Dagger - The Light at the End of the World

by Walt Popester

  When he came back to them, he commented with aplomb, “Well? What the fuck are you looking at? Moak! Close that damn hole!”

  Dagger led the Guardian to the split from which they had emerged.

  “Stop here!” Moak snatched a small metal ball from his belt. When the other Cruachans cries already echoed beneath the mountain, he threw it inside.

  There was a powerful explosion and soon there was nothing but debris.

  “Have it on foot, Gorgors!”

  They rejoined the others and flew until sunset, before descending to the ground and camping for the night. The three Cruachan let themselves be tied to the trees without rebelling, watching Dagger like docile kittens.

  “It almost seems they like you,” Olem murmured, skeptical, as he tightened the noose around the neck of one of the beasts as much as possible, as if to strangle it.

  “They don’t respect me, it’s Redemption they revere,” he replied. Since the Dracon said nothing, he wondered if he knew anything about that blade, or ‘living arm’ as Kugar had named it. Then he let it go. Olem did not seem famous for his intellectual aptitude.

  He looked stealthily at Moak, far too quiet though he had heard them talking.

  They wouldn’t light a fire for obvious reasons. The two Guardians would not have slept until dawn, watching over him.

  * * * * *

  8. The friendly danger

  Dagger was awakened at first light of day by the big hand of Moak, shaking him by the shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked around; Kugar was already up, tightening a belt around her waist; Olem was in the same position in which he had left him. Probably he had not moved a single step from his lookout. Never beating his eyelashes, never yawning; the Cruachans lay broken in the dew, beheaded. He walked over and noticed the signs of their bites on the ropes that kept them tied.

  “They were trying to free themselves,” Olem explained. “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t mind walking.”

  “Did you kill them?”

  “They would have betrayed us as soon as they could hear their comrades’ call.”

  “Gorgors know well where our portal is, it’s crystal clear,” Moak said. “They will hunt us down until then. We have a fair advantage, though. Let’s not waste it!”

  They set off when the sun was still rising above the horizon, covered by a blanket of gray clouds. Olem and Moak leading the way. Dagger and Kugar behind them.

  “How far is the portal?” Dagger asked.

  “Not much,” Kugar answered. “We are gaining height. If we are lucky enough, and if Gorgors don’t make risky moves, we’ll get there no later than noon.”

  The footprints they were leaving on the muddy ground were too many and too deep to be erased. Any follower would not struggle to follow them, but Dagger had the feeling that the Guardians were already resigned to an inevitable clash. Perhaps they just hoped to reach the portal before the enemy.

  When the sun behind the clouds was at its maximum height in the sky, a clearing appeared among the trees in front of them.

  Olem stopped. “Noises. Further,” he whispered, drawing his sword. He walked hunched to the ground and hid behind a tree, a moment before an arrow hissed in the wind to stick on the trunk. Moak smiled. He put his hands cupped around his mouth and let out a long howl. It had to be a sort of signal, for when Olem came out from behind the tree a second arrow was not shot.

  “We’ve arrived,” Kugar said.

  To Moak’s signal, another one answered, somewhere among the branches of the trees. Dagger looked carefully over their heads, but he noticed the shadowy figure, perfectly camouflaged, only when it moved to descend. He lost sight of it, then he heard a rustle of leaves and saw it leap to the ground just in front of him, completely wrapped in a green and brown patched cloak, of different shades, as well as the hood that covered his head except for the cloth grill at eye level. He stretched out his arm toward Dagger’s face.

  Only when he saw its hand emerge from the sleeve, Dagger realized he was not facing a human being. Its skin was wrinkled and green, the fingers clawed. It was the hand of a reptile, at least he thought. He got closer, until it struck his forehead with a slap, in an almost affectionate way. Then the strange creature approached the two Guardians. Dagger instinctively brought a hand to Redemption but, at the gleam of its sparks, everybody turned to give him a puzzled look. He felt stupid and let go of the grip with a shrug.

  “I suppose you’ve never seen a Messhuggah,” the hissing voice of the creature said, with a hint of derision. “Well, no wonder. There are no Messhuggah on the world Beyond, unfortunately and fortunately.” He raised his face to look at Olem. “I was awaiting visits one of these days, from you or from Gorgors. I think I even saw some of their cursed Cruachans fly over the forest. I prepared myself for the worst.”

  “The worst is just what happened, Dracon Araya,” Olem answered. “They attacked the ship on which we were traveling. The ones you see in front of you are the only survivors. The only ones, in the whole contingent of Guardians sent on Melekesh in the search for Skyrgal’s blood.”

  The other one watched them in silence, below the hood. “Still better than I expected,” he added. “The problem is, how did the Gorgors set foot on this world?”

  “They came through the back door,” Moak muttered.

  “Moak!” Olem barked.

