by Jeff Gunzel
Like a broken dam, the wall of white surged forward, washing over the front line of soldiers. The poor men didn’t even have time to scream. Alaric watched in horror as their bodies were ripped apart instantly. Torsos bent straight back, the skin around their necks snapping open as the backs of their heads rolled up against the backs of their own ankles. Chests opened wide, exposing white ribcages just before the bones shattered, spilling innards along the ground.
The white river never slowed, now flashing straight through the next line of soldiers. Flesh blades shredded with lightning speed, sending chunks of flesh tumbling through the air. Hardened steel protected the soldiers about as well as paper or grass. They might as well have been naked. The back lines of archers turned to retreat, but barely got three steps before the streaking wall of white washed over them too, carving them up into chunks before the first severed finger ever touched the ground.
Bowmen kept shooting from the rooftops, their arrows passing through the enemy only to zip into the ground by their feet, having done little more than draw attention to themselves. Several ghatins stopped their ground assault and turned their focus to the archers.
Flesh blades streaked upward, covering impossible distances to impale several men on the roofs. One archer darted behind a chimney, his back pressed against the stone. Heart racing, palms sweaty, he didn’t dare peek around the corner. This was not about saving the city anymore, it was about saving his own skin. He would flee Redwater the second he saw an opening. Now it was every man for himself.
He heard a loud cracking sound, saw chips of stone roll across the rooftop and bounce near his feet. His eyes darkening, legs going numb, he glanced down at the white spear protruding from his stomach. The blade had actually penetrated the solid-stone chimney? How did they even know he was hiding back here? Strange that these were the dying man’s last coherent thoughts before his world faded to black.
Cottage doors exploded inward, ripping right off the hinges before shattering into splinters. For the first time during this nightmarish scene, Alaric became fully aware of the people’s screams. He watched as entire families were dragged from their homes, sometimes kicking and screaming, other times in bloody pieces. Grown men, women and children, it didn’t seem to matter who they were. All were equally torn apart with little regard for their age or sex.
Alaric could no longer stay in denial. The facts had to be faced. They couldn’t possibly win. In fact, they had yet to prove they could even hurt the ghatins, let alone kill them. They would lose the city, that much was certain. But this was not an enemy who would show mercy of any kind. Even a warring neighbor would have spared the city once the surrender had been declared. These creatures didn’t want power, they wanted the humans dead. Alaric watched as another woman’s head went tumbling along the ground, her final horrified expression still intact. The city was being purged! It was clear that no one would be spared!
Just below, Alaric saw a line of prisoners being herded out into the street, just as he’d ordered. Many tried to get back inside, pounding on the door that had already been locked behind them. Others dropped their weapons and went running through the streets, looking for someplace to hide from the creatures they had no intention of fighting. But there was nowhere to hide. It was just a matter of time before they were hunted down like every other soul in this forsaken city.
Seeing nothing but carnage in all directions, Alaric slowly backed away from the rail. They were not here for prisoners, coin, or resources. They were going to kill everyone. He needed to escape, but how? His survival instincts overriding any chivalrous thoughts, Alaric made a mad dash back into the keep. Shoving crying women out of his way, he practically ran through anyone who stepped in his path. Soldiers, servants, they all cried out for instruction and guidance. They wanted to be told what to do, to be assured they would survive this if they just listened to their wise leader.
But Alaric had no words of wisdom for them, no assurances that everything was going to be all right. If anything, he seemed even more frightened than they did. After thoroughly recognizing the hopelessness of what he had just witnessed, Alaric held no false conviction that they might actually get through this. Those beings were unstoppable and their intent was clear. No, the city couldn’t possibly survive this, but he could. Now, it was every man for himself.
“Out of my way!” he shrieked, lowering his shoulder into an elderly woman reaching out to him. Already teary-eyed, her back slammed into the wall and she fell face first onto the floor. A painting shook loose and came down on top of her, but Alaric was already too far away to notice. Speeding down the steps, bounding over them three at a time, he made his way down to the prison level.
