Tyler's Dream

by Matthew Butler

  There was silence for a short moment.

  “What did it say?” asked Glivin.

  “I can’t imagine anything too flattering,” laughed Trandle.

  Glivin growled and drew back his weapon as if to jab it through the bars.

  “Glivin, enough! There are more important issues at stake,” reminded Hargill sternly. “We mustn’t kill the thing before we find out why is here, so far from the mountains. Have you ever heard of a ghatu travelling alone for such a distance?”

  “We should use the Lingiun pebble,” muttered Roy. “Find out as much as we can about why it is here.”

  Hargill nodded at this, and without further comment he untied a pouch from his belt and tipped out the likeness of a small pebble. After giving it a rub between his fingers as though warming it, he popped it into his mouth.

  “MaiV sakaza-nap, Vraitha yama-Vza pra,” he intoned with the same savage beat the ghatu had given to its words.

  “The pebble fits below the tongue and moulds it accordingly,” Annie whispered to Tyler upon seeing his confusion. “Be patient; the time for answers will come.”

  Tyler flashed a thankful look at her.

  “So!” announced Hargill, popping the pebble from his mouth. “The ghatu is willing to try the pebble for himself. I feel the discourse will be more productive if we can all understand what is said.”

  There was a general murmur of agreement.

  Agatha said, “But what if the beast swallows it? Surely it is too precious a thing?”

  “Do not concern yourself, Agatha. I will get it back one way or the other.” With that Hargill rolled the pebble between the bars. The ghatu ducked quickly and grabbed it from the floor, never once slipping its attention away from Hargill and his sword. Then with complete lack of reverence, it chucked the precious artefact into the back of its gaping black mouth. “I have done as you have asked.” The ghatu’s voice retained its foreign savageness; it was deep and powerful.

  “And I, in return, shall keep to my promise,” Hargill turned about. “Tyler! Fetch some food and drink. Quickly bring as much as you can.”

  Tyler scrambled off, happy to be useful. He scavenged the hall and found a loaf of bread, an apple, and a flask of wine. Hargill accepted these discoveries with a nod and passed them through the bars of the cage, careful not to allow the ghatu the opportunity to bite off a finger or a hand. Tyler withdrew to the side once more and watched the ghatu devour its meal. It almost swallowed the apple whole and drained the entire flask in three long gulps; wine spilt over its face and trickled onto its dusty clothes. With a grunt, the ghatu flung the flask to the other side of its cage so that it smashed against the bars. It then stretched one arm up towards the ceiling and let out a loud, hard laugh.

  “So, mukwa, do you have names? I need a laugh. I have been travelling all night with… rotten company.”

  “Do not jest about those who are now dead, ghatu,” hissed Glivin. “Or I will kill you myself.”

  The ghatu surveyed him with its animal eyes. “Ah yes, a warrior,” it said, smiling. “But would you really strike down even one such as myself, unarmed and wounded?” The creature smirked as it motioned to its left arm, which was bound with bits of cloth obviously ripped from the rest of its clothes.

  Glivin snarled. “You have slaughtered friends of mine without mercy or remorse, and yet you talk of honour?”

  “They were hunting me, mukwa. Is it not right to defend oneself?” replied the ghatu. “I’ll have you know it was more than a fair battle. Something you would not understand, I see, threatening an unarmed creature while you yourself have a sword.” Its lip curled with hate. “How brave.”

  Glivin roared with fury and thrust out with his sword, but Hargill was there and caught Glivin’s murderous hand before the blow was struck. “Calm yourself, Glivin. Now is not the time for revenge.”

  Glivin grit his teeth, and although he lowered his sword, there was a thirst for blood smouldering in his eyes. “Be warned, ghatu: the words you have spoken will be avenged. I swear it.”

  “Good, I’m looking forward to it,” the ghatu said. It grinned a row of inch-long teeth, and Tyler noticed most were capped around their base with welds of silvered metal. “Now, since you all must have unworthy, shameful names because you do not tell them to me when I ask, I at least will give you mine.” The ghatu straightened as much as was possible. “My name is Varkon Kar Tavernev, sixth born of Tirimu Kar Tavernev, who was first of Rivon Kar Tavernev before him, proud descendant of an ancestry that can be traced back to when the earth was still warm and the sun cold, before the first tree sucked its roots into the ground, so long and famous that half the stars bear the name of my kin, of Kar Tavernev.”

