by Scott E Moon
The day grew long. Kin suspected Raien would be looking for him by now, assuming the company hadn’t moved on to Maiden’s Keep. He continued to track the Reaper toward Crater Town. There was a small chance he could be lost, but Kin wasn’t going to wait and see.
Each time Droon changed course, Kin calculated where the terrain would lead him. There were impassable ravines, dangerous rock slides, and powerful rivers that couldn’t be crossed. Even a monster like Droon must yield to the force of nature. He hoped the Reaper was traveling toward Crater Town by coincidence, rather than some instinct.
The course became complicated as Droon navigated around natural obstacles. Kin began to think he might get a break. If Droon continued moving in his current direction, he’d pass through the Valley of Clingers. Of all the predators on Crashdown, the Clingers, huge parasites that latched onto victims, were the absolute worst. Once a Clinger had you, it couldn’t be removed. They adhered to every naked patch of skin and sucked your life out in minutes.
Droon quickened his pace. Kin followed, moving like a hunter. The microorganisms of Hellsbreach were either still with him or had altered his DNA. The effects blessed him and cursed him simultaneously.
There were times he felt he had a third eye. His danger sense became more acute, fear more manageable. His heartbeat acquired an almost melodic rhythm and he heard Reaper voices in his head. Sometimes the words were clear and terrifying. Other times they were the murmur of a crowd, like the voices he heard around him when he had been captive in a dark warren. He drove them back, refusing to consider what hearing them might mean. When he first realized he was infected, back on Hellsbreach, he worried the Reapers could track him because of the contagion, but the opposite was true. His presence seemed to confuse them, as though they didn’t know what he was.
The sight of Droon entering the Valley of Clingers was the best thing that had happened to Kin for a long time. He took a position watching the entrance and waited for the tortured wail of the Reaper. There were other ways to leave the valley, but Kin wasn’t worried. Soon the scavengers that followed a Clinger attack would descend from the trees and scurry across the ground on their chitinous legs. He waited an hour. Nothing could survive an hour in the valley, not even a Reaper, yet the scavengers didn’t show.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DROON searched the valley, thinking of home and the way the night always greeted him. He saw the ground move, shadows wrestling with shadows, then realized he was walking on the bodies of thousands of creatures—flat things crawling awkwardly or rolling into tubes and slithering like snakes.
Turning to look behind him, he realized he had stumbled into a trap. Hungry things surrounded him. He heard the slithering sound of vipers, but that wasn’t what they were.
The ground swelled and lifted, but wasn’t an earthquake. His sense for earthquakes was sharp. Earthquakes caused animals to panic and he was always drawn to fear. There was only one kind of creature here and he didn’t sense fear, but hunger.
Droon snarled at his unseen rivals.
The creatures lifted him several feet in the air before separating. He fell into a pit of teeth. Each attacker had two sides, one armored with thick hide, the other all fangs and soft tissue, like a gapping mouth.
They latched on. He shook them off, briefly experiencing the fear other things felt when he hunted them. The sensation wasn’t as pleasant as he imagined it to be. The fear of others created both physical warmth and mental elation. He assumed experiencing fear would be the same as causing it, but it wasn’t and he didn’t like it.
The creatures didn’t shrink away or flee, which angered him. He could kill many and feed well, but the experience wasn’t satisfying unless his victims trembled and begged. He slashed with his claws. He kicked and punched the slithering, crawling things that attacked him. They drew back briefly and then crashed forward in a powerful wave. Droon tore some to pieces, but there were too many.
The largest, most aggressive monster latched onto the base of his neck, spreading across his shoulders and back. A voice he couldn’t understand whispered in his mind, sounding like teeth grating against bone. He saw pictures and images until he understood the creature, even as it sucked blood through his skin. The teeth dug into his flesh, shredding rather than chewing, causing blood to flow freely. Some of the teeth burrowed into his bones, sucking his marrow.
Droon shrieked.
He turned his mind to the thoughts of the creature and violently dominated them—forcing images of destruction into its imagination, roaring in its mind so it couldn’t think.
