by David Cook
As Liam disappeared into the woods, Teldin sighed, finally ready to give up. He was getting a crick in his neck. There were still chores to do, and milking the goat was first. Slow and stiff, he went back into the house for a bucket.
As Teldin came out the door, a small spark of light caught his eye. It left a fiery streak like a shooting star, though the fact that it flashed through the sky beneath the clouds went unnoticed by Teldin. Then the spark turned, suddenly shifting more in his direction.
Stars don’t dart about, Teldin realized, his curiosity suddenly piqued. The spark kept moving, jigging slightly this way, then that, like a tadpole in a stream, while all the time holding to an almost straight line toward Teldin. The more he watched, the larger and faster the light grew. Teldin thought he could almost hear a hissing noise, like a drop of water skittering in a hot skillet.
The imaginary sound grew louder, now more like a redhot stone cast in a pot, then changing again as deeper rumbles sounded beneath the popping hiss. Weak echoes came back to Teldin from the hills of his small valley. The spark had become a glowing coal surrounded by a fiery nimbus, almost the size of brilliant Solinari at full.
Teldin stood watching, waiting for the thing to change course again. It did not heed his wishes and instead bore downward, resolving into a great, dark shape, like a tapered oval, silhouetted by sparkling points and tongues of flame
Teldin abruptly realized that it was plunging straight toward where he stood dumbfounded, bucket in hand. The yeoman squinted at the thing that charged out of the sky, bright enough now to hurt his eyes. A great jutting beak and bulging, glowing eyes clearly marked it as some kind of maleficent beast. Gigantic wings, billowing with fire, flared out from the sides and trailed showers of fiery sparks. A roaring filled the air over the silent farm, like the teeth-grating scream of an enraged fiend.
“Paladine’s blood!” swore Teldin as his amazement wore off and he saw doom descending. Instinctively he threw up one arm to shield himself. The bucket dropped, and with his other hand he groped about for the hoe, a poor weapon at best. The flaming beast still bore down from the sky, relentless in its approach.
Self-preservation finally overcame inertia, and Teldin flung himself to the side, springing and stumbling to evade the creature’s charge. Leaping from the porch, his hoe in hand, Teldin hit the ground, tripped over a root, pitched forward, and rolled across the dirt yard. The goat, waiting to be milked, ran with terrified bleats as Teldin, dirt-smeared and panting, scrambled to his feet. The farmer twisted around to see if the fiery beast still pursued him.
All thoughts were shattered by a crackling screech as the monstrous, dark underbelly scraped across the field. The beast smashed into the ground, not slowing in the least for its landing. The great bulk plowed through the melons, throwing up dirt like a plow cutting a furrow. Vines and fruit were gouged away. Under its driving landing, the earth shuddered, as if the soil were struck by Reorx’s hammer itself.
The shock wave blasted Teldin with a hail of pebbles and dust. The earth heaved under his feet, throwing him head over heels. The farmer crashed backward down the stream bank until he was slammed onto his chest and sprawled headfirst down the opposite bank. The wind was driven from his gut. The hoe ricocheted out of his grasp, and his arm was numb where it had struck a stone. Gasping, Teldin sucked in half a lungful of mud and water and succeeded only in choking himself worse. Forcing himself onto his elbows, it was all he could do to weakly lift his face, gasping and spitting, out of the muck.
In the field above, the thing from the Abyss rebounded from its initial impact until it was almost airborne again. Melon vines hung from the splintered underbelly, the plants’ roots desperately clutching to the earth as if they were trying to entwine the charging beast in their grasp. The creature’s broad beak tore through the slender trees in front of the house, shattering the trunks in grinding howls that ended in cracking explosions. As one of the flaming wings passed overhead, an arc of sparks cascaded down, and hot embers singed Teldin’s back through his wet shirt. Other coals extinguished themselves with a quick hiss in the muddied stream.
From where he lay sprawled, it looked to Teldin as if the thing, beast or whatever, might get itself airborne once more. The shape’s ponderous bulk hovered over the farmhouse’s shingled roof, struggling to break the bonds of gravity.
