The Vitalis Chronicles: White Shores

by Jay Swanson

  One of them made a comment to his comrade and laughed. She couldn't make it out through the thick mask. The other didn't seem to find it funny, ignoring the first as he walked around next to her head. She could hardly see him through the tears. He waited a moment, cocking his head, and then pulled his knee up standing on one leg. He brought his foot down hard on her face, and the world went dark.

  What could have been days later was more likely hours. Alisia awoke, sitting on the ground tied to a tree. A lazy breeze passed through the forest as sunlight danced all around her. A MARD stick was planted firmly in the ground a few feet in front of her, awkwardly jutting out from between her feet. That was about all she could see, her chin resting on her chest where it would stay as long as the MARD was active.

  Her head felt afire. The burning sensation on her face was in direct competition for her attention with the intense itching across the bridge of her nose. She tasted blood as she slowly pulled her tongue back through her lips and into her mouth. She couldn't move her hands, but in a way she was glad for that. Of all the things her nose could use right now, scratching was probably near the bottom of the list.

  Alisia could hear voices coming from behind her tree, perhaps ten yards off. They were muffled, but she wasn't sure if that was on their account or due to her raging headache.

  “Well then why the hell are we still here?” came a gruff voice.

  “New orders. We've gotta find a place to stash the girl.”

  “I say we kill her now and tell them we got the orders too late,” came a third, far less comforting voice. “Easier to ask forgiveness and all that.”

  “We can't, she may be the key to catching the old boot heel and ending all of this.”

  “She's just a whelp,” the gruff voice spoke up again. “What could any of the brass want with her?”

  “She's a whelp that killed four of us; you'd do well to remember that.”

  “True enough,” the gruff voice conceded the point. “But you know what I mean, Sam. She's not an Elder like the Witch, not much use for experimentation 'n whatnot.”

  “Are you not listening?” Sam sounded agitated, “She's bait. Silvers, or whatever that thing is wants her. They recovered a picture of her from his office in the South Tower. They confirmed it with a few survivors from his battalion; she's the reason they burned the whole village.”

  Burned the whole village? Her headache faded momentarily as the thought burst to the forefront of her mind, Levanton?

  “So we tie her to a chair in some bunker,” continued Sam. “Load the place with explosives, and when he shows up blow the both of 'em to hell.”

  “Stupid hillbillies should have just given her up when the heel asked for her,” said the third voice, cold and sly. His voice had a serpentine quality, intelligent and calculating.

  “I doubt it would have helped much. Silvers was out for blood” said Sam. “Either way, they're dead now. All for this girl.”

  “Which brings me back to why she's so damned important?” said the gruff voice.

  “Who knows, but he wants her. Bad.”

  Alisia's mind was racing. The whole village burned because of her? How could they have even known she was there? She felt the ropes holding her to the tree cut loose, her arms sliding lazily to her sides as she sat motionless. Boots appeared by her legs as rough hands grabbed and hoisted her in the air.

  “Don't suppose we want you walking around on your own, do we?” came the gruff voice as he threw her over his broad shoulder, Alisia's arms dangled over her head as her face scraped on the loops in his tactical vest. She groaned weakly.

  “Sounds like she doesn't like you much, Wilks,” Sam said from somewhere ahead as they made their way through the forest.

  “I don't doubt it for a minute, Sam.”

  They took their time walking through the woods. The Hunters were in no hurry, with their prey captured, there wasn't anything to press them. The men laughed as they joked dryly amongst themselves. Alisia's stomach defied gravity as it sank. She could feel freedom distance itself with every jostling step her captor took.

  “I say we take her to Core. The old bunker there should do the trick, eh Sam?” Wilks said as he shifted her on his shoulder.

  “It's too easily defended.”

  “Too easily... well isn't that the point?”

  “No,” she could hear Sam's voice more clearly as he came closer. “He'll know it's a trap. If he's gonna walk into it willingly it has to be enticing enough to be worth it.”

  “At our own heightened risk,” the sly voice came from her left. “What you mean to say is we're letting our pants down where he can catch us good.”

  “Basically, but Anders will meet us there. When we've got the whole squad back together, Anders'll be able to handle him.”

  “Where, pray tell?” the sly voice remained unsatisfied.

  “Southridge.”

  “Oh sweet God in heaven,” Wilks stopped short, causing Alisia's nose to bang into his back again. “That's about as difficult to defend as they come.”

  “We can hold our own–”

  “It's a God-forsaken cliff! Some jackass built a bunker in the edge of a cliff covered in pathways and caves and you think this is the solution to our grand problem?”

  “The goal isn't to defend it, Wilks.” Sam turned around as the group came to a halt. “The idea is to let him in and blow him up.”

  “Correct me if I'm wrong, but how on earth does this pass in your mind as a plan?”

  “There's nothing to correct there,” the sly voice pointed out.

