King of the Bastards

by Brian Keene

  Rogan concentrated, uncomfortable with thinking of fighting in such a way, but felt a dim, weak part of this Amazarak. Suddenly, he realized what the shaman was. He was nothing but a crossroads, a conduit for traveling materials. When Akibeel roared in Rogan’s mind, a sudden burst of light spewed from his head and into that of Amazarak. As this beam of light focused on him, the shaman swung on his supports and raged, “Good try, Akibeel! His dark gods never show him favor save for at birth. You have chosen a poor servant in this barbarian for his god never intervenes!”

  The covering of the lodge blew away completely and the sun grew dim as a swirling wind of dust started to surround them. Rogan fell flat on the lodge floor, free from the invisible walls. Before Amazarak could face him, Rogan rolled over, arm slapping out lazily, disturbing the jars further. Realizing where he lay, Rogan swung down his fist, shattering a couple of the jars, and then arose. He stomped like a wobbly baby with his feet, crushing more of the jars. Amazarak reeled and screamed.

  Akibeel sang out in Rogan’s mind, “Destroy all of the jars, Rogan! They are the souls of the beasts he controls! Without them, he is naught. This is his reward for bringing the thing from beyond flesh! Croatoan has no need for souls! He wants flesh so the shaman takes the bits left over.”

  In a wild frenzy, gaining more power as he stomped, Rogan went feral, destroying the jars. Each time he struck, in the war against Javan and the Kennebeck folk, a hairy beast lost its resolve to fight. Whatever danced out of the cave also stopped, but he couldn’t see what that was exactly.

  Rogan thought the savages from down the mountain would be gone by then, but then saw his error. The force of red savages, his tribe of new barbarians, grasped the spears they left at the lip of the settlement and charged back again. Their fleeing was a ploy to draw the hairy beasts into the open and away from their drumming. The savages pierced the beasts, running them through and killed many. Those no longer under the spell of Amazarak fled into the forest.

  The dark shaman came down from his perch and stood over the last jar, a tiny vessel. Amazarak scooped up this jar and ran toward the cave, howling, “That is the soul of your grandson, Rogan! Crush it and all is lost for him!”

  Broke from his frenzied spell of death dealing, Rogan scooped up his sword and ran after the wizard.

  §

  When Rogan chased Amazarak into the cave, something else bolted out, passing him by at a different angle, not even looking his way. Javan saw Rogan take note of the new arrival, but didn’t do a double take. Javan, nonetheless, did.

  At first, he mistook the running figure for another of the hairy beasts with big feet, save for that by the breasts and anatomy tagged it as female…and the beast was hairless from the waist up. Beast? Yes, he thought as she stomped out and made a bead on their clustered group, partially human wasn’t enough. Like a fawn or satyr, her lower portion curled back like a deer’s hindquarters, legs ending in cloven hooves that stabbed into the ground like she held a grudge on the earth. Though her stomach looked full of squared muscles like an athlete, her breasts, though tiny, numbered more nipples than Javan could count. Her elongated head, almost horse-like, held a mouth of fangs and came crowned with long tresses, braided and waxed in long locks that extended to her waist.

  While he took up his bow and shouted for the others to do likewise, she planted her hooves and shook her head about. That’s when Javan saw the tail. When the thing extended out from behind her, swaying in the air, he half expected it to rattle. When the sunlight showed a gleam off its tip, a hooked sickle like that of a scorpion, Javan wished it had rattled.

  At this revelation, a few of the Kennebeck turned and ran for the forest. As they ran each shouted the word “Giwaka,” so that’s what Javan named her. It only took a few moments as she charged forward at the few Kennebeck braves who did stand their ground to fight for Javan to comprehend the others’ horror. He’d never seen a giant female satyr cannibal, nor had he heard of such a beast in his bedtime tales, but after witnessing the arrows blunt on the beast and seeing her leap onto the braves and take a bite from the face of one, he wouldn’t soon forget her.