The illusion was shattered by a rippling series of explosions, like a giant striking stones together, from somewhere deep within the thing. The great curved shape trembled. There was another single roar, and the side burst open in a gout of flame, blasting shards across the farmyard. In the brief moment that the conflagration illuminated the sky, Teldin had the image of a great ship, some winged ocean vessel, its planking shattered and broken, hovering in the air over his house. In that same second, the burning tongue flared toward him, washing his face in roasting heat. Jagged wooden splinters lanced the bank around Teldin while flaming embers once again rained from above.
Mindful of injury, Teldin pressed back into the stream, the warm mud squeezing up around his chest, the water running over his back. Above he could hear a wood-shearing roar as the ship lurched downward, crushing the roof of his house. The fieldstone chimney, built by his father, collapsed as the old rafters gave way without a fight. Only Grandfather’s strong log walls resisted, for a moment supporting the great weight pressing down on them. From where he lay, Teldin heard a groan of wood followed by a popping crack, the way trees sometimes froze in the worst winters. After a series of thunderous booms, a relative silence – broken only by the crash of an occasional piece of debris – was all that sounded.
Though trembling and shaken by this unexpected attack, Teldin peered over the bank, his blue eyes quickly going hard as he looked at the destruction of his home. The ship, if it was one, had finally settled to a stop, crushing the house’s entire western wall. The stone-and-mortar chimney had fallen over on the chicken coop, caving in the flimsy roof. The whitewashed logs were thrust out at terrible angles and the porch he had built was buried under the remains. Teldin could barely hear the squawks of hens, now somewhere far off in the darkness. Fires swirled and crackled through the gaping holes in the hull, like beacons set to highlight the ghastly scene.
Finally, Teldin warily raised himself out of the water, ready to bolt like one of the rabbits that sometimes crouched at the edge of his fields. Muck ran down his scratched and burned body, but the farmer was too intent on the blazing scene to notice. Cautiously, he stepped up the bank and slowly began to circle the burning wreck.
Abruptly there was a loud groan of timber, followed by a single thundering crack as the vessel’s keel split. Teldin sprang back as the shattered form lurched, then split in two, the back half settling, slightly canted on its outspread wings. The front, with its long, jutting spar, tore free and dropped onto the remains of the chicken coop, smashing it flat. Stunned hens reeled out of the wreckage and staggered through the rubble-strewn yard. The knifelike bow wobbled and fell over, tipping away from the wreckage of the house, and the upper decks listed toward Teldin. A short mast thrust out at him like a misguided dragon lance, wavering up and down, a tattered pennon at its tip. The few hens that remained fled, squawking in alarm. When the ship finally settled, Teldin stalked forward, his hoe clutched in both hands. He could barely make himself move, he was so tense and ready to bolt, but the need to know more drove him forward.
As he advanced slowly, weaving from side to side, Teldin studied the wreck. The main hull and most of the ship seemed to be made of wood, but sprouting from the keel of the rear section were four flaring fins, definitely not of timber. Ribbed like a trout’s fins, the strange sails were mangled badly by the crash, broken in several places when the vessel sheared through the trees. Bits of a fleshy membrane, of which only torn and burned strips remained, once joined the ribs of these wings. A similar fin rose out of the middle of the deck, its arching shape tangled in the shattered branches overhead. Trailing into the darkness at the back was
something that looked like a flamboyant fish’s tail.
Teldin had never seen these things on any ship in Kalaman. He blinked, wondering if the explosion had addled his senses. The strange wings, combined with the gleaming portholes near the bow, made the vessel seem like a living creature. This was furthered by the leaping shadows of the fire, which gave the shattered hulk the image of pulsing life, as if the last breaths of the ship were being gasped away.
“By the Dark Queen of the Abyss!” Teldin swore softly under his breath, letting loose the strongest oath he had ever used. The farmer ducked down to go under the mast of the fore section when a scratching noise came from the deck. Whirling about, Teldin watched a dark, limp shape slide across the tilted foredeck, break through the railing at the edge with a wet thud, and drop behind the broken wall of the house. “A person!” Teldin blurted.
He froze in place, torn about what to do. If there were beings on board, Teldin finally realized, the gods only knew who or what they might be. Part of him suddenly wanted to flee, to get away from this monstrosity, but other parts, his curiosity and his decency, urged him forward. It was with slow steps that Teldin finally edged forward to the broken log wall. With his hoe held ready like an axe, the farmer thrust his head over.
