Voidhawk: The Elder Race

by Jason Halstead

  Dexter turned to look at the man, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Rosh was grinning and staring hungrily at the lithe figure of his mate. “That settles it then,” he said, tossing her things to her.

  Rosh frowned while Logan and Xander both chuckled. Jenna grinned and winked at the Captain, then quickly began putting her clothing back on.

  “Think you can hold onto something like that?” Rosh asked him quietly while she dressed.

  Dexter glanced at him, surprised by the unusual moment of camaraderie the warrior seemed to be offering. He looked to Jenna as she tied up her vest and just shook his head. “No way of owning something like her,” he offered. “Like a moth to a flame I am.”

  Rosh snorted while Jenna slipped her boots on and tied them, then straightened her belt before walking over to them. She smiled at them both then gave Dexter a special look. “You’re wrong,” she said to him, then she looked at Rosh. “I’m all his, body and soul. It’s just that he hasn’t figured it out yet.”

  She turned and headed towards the village, leaving the two gaping men staring at her behind them.

  “Captain?” Xander asked, fighting the urge to chuckle.

  “Aye?” Dexter asked, snapping out of his fugue. He shook his head at once and nodded, still staring at Jenna’s clothed but attractive bottom. “Aye, to the village then, let’s see what’s here then make ready to push on. After that troublesome wench.”

  Rosh hesitated, glancing back at the Voidhawk before he loosened the sword in his scabbard and followed them.

  * * * *

  The village was empty. The buildings had long been abandoned and anything not tied down or too heavy to move had been taken. It was just as well, for they found nothing of value remaining anyhow, and expected that there may have never been anything of value, given the primitive nature of the buildings. They did not, in any fashion, show signs of the technology or artistry the elder elves had displayed.

  Jenna found the trail that would lead them up and away from the village, into the mountains. Dexter paused to stare back at the Voidhawk, visible over the collection of roofs that had fallen into disrepair. It was distant, but he could see people upon the bow, watching them. He waved and they waved back, then he turned and gave the signal to proceed along the ancient jungle path.

  Within a dozen steps the cooling mountain breeze died off. The humidity rose, pressing against them palpably and threatening to choke them. Insects and birds, thought non-existent on the beach or the village, now made noises all about them. The chirped, buzzed, and hooted angrily, as though the Voidhawk’s crew was invading.

  Jenna, leading the troop through the darkening jungle, came to an abrupt stop. She hissed back at them and held up a hand to stall them, while her other went to the pistol at her hip. Rosh and Dexter ignored her warning and pushed forward anxiously, not stopping until they came up beside her.

  “Lumbering oafs,” she hissed at them under her breath. “Be quiet or you’ll waken it!”

  “What in…” Dexter’s voice, spoken softly, trailed off as he stared at it. The sleeping creature was most easily described as a giant slug, although calling it giant did it no justice. By a slug’s standards it was truly a behemoth, with the top of it nearly eight feet off the ground. The slimy body was where the resemblance ended; the head had four small black eyes and four tentacles that were just long enough to reach the ground. A milky liquid drooled from the tips of the tentacles, offering no shortage of possibilities and threats.

  It shivered as they stared at it, then turned its ponderous bulk to face them.

  “Captain?” Rosh asked uncertainly, reaching for his sword but not yet daring to draw it.

  “We can outrun it,” Jenna offered, seeing it inching its way towards them.

  “And get lost in this forest?” Dexter frowned. “It’s slow enough we can probably-“

  Dexter was reaching for his pistol as well, but he froze in reaction to a rumbling roar that came from their right. It was a sound unlike anything he had ever heard before, and he had no idea what could have caused it.

  “Back to the beach!” Xander hissed once the roar died, staring fearfully into the dense jungle. His words were followed by a thudding rumble, then the sounds of trees rustling and creaking. “Now!” The wizard urged fervently.

  “What is it?” Rosh asked, the slug apparently forgotten.

  “Look!” Jenna hissed, pointing at the slug. It had turned away from them and moved off the path. It moved quicker than they expected, but not fast enough to catch them should they run. It was headed into the bowl of a large tree. Once it reached the shadowy area it curled in upon itself, reducing its size almost by half. The mottled skin blended in with its surroundings, making it hard for them to spot it once they looked away.

