by Jay Swanson
“Get the butcher's bill, Sykes.”
Captain Sykes frowned a moment, but stood and walked off to check on his men. Keaton sighed. That would keep him busy for a minute, but not long enough. Not long enough for the answers to come. He needed time to think, to put the pieces together. This couldn't be possible.
“All accounted for sir. Three wounded, two dead.”
“Who?” Keaton asked the question before realizing it wouldn't matter. He didn't know any of their names. Guilt joined the realization as Sykes listed off the dead and dying.
“You should come have a look in any case.”
“We don't have time to bury them, Sykes.”
“I don't mean that, sir. Larson opened one of the monsters up. Weird as hell, but it'd help to take a minute if we have it.”
Keaton just nodded as he stood, and followed the captain dutifully. The whole situation felt surreal. Things like this didn't exist, and if they did they should be in some dark cave over on the Forbidden Continent. Not here. Not real.
“Hey, Captain.” Larson knelt over one of the black corpses, knife in hand. The blade was streaked with what looked like tar. “These things are unbelievable, sir. Take a look.”
He stood and backed up a bit to give his superior some space.
“The build of this thing is crazy. It's so taut you'd think every muscle on the bastard was made out of straight tendon. They're hard as rocks.” He pointed towards the gut with his knife. Its entrails were laying on the ground where he'd made the cut.
“Look at its organs, like no animal I've ever seen before. You open something that size, say a stag or some large dog, you'll find the chest cavity opens up. Feels like more space than should be there, you know? At least everything fits right. This sucker's compact. Everything in there is under a tremendous amount of pressure. It was work getting through the skin and into the abdominal muscles, but once I did, he pretty much split himself. I recognize the liver and kidneys. But what those things are... and that? I have no idea.”
Sykes knelt down and stretched the thing's forelegs out. “Almost as long as my own arms.”
“And look at those claws, sir. Cat's paws but the claws are like giant eagle's talons.”
“These things looked a lot smaller when they were scurrying around.” Sykes stood back up, but his gaze remained fixed on the thing in front of him.
“Aye, sir. Stretch em out though? If they stood they'd be close to five feet tall if not more. Their torso is really, really short for how much they've got going on in there.”
“Practically no neck either.”
“Weird creatures sir. Smell like hell, too. Fur's greasy, meat's beyond stringy. These things are worthless if you're wanting to use them for anything. Couldn't even make a decent stew out of one if you were starving.”
“Probably choke on every bite if you did.”
“We need to move,” Keaton finally spoke up.
“Sir, begging your pardon, but we could really stand to learn a thing or two while we have the chance to open these suckers up.”
“As much as I'd like to let you do that, Larson, I'm afraid we don't have time to sate your curiosity. Vasquez is supposed to meet us another five miles north, and there are no guarantees they haven't run into something similar.”
“Not to mention the possibility that there are more of these things lurking about us now.” Sykes was scanning the area again.
“Sirs, we've gotta at least bring one along with us.”
“We've got time to keep, Larson. Grab your gear. Sykes, your wounded good to move?”
“Aye, sir. Just light injuries.”
“Two dead and three scratched... the lottery of war is strange, isn't it?” Keaton mused for a moment longer. “Alright, cut the claw off that thing and stick it in your pack. It's all you have time for and more than you have room to carry. Sykes, get your men together and get some water in them. If Vasquez's convoy encountered these things, we'll have a long run ahead of us.”
ARDIN LOOKED UP AFTER A WHILE, MAKING OUT THE MAN'S FACE AS BEST HE COULD. He was wearing strange armor. It was bulky and it made him look enormous.
“Don't you recognize me lad? You can't so soon forget a long hot ride under a pile o' stinkin' fish now can ye? I know I couldn't.”
Ardin could make out his kind smile; it was framed by a white beard and slicked white hair.
“You're... the Fisherman?”
“Aye lad! That's me, though you can call me Cid. Realized I ne'er gave you my proper name, no, but there's always second chances.”