The other side of the wall was dimly illuminated by the leaping flames that showed through the shattered porthole in the bow, but there definitely was a body crumpled atop the tumbled piles of shingles and rafters. Teldin could not tell if the body was male or female; that much it was too dark to discern. Taking up a burning brand, Teldin held the rude torch up for a closer look. The being’s frame was light and thin, like an elfs. The body was strong and muscled, though, and certainly not like the few elves he’d ever met. The face was toward the ground, but the black, tangled hair glistened wetly. Probably blood, he thought. Whoever it was, it wasn’t human, of that he was almost sure.
Teldin poked at the body with the handle of his hoe. Nothing moved. He prodded again. There was still no movement. Satisfied, Teldin scrambled over the remains of the log wall, cleared away some of the shingles and rafters, and knelt beside the body. Ignoring the fact that he had scraped his shin on a jagged bit of chimney stone, Teldin breathlessly rolled the body over, succeeding only with difficulty, since a long, purple cloak was twisted around the arms and legs. One arm was bent at an odd angle, apparently broken. The shirt was dark with bloodstains.
As he had guessed, the intruder clearly was not human. The bones were too light and long, the fingers too narrow. To his embarrassed surprise, Teldin discovered as he loosened the shirt that the stranger was female. Her breasts left no doubt about that. The almost triangular face was drawn, yet kept a compelling aspect. Everything about the face was thin-narrow lips, sharply cut nose, pointed ovals for eyes. Bands of dark makeup ran above and below the eyes and were drawn out in whorls at the outer corners. She was exotically handsome, vaguely masculine, yet clearly not, and, even unmoving, seemed endowed with more grace than any man.
A sticky, warm wetness dripped through Teldin’s fingers as he lifted her head. Dark blood matted her hair from a gash in the side of her skull and ran down Teldin’s arm as he tried to lay out the body. The cloak, coiled and tangled, again interfered, but Teldin could only fumble unsuccessfully at the silver clasp around her neck. As he did so, the painted eyelids weakly opened and the dark eyes beneath still showed a spark of life.
“Neogi bly zam no insson ….” the woman-thing whispered, her sibilant voice growing softer with each word until only the lips moved without speaking. The eyes dimmed; the lids almost closed. Whatever she had said clearly had taken great effort.
“What?” Teldin pressed, astonished to find the stranger still alive. So startled was he that he almost dropped her head, which he held cradled in his arms. Finally he drew closer, almost pressing his face to hers. “Who are you?”
“Ei zam neogi,” the stranger falteringly tried again. Her delicate lips barely moved as each word was whispered.
“What? I don’t understand,” Teldin answered with excessive slowness, as if that would make him understood. He fumbled again with the clasp of the cloak, trying to remove it.
With her good arm the woman-thing weakly tried to push Teldin’s hands away. “Ton! Ton!” she hissed at him. Teldin let go of the clasp and shook his head in frustration. The flames beyond the porthole lit his face, and she seemed to understand. Slowly reaching up, she touched her fingers to his lips. They tasted slightly of ash and salt, mingled with the sweeter flavor of blood. Her own lips moved, silently forming words. When she finished, she let her hand fall.
“Now we may speak,” she whispered, somehow in words Teldin could understand. Her voice was more musical than any he had heard. “Yes?”
“Yes,” Teldin quickly answered, taken aback by this sudden transformation. “What – who are you?”
“I am dying, I think,” the woman-thing continued, ignoring the human’s question. “Are all my crew dead?”
Teldin, who had not seen a living soul since the crash, nodded.
The alien closed her eyes. “Then I am resigned to die.”
“Who are you? What happened? Where did you come from?” Teldin demanded. The ability to communicate uncorked a stream of questions in the farmer’s mind. He let them flood out, trying to get all his answers before it was too late. As her eyes dimmed, Teldin patted her cheeks, hoping to keep her conscious.
“The … the neogi did this,” was her weak reply. Her eyes barely opened. The color was fast draining from her already pale cheeks and her eyes were growing duller. “They want the —” She stopped abruptly, her eyes suddenly opening. “You must take this. Take this!” the woman-thing said with a forcefulness greater than before. With her good hand she tore at the clasp to her cloak. What he could not open, she sprang free easily. “Take the cloak. Keep it from the neogi.” The alien pulled Teldin’s hand onto the fabric. “Take it to the creators.”