  “You know what I mean,” Wilks was fired up. “We're asking some damned creature that slaughtered half a battalion on his own, lest we forget, to visit us on a cliff with multiple approaches in hopes that he walks right on in without hunting down and killing each and every one of us first?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then, if he does walk in, we expect him to go deep enough and stay long enough without realizing what's going on that we can blow him sky high and hope to God that it's enough of a surprise to catch him off guard unlike the last unsuccessful attempt that took place only a matter of days ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you really think this will work?”

  “Yes.”

  “How the hell do you figure that?”

  “Because if he doesn't get in there quickly enough, we'll blow her to hell and he won't have her either way.”

  “What?!”

  “Well then why don't we just kill her now if you don't give a shit?” came a different voice than Alisia had yet heard.

  “Oh God, not now.”

  “Lucius.”

  “I'll slit her throat right here.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Anders sent me to make sure you were all still kickin'. I guess the answer is no.”

  “We're fine, thanks Lucius.”

  “Doesn't look like it to me. Who's this little princess here then? She's the one worth all this trouble? I don't think so. Let's just do her here and now.”

  Alisia felt her gut wrench as he touched her hair gently. If she had the strength she might have thrown up. Everything started to spin, even more so as the big brute carrying her swung her around his shoulder and placed her on the ground to the side of the trail.

  “We don't need to get the ol' boot heel, no matter what they say back home.”

  “Right, like we can go back to Elandir without his head on a spit.”

  “Sam, you always think too big for your own good. The little witch is dead either way, why risk our lives for her? Huh? And why not have some fun while we're at it?”

  “Not on your life, Lucius! Not while I'm around!”

  “The captain's pet, eh? Always the captain's pet. Well Keaton isn't here, is he? Dear old Anders can't see you now, so why are you acting all brave and gallant? Huh?!”

  Everything was starting to blur. She was losing consciousness.

  “I swear if you touch
her I'll kill you, Lucius. Wilks, pick her up.”

  The world spun again as she felt her body being hoisted once more but then she was dropped, almost thrown to the ground. Bright flashes of light entered her vision as the men began to shout, one of them screamed bloody murder as more flashes and loud cracks rattled her eardrums. Something big hit her hard and rested heavily on her chest.

  She felt overwhelmed for a minute as the spinning weight of the world oppressed her blurred vision. She couldn't breathe, and everything faded into tortured oblivion.

  ELEVEN

  ARDIN VITALIS WANDERED. That was about all he could remember; it had been the better part of a week and he wasn't really sure where he was. His headache had only just begun to subside and all he could think about was a girl he'd never seen with his own eyes. He was certain she was the one his brother had been infatuated with. She fit his description perfectly. And it would have certainly taken a beauty like that to cause John to lose his head like he had.

  The days were spent stumbling through the woods; west, always into the west. He didn't know why, but he sensed that the girl was off beyond the setting sun. And so he wandered. There was no better word for his distracted weaving through the forests.

  His nights were tormented with nightmares of the inferno that was Levanton. He watched as his family was shoved into their house and burned alive, his father shot like an animal as he attempted to defend his family. The heat was there, always the blistering heat of the fires.

  The thought of losing his father tore at him. Where would he ever find such a source of caring wisdom again? He had admired his father, he still did. He would kill for a guiding word, a strong embrace. Anything.

  Then his guilt-ridden failure to save his brother would wash over him like freezing water. And the girl, he had never seen her but she appeared so regularly in his dreams that he felt he knew her intimately.

  He hadn't seen any people since he'd left the Cave. He didn't want to. He was afraid of what he might do. The rifle of the boy he had killed was slung over his back, along with a few ammunition pouches and a collection of rations he had dug up before fleeing west. They'd lasted a long time; he didn't have much of an appetite.

  Ardin stumbled on a small clearing between soaring peaks in the Northern Range. At its center was a large lake, flat and still. It was ringed by lush trees and the snow-capped summits of the dramatic mountains and glaciers that fed it. The glassy water reflected it all, making it difficult at moments to tell which was reality and which was the duplicate. He sat on a fallen log at the water’s edge and dropped his gear. Head in his hands, he rested.

  There were no more tears to cry. He had wept enough, though he wasn't sure if he was done grieving or had simply hardened his heart. It didn't matter much to him now, he just wanted the pain to leave him be. He breathed lightly, listening to the silence that encapsulated the scene. He'd made it a long ways into the mountains, farther than he had ever been. Ardin sighed as his eyes began to lazily scan the shoreline in front of him.

  Small fish drifted along in the shallows, unwavering as if to conserve energy in the cool mountain waters. How fish wound up in a place like this was beyond Ardin. He'd never really thought about it before but he found it strange now.

  His gaze slowly worked its way out into the lake as he thought about fish and admired the glistening reflections of the mountains. They seemed to go up forever; so steep he doubted even the most nimble of mountain goats could make a home on their slopes. They were treacherously craggy and awesome; their presence inspired wonder and implied the greatness of whoever had designed them.

  Ardin's brow furrowed. There seemed to be some sort of pattern to the shadows on the southeastern slope of one mountain directly across the lake from him. He looked up from the lake to study the real thing. It took him a while to find them again. There was indeed a pattern a third of the way up the side of the ridge; it almost looked like large windows. His curiosity piqued, the young man grabbed his gear and stood slowly while keeping his eyes locked on the mysterious windows.