  “Greetings, Varkon Kar Tavernev. my name is Hargill John Rohorn. Remember that you are in our lands now, and the reason I did not ask your name before is because I already knew it. Your name is prisoner, is it not? Or trespasser? Or would murderer suit you better? Now, there is only so much insult I can bear before I let Glivin here have his way with you. I have many questions, Varkon Kar Tavernev. If you answer them, you will live; if not, Tirimu Kar Tavernev will lose one of his sons. Do you understand?”

  “Hargill Rohorn, you speak well. But why –?” Varkon dropped to the bottom of the cage suddenly. His muscles struck hard against his skin, tightening into heavy cords. He was like a coiled snake, ready to strike. Tyler jumped at the abruptness of the movement, its unreal speed. After what seemed like a long moment, there was a collective scrape of steel as the men present drew their swords.

  “What are you doing, Varkon?” growled Hargill warily. “Stand up, beast, and tell me what is wrong with you. Stand up!”

  Varkon remained in his pose for another moment, and then a grin curled across his fat lips and over his pointed teeth. His deep eyes snapped into focus. “As you wish, Hargill. As you wish.” Varkon relaxed and rose unhurriedly to his feet. “I’m sorry, friends – instinct.” The grin widened even further, and there was a spark of cold joy in his eyes where so recently there had been only hate.

  “You will answer my questions, Varkon. Something is afoot. Tell me what you know, or I will kill you now. I swear on my father’s grave.”

  Varkon took one look at Hargill and his sword before beginning to stalk the length of his cage once more. Tyler’s spine chilled; there was something foreboding about this renewed confidence in their prisoner.

  “You know, Hargill, sometimes when I think of your kind …”

  There was a distant rumble far away. Varkon’s eyes flashed happily.

  “When I think of your weaknesses and obvious frailty …”

  The rumble came again. Thunder? In the winter? Tyler thought. He strained his ears and willed all else to be silent. He could not control the thud of his own racing heart.

  “I cannot help but feel sick …”

  The sound was undoubtedly a drumbeat, and it was very close.

  “By how pathetic you mukwa really are …”

  Another, from a different direction. Varkon stopped his pacing and leant as far forward as his cage allowed. “I’m sure I will feel much better when you are dead.”

  And with that the ghatu spat a black ball of saliva, which landed with a slap on Hargill’s foot.

  “They are here,” Varkon hissed as his eyes swivelled up into his forehead. “Death comes knocking.”

  Drumbeats erupted on all sides, followed soon by a keen hissing.

  “Arrows!” yelled Annie.

  Suddenly shouts and crashes accompanied an orange glow that flickered with disarming loveliness through every window in the hall. Hargill clenched his jaw.

  “The village is burning! We are under attack! Curse the ghatu!” He shifted his grip up his sword and jabbed the handle at Varkon’s head, which was drifting between the bars of his cage. Varkon roared as he plunged back into the darkness
of his captivity.

  “Protect the village!” Hargill bellowed so that his words drowned even the beating of the drums. “Rally whomever you can for the fight. You all know what is at stake.”

  The great doors to the hall were opened to the sounds of death and burning. Tyler trailed behind the others like a lost lamb. Ahead flaming arrows lit the night, and several houses were ablaze. Even with piled snow on their roofs, the timber buildings were as fireproof as matchsticks.

  Annie gave Tyler’s shoulder a quick squeeze. Although she smiled comfortingly, he could see the tears blinding her eyes. Then she was off into the burning night. Tyler cursed himself for leaving his family in their hour of need. He would have to dodge though the fiery onslaught and make for home.

  After taking a deep breath, he gathered his weight to pounce into the open. A hand caught his shoulder and pulled him back. “Come with me. Now, boy!” It was Hargill. With a grave face, the man dragged Tyler like a sack of coal across the hall to the cellar. “Stay here,” he said, pushing him into the gloom.