  Her hooves crushed into each one as she landed, stomping through the left thigh of one brave and burying another’s foot into the turf. Her long fingernails sank into the chest of the one sporting a ruined leg, as she grabbed a handful of the other brave’s face, yanking him in close to bite his cheek off. All stood dumbstruck in terror as she didn’t just spit out the grisly piece, but immediately went in for more mauling, the brave screaming, biting off his nose and rutting in the nasal cavity. She dropped him and came up with a gray piece of slime in her mouth — Javan wondered if it was brain — and sucked it in. A long tongue slathered out, forked on the ends, and she turned to the other brave in full, biting mouthfuls of his shoulder off and tearing his chest open like she opened shuttered doors of a saloon.

  Asenka, Zenata, and two of their warrior women ran forward, all firing into Giwaka, and quickly following up their arrow shots with a thrown tomahawk. The arrows didn’t sink in, but scratched her, annoying Giwaka, and she went low and spun all about. Javan couldn’t fathom her speed…and saw the hooked tail swing out, and chop off the ankle of one of the women. As she fell, Giwaka stood again, swiped both arms out, and clocked Asenka and Zenata in the jaws, sending each woman tumbling. She then leapt onto the fallen warrior girl, hooves crushing her left kneecap and kicking her face, utterly pulping her skull, hoof cleanly passing through.

  Giwaka stood atop her and roared, and Javan released his arrow. He’d waited for the moment and the shot went near to perfect. He’d seen it in his mind, the arrow hitting Giwaka, going through her open mouth and lodging into the roof of her mouth. However, the creature closed her mouth and then grinned.

  “Fuck me,” Javan mouthed, astonished that Giwaka caught the arrowhead in her teeth. He dropped his bow and pulled his short sword just as she charged forward. Faster than any animal he’d ever been near, Javan twisted, trying to roll with whatever she had in mind, but extended his sword, which she slapped away. That move saved his life. As the claw rushed for him, he moved and she performed an inadvertent tackle, sending Javan down, reeling.

  He faced her as her legs flexed, and he felt his death draw nigh. However, a few Kennebeck braves that had courage ran forward, using the long spears, and jabbed at her breasts. These long blades did penetrate her teats and she roared. She performed an elegant kick, hopping on one hoof before extending the other, crushing in the chest of one brave, and getting her hoof caught in his ribs.

  Giwaka turned to face Javan again, tail swinging about to stab through the kidneys of another brave as she tried to get her hoof free of the other like she shook off manure. Javan started to rise, but Giwaka seized him by both shoulders in a touch not unlike a dominant whore that he once bought in Irem. She brought him up with force toward her face and he’d have gotten his jaw bitten off had Asenka not leapt onto her back, a tomahawk in each hand and started to chop at the sides of her neck like a person driving nails. Giwaka dropped Javan, who immediately armed up his sword to thrust at her breasts. He found the skin tough but not impossible.

  She spun, trying to shake Asenka, and Javan saw some blood rise from the repeated blows. The warrior woman on fire, she kept striking and was smiling at Javan the moment a sharp point emerged from the flat spot on her chest where a breast should be. Asenka froze, looked down, confused at the stinger point sticking from her chest a good four inches.

  Giwaka snapped Asenka from her back, depositing her dead form to the dirt. In that single moment, when Zenata lost control and went after the beast with her tomahawk and a dagger, Javan saw the tail still embedded in Asenka and dove toward it. Knees in the dead girl’s back, he used her as leverage as he swung the sword at the tail, chopping three times near the stinger, and cleaving into the flesh of Giwaka. Giwaka roared, slapping Zenata away, bloodying her nose, and turning fast. Javan flattened on Asenka’s body, forcing more weight on the extende
d tail. Giwaka’s own momentum ripped the stinger off, leaving it half out of Asenka’s back. She screamed loud as Javan rolled off Asenka and pulled the stinger out.

  Suddenly, a dozen Kennebeck braves charged Giwaka, swarming her with numbers, knocking her from her attack on Javan. Though she threw off three of them in the pile, the weight of them shocked her enough to get her from her hooves. They had her rolled over, flat, and Giwaka did a push up, rising with a half dozen on her back.

  Zenata ran with a tomahawk and swung low, smashing the blade into her nose. The nose split and their eyes met. Zenata screamed and drew back, over and over, and kept hitting her in the face. She grinned, blood running into her fangs.