  The rumbling noises continued. Another roar followed several moments later, enough to tell them that whatever it was, it was headed towards them.

  “Aye, let’s go back,” Dexter said, at a loss for any other plan.

  Without a word to the contrary, his crew turned and started back at a rapid pace. Rosh fell behind, drawing repeated glances from Dexter to see the warrior watching behind them curiously. The swishing noise was accompanied by an occasionally crash of breaking timber and breathing so heavy that they could hear it even without the lumbering thing upon them.

  A cry drew them to a halt. It was a human cry, or humanoid, at least. And not a cry for help either, but one of battle. It was answered by a roar that was deafening, even considering their distance. The sounds of thrashing in the trees not only warned them, but the very ground trembled under their feet as well. Another roar followed and then a thunder that they felt as well as heard. Cheering ensued, cheering from something that didn’t sound as though it was bent on eating them.

  “Dex?” Jenna asked hesitantly.

  He nodded after a minute. “Check it out,” he said. “Stay together,” he cautioned, looking at everyone meaningfully.

  Jenna led them into the jungle, with Rosh hurrying to push back near the front. Xander stayed well behind, glancing about nervously whenever Dexter checked on him. Keshira was silent but steady, as always, and Dexter reminded himself to have a talk with her sometime about not always smiling. He’d encouraged her to smile a while back, but in the midst of a hostile jungle it was kind of creepy.

  The jungle ahead of them lightened, allowing the sight of movement and sounds to reach them. People, or whatever they were, were speaking to one another, their tones cheerful. Rosh reached out to grab a tree limb to swing around a tree and step beside Jenna, but cursed in surprise when it moved on him. He jumped away, wrenching his sword free from his scabbard as he did so.

  The snake struck, surprising him. The part he grabbed had been near the tail, the head of it dropped down from a branch above him and sank fangs nearly the size of daggers into his shoulder. Rosh grunted and pulled himself away, slashing with his sword as best he could but only managed to slash along its belly. It fell on him rapidly, coiling around his arm then looping a leg into it and trying to bring his body under control as well. Rosh dropped his sword from his useless hand and tried to grab the snake. Dexter and Logan ran over as well, wrapping their hands around the snake and trying to pull it away from him.

  The snake proved stronger than both men, and even gained on them, slowly coiling itself around Rosh’s hips and belly. He grunted and gasped as it constricted, seeking to crush the air from him or, failing that, to at least pulverize his hips. Dimly Dexter was aware of sudden silence from the clearing ahead, then he knew they were being watched by the many shadowy figures that were moving to surround them.

  “Gimme a pistol!” Rosh growled through teeth that were clenched against the pain.

  “We’ll get it!” Dexter said, pulling out a dagger and trying first to saw at the snake’s neck. The scales of the snake were tough, making his sawing useless. A stronger slash would be needed, he knew, but he might hurt Rosh by doing so.

  Dexter tried to wedge the kn
ife between the snake’s jaws. Rosh glared at him as the point dug into his shoulder, but he said nothing while Dexter used leverage to try and dislodge the head. It, too, failed to impress the snake.

  “Pistol!” Rosh gasped again. His left arm flailed, reaching for Dexter’s sidearm while the snake looped another heavy coil around him.

  Dexter tried again with his dagger then gave up and drew the pistol. He tried to aim at the snake’s head, but the coils of its body protected it from all but a direct shot. A shot that would serve Rosh to the same fate as the snake. “I don’t have a shot!” Dexter cried out, frustrated.

  He turned to Keshira, figuring nothing short of brute strength would avail them. He opened his mouth when Rosh connected, his fist staggering Dexter and knocking him into a tree and then the ground. Rosh fell as well, giving the snake ample opportunity to wrap its sinuous body around him and begin to squeeze his chest. The warrior grimaced, his face turning red with exertion and lack of air. Audible popping noises told of a horrible fate befalling him, one that Xander had to look away from.

