HE WHO FIGHTS

by Mike Morris

  Rane adjusted his feet once more, filled his lungs full of air, and pushed up with his legs. The weight was immense, threatening to buckle his knees and burst every muscle, but the wagon shifted a few inches off the ground. His arms and shoulders took the strain and he pushed up once more, grunting with the effort, grateful for Kibon’s magic and the strength it gave him. His legs straightened, and the side of the wagon rose by a couple of feet. "Do you see anything?"

  "It's a little girl." Myri was on her knees, reaching out with her good hand. "Come here, don't be afraid."

  The wagon seemed to grow in weight in Rane's hands and little shivers of agony ran through his arms and legs. His burnt skin protested as it stretched under the pressure.

  "It's okay," said Myri and Rane looked down to see her disappear under the wagon. If he dropped it now, she'd be crushed.

  Seconds passed. Each one feeling like an hour.

  "I'm Myri. What's your name?"

  Rane couldn't hear the answer to Myri's question. He couldn't move. All he could do was hold on as sweat ran down his face and stung his eyes. Every muscle in his body burned. His strength was fading fast.

  "Crawl to me, Gemma," said Myri from under the wagon but all Rane thought was that she was taking too long. Too damn long. He couldn’t hold it much longer.

  "Good girl. I've got you,” said Myri.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Rane thought he saw some movement; a darting shadow some thirty yards into the trees. "Whatever you're doing down there, be quick. We've got company."

  There was a scuffling noise from beneath him and a cry from the child, and then Myri scooted back. Rane looked down, trying to ignore the pain spreading in his arms.

  Myri reappeared. She crawled backwards, until only her head and shoulders were under the wagon. All he had to do was hold onto the wagon for a few seconds more. His arms and legs shook violently but still he held on.

  He closed his eyes, retreating into himself. Nothing else existed as he put all he had into holding the wagon. "Come on," he urged.

  "We're clear!" shouted Myri and Rane let go, falling backwards as he did so. He hit the ground at the same time as the wagon, feeling the impact of the heavy weight slamming to the ground. Myri sat next to him, cradling a small child, a girl, the five year old, in her arms. She stared wide-eyed at them both, petrified.

  "This is Gemma," said Myri, as she got to her feet. "She's a very brave girl."

  "Pleased to meet you," said Rane, only too aware of how he must look with his burnt and puckered skin. "My name is Nathaniel. We're going to get you back to your family." He smiled but the girl slunk further into Myri's arms.

  "We should get..." said Myri but movement from the bushes silenced her.

  Rane felt the danger too and was back on his feet in an instant. He whipped Kibon from its sheath.

  The immediate pulse of magic helped calm the shaking in his limbs, feeding some energy back in to his body. He wiped sweat from his face with his other hand, flicking it to the ground as he scanned the undergrowth around them. Something was out there.

  The horses stomped the ground, snorting and grumbling, eager to leave.

  More movement. This time on the other flank. Bracke. It had to be.

  "Get the girl out of here. Get her back to her family." Rane didn't even look at Myri as he spoke. Didn't watch her retreat. He stood with his back to her, offering what protection he could. "Find me when she's safe. I'm going to go after Marcus, find the others." He didn't mention that he needed to kill the devil dogs first. There was no point.

  He heard Myri mount her horse as a Bracke jumped on top of the wagon, and the little girl screamed.

  Blood dripped from its jaws as it curled itself up, ready to pounce. The claws on its hands and feet dug into the woodwork, its eyes focused on Rane. Its tail whipped behind it.

  Rane shifted Kibon into a two-handed grip as he listened to Myri gallop back down the road, followed by his own horse. He had to get his strike just right. He'd only have the one...

  The Bracke roared. And launched itself at Rane.

  He swung Kibon but he was too tired, too hurt, too slow. The Bracke hit him with all its force, knocking him over as it slashed down with its claws. Rane kicked out as they fell, pushing the Bracke off him before it could hook its claws into his flesh. The ground smashed into his shoulder. His momentum rolled him through bushes and undergrowth. Dirt, sky, trees all flashed past his eyes. He got bounced against a tree and cracked his head against a rock and then the world stopped moving. He reeled, punch-drunk, trying to bring his senses back under control.