  Javan leapt to her back and grabbed Giwaka in a headlock, the stinger in his hand, swiping it across her throat. Giwaka grabbed back and threw Javan, ass over elbows, sending him to the flat of his back on the ground. Her hand to her throat, she looked at more blood. Head tilted, as if fascinated, Giwaka looked down at Zenata again. This time though, the one breasted girl didn’t hesitate. She held the stinger Javan dropped with two hands and drove it down into the abdomen of Giwaka, splitting her open down her belly and to her pubic ridge. On her knees, covered in the blood that gushed from Giwaka, Zenata flipped the stinger about and stabbed upwards into the creature’s vagina. Buried deep, she twisted and shoved it farther before falling away, bringing out loops of gore Javan couldn’t name.

  Giwaka wavered on her hooves, then fell, hands to her belly like she could put herself back together again.

  Zenata rose up and started to stab and swipe at Giwaka’s head with the stinger. She jabbed, relentless, until Javan stood and pulled her away. He bet she stabbed Giwaka’s head fifty times.

  The creature fell over and exhaled loud, a final breath escaping.

  Zenata fell to the ground, looking at Asenka, face down in the ground, dead. She cried and Javan knelt, holding her.

  The earth shook, a little at first, then more.

  §

  Amazarak was just ahead of Rogan as they ran into the cave. Green light surged around them as they disappeared within.

  They ran in several yards before Rogan stopped, realizing the lines of flashing steel covering the walls would not happen in an ordinary cave. The shaman padded away up ahead behind many squared objects as cold air surrounded Rogan. He shivered as if he had just stepped into the snowy lands of Thule. He looked behind him, still seeing the green lands and the squeals of the beast they passed. Dismissing this chill and trying to block out the humming in his mind, he cautiously moved into a larger chamber. Hardly part of a cave, this area sat as a squared room like the interior of a palace. He half expected a line of guests and foreign princes to be lined up and received.

  The main background stayed grim and dark, but a green glow seeped in from various boxes. A rainbow selection of lights tapered on rectangular tablets tilted on boxes displaying symbols Rogan couldn’t read. Every so often, icy chills flowed over his sweaty frame. That sensation, added to the footsteps of Akibeel and the Doorkeeper in his brain, made Rogan uneasy at the least.

  Beyond these flickering boxes sat dozens of giant tubes lining the walls. Rogan guessed these were made of glass. Inside each container floated a humanoid shape, but not just human bodies. Rogan stopped, staring at the various containers, seeing hovering forms of women, children, and monstrosities unnamable. One tube contained what looked to be a female figure, however the skin ran scaly, reptilian, and the feet terminated in fins. In another cell a head was sub-divided as if two normal human children lived in the same form yet separating slowly. Yet another cell held the shape of what Rogan assumed were clots of seaweed…however this proved to be material emerging from the back of a tiny man, mercifully asleep. One container on the end hung higher than the rest, open, and fluid coated the floor. His eyes traced a trail out of the room. He wondered if that was the thing that Javan and the others fought outside.

  Shaking his head, Rogan returned to the task at hand. He ran through these many containers to yet a larger room, this one with a vaulted ceiling but more natural in caves. Bizarre boxes of objects filled this place, too, and he caught a glimpse of the dark shaman. He sheathed his sword and moved in closer. More tubes continued on, and Amazarak slipped between these containers and seemed to struggle with something on the ground. When Rogan drew closer, he saw Amazarak placing a series of metallic objects on hooks attached to the wall. The shaman stepped into some form of armor, much larger than plated materials or suits Rogan had seen in his life. He paused, trying to understand what the wizard did, wagering Amazarak donned armor to try and best him in battle.

  He grinned, hand returning to his sword, feeling the end of the game near.

  As Amazarak closed the legs and midsection of the armor, something caught Rogan’s eye. Into the interior of the cave another glowing tablet hung…no…there was no wall. Rogan squinted and took a step toward it, trying not to reveal himself to the shaman. There was no tablet on a wall glowing…but a swirling glow in mid-air, a fingerprint like smudge in reality, just hanging there like a terrible painting splattered on the air itself.