Ardin sat up in the snow, as confused as he was happy to see the old man.
“I'd wager, and I'm not a bettin' man mind you, that you have no notion how relieved I am to see you, lad. I been searchin' these mountains the better part of a month for ye, knowin' you'd be alive somewheres.”
Ardin didn't know what to say. The emotional turmoil he had gone through, was going through, clamped his mouth shut. The disbelief that he had found a friendly face in the world didn't help.
“How'd you know to find me?”
“Well.” Cid the Fisherman smiled, proud of himself. “That near-collapsed mountain was a good place to start. What a mess that was, hey? I found it near on two months ago, but two weeks too late to do any good. Some villagers a few miles to the east later said they found some mad boy wanderin' through the hills. They said he'd been taken by some officers o' the peace to an asylum near here. But I knew better.”
He gave Ardin a knowing look. “I knew the two of you would have made for the Temple. So few know where it is, but it makes perfect sense. If you're to hide in these parts, that would be the place to do it. And where's this lass now? Where's Alisia?”
Ardin's eyes grew dim with the name. His countenance fell, and he remained silent.
“Daughter of Magess Magnificent, as they called Charsi once. Terrible name, I always thought.”
All Ardin could do in response was shake his head. He feared if he opened his mouth the flood gates would follow suit, and he didn't want to cry in front of anyone.
The Fisherman, for his part, sat back in the snow in a shock of realization. It was written over his face, disbelief mingling with a deep personal pain. She was dead. The girl had died in the mountains and he had never even known it. He must have suspected it, certainly. But having the last of his hopes dashed clearly cut deeper than the cold.
They sat in silence for some time, neither wanting to break it for fear of committing some deep sacrilege. A few unsettled flakes of snow drifted from the trees above before the Fisherman finally ventured to ask how she had died.
“That rat bastard general,” Ardin muttered without lifting his gaze. “Murdered her for her power. In cold blood.”
“General?”
“The one that killed my family.” The malice in his voice increased with each syllable. “He turned out to be some sort of... shadow creature! I thought they were all dead and gone!”
The Fisherman couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stared at the ground between them for a while, open mouthed as the words refused to form. The Shadow King... why would he do this? Eventually he ventured to ask another question.
“And the mountain? I couldn't imagine she was powerful enough to do that but... she was Charsi's daughter. Was she that powerful?”
“No,” Ardin wiped tears from his cheeks before they froze. “That was Tertian.”
“He killed Tertian too?” Cid looked like he might topple over.
Ardin looked up after a moment. A chill entered his voice to match the breeze. “I killed him.”
The admission brought the Fisherman back instantly. Disbelief and anger fighting for dominance in his chest. “You killed him? How? Why?!”
“The same way the general killed Alisia. I tried to put an end to him bu–”
The Fisherman had heard enough. He lunged at the boy, pinning him to the ground with his forearm in his chest and drawing a long dagger across his throat.
&nbs
p; “Do you know who I am, boy?”
Ardin was almost despondent, weeping openly now.
“Captain of the Old Guard. Sworn to protect the Magi and punish those who transgress their allegiance.”
“Do it,” Ardin choked through the tears. “Do it. Please. I can't take this any more.”
“You know what the penal–”
“DO IT I SAID!” He screamed at the man now, grabbing the armored forearms and pulling his face close.
“I don't want to live like this! I don't know who I am! You think I'm a murderer? You're right! I didn't murder Tertian. It couldn't be murder! He was the one that killed Alisia. He was the one that killed my family. He wanted to kill me!
“Those men in the hospital, the boy at the Cave, those are the ones I murdered. Those are the ones you should punish me for. Not Tertian. Not for him, but for them!”
And with that he went limp on the ground. Moaning and sobbing quietly, his strength was finally spent.
Cid's brow furrowed as his conviction left him. He pulled back, staring at the boy. He didn't think he was lying, but he couldn't understand why Tertian would have tried to kill him. So he asked.
“Because,” Ardin said quietly, voice cracking as his head rolled in the snow. “Because he wanted my power.”