  And the Bracke leaped once more.

  17

  Rane threw himself to the ground as the Bracke sprang, and felt it pass far too close over his head. He rolled back onto his feet, Kibon ready in his hands to strike back.

  The Bracke was ten yards away. It snapped its jaws at Rane, watching him, twitching this way and that to see how Rane would react.

  Rane held Kibon high in a two-handed grip, blade parallel to the ground, as he shifted his feet, retreating to create some space between them. Fear coursed through his body, but he was still alive. Still had a chance. And he had a weapon in his hand that the beast should fear. As sharp as any tooth or claw. As long as he had that, he wouldn't die.

  The Bracke snarled, baring its teeth, and reared up on its hind legs to stand almost as tall as Rane. He stepped to the left as it moved right, keeping his eyes on the creature for any sign it would attack. The rest of the world disappeared as he concentrated on the Bracke. Sweat ran down his brow. There was no room for mistakes. Rane had gotten lucky twice, but he had to do more than that if he was to stay alive.

  The Bracke's tail twitched. It pressed down on its hind legs. It clenched its hands and then it sprung, two hundred and fifty pounds of pure fury, intent on tearing Rane to bits.

  Rane sidestepped and dropped to one knee, bringing his sword around, pouring momentum into the move. A claw flashed past his face as he felt the blade bite. A jolt of energy rushed through him as the sword struck home. He pushed up off his knee, driving all his weight behind the stroke. He turned so his shoulder crashed into the beast, pushing it away as he dragged the sword through its body. Warm blood spilled over his legs as the Bracke crumpled to the ground.

  His hands shook as he took deep breaths, trying to steady himself, riding the wave of magic flowing from Kibon. Already the creature's blood was disappearing into the sword, leaving the blade spotless. But Rane had no time to worry about the effects the creature would have on his soul. There were other Bracke. And Marcus and the other children to find.

  Rane looked back down the road and was relieved to see no sign of Myri or the girl. Unfortunately his horse was gone with them. He was on foot from there on. He checked to the right, northward, found the road as empty as well. But Marcus was out there somewhere plus there were the Bracke. He’d no choice but to follow and meet whatever devil he found first on the road.

  Slinging Kibon over his shoulder, Rane set off at a run, his exhaustion gone. Kibon had done its work well. Even his burns felt better. He sprinted, faster than a normal man, aware that the Bracke could be anywhere and waiting for him to pass by before attacking.

  The ground dipped down, before turning to the right and levelling off once more, allowing Rane to pick up speed. The canopy overhead thickened, cutting off most of the natural light but still he went on. A mile flew by quickly, then a second and still all he had were footprints in the dirt to assure him that he was on the right path.

  After the third mile, doubt began to niggle away at the back of his mind. Had he missed something? Was the trail Marcus's? Had the Bracke driven them deep into the woods miles back?

  He jumped over a small stream, nearly slipping as he landed on the muddy bank, and then he was off again. He swerved around a fallen tree before the ground started to climb once more. His thighs burned as he pushed on, could feel even his magic-enhanced stamina begin to struggle. Rane reached over
his shoulder, grasped Kibon's hilt, felt a boost and kept on going.

  Rane reached the top of the hill and burst out of the woods into fields of green grass and blue skies. The sudden light blinded him and he almost didn't see what waited in the middle of the road. A second Bracke stood on a corpse, feasting on its flesh, ripping it to bits with tooth and claw. Common sense told him to stop, to approach with caution but he knew that wasn't an option. He drew both pistols and charged the Bracke.

  The beast turned when he was a few yards away, lumps of human flesh in its clawed hands. Rane brought one pistol up and fired on the run. The gun boomed, a puff of gunpowder smoke, a burst of flame. The Bracke's head jerked back as the bullet struck. A spray of blood marked the bullet's impact. But it wasn’t dead.

  Rane raised the other pistol as the beast shrugged off the wound, its focus on Rane, snarling, roaring, ready to pounce. The space between them non-existent. The Bracke's teeth, so razor-sharp, were covered with blood and gore. And then it sprung.