  However, Araya hissed a laugh. He put his flaky hand on the Guardian’s forehead, in a gesture of affection and forgiveness. “Brother Moak is one of the few humans we can have confidence in,” he said. “That’s why we accepted him as one of us. We Messhuggah are wary and reserved, but we appreciate his humor, Dracon Olem. The truth often lies in irony, and from his few words I think I’ve already figured out a lot about what happened, though not everything. You will explain the rest with calm. Now come inside and rest: it’s ill to walk through the Death Pass tired, hungry… and with the girl’s wound already stinking of infection.” Araya dropped his gaze on Kugar, who cringed, as if she wanted to be far from there, in that moment.

  That lizard could think damn fast, Dagger thought.

  “Oh, do you think we didn’t notice that too?” Moak said, looking in turn at the girl. “You continuously bring your hand to your chest, you’re slow as you’ve never been, and you pant like a dog. No Guardian should ever hide his wounds to his companions. It goes for the salvation of everyone!”

  “Stupid girl!” Olem added. “We need to know who needs to be protected!”

  Kugar looked down. “I do not need to be protected.”

  “Oh, all Guardians need to be protected,” Araya interjected. “Some, especially from their stupidity.”

  “We had a clash with two Tankars, before joining you back,” Kugar explained. “They had the worst!”

  “It was a miracle, believe me!” Moak concluded. He was about to continue, but Araya put a hand on his shoulder, holding a leather bag.

  “Come on, brother Moak, we’ve all been young,” he said. “And the more someone is young, the less he’s able to feel the fetid death’s breath on his nape; the less it’s clear to him that he needs the help of others to avoid meeting the silent lady too soon. Water is already on the fire; I was cooking when I heard your arrival. Melt this lizard crap in it. Judging by the smell that’s torturing my nose, I think we will need it.”

  The Guardian smiled. “The Poison Dracon is always ready for the worst, right?”

  “More or less. But it will be better to get set fast. I feel also another smell, approaching. Smell of rotten eggs.”

  “How many?”

  “A team, not particularly numerous, but there could be others behind them. They’ll be here tonight.”

  “We’ll greet them here tonight!” Olem precised. “We’ll face them and we’ll leave no survivor. This will be a straight message to them.”

  They followed Araya in the clearing surrounded by larches, at the bottom of which they saw a log cabin. Dagger would never have thought that, in the nearby, th
e boundary between the two worlds was hiding.

  “Walk on the trail,” Araya suggested. “I wouldn’t want to see you skewered by one of the poles hidden beneath this beautiful green lawn.”

  “The birds stopped singing,” Olem noticed, looking around. “Tonight we’ll find it hard to get some sleep.”

  “Don’t think about it. Rest now. My instinct tells me darker days lay ahead. And, after those, days even worse. Maybe you can’t feel it, but the smell of his blood is strong.”

  “I can feel it!” Kugar protested.

  Araya patted on her head. “Oh, I know, I know you do.”

  Dagger realized they were talking about him. “I can’t do anything about it,” he said. “It’s not like a fart that you can hold inside!”

  The Messhuggah laughed softly. “Yeah, it’s not like a fart,” he chuckled. “Good answer, my boy.”

  They entered the small hut, heated and lit by a lively fire in the hearth in which a pot of water was boiling. The furniture was reduced to the essentials: a table, a few chairs and old copper ladles hanging on the wall. Araya kept ready for cooking the carcass of some animal, skinned, cut into pieces and divided neatly on the table covered with blood. He had to get along well, alone.

  Moak emptied the contents of the leather bag into the pot, a greenish powder with a pungent smell. Kugar reluctantly pulled herself on the table, pushing away a piece of the carcass. She uncovered her chest, having now become fiery red. The infection was galloping hard on her skin, starting from the long cuts bequeathed by the Tankar.

  “Mighty Angra! Look at that!” Araya muttered, tamponing the wound with a wet cloth. “Nice smear cuts they do with their gloves. And what’s this smell, did someone piss on you?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Araya turned to Dagger, then back to Kugar, and laughed. “Oh, oh, oh! It must really be a long story,” he commented, amused.

  Moak showed up with the pot just removed from the heat. “I think it’s ready, my Dracon.”

  Araya dipped gauze in the hot swill and blew on it. “This will harm a little, my lady,” he warned, before dabbing the wound.

  Kugar jumped and let out a groan, covered by Olem’s wild laughter.

  “Burns like fire, huh?” the man yelled. “Well, remember it’s an honor to be healed by the lizard Dracon in person! Or in Lizard. Or what!” Then he looked out of the dirty and opaque window, his eyes moving slowly from right to left. “Kugar. When you’re done getting your life saved, go below and arm Dagger as he should be. Adults need to talk about important matters. Come on, shoo!”

  Kugar nodded. When Araya finished medicating her, she jumped off the table and took Dagger under her arm, leading him under a trapdoor in the floor. Dagger reluctantly followed her, since throughout this trip, and his life the worst things happened underground. The small basement was full of weaponry. At least a hundred gleaming swords were leaning against the walls and, in addition to these, bows and polished shields.