“Your power?”
“Charsi's power.”
And in a snap it all came together for the old Fisherman. The Hunters, the activity in the mountains these past few months. His home town on the Peninsula. This boy was Charsi's vessel, her last stab of vengeance at the world. He had never thought it truly possible, but here lay the proof. Here lay the truth of it all. Assuming the truth was what he told.
“She gave you her inheritance.” The Fisherman took his weight off Ardin's chest and sat back in disbelief.
“Every last cursed drop...”
“I figured she gave it to Alisia.”
“Yeah, that club has been growing for quite some time.”
They stayed silent for a long while. Ardin lay in the snow, staring at the stars; the Fisherman watched him, wondering if it could be true. He had heard the stories of how the Magi could pass on their gifts, their innate knowledge, but he had never seen the result. The fact that the boy had survived what had transpired in the mountains should have served as proof enough. But doubt lingered.
“Well then lad,” he said with a sigh. “That means I'm sworn to protect you as well. And seein's how you may be the last of yer kind, I guess that makes me yer personal bodyguard.”
They camped in a small grove of trees not far from the stream in which Ardin had bathed earlier in the day. Their low fire flickered and died as Ardin slept through the remainder of the night on the cold hard ground. It was the first dreamless sleep he could remember, the release of the day before leaving his mind blissfully devoid of torment and free to rest.
The Fisherman kept watch, observing the boy as he slept. He was still uncertain of how to proceed, whether to trust him or not. He had admitted to murder, though he doubted now that it truly was. No one had taught the lad how to deal with the grief and guilt of killing. He hoped he could be of help in the process, but he couldn't be sure. Ardin was obviously wrestling with darker demons than he had imagined.
The morning came late, the winter sun reluctant to rise over the glistening crystalline landscape. Ardin awoke to the smoldering remains of their fire and the Fisherman sitting peacefully, cross-legged, watching him. He didn't bother forcing a smile. He didn't feel much like he could manage it anyways. His face felt frozen. Stiff from the ground and cold from the air, he picked himself up and stood in a ray of sunlight hoping it would warm him.
It didn't. At least not beyond the illusion of heat that the light provided. He sighed inwardly as he turned and looked at the coals that sat dead in the blackened ground. He wanted to use his power, use it to build and not destroy. He wanted to do something good. He could light the fire again. A fire to warm, not to burn. To bring life rather than take it. That would be a start. A small gesture... but a start.
And so he extended his hand, somehow uncertain of how to start a fire as he thought about it. It had been so easy, so fluid, so thoughtless back in the asylum. But something about putting it to the rigor of reason turned the whole process cumbersome. So he closed his eyes and imagined the coals bursting back into flames, felt the heat on his face, smelled the smoke and saw the ripples in the morning light. He massaged the air with his hand as he tried to make the sensations a reality. And then the warmth responded, churning in his chest and flowing out into his hand. It jumped into the ash, swirling around the dead coals. They caught fire, glowing slowly until tongues of flame lapped up around their blackened shells.
He opened his eyes and smiled weakly. Perhaps there was hope for him yet. He didn't know, but he wanted to believe there was.
The Fisherman watched quietly as all of this unfolded. His questions were answered the moment the fire was born; his decision was made. This boy would be his final charge, his chance to succeed where he had failed so many times before. His opportunity for redemption.
Ardin told the Fisherman everything since he had last seen him. How they had stowed away on a ship run by smugglers. How the smugglers had almost killed him and in turn the dragons off the coast had killed the smugglers. He told of Caspian's last defense of his home, his resolve to make a stand. He recounted the journey in the boat that had somehow known its own path. How Tertian had found them and housed them. How Alisia had died, and how Tertian had betrayed them. The asylum, Tristram, and the Temple of the Magi.
“Tertian was pulling the strings all along,” he concluded.
The Fisherman just sat, pensive, staring into the fire as he pulled on his beard.
“I never doubted the cleverness o' the Mage,” he said finally. “There were few men born to outwit him. But somehow I don't think his is the blame.”
