She fell into a deep sleep.
And awoke on a natural dais of sorts, composed of the softest fungi and mosses, around which a large moat of brownish-green water swirled. Sitting up, Aoife was greeted by a chorus of odd voices, gently, reverently chanting a word she knew was alien to her, but which she nevertheless understood to mean “mother.” Mother. Aoife was now a mother, had given birth, in fact. But to what?
Rising out of the mist peeped tiny heads of various shapes, none bigger than an apple. Here was a little fellow who looked like a juvenile satyr, there, a winged sprite, a female, perhaps. Nearby, a small mound of leaves and roots rocked back and forth on two gnarly legs. Further away, a sticklike figure that resembled a troll hopped up and down in apparent delight. Aoife attempted to count them all, but some were in movement continuously, and the sight of the collection overall so dazzled her that she gave up and sat back on her haunches, silently, waiting for some sort of sign or signal to enlighten her. Slowly, cautiously, they crept towards her, one by one, so that she might know them.
The satyr was the first to approach, as she suspected he might be. The horns on his forehead were little more than bumps, and the mottled, downy hair on his head matched that on his goatish legs exactly. He was precisely what Aoife had imagined an infant satyr might look like. The little satyr purred the word for mother again and climbed into Aoife’s lap, which, she was relieved to discover, had been reclothed with her robes. The next creature was a miniature sword fern…except that it hummed, murmured and was inexplicably able to walk. The A’Shea had known plants were living things, of course. Who didn’t? But to see one so clearly sentient was an epiphany that practically overwhelmed her. The next creature in line was a flying hybrid of insect and faerie. And there was another creature in line behind him, and another behind her, and another…
It was insanity to think that Aoife had birthed all of these things, but what else could she conclude? And how could she pursue the vengeance that had been her life’s goal for so many years in her current situation? Surrounded, cloaked in her children, the A’Shea sat for hours, pondering her suddenly short list of options.
*****
It was morning. Some of Aoife’s children had grown tremendously since the previous night; others remained small. As she stood among them, one of them moved forward and spoke.
“You are troubled, mother-sister?”
“Not troubled, little one,” she said, in her most loving, motherly tone. “Confused, slightly, but not troubled.”
“What is it confuses you, mother-sister?”
“First, why do you call me ‘mother-sister?”
“We are born of the same father, though you are also our mother.”
Aoife shook her head, no less confused. “There is another, more troubling issue.”
“Tell.”
“I have had some unfinished business I’ve needed to resolve for years. Now that you’re here…”
“But mother-sister,” the little satyr said, “you goal is also our goal.”
“Indeed?” Aoife laughed, in the way that all mothers do when their clever babes have said something amusing.
“You seek revenge against your brother…”
Aoife gasped.
“And so do we.”
At last, the A’Shea understood. It was her brother who had leveled the fabled forest, her brother who had desecrated the oldest temple of the old gods. Of course the people of that forest would want revenge. Of course they would use her, if they could, to exact that revenge.
“And how is that to be accomplished, little one?” she asked.
“Whenever we find a suitable place, you will birth the children of Nar. We, in turn, will spread forests wherever you birth us. In time, we will be able to attack your brother from every direction. There will be nowhere he can turn that he will not see one of our faces snarling back at him. He would burn the greenwood? The greenwood is a fire all its own, and we shall burn your brother in return.”
Aoife nodded. What else could she do? She had never been able to find the means to punish her brother. Now, that means had found her. It felt wonderful. And terrifying.
*****
Vykers, On the Trail
They were all tearing into their venison as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks. Vykers suspected they might have eaten just hours ago, and their meal had been human. He didn’t much care how those bandits died, and he didn’t much care for cannibalism, either. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure the Five were even remotely human, so perhaps it wasn’t cannibalism, after all. Still, would it kill them to try roasting their meat once in a while?
“So,” he said, leaning into the firelight to make eye contact with Number 3. “Tell me where you came from, where you started.”
“We don’t recall much.”
“Well,” Vykers growled, “whatever you do recall.”
Number 3 looked to his peers to his left and right. None of them so much as stopped eating. “Very well,” he said. “I was sleeping….somewhere. An earthquake or perhaps an explosion awakened me. I found myself on the floor of a prison cell. All around me, I could see others asleep in cells of their own. The noise awakened one or two of them. The bars of my cell had been damaged by great stones that fell from the ceiling, and I was able to squeeze through a gap near one corner. From there, it was simple, really. I wandered the place until I found a dead guard with keys. I opened each cell that wasn’t damaged beyond repair and what you see before you are all that remained.”