  Kugar grabbed a sword, with a handle shaped like a claw. “Not all the questions in life can be solved with a knife,” she stated. “Sometimes you need a sword.”

  “Nice one, where did you read it?”

  “It’s an old saying of Golconda.”

  “And this place. What is it?” Dagger asked. “I mean, what’s that old wrinkled guy doing here on the world Beyond?”

  “That guy is one of the five Dracons of the Fortress, like Olem and Marduk, so try to show a little respect. He’s watching over the Death Pass since we came on this world. This is the last frontier. Can’t you feel the portal’s vibrations?”

  Dagger brushed the gleaming blades, fascinated. They responded to the touch of his fingers, varying the intensity of their reflections.

  “This is the Manegarm,” Kugar explained “A metal that can rip the soul from the body of a god, as Angra did with your father. It’s a sword like these that preserves the soul of Skyrgal, at the Fortress.”

  Dagger chose a sword and cut through the air repeatedly.

  “You use it as a stick,” Kugar noticed. “I hope someone will teach you how to handle it.”

  “All questions in life can be solved with a sword, but for some a dagger it’s better.”

  “Dag?”

  “This came to me now.”

  “Dagger?”

  “What?”

  Kugar looked at him in silence, before lowering her eyes. “Thank you for protecting my secret, so far,” she said.

  “Oh. That. It’s nothing,” he answered. “I don’t give a damn about your secret. It’s your burden, it’s been giving to you and stuff like that. Everybody has to think about his own, don’t you think?”

  She nodded, then secured a sheath at her waist, grabbed the sword and sliced through the air a couple of times. She was good at it, it seemed. “Let’s just try to survive the night. You too. You can come back to life every time you want, but if you wake up in their hands, for you it will be over all the same.”

  “Kugar?”

  “What?”

  He made no reply, save with his eyes.

  “Dag, is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Well, I…”

  “Dagger?”

  “I really appreciated all that… you’ve done for me.”

  Kugar raised an eyebrow. “Are you really sure there’s nothing else?”

  He stood silent. She smiled and approached him, holding his hands. She brought him face to face, so close that he could feel the hotness in her breath. Until he began to have a predictable reaction. He tried to break free, but she held him faster.

  “It happens a lot of times, for a lot of reasons!” he apologized.

  “I’m glad you appreciated my efforts,” she said. Then, touching his lips with her mouth, made her way between them and kissed him in a way that Dagger had never been kissed before.

  He closed his eyes, dragged away by that erupting and irrepressible power born in the middle of his chest, where his eternal doom was. Life and death, ceaseless torment and ecstasy of senses, were so close to each other they looked like the same thing. He decided to give himself over to that pleasure and forget about the rest, letting her do of him whatever she wanted.

  When Kugar pushed him back, making him fall to the ground. “Now we’d better get back upstairs, abomination.”

  That’s unfair! he thought, as his heart was threatening to give him up.

  Kugar climbed up, looking at him in a mixture of challenge and something else. It was that something else that was driving him mad.

  When they got back upstairs, they found Moak sitting in front of the fireplace, with his pipe between the lips, thoughtful. Olem must not have relived his eyes of the window for a moment.

  Araya was intent on boning the carcass with his bare hands. He had taken off his cap so, when he turned to them, Dagger found himself glancing in two yellow eyes that were not of that world, sparkled with gold around the tiny black slits of the pupils. He ran a purple tongue over a double row of knife-sharp teeth. “No, old man,” he said to Moak, as if continuing a conversation already begun. He put the index and medium fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean of blood, and focused back on the carcass. “Marduk is full of resources. He’ll get back to the portal in one way or the other, finding out by himself what’s happened.”

  “He runs too many risks, however, he’s not aware of anything,” the Guardian replied. “Gorgors will be looking for us throughout the forest and when they’ll cross his path—”

  “He’s the Delta Dracon, he will make it,” Olem interrupted. “And, if he doesn’t make it, then he’s not worthy of the name. A Delta moves in the dark, kills in a flash and feeds on death, a little like you of the Poison. They are just a little more loyal. They use their daggers and the cover of darkness to kill. They don’t blow up your house or poison your beer. Your beer, dammit! Sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with all of you guys. Can’t you just love the battlefield?”

  “Well, Dracon
Olem, we’ve talked about it a lot of times.” He slammed a piece of muscle dripping with blood on the table, packing it up. “There are many ways to win a war or a battle, or a fight, a dispute, an exchange of opinions or views. There’s always a good reason and a good way to kill someone.”

  “Uhm,” Moak considered. “Yes, Marduk will make it.” There was a moment of silence, barely filled by the din of the fire burning in the hearth. “We’ll all make it, but what for? Their host is on the threshold of this world. They’ll take us from behind. Now that they have opened their portal, they will come through here to plunge into the heart of the Glade, hitting where we can’t defend ourselves. And first strike will be deadly!”