Droon is your master now.
We hate Droon.
Droon wondered what the voice meant. Hate? It seemed to have something to do with violence, but also darkness and fear.
We hate the people who call us Clingers. We hate Clavender’s people. We hate Clavender most of all! You hate her. You want to destroy her—rip off her wings, smash her face, turn her inside out.
Droon pulled the Clinger, stretching it away from his body, unable to tear it loose. But he held some of it in his hand. He punched it savagely—again and again.
No. Don’t kill us.
Pictures flowed into Droon’s mind. Winged warriors slaughtered Clingers. Clavender lured others to a dark place. Clingers loved the dark. They followed her. She opened a portal. Light swirled around the Clingers. A vacuum sucked them into a black, starless place.
Kill Clavender. Kill her before she murders us all.
Droon saw images of winged warriors falling under waves of Clingers. Blood sprayed. Men and women screamed. They fought to protect their children. They failed.
Men came. Troopers. Strange troopers like those who enslaved Droon’s kindred during the migration after Hellsbreach. They promised to destroy the winged people. But they disappeared.
The Clinger witnessed Droon’s memory of his home world.
Hellsbreach! We like Hellsbreach.
That is not the name of my home.
Hellsbreach! The Clinger cackled in Droon’s mind.
He grew tired of the voice. Screaming, hissing sounds accompanied many of the mental images. His head hurt. As he pondered the meaning of hate, he began to laugh at the Clinger.
Do you hate dogs?
We hate dogs! Screeeeeeee…
Birds?
We hate birds!
Rocks?
Rocks. Rocks. We hate rocks!
Kin-rol-an-da?
Silence.
Kin-rol-an-da?
A shorter silence. We hate Kin-rol-an-da.
“And you hate Droon?” He wanted to hear the sound of his voice. The Clinger grew bolder the more it chattered in his mind.
Oh yes, we hate Droon very much. But we hate Clavender most of all. Find her. Bring her to the valley.
Several dozen Clingers gathered, then rushed forward.
Droon drove them back, ignoring the pleas of the Clinger attached to his body. It claimed to be the hive mother.
Not me. Don’t kill me! Kill Droon.
The first shot through the air, striking like a snake. As it entered the air, it unrolled its tube form, abandoning the serpent resemblance, and unfurled. It sailed through the air like a net, but was a sheet of death.
Droon slashed, striking the armor side, flinging the creature away without causing damage. He slashed the next to launch itself, catching the soft underside this time.
Screeeeeeeeeee!
Clinger blood smelled like acid.
The third Clinger was already in the air when Droon saw it above him blocking the stars. He grabbed it, slammed it on the ground. He seized both ends and pulled until it tore apart. As more came at him, Droon slashed, stabbed, bit, and ripped until he learned the best ways to kill them.
He stood to his full height, spreading his arms wide, unhinging his jaw, and showing his teeth as he roared, shaking his face at the Clingers. Venom and the blood of his victims sprayed from his mouth, catching both moonlight and the glow of the distant wormhole.
The Clinger's retreated.
They won’t go far. They must obey me.
Droon didn’t think they obeyed this thing on his back, but he didn’t argue.
“Can you make them fight Kin-rol-an-da?”
Yes, but we must have Clavender first.
“Cla-ven-da,” Droon growled. He turned away from the swarm lurking in the shadows. Somewhere near the edge of the valley he heard a pack of dogs hunting. He ran toward the sound.
CHAPTER NINE
KIN began a laborious climb, hoping to reach two narrow passes that provided egress from the hellish place. He found nothing at the ledge of the first pass, but at the second, he found the Reaper eating a pack of wounded dogs. The injured animals howled in pain. Droon seemed to laugh, tearing flesh from one victim after another.
Stretched across the back of the Reaper like a cloak, was a Clinger. Sickly pink flesh had darkened to purple, deepening to black where the Reaper’s spots would be.
Kin couldn’t believe it. Clingers descended on their victims in swarms. There wasn’t a way to separate a single Clinger from the others. Only the most deranged person would touch such a vile thing. But Droon wasn’t a person, Droon was a Reaper. Maybe Kin didn’t know as much about them as he thought.