  Dexter struggled to his knees and then his feet, staring angrily at the doomed man. Rosh had his pistol now and, in spite of being near death, he raised it to the snake’s head and placed the barrel against it. With a feral grin he pulled the trigger, sending birds that had only begun to settle back in flying at the report. The natives that had surrounded them jumped as well, many of them talking excitedly to one another in their language.

  The snake shuddered and twitched, relaxing as the gore and ichor from its exploded head covered Rosh and the ground around him. The large man lay there, gasping for breath but trying to breathe shallowly as tears leaked from his eyes at the pain that overwhelmed him. The headless stump of the snake’s neck fell away, revealing not only the wounds from the large fangs that seeped blood and a putrid yellow liquid, but also a greater wound caused by the bullet from the pistol.

  Logan was there in an instant, kneeling beside the large man and gently pulling the immense snake off of him. Dexter reached down to grab his pistol, then he stood up and looked around at the slowly approaching dark skinned natives. They were human, or looked close enough to fit the bill. It was easy to inspect them, since they wore practically nothing save loincloths.

  “Don’t reckon you can understand me?” Dexter asked them as he turned slowly. He smiled widely, holstering his pistol and holding his arms out peacefully.

  A man stepped forward and clapped his chest. He held a spear with a point made of chiseled stone in his other hand. He spoke a word, though Dexter struggled to understand it. “Urmalart?” Dexter asked, repeating it carefully.

  He shook his head and scowled, then spoke it again.

  “Urmlor,” Dexter repeated, feeling better about it but still not knowing what he said.

  The native grinned and slapped his chest, then he pointed to Dexter and spat out a string of words that sounded more like grunts, hoots, and whistles than anything Dexter could understand.

  “Dexter,” He said, guessing that the man had asked his name. “Dexter Silvercloud, Captain of the Voidhawk.”

  The man stared at him, his expression no doubt mirroring what Dexter’s had a few moments ago. Then he turned to the others and rattled off something. They laughed, some even pointing back at him and repeating him. Dexter felt the urge to scowl, but fought it off and just smiled instead. Primitive or not, they were outnumbered and one of his people was down, possibly dying.

  “Captain,” Logan said from Rosh’s side. His voice was subdued, to not raise any alarm.

  “He gonna make it?”

  “I… I think so. You should see this,” Logan said.

  “In a minute,” Dexter said, still facing the native leader, who had turned back to face him.

  He spoke more gibberish, then pointed at Rosh. He motioned and a woman stepped forward. Like the men the woman wore only loincloths and wielded weapons. She held a spear that was marked with more feathers and ribbons than even the man who tried to speak to Dexter. She reached up to her throat to touch a necklace made of bones, teeth, and even what looked like a chunk of amber.

  “She’s a healer,” Jenna whispered beside him.

  Dexter started; he hadn’t realized that Jenna had moved beside him. “Already got one of them,” Dexter said.

  “This the best time to be insulting people?” She asked pointedly.

  Dexter glanced at her and scowled, but his look showed her she had made her point. Again. Damn woman was going to be impossible to live with if she kept proving herself right, he figured. He turned back to the native and nodded, gesturing to the black skinned woman and then Rosh.

  She nodded and smiled, then approached. Dexter watched her carefully, noting how she moved like a jungle cat herself. He told himself he was looking to see if she posed a threat but in truth he was admiring the thickness of limbs and grace of her fuller figure. Her loincloth did little to hide the sway of her hips nor the swells of her full breasts. None of these natives were fat by any means, but they were solid and built to handle the rigorous lifestyle they led.

  Jenna cleared her throat meaningfully beside him. Dexter glanced away, returning his gaze to their leader. Unseen behind him, the native woman knelt down beside Rosh and began to whisper in her own language a chant to her Gods or spirits or whatever it was they prayed to.

  “Captain, I don’t think-“

  Logan’s words were cut off by the gasp from the woman. Dexter and the others turned to stare at her, and found themselves nearly as amazed as she was. Rosh was awake, his eyes burning brightly as he stared up at her. His hand held her wrist, trapping her in his iron grip. She tried to pull away but was unable to. Around them the natives bristled, raising weapons and stepping forward threateningly.