A guard turned as the main door flung open. “Please don’t kill—” he squealed, fumbling with his sword before recognizing Alaric. Other guards stood around the room, each of them with their weapons drawn, wide-eyed with terror. Alaric had never seen his men look so frightened. All the cells were empty and the doors were open.
“You have to hide me!” Alaric shrieked, running up to the first guard, shaking him by the collar. “You can’t let them kill me. If I die, Redwater will have no future. I’m too important to fall at the hands of these—”
Composing himself, he stepped back and cleared his throat before brushing off his shirt. He was the one in charge here and needed to start acting like it. This shameless groveling was not doing anything for the morale of his men. “What are you men even doing down here?” he asked, voice deepening as he quickly shifted the focus back to them. “What do you cowards think you’re doing? Why are you not out there protecting the women and children of this great city?”
An explosion of excuses came at him at once, each seeming to have a completely different set of reasons. “Silence!” Alaric boomed. “I have no need for your sniveling cowardice. You are men! And as men who are charged with the safety of this city, I order you to go out there and fight for our people.” Opening the main door, he grabbed the first guard by the shoulder and pushed him out. Reluctantly, the others funneled through the doorway and up the steps. They would die because of his orders, that much was certain. But that was the farthest thing from Alaric’s mind.
Alaric slammed the door behind them and looked around. They’re coming. They’re coming. What do I do? Left with few options, he dashed into the first open cell and pulled the heavy door shut behind him, suddenly plunging his world into darkness. Unable to see his hand in front of his face, Alaric slowly backed away from the door while stepping carefully. Waving a probing hand at his back, he brushed the cold stone wall. Leaning against it for support, he slid down to the floor.
After a time, his eyes adjusted to the low light. It was still plenty dark, but he could make out the general outline of the cell. He stood up off the pile of straw and looked around, blinking and rubbing his eyes in recognition as an old memory seeped into his mind.
“Well, isn’t this sweet?” came a familiar voice cutting through the haze of sleep. Liam stirred, eyes opening slowly as he started to get his bearings. It didn’t take long for him to recognize his surroundings. Still sound asleep, Viola’s head lay across his lap. “It seems the little freak has clung to a father figure,” said Alaric, looming over them. He leaned down close, nearly nose to nose with Liam. “Or am I mistaken? Perhaps it is...more than that.”
This cell... The was the very same one where he had kept that creature. He could still remember Liam caring for her as if she were a real human with actual feelings. And yet, now it was he who was trapped in this cell. Through the silence he could hear the screams of the dying outside. Pressing his back into the corner of the cell, Alaric sank back down onto the cold stone. Through the open slit on the top of the door, a bit of dim light came filtering into the cell.
Through the echoing screams and the crippling fear, his mind started playing tricks on him. Shadows moved back and forth in front of the door, as if some were coming to peek in at him. Trembling all the while, his mind on th
e verge of breaking, the harrowing screams went on for hours. As the hours passed, the cries became fewer and fewer until they finally stopped. Dead silence.
His deep breaths echoed in his plugged ears, a hollow, whooshing rasp. He tried to hold his breath but could only do it for a few seconds at a time. Surely his panicked breathing would give him away. If he could hear his breathing, then surely the ghatins could.
Alaric thought he heard voices approaching, but he couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. With his mind hanging on by a thread, he could no longer tell what was real and what was imagined. His breaths were rasping in long, steady gasps, his heart pounded savagely in his chest. He could feel its hammering pulse all the way up to the veins in his neck. Then came the unmistakable sound of a door clicking open just outside the cell. He covered his mouth, smothering his breath as best as he could.