“We spent some time trying to make sense of our predicament and our surroundings. We all had – and still have – dim memories of excursions outside the complex at night, memories of marching, memories of killing on command. We were familiar to each other, but concrete recollections eluded us, one and all. And we had these…”
Number 3 pulled up the cuff of his sleeve, revealing an unfamiliar sigil branded into the back of his left hand, in the meat between his index finger and thumb. As if on signal, the remaining chimeras revealed their sigils, as well. Each was slightly different.
“These,” Number 3 continued, “are numbers. How we know this or in what language, I cannot tell you. But this,” he pointed again to his own sigil “is ‘Number 3,’ and ‘Number 3’ I have been ever since.”
“In scouting the rest of our prison, we discovered a laboratory of some sort, in which one of our brothers was rapidly dying from countless wounds apparently sustained during torture. We returned to examine the other cells and found many times our number had died in their sleep, some through poison, some through starvation, some through injuries they incurred in desperate attempts at escape. At one time, it seems, there were close to fifty of us. Imagine…” Number 3 trailed off.
Imagine what? Vykers wondered. Imagine the damage fifty of you could do to a small village or keep? Imagine the cost, labor and arcane power required to make you? More likely, imagine friends you’d lost…
“At any rate,” the chimera continued, “we discovered one hallway that had collapsed during the catastrophe – whatever it was – and determined it to have been the only exit from the compound. Elsewhere, we found a second collapse that left a pile of rubble and a hole in the ceiling. It was a simple matter to climb the pile and boost one another out the hole.”
“In summary, we believe we were created and trained by someone with less than benevolent intentions. We call him ‘Number 1,’ although that is surely not his name. Whether he still lives, or knows that some of us still live, we do not know. Yet, we hope for a reckoning some day.”
“Right,” Vykers said. “And who doesn’t?” He paused. “And your language? I don’t get that bit. Seems like scary monsters should be a lot less…less…”
“Eloquent?” Number 17 asked, with just the tiniest hint of irony in his voice.
A hint, but Vykers got it. “Yeah, wise ass, eloquent.”
The chimeras laughed in the variety of peculiar ways unique to them, and Vykers sensed they had all just enjoyed a
moment of what passed for fellowship in a freak show. And again, he was struck by the frequency of uncanny coincidences – dominos, puzzle pieces – that, impossibly, seemed somehow connected.
He was also itching to meet this “End-of-All-Things.” What was it the Historian had suggested – if you want to be the best, you have to beat the best? He looked over at his comrades again. What if they had somehow been steered into his hands, only to turn on him when the time was right? He began planning, in earnest, how he might kill each of them, if it came to that. No sense in being caught unprepared.
He could feel Arune tip-toeing around his thoughts. But he had no time for her at the moment; he needed to think without distraction.
*****
The trail climbed steadily, so that the end of each day was a little bit colder, the air, a little bit thinner. The massive firs that had been the group’s constant companions for days gave way to smaller, often stunted pines. Big game became far less plentiful, although large predators were still common. Clearly, there were enough rabbits, wild pigs, and big, flightless Doona to keep their population well fed.
Vykers wasn’t concerned about predators – especially not in his current company. But he did enjoy a nice, big meal at the end of the day and meat, in particular, was essential. In that respect, he reflected, he wasn’t so different from the Five. So, as long as the wolves, mountain lions and other, less savory predators didn’t impinge upon his diet, Vykers wouldn’t impinge upon their continued existence. He could eat wolf if he had to.
At midday, the group stopped at a mountain spring Arune had discovered a short distance from the trail. Vykers watched as each of the Five got on all fours and drank from the spring like animals. All hells, he thought, why not? He bent to do the same. About ten feet to his right, he heard one of the chimeras grunt, pensively.
“What is it?” Vykers asked.
Number 4 gestured to the water. “Flecks of gold.”
The Reaper examined the spring bed beneath him. It was true. Countless gold particles ranging in size from almost imperceptible to pebble-sized spread throughout the stream. Vykers drank.
Aren’t you going to collect any? Arune asked.
What for? I’ve got enough gold already in various banks and hidey-holes to buy my own kingdom.
You can never have too much gold. And this is ready-access. We may not see one of your banks for a long time.
Vykers hated it when she was right. He sighed. Oh, very well, he told her and bent down again to begin collecting the larger pieces.
“Shall we gather some, as well?” Number 3 asked.
“Sure,” Vykers answer. “Couldn’t hurt.”