  “Rosh! Let her go, she was trying to help,” Dexter said, a wary eye on the leader of the natives.

  Rosh sat up slowly, wincing a little as he did so. He realized he held the exotically beautiful dark skinned woman and let her go; pulling his hand back as though touching her was burning him. He glanced around at the others and was apparently satisfied with what he saw because he visibly relaxed. Rosh stretched his neck, smiling in grim satisfaction as it popped multiple times, then shook his arms and legs a little from where he sat on the ground.

  “Thought I was done for,” he said with his old grin back in place. “Damn snake had my number.”

  “Rosh… you… you’re okay,” Dexter stammered, looking the man up and down in shock.

  Rosh nodded, grinning, “Guess that snake wasn’t so tough after all.”

  “No Rosh… you are okay,” Dexter said, making it a statement not a question.

  Rosh nodded, not getting it.

  “He means you’re perfectly healthy,” Logan said. “That snake bit you deep, you had broken bones, and you shot yourself to kill the snake.”

  Rosh nodded, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. He looked at his shoulder and reached up to poke and prod at it. He frowned, grimacing a little, then looked back at them. “Don’t hurt,” he said. He tore the hole in his shirt caused by the pistol and the snake wider and looked around. The skin was pink, but whole and unharmed. “What do ya make of that?” He asked, as mystified by it as the others.

  The native girl turned to the others and spoke, her words streaming faster than Dexter could hope to follow even if he had understood her. The chief — or whatever he was called — challenged her, but she shouted him down. In moments they all began to take a step back and, as Rosh rose to stand on his feet again, they fell to their knees and prostrated themselves before him.

  “You got to be kidding me,” Dexter said, staring around at them.

  Rosh stared, smiling stupidly, and opened his mouth to speak. A loud rumble sounded in his belly, reaching even the worshipping natives. Whatever Rosh had been about to say he turned instead to Dexter, one hand on his belly, and asked, “Think I could cook that snake up?”

  Chapter 6 – Jungle Demons

  Bekka
gasped and opened her eyes, letting the image of her crewmate slip from her mind. It was a forbidden fantasy she tried not to entertain, but sometimes she couldn’t deny herself. Around her she felt the slight swaying of the gentle waves that licked the Voidhawk’s hull. It was secured, the front landing struts rooted in the sandy bottom of the lake they had landed in, but still the effect of the volume of water against it caused the gentlest of motions.

  There was more: the creaking of the timbers in the hull, some older than her, and the rustling of the rigging on the deck above. Bekka was the helmsman and therefore had one of the small but private cabins aboard the ‘Hawk. The privacy afforded her kept her free from the common crew quarters and in the bow of the ship, but still the sounds filtered in to her.

  Something else was amiss as well, and that was what had interrupted her meditations. Something just felt different; something was wrong. Being the primary helmsman, Bekka felt that she understood the ship better than anyone else aboard, save perhaps for Willa. Willa possessed a strange talent that let her feel the ship in ways no one else could, even the former shipwright that had rebuilt it from scrap into the magnificent vessel it was now.

  Bekka slid her hand over her scalp, feeling the sweat-slicked smoothness that would last a day or two until the stubble became pronounced enough that she had to shave her head again. This world they had landed on in search of the lost fleet of the elders was humid and warm. Not so bad where they rested on the lakeshore, but she knew Dexter and the others that had gone with him would feel the weather thickly where they were, in the jungle and out of the breezes that swept down from the mountains.

  Bekka shook her head, such errant thoughts were far from unusual, but now she knew she had to focus. Something was amiss, something she sensed and felt, even if she could not place it. She rose from her cross legged position and grabbed up her clothes. She slipped on the loose fitting trousers and shirt, then wondered if she should grab the dagger in her chest. She discarded the idea almost as quickly as she considered it; if there was trouble aboard and it called for a physical defense, Bailynn and Jodyne were far better suited to dealing with it than she was. She would be as formidable with a hastily scavenged belaying pin or pot from the kitchen as she would with her knife.