  Amazarak’s voice filtered out, sounding like it grated underwater. “You should not have followed me here.”

  Rogan drew his long blade and faced him. “You’re probably right, but I ceased giving a shit a long time ago.”

  Several glittering lights danced on squared tables on the opposite side of the vast room. More lights flared above them, revealing even more tubes and human forms. Rogan glanced at these people, who were different than the others. Each of these bodies wore clothing. What struck him as odd was that nearly all of them were dressed alike, in garb unfamiliar to his travels around the world. The males were clad in black breeches, white undershirts, and black coats. Some still bore wide brimmed hats with metallic buckles on the hat bands. The females floated in their drab, dark gowns and pale bonnets.

  The shaman moved, clumsy at first, but then with more grace in the armor that resembled shiny gray steel. The gauntlet-like hands hung at the end of the arms, each suddenly producing a razor blade three inches long. Rogan saw heavy pinchers folded backwards behind these appendages. A hinge like from a door held these items in place. The rather box-like helmet bore a series of steel spikes that closed over the shaman’s face like a fly-trap plant. Steel ground on steel as the glittering giant moved toward Rogan smoothly.

  When Amazarak faced him, the series of spikes covering his face slid open. These armored spikes to the sides, Rogan saw a glassy mask over a faceplate.

  Then, Rogan noted the tiny jar over beside the wall where the shaman got dressed in the armor. Rogan shoulder rolled past the shaman, sliding a bit more than he wanted to on the slick floor, and came up against the wall. He seized the jar, but had no time to act…not that he understood clearly what to do with it anyway.

  Gripping the jar in one hand and the handle of his sword in the other, Rogan saw the left arm of the armor flip around the pinchers on the hinge. This arm started to extend as Amazarak approached him. The aged warrior dove to the floor, feeling every joint in his body ache as the smooth floor never gave way.

  Truly, it was not a wonder stupid men thought this creature a god, he mused.

  “You fucking devil,” Rogan spat, getting up to his knees. “Just another monster in a suit of armor playing wizard games with lives.”

  Rogan expected a laugh, but got none. Instead Amazarak paused and then said, “You are strange in this land, large man. Yet you dread spirits like all of the primitives in this world. It is no marvel I chose this continent for analysis, not your savage realm.”

  “I’m not a man of big words but I don’t think you are just a rival tribesman, are you?”

  Amazarak made no move to get to Rogan. He replied, “You are correct. However, you appear to be a person of action. I shall give you some.” The creature turned and touched a gleaming button on a table.

  The steel floor under Rogan’s body boiled and came alive
with a million sparks. Jumping to his boots, still feeling the sparks, Rogan’s instinct took over and he leapt onto one of the tables of glittering lights. On his haunches like a panther, Rogan faced his enemy again.

  “You are not from my world,” Rogan snarled, “but you are no damned god. You are flesh hiding inside that steel.”

  “That is wrong on a number of levels, barbarian. This…” He held up a metallic hand and flexed the fingers. “This is not steel, but I comprehend that you would see it as such. Indeed, you are wise in that I am no god, but you are mistaken on your first thought. I am from your world, but from a time far distant from yours. You could never understand my journey back in time, continually falling backwards, never able to return or go forward again.”

  Gripping his jar and his sword, Rogan said, “I heed not the ravings of madmen.”

  “But since you cannot see how to kill me, you hesitate. Death is what it is all about, barbarian. The energy of death and life is all I have to study now.” He gestured at the tubes around him. “My trophies and subjects from other times, yes, I carry many with me as I travel backwards.” Amazarak glanced at a small tubular spot at the back corner of the room. It was hardly large enough for a child to fit in.

  “Why torment us? Go home.”

  “I cannot, barbarian. My great engines you hear around you are damaged and my fortress, as you may call it, can no longer travel with me. If I choose to go myself, yes, I can move on.” Again, the being looked at the small closet and Rogan wondered if the creature realized he was doing it. The longing in the eyes of the shaman was real to Rogan. This creature appeared bored, if anything else, but as much a prisoner as his subjects in fluid. “Magic and science blur at times, and I have made sacrifices to try and survive, to get to other places and discovered the horror of the Thirteen, but made bargains for their goals.”