  Time stopped. Their momentum drew them together. Rane could see his hand disappearing into its cavernous mouth. He pulled the trigger as the creature's jaws closed. The boom, the smoke, the flame were all smothered by the Bracke's mouth but then the bullet erupted from the back of the creature's head, throwing it off Rane. It hit the dirt, twitched once, twice, then was still.

  Rane skidded to a halt, holstering his weapons and unsheathed Kibon. If more Bracke were nearby, he wanted his sword to hand. He turned slowly, scanning the ground all around him, for any movement in the grass. At least the open ground gave the creatures fewer places to hide. His heart hammered away in his chest as he tried to work some moisture back into his mouth, but he saw no danger. Sure he was safe, he went to check the body. It was a boy — the eight year-old judging by the size of him — but the Bracke hadn’t left much that could be recognised. He muttered a prayer and cursed himself for being too slow, too late to save him.

  Two of the children were accounted for. Only the four year-old remained with Marcus. He was tempted to wait with the body until Myri and the others arrived, could justify it easily enough — someone had to look after the body and he was tired and worn out, lacking even water to drink — but he knew he was only making excuses. Truth was he was afraid of Marcus. He'd beaten Rane easily at the mansion and in Rooktown and Rane had no reason to think the next time would go any differently — especially if Marcus had recovered from his injuries.

  He sheathed Kibon and reloaded his pistols, pretending he wasn't doing it to buy himself some time. He could see Marcus's trail still, disappearing off into the distance. How much further was it until he reached the Dead Lands though? Another couple of miles, maybe three? Already he could smell the smoke in the air. Once there, they’d be no hope. Not in that graveyard.

  The sun was starting its descent west as well, leaving only a couple of hours before dark.

  With his pistols back in their holsters, loaded and primed, Rane took one last lingering look back down the road he'd come to confirm what he already knew — there was no sign of Myri and he couldn't wait for her. With a shake of his head, he set off again, heading north. Marcus's trail was fainter in the dust but at least there was no sign of anymore Bracke after them.

  Long shadows stretched across the road as the sun dropped down over his left shoulder. Two miles fell under his feet and still there was no sign of Marcus. The ground rose once more, climbing out of a vale and Rane suddenly knew with certainty what waited on the other side. The air was tinged with soot and smoke from a thousand fires that would never stop burning. He slowed, unable to stop himself, not wanting to reach the top.

  It was almost dark by the time he eventually reached the peak. How fitting. How apt. He stood looking out across the Dead Lands. The scene of the five nations' greatest victory. The scene of their greatest failure. In the early evening light, the fires glowed like little pockets of hell, sending snowflakes of ash into the wind. Two years since Babayon's magic had done its work, and still no sign of them abating.

  It was an area of land once known simply as the Steppes. Mile after mile of grassland populated only by wild buffalo, a sea of green crossed by any and all travelling north or south. A good three days travel as straight as the crow flies. Even now the well-worn road stood out, cutting its way across the ruined land. But no one went that way anymore. It was still the Crow's Road but for different reasons now.

  A second road now marked the circumference because no one sane person crossed the Dead Lands. They took an extra three or four days to go around it. They took the Long Road as it was known. The safe road. It had been Rane and Myri's plan to take it. Most likely the pilgrims' too. Of course, Marcus's trail didn't take the sensible way, the sane way.

  His trail went straight on. Down the Crow's Road. Into the Dead Lands.

  And Rane wasn't going to follow. Not Alone.

  18

  Rane waited for the pilgrims by the boy's body. He'd thrown the Bracke into the wild grass, away from the track. No Parent should see what had fed on their child. Even so, he wished he had something to cover the body with. He would've spared the pilgrims that sight too if he could.

  As it was, he waited as the night crept on, wishing he was home with his wife, looking forward to the birth of his baby, not sitting vigil over the corpse of someone else's son. But the world was what it was, a violent place, full of broken dreams and ruined lives.