“He’s in there, I swear it! See, I even have the key.” Alaric felt his pants explode with a warm wetness, followed by a pungent odor that filled his cell. Shaking uncontrollably, the terror becoming surreal, he closed his eyes and slapped his hands over his face. “I’ve done as you asked, now please just let me go. Wait, no! No!” There came a thud on the outside of the door. He could see the back of someone’s head pressed up against the eye slit, his hair forced through like a bristled handle. “I gave him to you. I gave you what you wanted! Please just—” A white blade erupted from the back of his head in a splash of red, then slowly retracted. What was left of the head jerked away from the slit.
There came a clicking sound and the door creaked open. Unable to scream, to move, Alaric watched in horror as the ghatin stepped in. Its pale face grinned down at him, its pink eyes lighting up like some kind of insect. “Lord Alaric Bournfred,” it hissed, an airy, distant voice as if the wind itself were speaking. “We have been searching for you.”
Chapter 13
Alaric’s feet were moving him, although he was not sure why. He hadn’t chosen to move or even get up, yet he was moving for some reason. This couldn’t really be happening, could it? No, certainly not. Soon, he would wake up from this nightmare safe and warm in his own bed. He would sit down to a plate full of eggs while laughing off the ridiculous dream. Everything seemed hazy, his vision similar to that of a dream. All he could see were the objects directly in front of him, while all his peripheral vision was clouded out in a ring of white fog.
With a ghatin under each arm bearing the brunt of his weight, he felt like he was drifting along with no idea of where they were taking him. Fresh blood ran down the steps like a mountain river trickling over rocks. Thick and sticky, each slow step made a wet ripping sound as he walked. Thoroughly soiled, he was only half aware of the weight of his full pants tugging down with each step. Alaric’s ears whistled with a long, sustained note that bore into his brain like a nail.
This was all just a dream. It had to be.
Bodies lay everywhere, some with their heads twisted around, their eyes still wide open in a permanent look of dismay. Others were headless, their necks severed cleanly with a single stroke. Some had clean puncture wounds clear through their chests, each hole large enough to push a man’s arm through.
Through his hazy observation, a thought occurred to Alaric as they led him along. He noticed that all the deaths were quick and clean for the most part. The kills were exact, single cuts more often than not. The ghatins had not mutilated any of the bodies the way a mindless, savage race of animals might have. There was an efficient, almost businesslike feel to the slaughter.
Once they led him outside, he stopped in his tracks. It was the first time he had shown any resistance after being dragged along all this time. He would have run if his weak legs could bear any weight at all. He would have screamed if his state of shock had not been so severe. The streets ran red with blood. Bodies lay scattered about in all sorts of contorted positions. Families, soldiers, none had been spared. Where there had been a fierce battle only a few hours ago, now there was nothing but deathly silence. Every door was collapsed inward, every window shattered. But more importantly, there was not a soul left alive. Redwater was dead.
“Am I the only one left?” he asked, the sound of his voice even surprising himself. He hadn’t meant to speak, didn’t even realize he was capable of it until the soft words slipped past his lips.
“Does that disappoint you?” came a voice from his left. “I’m sure that any of these dead humans would have been more than grateful to take your place.”
Like white spirits emerging from fog, a drifting sea of ghatins suddenly came into view. Had they been there the whole time? Alaric had been so focused on the slaughter that he had noticed little else. The white men stood everywhere, spaced out between the torn bodies. They were standing so still, so unassuming, that they were easy to miss in some strange way. Like they blended in even though they looked nothing like their surroundings. How many were there, a hundred, three hundred? A thousand? He couldn’t possibly know for sure, but there was one thing he was certain of: not one of these creatures had fallen this day. A thousand? Hell, two of them could have brought this city to its knees.
Again, Alaric began moving, his feet sort of scrapping along the dirt street while his legs made a walking motion. They led him over to another ghatin who was standing in the street, his large, pink eyes fixed squarely on the human. Alaric’s legs suddenly gave way and he dropped down onto all fours. The ghatins at his side had not pushed him down, they simply let go of his arms.