  He started slowly around the lake, working out landmarks on the slopes around his target in case he lost his spot. It took him the better part of an hour to make it to the other side. He gave up his staring contest with the mountain after the third or fourth near-faceplant as his foot seemed to have a knack for finding hidden roots.

  After a few minutes he found the windows again. They were somewhat larger as he had closed the gap by a couple of miles. Partially obscured by trees now, he could see that they weren't windows at all but ornate pillars and arches of some sort of terrace or open hallway in the side of the mountain.

  He put his hands up above his eyes to shield them from the now setting sun. It was getting harder to see them in the lengthening shadows, but he was increasingly certain there were more openings across the face of the mountain. He had enough time, he figured, to make it up to them before the sun set. If not he could at least make camp along the trail he would soon blaze. He tightened his belt and began to enter the forest when a sharp pain struck his brain like knife through his temple.

  He spun around as if he'd been physically hit and crumpled to the ground on his hands and knees, head down, breathing hard. He could hear her – the girl. She wasn't speaking, but she was in distress. It was as though Ardin could make it out it as clearly as if she was screaming for help. What the hell was happening to him?

  He stood up with a strong sense that he should head due south through the valley that opened below. It was as if the compass that had been spinning in his head finally got its bearing and refused to budge. Ardin Vitalis forgot all about the windows in the mountains and began to run.

  It took him another day and a half to get through the valley, but he soon found himself in the foothills south of the Range. He couldn't stop running, the intensity of her call had only grown and a strange energy seemed to give him strength to carry on through the night. He waded through another stream, gun and pack over his head, and entered the breezy forests of aspen and birch trees he had heard so much about.

  The White Forests, they were often called for their most obvious attribute. Long grasses surrounded and caressed their tall white trunks in the breeze. The leaves rustled as if in a pleased response. The ground here was more even; the hills high but rolling gently.

  Ardin turned right and headed west through the trees when he heard the first explosion. It was soft, a resonating concussion that bounced among the trees and died off in the wavering grasses. He picked up his pace, running towards sounds that everything inside him wanted to flee from.

  Jumping over fallen logs he could hear the concussions increasing in frequency as he closed the distance. Then he saw them, two men in camouflage covered with grass and twigs. They were running away from him, and they were fast. Much faster than Ardin.

  He didn't mind at the moment though; the last thing he really wanted was to run into one of them. Follow them. The itch returned, burrowing through his skull. Kill them both.

  Ardin shook his head as if he could dislodge whatever the source of the voice was. He was about to grab his head when his heart jumped in his chest. She was in terror and he could feel it. As if under compulsion, he took off in the direction he had seen the soldiers running. It coincided perfectly with the compass in his head.

  The place looked like a war zone. Half-exploded tree trunks stood or lay decimated all around him. To his surprise he was keeping pace, maybe even gaining on them even as the trees sporadically obscured his line of sight. A strange sense of elation kicked in: the hunt was on. Ardin ran even harder, the hot energy coursing through him as if he would lift off the ground.

  He felt free somehow, almost happy as a grin crossed his face. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but he was starting to feel disconnected. They were sure to hear his approach soon; he was making a real racket. Maybe he should slow down and –

  “Hey assholes!” he heard himself yell as he dropped to a knee and brought his rifle to bear
in a smooth motion.

  The two soldiers dropped as well, taking cover and disappearing before he could take his shot. What the hell was he doing? His heart was racing in his throat as he frantically scanned the area the soldiers had just occupied. Oh God, what was he doing?

  The thought no more than crossed his mind when the first bullet tore through the tree to his left. Splinters and chunks of bark flew at him as he covered his face with his left arm, but he never heard a shot. He hoisted the gun and dove to his right, away from the tree as another bullet whipped through the grass where his head had just been. He rolled and came up with his back against a larger tree trunk. Silence.

  He hoped that his prey-turned-predators would make more noise, call out to him to surrender, anything to let him know where they were. His hopes were dashed, however, as he sat listening to the eerie silence of his impending death.

  Why this was happening was still beyond him. He closed his eyes, rifle butt resting in his lap, barrel pressed to his lips. He prayed.

  Ten o'clock, two o'clock.

  Ardin's eyes popped open, What?!

  Ten o'clock, two o'clock. The impression was as clear as if someone was speaking to him. Twenty yards for the one, fifteen for the other.

  He swallowed hard and knew what he had to do. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the assault rifle and closed his eyes. He'd never shot anything other than his father's hunting rifle. You'll know what to do.

  He smiled again, his writhing nerves contained somewhere near his stomach.

  He could see them now in his imagination or something like it. He watched them taking up their positions behind cover. There wouldn't be much of a target exposed. He would get one chance, one shot for each of them. Ardin wasn't sure how he knew this, but it made sense.

  He exhaled slowly, the calm of the forest standing in stark contrast to his situation and yet reflecting his newfound peace. The grass brushed lightly against his forearms, a bird off in the distance dared a quiet chirp. He opened his eyes again, clear and bright.