  It was fitting that he had such thoughts then, where he was, a couple of miles from the Dead Lands and all the ghosts that lurked there. A place of horror created by the same man responsible for Rane's present predicament — Babayon. Where had he got such power? Had he known what his magic would cause? The tainting of the Legion’s souls? The contamination of the land by constant hellfire? Was he waiting with Jefferson at Orska? Was he the one that would undo the damage he’d created?

  Rane heard Myri's horse approach and stood up to greet her. The rumble of the pilgrims' wagons followed on behind her, still a good distance away.

  "You okay?" she asked.

  "Yeah," replied Rane, sounding far from it.

  "That one of the kids?" Myri indicated the body with her chin.

  "Yeah. Found a Bracke eating him."

  "Shit. Marcus?"

  "Followed him as far as the Dead Lands."

  "Shit." Myri dismounted. She didn't ask why he'd not followed Marcus. She knew.

  The wagons rumbled into sight a few moments later, expectant faces looking down at him, waiting for good news when he had none to give. He stepped back from Myri and she passed him her water bottle without the need for him to ask. The water soothed his throat as he tried to work out what to say.

  William and Douglas drove the first wagon, both looking mean and surly, trying to reclaim some of their courage. A musket sat across Douglas' lap.

  Fia followed in the wagon behind, straight-backed, prepared for what was to come. Her driver was a thin man with hangdog expression. In the back, just visible through the door, a woman cried. Most probably she was one of the lost children's mothers, and Rane couldn't help but glance down at the poor boy at his feet. He'd done his best, but the thought offered him little comfort.

  It was too dark to see the riders of the other carriages, for which Rane was glad.

  Douglas called a halt as they drew near. Reins pulled on horses and brakes squeaked against wheels. He jumped down but his approach faltered when he saw the body. "Is that Joseph?"

  "I'm afraid so," replied Rane.

  "May Odason look over us." The man drew the sign over his chest, for protection or a blessing — either way it was too late.

  Fia hurried over, close behind. "What's happening? Have you found the other children?"

  "Only the boy," said Rane, glancing down. "I'm sorry but I was too late."

  "What about Sarah? What about the third child?"

  "Marcus — the man who took them — must still have her. I followed their trail as far as the Dead Lands. Once I realised w
here they'd gone, I came back to wait for you all here."

  Fia exchanged looks with Douglas — so they too knew of the Dead Lands. The bodyguard put his arm around the priest as her shoulders sagged, whispered in her ear. Whatever was said had an effect as Fia pushed Douglas away and straightened herself. "I will not believe Odason has abandoned us. His will may be unclear to us now, but it will not always be so. Our faith is being tested and we will be found worthy."

  Douglas bowed his head. "Yes Mother. I'm sorry."

  "Let Hazia know we have her son. Once she's had some time with him, get William and bury the poor thing." Douglas bowed once more and headed back to the other wagons. Fia turned back to Rane and Myri. "Thank you for what you've done so far. You've already achieved more than I hoped, but I have to ask what your intentions are now."

  Rane glanced at Myri, who nodded her assent. "We'll go after them at first light."

  "Into the Dead Lands?" asked Fia.

  "Yes," replied Rane. "Into the Dead Lands."

  Fia looked north for a moment as if she could see what waited a few miles down the road, and shivered. "Our plan was to take the Long Road around on our way to Napolin. Is it as bad as they say?"

  "I don't think you'll find anyone alive who could tell you what it's really like," said Myri. "Ever since the Lands were created, everyone takes the Long Road."

  Fia drew Odason’s sign over her chest. "Magic."

  Rane nodded. "Bad magic."

  "You're not scared?" Fia leaned in closer, looked him the eye.

  "More than you can imagine. But what choice is there?"

  "But it's still a three-day journey across the Lands. You won't be able to leave."

  "We won't travel when it’s dark. With a fire and standing guards..." Rane left the rest unsaid. He didn't want to talk about hope anymore.

  Fia nodded as if it were the best plan she’d ever heard — and not suicide. "We shall go with you. You'll have Douglas and William to help. We’ve enough clean water and food. Sarah will want to see a familiar face when you find her."