  Tyler had never felt so awful his entire life. “Hargill, I can help! Let me fight. What good am I here?”

  “You will not,” Hargill said as he stood at the doorway like an enraged giant. “You will stay here. I will find your family. This is important, Tyler. Swear to me you will not run off on a foolish endeavour.”

  “But—”

  “Swear it now, Tyler. Swear!” snapped Hargill impatiently.

  Tyler forgot all else and obeyed. “I swear,” he whispered, close to tears.

  “Swear what?”

  “That I will not leave this room until you come back for me!” Tyler yelled to stop his tears. He felt angry and ashamed to be crying.

  “Thank you, Tyler,” Hargill said, more kindly this time. “I will be back.” With that he slammed the cellar door and locked it with a loud click.

  “So much for trust,” said Tyler bitterly. He stumbled further into the cellar, which pulsed to the beat of the drums.

  Dum dum.

  The sound rang in his head.

  Dum dum doom.

  They taunted while all the while the arrows hissed. With a cry of frustration Tyler kicked out at one of the kegs against the wall. He was hiding in a cellar while all he loved burnt to dust.

  Wisps of smoke blew through the window he had broken earlier. The window! Tyler rushed past the rows of silent bottles. He propped a nearby box against the wall and then stood on it, jamming his upper body through the windowpane.

  Just ahead old Trandle’s home was consumed by fire, and in the background a dozen columns of black smoke streamed up to touch the clouds. How many had already died? Who was invading them?

  All at once the drums stopped. Soft sobbing leaked from one of the surrounding houses. Somebody scampered quickly past. The silence lingered for so long that it took shape to become Tyler’s doubt. He should run back to his family. Hargill would understand …

  What was that? His eyes darted down the alley. It came again: a horrid slurp. The air abruptly drained of its winter cleanness and turned stale as the wind dropped from it.

  Then darkness edged out onto the road just past the alley. It crawled like a fog on stubby tentacles, lurching down the street. Something small scuttled quickly past, causing the smog to unsettle, and then a large, straight-backed figure stepped forward, moving with unnatural grace. It was not human; it could not be. Dozens of spikes pierced its tattered garments like razors across its back, arms, and legs. There was no face to see because a heavy mask of iron was clamped over its head.

  The atrocity stopped in the middle of the alleyway, and it turned its head. “DIE.”

  Tyler fell off his box and landed hard on his back. He had no idea what he had just seen, but he now feared it more than anything. It felt as though the world was coloured in shades of hate. It must not find me. He ran to the back of the cellar and hammered on the door.

  “Let me out!” He only stopped when his fists began to ache. A heartless laugh came from the hall. “Damn you, Varkon!” he yelled bitterly as he gave the door a kick.

  A soft patter stirred that dreadful fear, and he whirled around, expecting the worst. Fate chose not to disappoint. A wolf was crouched at the window, grey fur shining with snow. Its black lips were stuck against its frozen teeth so that it seemed to be smirking. Defend yourself, thought Tyler, or you’re dead. He glanced around for a weapon.

  Crack!

  He looked up. The wolf was right in front of him, not more than twenty feet away. No time to think. Tyler kicked out his legs and jumped between two rows of wine racks, where he slipped a dusty bottle from its holder. The wolf bounded around the corner and pounced. It moved with such superior speed that Tyler never had any hope of swinging his bottle. Instead, he was knocked into the air like a puppet and onto his back. The wolf’s claws dug into his shoulders, and its hot breath gushed all over his face. There was no wind left in Tyler; he had no strength left to wrestle for his life. All he could do was watch as those powerful jaws clamped down for the kill …

  The creature was torn from Tyler’s chest. Its jaws snapped on empty air as its entire body was flung into a wall of bottles, smashing them in one terrific explosion of wine and glass. Tyler put a hand to his face. He felt two long, shallow cuts across his cheek, and his shoulder had been ripped quite badly; blood trickled to join the wine.

  Hargill smiled grimly. “That was something, lad,” he said, helping Tyler to his feet. “Are you hurt?”