Alaric looked up from his kneeling position, sweat dripping from his nose and chin. “Why?” he groaned weakly.
Glaring down at the pitiful human, the emotionless ghatin said nothing.
Alaric looked around at the broken bodies scattered about. He had never particularly cared for people before. They were useful, of course, tools to be used in order to help him gain more power. But this time he truly felt pity for them. No one deserved such a fate as this. Until now, he wasn’t even sure he was capable of feeling pity. “They were women, children, peasants and farmers. They posed no threat to you. Why? Why do you hate us so much?”
“Why?” the ghatin repeated, his bellowing laugh prompting the others around him to join in. “We spared you because you are the human in charge of this city, yes? But had we been aware of your shocking ignorance, we probably would have spared someone else instead. Why, you ask? You really don’t know, do you?”
“No one does,” Alaric whispered, shaking his head. “We know nothing about you, only that your kind seems to be set on killing us. What is it that you want? Maybe we can work something out.”
“Revenge,” the ghatin answered simply. Another ghatin leaned in and whispered to him. He nodded, appearing to agree with whatever was said between them. “So it’s true, you really don’t understand why this is happening.” He seemed to be having a hard time accepting that fact. “That is what happens when inferior beings have a lifespan as short as yours. Your history, everything your kind did in the past that defines you today, is lost within a generation or two. Forgotten, as if it never happened. The humans living in today’s world really have no idea who we are or what your ancestors did to our kind.”
Alaric inched forward on his hands and knees. “Then why take it out on us? We cannot be held responsible for something our race did centuries ago.”
“Such a thing is not so easily forgotten!” the ghatin boomed, his white body flashing forward before stopping just short of the groveling human. Grinning suddenly, he lifted Alaric’s chin with his fingertips, forcing Alaric to look him in the eyes. “Besides,” he whispered, his large, pink eyes seeming to grow even wider. “Those humans are long gone, yet someone must still be held accountable for their crimes.” With a short thrust, he shoved Alaric’s head back in disgust.
Alaric began to weep. He leaned forward all the way, forehead touching the ground with his hands wrapped around the back of his head. All this time he had just been trying to deal with the shock of it all. Everyone he knew was dead, and h
e would likely be next. The shock helped keep his emotions numb, but it was wearing off now. This was really happening and he would probably be killed the moment they grew bored of mentally torturing him.
“But what is the point of killing off my race?” Alaric pleaded, his survival instinct kicking in at the last moment. He had spent most of his life talking his way out of responsibility, saying anything in order to not be held accountable for his actions. Perhaps he could do it this one last time before it was too late. “What will that prove? Look around you!” he shouted, rising up on his knees, twisting his hands left and right at the bloody carnage. “You have no equal. What is the point of a mighty lion suddenly deciding to hunt flies? We cannot possibly hurt you.”
“And yet you already have!” the ghatin shouted in his face, his normally hissing voice sounding more like a boom of thunder. Alaric drew in on himself, hands tucked under his arms as he sank back down to the ground. “Centuries ago, your people created a species right under our noses, one whose very touch was toxic to my kind. Those despicable mutants turned the tide of our war against the humans.”
“But that was so long ago,” Alaric reasoned, still grabbing at straws to try and save his own skin. He really wasn’t even sure what the ghatin was talking about.
“They have returned!” It was all Alaric could do not to cover his ears from the thunderous blast. “And once again it seems as though history is about to repeat itself.”
“Wait, wha—” Alaric struggled to think, not an easy thing to do given the looming threat of his own death hanging over him. These...lerwicks. That had to be what he was talking about. He had even held one captive here once, not knowing what she was at the time. But most recently, word had spread across the land of their existence. A call, a summoning for them to come out of hiding. “Are you talking about these...lerwicks? But we had nothing to do with them. No one even knew they existed until recently. That is not our fault! Please, you must believe me!”
