by Narro, B. T.
One hundred thousand people was sheer power and a heartbeat away from chaos at any moment. As they came together and rode, a chant began. It was a deep rumble, as if the ground were ready to open beneath them. Cleve couldn’t decipher what they were saying. He asked Jek, screaming yet barely able to hear himself.
“Roc Flaxan!” Jek yelled back. “It’s probably the most famous book in Greenedge, read to every child when they’re old enough to understand the danger of desmarls. The story takes place in the future, when the desmarls have come to eat us because they’ve run out of food everywhere else. Roc Flaxan is the ruler of every eastern territory, and he leads his people into battle. They kill the desmarls.”
Cleve found Reela looking out at their army and freely shedding tears. Then he saw Vithos was doing the same.
As expected, it took them three weeks to reach the southern edge of civilization. In each town, there were countless people with allegiance to Fatholl. Innkeepers offered them food, drink, and beds. Many townspeople transformed their homes into inns for the night, offering dinner and a place to sleep. It soon became clear to Cleve that the food Fatholl brought wasn’t for the trip but to eat while they fought the desmarls.
Cleve usually stayed at an inn rather than someone’s home, and every night turned into a joyous celebration. No matter the town, people flocked to the inns to pay respect to those traveling across the land to fight the desmarls. Cleve had never seen anything like it. Young women swooned over him and the other men in armor. Even with Reela sitting right beside him, more women had flirted with him in just a few days than in his entire life.
The men of the town weren’t much different, there were just far fewer of them, as there were fewer women in the army. All were either Human mages or Elven psychics. Reela, being half-Elven, often was considered a prize. Cleve never saw a man look at her without coming over for a greeting. All of them asked about her ears. She shared her story with the polite men and graciously dismissed all others. Vithos relished every night, always sharing his bed with a different woman and offering too many details about it the next morning.
“I hope you’re not using psyche on them,” Reela said.
“No need. I tell them about Krepps. I tell them of my friend Zoke and what we did. I never can finish story before they want kiss.”
Cleve felt bad for Jek, who still suffered attacks every night. He constantly had to fight off women without Lisanda to keep him company. There were many who recognized him as the Sartious mage and asked to see the wounds on his chest. Cleve could tell it was difficult for Jek to remain courteous when they wouldn’t stop pleading for him to take off his shirt. They claimed his darkness wasn’t real if he wouldn’t show them. But he never gave in, and eventually they lost interest.
Nursing drinks, Cleve, Reela, and Jek ended up talking with each other every night after the long ride. Klaiya often joined them. She got the most attention from men—even more than Reela, but it was mostly curiosity because of her stature. None were stupid enough to tease her, but they did stare from afar, women as well. The men who approached usually reminded Cleve of Peter. But there was one major difference between them. While Peter looked at her with sincere longing, as if she was a valuable treasure, the other men had looks of raw, physical desire. Like Reela, they saw Klaiya as just a prize to be won and enjoyed. Wooing a towering psychic Elven woman would give them bragging rights. Still, Klaiya had fun with them. She had a sharp tongue and enjoyed throwing out insults in her native language that Cleve and Reela had come to understand.
One night, Reela got Klaiya to admit that she wanted to see Peter again. This was a victory for Reela, and she couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the night. Cleve never understood why she wanted them to be together, but he didn’t question it. He figured there was some psyche involved. It wasn’t unfathomable that Reela might be able to tell they would be happy together.
After the first day of their journey, Cleve never saw Fatholl, Raymess, or Micah. He wondered if Raymess still held a grudge or if it had at least softened a bit.
Cleve had heard that Goldram’s shotmarl team was with their army, too. He was curious to speak with them about their sport, but he never met them.
Reela asked Jek what Micah’s reason had been for staying with Raymess at Lake Mercy.
“He said that doing nothing is often the easy choice in any tough situation, but it’s also the choice we tend to regret the most in life.”
“Have you forgiven him?” Reela asked.