“How could it not be? He tried to murder me with his own hands!”
“I know lad, I know. In the end he was held responsible for his part. But I don't think it were truly him who pulled the strings, as'n you put it. Where'd he get the knife? That's the question that plagues me yet.”
They sat staring at the fire, the low cracks and pops soothing as the morning waned. The Fisherman pulled some dried fish and bread from his sack to share. Both were tough, hard to chew. Ardin wondered how long he had been out here and how much food he had left.
“I can't believe you truly were in that hell hole for the last two months... nor how they were treatin' ya. The old Demon's reach is still too far for my likin', weak as it may be.” Cid squinted in the early light, though whether it was to peer into Ardin's soul he couldn't be sure. “I can see why you've done what you've done, whether or not I like it much. But what'll you do now, lad?”
“What can I do? I don't have a home. No friends, no family...” He kicked at an ember that had fallen from the fire and looked up at the old man. “I'll do whatever I have to to earn my place next to her on that dais. I want to be with her. That's all. I just want to be with her.”
“And how d'you plan on doin' that then?”
“I guess I have to do what's been asked of me. I have to free the people of Grandia from the Demon.” He laughed. “That sounds ridiculous...”
“I have somethin' to start you on yer way, lad.” A smile broke free on the Fisherman's face as he reached into his pack. “I dug these up near where those villagers said they found you.”
And with that he produced two glowing gemstones on fine chains. Ardin said nothing. He didn't think he could manage words as his throat caught. He reached out as the Fisherman let the chains slide and gather in Ardin's outstretched palm.
“The magic wasn't so strong, but I felt it when I was close. Strong enough to know where to look.”
Ardin sat for a while staring at them, his Uriquim and Alisia's. He watched as the point of light in each grew and moved slowly about, as if suspended in water.
“I also found a s
word I imagine belongs to you too.” Ardin looked up as the Fisherman handed the sheathed blade over. “Has to be of Caspian's craftsmanship to have survived what happened to Tertian. It didn' make sense to me how you would have lost them. At least before I knew all of what you'd told me. I figured you'd been away from the mountain when everythin' had happened. Humans'd be hard pressed to survive somethin' like that.”
A quiet thank you was all Ardin could whisper before his breath was stolen. He clutched the gems and thought of Alisia. He could feel her presence grow as he did so, the weight of her very soul held firmly within his own Uriquim. His cold hands throbbed against the dark edges of the gem.
“Many a strange thing's been happenin' of late, lad. I can sense it in the air, taste it like a storm. If you want your place on that dais, I'm guessin' that now is the time to act on what the Bein' asked of ya. Though Grandia is the last place I would ever want to go. It may be a massive continent, but I trust not a speck o' sand that's on it.”
“If that's what it takes...”
“Then that's where we'll go.” The Fisherman sighed. “And where'll you want to start?”
Ardin put the chains over his head and tucked the gems beneath his shirt.
“I was hoping you'd have an idea where to go.” He smiled faintly, causing the large man to grin and wink in turn.
“Aye, I may have a clue. But I won't have any idea as to what we'll do when we get there.”
Ardin sighed. “I have a feeling I will.”
SEVEN
WINTERS IN THE NORTH WERE VICIOUS, CRUEL THINGS THAT ROLLED IN FROM DARK SWELLS OF WEATHER AND LONG OUTSTAYED THEIR WELCOME. This winter had been particularly mild to start, however. The snow had yet to break through the foothills to the plains below the Northern Range. Colonel Gredge hated winter, which only served to sour his mood further.
Elandir sat in the early darkness. Her citizens huddled indoors against the dry cold and bitter frost. Children sat in warm windows watching, hopeful for any sign of snow. Commerce carried on as usual in the streets. The great circular city's tall, slanted walls looked like a black mountain whose top half had been cut clean off. And while the city itself seemed at peace, her leadership was not. Gredge envied the ignorance of the people as a gift. He could feel his gut twisting at the thought of what was to come.