  “A little,” Tyler said, and then he saw the arrow. It was protruding from just below Hargill’s chest, staining his robes with blood. “Hargill!” Tyler cried as he bent to examine the wound. “You need help!”

  “No need. It is the mark of death. Put it out of your head; it hardly matters now. We are overrun. The world has finally found its way to Elliun, and most have fallen already. I have returned for you, to ask a favour.”

  “What would you have me do? You know that I would do anything you ask.”

  “It is not for me, child.” Hargill sighed. “Let’s go into the hall, and I will explain.”

  “Wait! Do you know where my family is, Hargill? Are they safe?” Hargill’s face darkened. He seemed uncharacteristically uncertain. “Hargill?”

  “They are … dead, Tyler.” The man turned his eyes away. “I’m sorry.”

  Tyler’s heart and head went numb, as though the only way they could cope with the shock was to end all passages of emotion and thought. It would have been better if the wolf had killed him. His mind stepped back so that he became only an observer; his body seemed to belong to another person entirely. “Even Derek?” he heard himself ask.

  “Yes.”

  “The baby?”

  Hargill’s eyes told him all.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ONCE BITTEN

  Tyler stepped gently into Hargill’s embrace, being sure not to touch his wound. They stood there for a short while, one of Hargill’s enormous arms wrapped around him as he shook with grief.

  “I am so very sorry, Tyler,” said Hargill softly, “But we must go now. There is much to do and hardly any time.”

  Side by side they stepped into the light of the hall.

  “Listen carefully,” Hargill began. “What I am about to ask of you is of extreme importance. Are you paying attention?”

  “Yes,” Tyler responded with heartless conviction. His family was gone. It was all he could do to prevent himself from rushing from the hall to attack whoever or whatever was out there with his bare hands and teeth.

  “It sounds cruel but I now wish that I had not told you about your family, Tyler. You must concentrate. Much now depends upon you. Look at me.” Tyler looked, but he knew his eyes remained blank and uncaring. “Tyler? Tyler, please …” Then Hargill did something completely unexpected. He slapped Tyler hard across the cheek. “Snap out of
it, boy. You can hate me later, but we do not have much time!”

  Tyler snapped to attention as he felt the sting on his cheek. He felt helpless, confused, and perhaps now a little angry at this unprovoked aggression.

  “You must travel to Ithrim, on the Westhorn coast,” said Hargill, ignoring Tyler’s bitter gaze and reddening cheek. “Travel east across the mountains until you reach the sea. Then follow the coast to the city. Once there, ask for Haranio Winhund of the Gulls. Tell him I sent you. Can you remember that?”

  Tyler nodded vaguely as he tried to bury those names beyond the agony that filled his head.

  “Swear to me you will do this, Tyler.”

  “Do I have a choice?” Hargill answered with silence. “Then I swear. But I deserve to know why, Hargill. Why so much has been kept from me all my life? Why do I feel betrayed?”

  “Betrayed?” Hargill’s whole voice seemed to ache with the pain as he said the word. “There is no time to explain – I must wait for Haranio to do that. Remember, even if you do not believe it, that all your life I have loved you as a son.” With that he turned to the cage. “Varkon!” he boomed, injecting more energy into his tone. “Cease your snivelling in the dark.”

  A head slid from the shadows of the cage, and it appeared to be eerily disembodied. “Hargill! Do you now regret the blow you dealt me with your sword? I feel I will enjoy watching the Dhimori’s army find you. I will laugh as they rip out all your bones—”

  “Shut your babbling and listen, ghatu.” Varkon’s grin faded, and he straightened in his box. “You know as well as I that shortly we will both be killed.” Varkon’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits. Hargill took a step closer towards the bars. “What will happen when your friends find you? When they see you trapped like this?” Hargill tapped the solid bars with the blade of his sword. “Is it not true that ghatu starve to death once they are too old or sick to forage for themselves? That the underweight and weak are abandoned? That those born deformed are simply cast away?” Hargill paced around the cage as he spoke, forcing Varkon to rotate to keep his adversary within sight. “I know why it is so rare to capture a ghatu, Varkon, as do you.” Hargill smiled. “You should have died rather than allow yourself this humiliation. You have no honour left.”