He backed away, watching the shadows for the rest of the Clinger swarm.
Droon focused on his feast and the terror of the injured dogs as he slaughtered them. Kin liked dogs, though he avoided the wild variety. Blood sprayed. Kin clenched the grip of his pistol and remained hidden.
Thoughts of women and children being stolen from their beds and body parts left scattered in the street punished Kin’s heart. Hours ago he believed the Reaper threat was over, but here it was on the far side of the Valley of Clingers, wearing a Clinger on its back and eating dogs as they wailed.
The Clinger twitched. Kin moved behind a tree and watched, hoping this was the end of Droon. The Clinger twitched again and again until the movement seemed like a heartbeat. It was alive and Droon didn’t seem to mind sharing his blood.
For the next several minutes, Kin calculated what this meant. Clingers were almost impossible to kill because their hide was so tough and pliable that bullets couldn’t penetrate them. Their internal organs—if they had any—couldn’t be targeted. Kin killed one several months ago by pushing it to the bottom of a rain barrel with a pole and drowning it. The Clinger swarm had retreated and never attacked Crater Town again. Somehow, he didn’t think he could get Droon and the Clinger into a barrel.
Reapers weren’t sophisticated users of tools or technology. They stole what they needed, having only started using weapons during the Hellsbreach Campaign. Now this Reaper had armor, and from the way it ate, an insatiable appetite.
Droon finished, then bounded into the trees. Kin followed, hurrying more than he liked. Rushing after a strange Reaper that had bonded with a deadly alien predator wasn’t his idea of a good time. He’d rather be in the town square listening to boys and girls torture homemade guitars and fiddles. A branch lashed his face as he ran. He ducked after the fact.
The Reaper picked up speed. Kin didn’t know why. He prayed the Reaper wasn’t going into Bloodlust.
The sound of Droon’s rampage outdistanced him. The trail wasn’t difficult to follow. The landscape of Crashdown differed from the blazing desert of Hellsbreach. The Reaper probably didn’t understand the significance of breaking branches and pushing down grass as he moved. Kin didn’t underestimate Reaper cunning, but believed Droon was merely rushing toward something. The creature’s hunger could drive him toward Crater Town or one of the small villages in the area, but having just fed, it was more likely the Reaper sought a mate.
Kin entered a path bordered by tall, narrow trees. Wind blew across the mountainside, rustling branches, masking his sounds but also the sound of his quarry. He slowed his pace. His caution was rewarded when he saw Droon perched on a boulder at the top of the trail, staring at the wormhole that normally didn’t extend this far over the mountains.
Against his better judgment, Kin continued up the trail, placing one foot carefully in front of the other. He slid the sword from his back and held it ready. No plan came to him, but he sensed possibility. The Reaper faced him, but stared over his head.
No man had killed more Reapers than Kin. Some of his victories had been in close quarter combat. If the Clinger weakened Droon even slightly, Kin could deliver one perfect thrust before the fight even began.
Droon snapped his head down and stared directly at Kin. A moment passed—a short moment—before the Reaper sprang to his feet, curling his lips across his horrid teeth. The Clinger twitched and stiffened as the Reaper lunged down the trail in leaps and bounds.
Kin held his ground, unwilling to run. When Droon was two strides away, he stepped into the trees causing the Reaper lose momentum.
Droon recovered quickly and charged.
Kin slashed, putting his weight behind the blow as he swung. The blade struck near the neck but slid to the shoulder. The Clinger flared to life, tangling Kin’s blade, nearly pulling it from his hands as Droon jumped back.
Time to go.
Kin turned and raced through the woods to Amanda’s Gap. He jumped, knowing he was going to fall short even as he entered the air. The gorge below was tame by the standards of Crashdown, but he didn’t like his chances of surviving a twenty-foot drop. He impacted the far wall and clung to a tangle of roots with one hand, feeling them tear free of the unstable soil.