“I have,” Jek said.
During the last two days of riding, they could see a long stretch of green fog completely covering the horizon every time they traversed a hill. Knowing it was tens of thousands of desmarls didn’t bode well. Their army became uneasy, but no one deserted.
“Can you describe the desmarls again for me?” Reela asked Cleve.
He happily let Jek answer for him. “You’ve seen paintings of them, right?”
“I have. But I don’t know how accurate they are.”
“Most…” His next words seemed to get caught in his throat. “Most are very accurate, except you don’t get a sense of their size until you see one roaring at you, reaching for you with three of its eight tentacles that have more girth than a horse.”
“How long are the tentacles?”
“Around thirty yards, probably about as long as those trees there.” Jek pointed to a cluster of oaks. Cleve imagined them as tentacles reaching for him, and he shuddered. “Their bodies are enormous,” Jek continued. “But their one huge eye is what no picture I’ve seen ever accurately depicts. The feeling when you see it move and find you...stirs my stomach just to think about.”
They met Presoren’s army the morning before battle, when the sea of Sartious Energy was just a mile from reaching them. Cleve had never before fought something he couldn’t see. But he found solace in his comrades. Jek could move the Sartious Energy, Reela and Vithos could pain the beasts from afar, and Presoren had many thousands of fighters. He figured Presoren’s army had spent just as much time discussing strategy as his army had.
Now, finally, it was time to fight. They formed battle lines. Cleve took a long breath as he looked deep into the thick fog. He could feel the dense air on his tongue and in his lungs.
Fatholl, with his sterling hair whipping behind him, rode to the center of their line. Facing them, he drew everyone’s gaze. Cleve expected instructions, perhaps a speech. Instead, Fatholl simply looked at them, his eyes searching.
He dismounted and gestured. “Raymess, would you like to speak?”
The Takary King emerged wearing a white robe embroidered with the blue outstretched wings of his family crest. He’d shaved recently, the golden-brown skin of his cheeks shining. He nodded to Fatholl, then ran his gaze over the crowd.
“Some of you have considered me an enemy for many years. Others have served me as their king. And then there are those who once pledged allegiance…only to turn against me later. But none of that matters anymore.” He had a breath and gestured to Fatholl at his side. “This man murdered my father.” He fell silent, letting the words resonate. “For that, I can’t forgive him. But his entire life has led up to this very moment. This, right now”—Raymess gestured at them—“us, all gathered together, has taken Fatholl and his Elves years to organize. There have been countless sacrifices, some of which cannot and should not be ignored.”
Cleve could feel the armies growing uneasy. But Fatholl appeared calm. He didn’t take his eyes off Raymess.
“But forgiveness has no place in our circumstance when desmarls are invading our land,” Raymess said. “Fatholl has done everything he can. The rest is up to us.” He pursed his lips, falling into thought for a breath. “I’m sure many of you have heard that my own family turned against me a month ago when I refused to fight with Fatholl. One of my mages—Jek Trayden, who will likely marry my sister—even nearly killed me with a fireball.”
Cleve noticed Jek looking down.
�
�Jek, where are you?” Raymess called. “Come out here.”
Reluctantly, Jek shuffled forward to stand in front of more people than Cleve could count if he had a week to do so. The young mage knelt before Raymess.
“Stand,” the King told him, and he did. “Fatholl, come here as well.”
The Elf warily moved to stand before Raymess.
With Fatholl and Jek now facing him, Raymess regarded them with great caution, as if either would soon draw a knife.
“One man here killed my father, and the other would’ve killed me if I hadn’t been saved by the first. Yet the three of us stand here today with two choices.”
Cleve started to reach for an arrow. Then he thought better of it and lowered his hand. But he was ready if Raymess tried to execute Jek.
