselves.’
Argus shook his head. ‘No. Wait. You can hear them coming. Look, they have been sneaking up on us the entire time.’
Ari and Melaleuca looked down hill and Argus seized the opportunity to grab their sticks off them.
Quixote’s arms ached and the man he chased eluded him. The pistol proved heavier than he thought though he loved the feel of it. He forged ahead toward the man’s last known direction and caught sight of his footprints and again felt excited at the prospect of catching him.
He heard someone shout out ahead and then heard a loud crash. Quixote jumped behind a tree and using two hands tried to point the pistol uphill though it kept on wobbling. Between the gaps in the trees he could see the man stand up. Quixote edged forward, imagining he closed in for the kill, ever vigilant to make no noise. With skills honed from years of sneaking up on the others he knew this prey would be his. As Argus came into sight Quixote saw him snatch the sticks out of the hands of Melaleuca and Ari and appear to threaten them.
Summoning all the strength in his wobbling arms, he jabbed the pistol in their direction and tried to aim it. The end of the barrel bounced between Argus and all the trees. He yanked hard on the trigger.
Like drumsticks for weapons, the sticks stuck up out of Argus’s hands and under the shadows of the trees he waved the sticks at Melaleuca and said, ‘Can you hear it?’
BLAM!!!!!
A blast thundered from downhill and a small shockwave roared toward Melaleuca, a small object zipping by, leaving a trail of splintered wood and leaf shards. She dropped to the ground surprised and Ari dived beside her. Argus hit the forest floor hard and groaning whipped his pistol out.
‘See I told you. Now get behind that tree. Get an item of clothing, stick it on these.’ He threw the sticks at Melaleuca. ‘And make it look like you are a good target.’ He cocked an eyebrow at Ari. ‘I am going to outflank them.’
‘I’ll take the left flank,’ Ari said and disappeared with ease into the undergrowth.
Argus looked at Melaleuca astonished.
‘We are more than you think,’ she said.
‘I see,’ he replied and started crawling to the right.
Melaleuca half-heartedly held out her stick and waved it. She would have preferred it if she had given the command though she could see the sense in what Argus said. As a small and unnoticed protest she did not put any clothing on it.
The recoil threw Quixote backwards and the gun flew out of his hand. What a noise, what a sound, what fun. The smell of gunpowder in his nostrils felt strange yet pleasing as well.
He heard people converging on him and grabbed the pistol and ducked down, giggling to himself thinking of how surprised they were going to be.
Ari could see the faint outline of a body through a small bush. Lagging behind, Argus caught up and together they stood up and charged toward Quixote from different angles.
Quixote leapt up and charged back. Like an unsteady man wielding an anchor he swung the pistol around.
Argus drew a bead on Quixote and prepared to fire.
‘Quixote,’ Ari cried out and dived on him.
Hearing Quixote’s name Melaleuca rushed toward them, arriving to see Argus lower his pistol from Quixote and holster it. Beneath Quixote’s scarecrow hair an irrepressible imp’s smile creased his face - the corners of his mouth turning up in cheek. Eyes hell bent on merriment and mirth flashed up at Argus. Even in the darkest dank hole on earth he looked like he would find something to laugh at.
‘Get up,’ Argus said unimpressed.
Ari helped Quixote to his feet and took the pistol out of his hand. He lifted it up and held it out, eyeing the end of it, focusing on an imaginary target. His aim wavered little.
‘You could have been hurt,’ Argus said.
Melaleuca shook her head at Argus and took possession of Quixote’s pistol and held it in front of him.
‘Where’d you get this?’
He giggled.
‘Back at the house. It was lying on the ground.’
‘Were you supposed to go back there alone?’
A sheepish grin crossed his face.
‘I have to always follow my heart,’ he said with fake modesty. ‘Mum said so.’
‘And our parents?’ Ari said.
‘The house is all smashed to pieces and the men that attacked us are all dead, laying everywhere.’
‘Did you see our parents?’ Melaleuca said.
‘Nah. Not there.’
Argus sneered and said, ‘You could have been killed. Sheesh! All of you let’s move.’
Melaleuca squared off with Argus.
‘I lead us. No one else.’
‘You are a little girl. Shut your mouth and follow me or you will all die.’
‘None of us fear death,’ she said refusing to concede.
‘Except Lexington,’ Quixote said.
‘That’s only because she thinks about things too much,’ Ari said.
‘ENOUGH!’ Argus roared. ‘There is no time for this. Get moving. You are in danger.’
Melaleuca could see his obvious pain, how his head hurt and how exhausted he looked and wondered what more he could reveal.
‘I will look for myself,’ she said and pushed through the bushes and started to make her way toward the valley floor.
Ari and Quixote both grabbed for the pistol, though Argus reached over the top of them and yanked it out of their reach.
‘Bravery may be yours, but more than that is needed to use this.’
Ari and Quixote looked disappointed, though shrugged their shoulders and t
ore off after Melaleuca.
Argus plonked himself down.
They aren’t normal. He had pictured them scared and glad to be rescued. So far they hardly seemed the rescuing sort. And one more still needed to be found.
Unable to fight off sleep any longer, the quiet of the forest seeped into his worn muscles and he nodded off. Visions of a long lost land where the men of Ori came from washed over him and the words, ‘took it thirty years ago,’ accompanied his thoughts into sleep.
Shouting woke him up and Melaleuca stood over him red faced, puffing and panting.
‘They’re coming across the valley, scores of them.’
‘They look mean,’ Ari said.
‘Come,’ Melaleuca commanded.
A long line of men almost spread the length of the valley. With no apparent hurry they trod forward at a steady pace. Furs and layers of tattered cloth hung off them. Thick hunks of rough wood adorned them for crude armour and great chunks of matted hair hung down from their heads and faces. Some bore long barrelled rifles while most brandished bladed staffs of vicious looking angles.
Quixote made a pistol shape with his hand and started shooting them.
‘These men mean to kill you,’ Argus said.
Chapter 3 – What’s Beyond
The Harbinger stood before a large partially open granite door, lost in thought. He wondered how many years he had been coming to check the room.
Twenty maybe, or had it been thirty?
The exact number eluded him.
As tar-black darkness stared back at him from the room, he sensed something wrong. An unnatural dull glow should have emanated from it - a sure sign the objects he had guarded all these years lay active. Like a man staring far out to sea he scanned deep into the darkness and squinted, scratching his head confused until he realised that the darkness was the answer. Either the objects had disappeared or worse, those that last used them had died.