His fall wasn’t a total failure. He managed to slow his descent and hold onto his sword without impaling himself. Droon came after him, springing from one wall to the other, down and down and down until he landed ten feet from Kin.
Kin rushed forward with the sword, striking the Reaper’s clawed hands as he lashed out.
Attack. Kill. Retreat. Die.
Droon struck again, lightning quick, long arms forcing Kin to duck, dodge, and parry, despite his desire to press forward. The Reaper’s legs owned the distance between them, jumping forward, back, and sideways to dodge Kin’s sword.
Attack, Kin. Press the attack. Strike now!
The Reaper was too fast, to vicious, too fearless. Kin couldn’t find an opening.
He dropped low and spun in a circle, kicking out with one leg, sending the Reaper onto his back. Without hesitation, he jumped to his feet, leaping over the fallen monster, fleeing the only direction he could. He sprinted along the narrow escape, through shallow water and across uneven rocks, never looking back. His left hand found the axe on his backpack and yanked it free. Sword in one hand, axe in the other, he searched for anyplace that might shelter him.
Kin ran with single-minded determination, reaching a point in the narrow trail that went up the side of the mountain. At first, he didn’t slow his pace, but the gravity of Crashdown bore down on him and his legs burned with effort.
He abandoned the trail and cut straight up the mountainside, smashing through underbrush. He needed to take the high ground and find a place to fight. The Reaper wasn’t invincible, but the Clinger gave the Reaper added protection, making Kin doubt his chances. He needed to spy on his adversary from a distance to develop a strategy ensuring victory or escape. To kill the Reaper only to die in the wilderness of injuries would be as pointless as jumping off a cliff.
You should be attacking.
Droon gained ground, grunting savagely. The Clinger on his back made strange clicking and whistling sounds.
Kin knew the area well. There was a trail to Gold Village on the other side of the ridge, but he wouldn’t make it. The only thing close was the Rabbit Hole, a narrow cave children from Gold Village dared each other to enter. Kin was too big to fit through the opening easily, but when he saw it, he dove headfirst, scraping his face, shoulders, and arms as he thrust into darkness.
The cave was like a chute. No one knew where it went, but Kin thought it came out under the waterfall near Maiden's Keep. He struggled to a tiny ledge slightly wider than the mouth of the
cave, sensing a vertical drop to unknown depths.
Droon roared behind him, unable to follow.
There wasn’t a way to turn and face the monster. He began to worry that Droon would drop the Clinger into the hole. With that horrible fate in mind, Kin shoved over the ledge, falling face first into blackness.
CHAPTER TEN
THE journey from Maiden’s Keep to Crater Town wasn’t easy. Kin rested as long as he dared after his escape, following the infantryman’s time honored rule: never stop without sitting down, never sit down without lying down, and never lie down without going to sleep. But he had nightmares the moment he closed his eyes. Thousands of Reapers swarmed through the mountains, killing him again and again, putting Clingers on his face, but worst of all, finding Becca and killing her. When he finally woke, four hours had passed, twice as long as he had intended.
The road back wound through the steep mountains for miles before turning toward the sea. Kin was tired, foot sore, and hungry by the time he came to the foothills overlooking Crater Town and the coast.
Something was wrong. Townspeople searched house to house and seemed dismayed when they encountered each other in the streets. Dawn yielded to day, yet some men spreading across the dunes carried extinguished torches as though they had been searching for hours. Thomas Smith led the way with his dogs. A hundred men followed in a line to his right and left, carefully examining the ground for tracks.
Fleet troopers stood at their posts and watched, feigning indifference, refusing to assist the frightened townspeople. Kin studied the guards. Two out of three covertly enjoyed a smoke break, though the Earth Fleet version involved dermal patches administered by their armor rather than actual cigarettes. Modern soldiers held a subtly different stance when on the patch.
One out of three guards held weapons ready. Something wasn’t right.
What am I missing? Kin took a deep breath, exhaled, and examined the scene again. Moments later, he spotted Lieutenant Raker and his spies dressed in local garments, working hard to blend.