“We can either kill the desmarls or we can kill each other,” the monarch continued. “And the thought of us continuing to kill each other makes me sick.” He smiled at the uneasy troops assembled before him. Tension flooded out of them. “Now it’s time to save our children and our children’s children. If I can stand beside these men after everything that’s happened, then there’s no excuse why we can’t all fight together. Soon there will be no monsters left in our land!”
As everyone cheered, Cleve watched Raymess shake Jek’s hand. Then he walked away from Fatholl without a glance.
They split into thousands of groups, each one containing at least two psychics and two archers. However, Cleve had convinced Fatholl and Raymess that his group needed no other archers besides him. They already had Jek, possibly the most powerful Sartious mage in the world, and Cleve worried another archer would just get in his way. Two swordsmen of Presoren joined them. With Reela and Vithos, their group was six strong—smaller than all the others. The swordsmen assigned to them were quick to voice their concerns as the other groups spread along the land.
“Look how young they are,” one man said to another.
“They very strong,” Vithos said. “No worry.”
“And this one can barely speak common tongue!” the same one complained.
“I’m Cleve,” he said, ignoring the man. “What are your names?”
“Larri.” It was the man who’d complained. He had neat blond hair that would’ve suited a young woman nicely, Cleve thought. It was combed to fall over half his forehead, dancing around his neck from the wind. Sandy stubble lined his cheeks and chin. He was thin and wielded a short sword. Although he’d mentioned their ages, he didn’t look older than Vithos. “How long have you been using that bow?”
“Since I was old enough to shoot an arrow,” Cleve answered. “Can that short sword really cut through a desmarl tentacle?”
“I’m Hahn,” the other said in a clear attempt to interrupt their banter. He had a dark complexion and black hair. The head of his battle ax rested on the grass, its long hilt balanced against his chest. He seemed to regard Cleve with more respect than Larri.
“You’d better hope it can,” Larri said.
“Hi Hahn, I’m Reela, and this is Vithos and Jek.”
“Pleasure.” Hahn shook their hands.
“What’s with your ears?” Larri asked as he shook Reela’s hand. “You half?”
“I am. And Vithos is my half-brother.”
“Didn’t know there were any halfs,” Larri said.
“Is everyone aware of what we need to do?” Jek asked.
“Yes, boy,” Larri said.
“Until we’re more comfortable, I’ll be leading us,” Jek said.
“You?” Larri looked to Vithos, expecting him to object.
“I’m not leader,” Vithos said.
“Yes, me,” Jek confirmed.
“Oh, right. You’re that Sartious mage Raymess brought up in front of us. Marrying his sister.” By Larri’s tone, it was clear he assumed Jek’s position wasn’t earned. “Have you even seen a desmarl before?”
“I led a group that killed ten of them, and there were no psychics with us.” Jek pointed. “Look, the other groups are starting. We can’t let the desmarls in front of us shift over and surprise our allies.” He began marching toward the fog. Cleve took to his side and awaited his command.
“Did any of your men die?” Larri asked.
“No, and neither will any of us. Stay behind me for now.” Jek began to lift his wand, stopping for a breath to ready himself. Then his arm shot forward as he trudged toward the fog. The green cloud parted unnaturally. It was like watching the sea split in half.
Jek grunted. His hands rose to grab hold of the air before him. Heaving, he motioned as if he was prying something open. The tear through the Sartious cloud widened to the width of a house, revealing the ends of two tentacles undulating on the ground, slowly creeping closer with each breath Cleve took.
“Bastial hell,” Larri whispered.
“I figured you’d seen a desmarl before,” Cleve said.
“I have. But I haven’t seen anything like what that boy just did.”
Jek calmly walked forward, continuing to part the cloud before them. More of the monster’s appendages came into view. They were as thick as tree trunks, but green—the same color as the fog.
“Don’t touch the tentacles,” Jek told them, seemingly unworried as they wiggled toward him. “Or they’ll snatch you up and crush your bones quicker than you can scream. Reela and Vithos, can you use psyche at this range, or do you need to be closer to their tiny brains?”