In an hour, the group had collected enough to fill a small pouch, about the size of a fist.
“Rich again.” Vykers grinned, hefting the gold. He studied his surroundings, in case he ever wanted to return and investigate the gold’s source further. Who could say? There might be a major vein nearby, enough to buy and sell the Virgin Queen herself.
“Is this unusual?” Number 17 asked.
Vykers laughed. “I’ve heard about this sort of thing before, but I’ve always been more of a warrior than a prospector, so I thought it was just bullshit. First time I’ve ever seen it like this.”
Number 17 nodded, thoughtfully.
“The damned stuff comes in handy,” Vykers continued. “I’ll say that for it.” The chimera wandered off to join his brothers, and the Reaper was left alone his thoughts. Just then, something occurred to him.
Burner? He asked.
Arune, she corrected.
Right, fine: Arune.
Yes?
You knew this gold was here all along.
Of course, Arune answered, matter-of-factly.
Don’t play me, girl. You got something to say, say it.
We need every advantage we can get, no matter how small. A little detour for some water and gold doesn’t hurt anyone, does it?
Vykers brooded a full half minute. Maybe not. Still, you get any more ideas, run ‘em by me next time.
Consider me chastened, Arune replied.
Again, Vykers paused. What do you do all day while I’m hiking and hunting and what not?
Suddenly, Arune was coy. What do you mean?
It’s pretty obvious what I do all day and night. Any fool can see what I’m up to. But you’re hidden away up there. You’re in my own skull, and I don’t even know what you’re doing most of the time. For Vykers, this amounted to a lengthy diatribe.
I watch, Arune replied. I listen. I search our surroundings for any sort of threat.
Threat? Vykers mocked. We ain’t come close to trouble. It’s all I can do most days just to stay awake on the trail.
You wouldn’t feel that way if you knew the things I’ve saved you from.
You’re playing me again, the Reaper growled, inwardly.
Really? Arune challenged, clearly annoyed. There’s a large raiding party about a day’s travel west of here. There’s a good chance we’ll cross paths unless I divert them somehow or you change course.
Vykers sat on a rock, pulled off his left boot and shook gravel out of it. How big is this raiding party?
More than two hundred.
Two hundred what?
Men. They’re men.
Vykers pulled his boot back on over his invisible foot, then pulled the other off and shook it for good measure. Might like to see that.
I remember how you tested the Five. Are you planning the same for me? Are you going to do some damn-fool thing and see whether I’m able to save you or not?
Vykers nodded appreciatively. So you can read my mind.
And a pretty dull read it is, too, Arune complained.
So, how about it, Burn? You want to show me what you can really do? Vykers asked.
It’ll be painful.
Isn’t everything?
Have it your way, Arune responded. Just don’t forget I warned you.
Vykers turned to the Five. “We’re goin’ hunting,” he said.
*****
All day and into the evening, Vykers felt an irritating prickling across and throughout his body – the Burner at work, he supposed.
The Five had brought down an enormous elk, but it was barely enough to feed them all and Vykers. The lucky part, from Vykers’ perspective, was that his companions preferred the elk’s innards, so he was always able to carve off a healthy-sized piece of flank before they moved on to the parts he enjoyed. Still, he was amazed at how much and how rapidly the chimeras ate. And given the volume of meat they took in, he shuddered to think how much they put out, while doing their private business off in the underbrush.
News? He asked Arune.
They’re coming, she answered. Two-hundred and forty-eight of them. They’ve got two Shapers and three A’Shea amongst their number.
That worry you?
No.
No? That’s it? No explanation? Vykers asked.
What’s to say? I’m not worried about their magic. I do think we should talk with them before we start killing, though. Where I come from, information’s more valuable than gold.
And we’ve got a shitload of gold now, anyway. Fine, we’ll talk, Vykers replied. When’ll they reach us?
Sometime after dawn. You can sleep in your usual shifts.
*****
Dawn came and went, and the advance scouts of the approaching band had yet to find them. Vykers grew impatient.
I don’t like this waiting shit, he told Arune.
And I thought you’d learned patience back in that cave we shared.
Now that I can walk and fight, I like to do it. This here’s for old women and invalids.
They come, Arune replied.
Twelve men stepped out of the trees on the far side of the trail. In the quiet of this wilderness, it was enough to get Vykers’ attention without any kind of hailing. He rose from his crouch slowly, and gestured “hold” to his comrades. Vykers knew a bit of Mountain Tongue, so he said, �
��Something we can help you boys with?”
Steel, Blood & Fire (Immortal Treachery Book 1) Page 18