“The who? The what?” Teldin queried. None of this made any sense and he wasn’t getting any answers. He easily shook off her grip. “Why? What are the neogi?” he practically shouted.
“Wear it. Now,” the stranger insisted. With her one hand, she tried to place the cloak around his neck, wincing in pain to roll free of the purple fabric.
“What are you doing?” Teldin was more puzzled than frightened by her determination.
“Take it,” she demanded even more urgently.
“Why – no, explain why,” Teldin said, refusing her, as his prudent nature asserted itself.
“Take the cloak!” the woman-thing said more fiercely than before. She bared her teeth with a certain savage fury, but the fire in her eyes grew even weaker.
The effort was killing her, Teldin realized in dismay. “Stop. I’ll take it,” he assured her. Taking the silver chains, Teldin laid the cloak around his shoulders, though he did not fasten the clasp. The purple gleamed richly in the leaping firelight. “I have it. Now what’s going on here?”
The female gave a rattling sigh. “No more questions. I am dead.” Her hand dropped limply and the light went finally from her eyes.
“What? You can’t just die now!” Teldin blurted, even though he knew it was futile. He had seen enough dead to know it was too late for her. He sat amid the wreckage of his house, the dead female in his arms, and felt indignant, used, and mystified. The creature had no right to die now, he fumed. He had only accepted the cloak to keep her alive. “What, by the gods, is going on?” he asked aloud to no one. He held up an edge of the cloak, looking for mystical symbols or anything. He saw nothing but dark purple cloth. “Why kill yourself to give it to me? It can’t be worth much.” Teldin looked down at the female as if expecting an answer. “And just who are the neogi? By the Abyss, who are you?” He paused, as if to hear her reply.
“Stand, assassin, so I may kill you!” boomed a voice behind him.
Chapter Two
Like a flushed fox, Teldin sprang to his feet and spun about, hoe in hand,
the cloak flapping over his arm. The farmer choked back an enraged outcry, for on the opposite side of the wall stood a massive form half-concealed by a tangle of spars and deck planking. The blazing debris grotesquely illuminated the bestial creature – so unlike any Teldin had seen – that lurched from the wreck.
It stood stiff and upright like a seasoned knight, though it was a good seven feet tall and almost half that in width across its shoulders. Thick shadows marked its heavy jowls, its large sagittal crest, and the deep pits of its nostrils. The creature had a face like a hippopotamus, but the skull was flatter, with pert little ears at the top of its head. It was difficult to tell in the firelight, but Teldin thought the creature’s skin looked bluish gray. Its two legs were like tree trunks and its chest was as big around as the old water barrel that used to stand beside the house.
The thing wore trousers and a tight-fitting blouse adorned with ribbons; the whole outfit was now badly ripped. A broad, orange sash was wrapped around its thick waist, and in it was tucked a collection of mismatched knives and a worn cutlass. As Teldin stared dumbly, the beast stumbled forward over rubble, not taking its small, dark eyes off the human. It kept one arm stiffly outstretched and pointed directly at the farmer at all times. In this hammy, blue fist was a strange, curved stick of metal and wood, aimed at Teldin’s head.
“Assassin and thief, before you die, know that your slayer is Trooper Herphan Gomja, Red Grade, First Rank, First Platoon of the Noble Giff,” the creature gloweringly intoned. “When your soul gets to wherever it goes, remember my name!”
“No, wait!” shouted Teldin in a desperate attempt to explain. “I didn’t kill —”
“It is too late, groundling!” the big blue-gray beast bellowed back. His thick finger squeezed down on a small lever on the underside of the stick. Paralyzed more by astonishment than fear, Teldin was rooted in place. A scorching wind from the blazing wreck sucked up a rain of cinders and ash and swirled it around them. The cloak fluttered and flapped in the breeze. The stick gave a mighty flash and roar, dazzling Teldin but breaking the spell that bound him in place. Blinded and deafened, he flailed out with the hoe, missed, slipped on a loose stone, crashed over a tangle of wood, and sprawled on the ground. Panting and blinking while scrambling back to his feet, the farmer waited for the big creature to strike, but nothing happened.