“I don’t know,” Reela said. “I’ve never tried using psyche on any beast that had limbs so far from their bodies.”
“We try.” Vithos stepped forward.
“Don’t try,” Jek said. “We don’t want the desmarl to know we’re here until Cleve can shoot it in the eye. The moment it detects us, its tentacles will flail until they touch something. I’ve seen them grab boulders and break them apart thinking they were food.”
“Vithos means that we’ll just see if it’s possible,” Reela said, joining her brother at the hip. Together, they eased forward with their palms extended.
Jek separated more of the Sartious Energy to reveal a fourth appendage, only this one came from the fog at such an angle that it must’ve been part of another desmarl to their right.
Jek cursed. “I’ve never seen two of them so close together.”
“It’s the damn Elves on the other side,” Larri said. “Pushing all the desmarls toward us has made them cluster.”
“Then we’ll just have to be more careful,” Hahn said.
“I can sense their presence near us.” Reela was excited. “The Bastial Energy coming from their limbs should be enough for us to use psyche on them without being close to their bodies.”
“Then Fatholl’s plan is the best way of killing them,” Jek said. “Is everyone ready? We must move quickly once we’re within their grasp.”
“Hold your britches!” Larri’s eyes were wide. “Are you psychics sure you can do what’s necessary?”
“Can’t know,” Vithos said, “until we try.”
“But Fatholl’s Elves have tested psyche on the desmarls before,” Reela added. “And we’re just as strong as they are. If he says it will work, then it will.”
“Unless he just wants all of us killed,” Larri argued, looking ready to spit in disgust.
“If you’re scared, stay back while we kill these first two,” Hahn told him.
Larri grumbled. He said nothing as he shifted his sword and walked forward to stand with his fellow swordsman.
“We’re ready,” Hahn said.
“Psychics, on the count of three—immense pain.” Jek looked hard into Reela’s eyes, waiting for her nod. He did the same with Vithos. “One…two…three!” Jek sprinted forward, pushing away the Sartious cloud as if a gust of wind had come through.
Reela and Vithos jabbed their palms outward. Three tentacles of the desmarl before them recoiled back into the fog so quickly it was as if they’d vanished. The tentacle of the monster somewhere to their right retracted as well.
“Vithos, keep watch to the right,” Jek said. “Reela—”
“I know,” she interrupted. “It won’t touch us.”
Their group sped forward. Cleve looked deep into the cloud, waiting for the beast’s body to appear as they ran and Jek cleared more and more of the fog. Cleve could hear the chaotic commands of the groups to either side of them, but mixed in were the deep shrieks of desmarls. They didn’t sound in pain. Their cries were of anger and hunger. The loudest one yet came from the monster somewhere in the fog just ahead, a noise like teeth grinding against metal.
With each step, the cloud parted deeper. Cleve kept expecting to see his target, but he found nothing. There were patches of upended grass where the beast’s tentacles must’ve ripped it out with ease. Larri tripped over a mound of dirt and fell with a curse.
“Don’t stop,” Jek said. “The moment we give them a chance, their tentacles will reach out for us. Keep up the pain so their limbs continue retreating.”
It baffled Cleve how long they’d been running without finding the creature’s body. “Could we have run past it?” he asked.
“No, it’s still ahead of us,” Reela said. “I can tell.”
Cleve figured they’d run twenty yards, and he could see another ten yards ahead of them. Still there was nothing.
But then finally, as the cloud continued to clear, the desmarl’s body emerged. It had three tentacles wrapped around itself. They became entangled with its five other arms. The moment it saw them, pure anger surged into its one giant eye. Two rivers of drool poured from the corners of its long, twisted lips. The beast roared, showing four rows of teeth that lined the top and bottom of its mouth. Its body was the same as its head, where its tentacles met—a grotesque sphere of fat as tall as three men standing on each other’s shoulders and as wide as five with their arms outstretched. Spiked flesh along its head dangled downward, jiggling as it began reaching for them.
