Pilgrimage

by Carl Purcell

  Griffith felt his thoughts, his will, bubbling inside him like a pot of water over a flame. He felt the energy in his gut, where it always began, and it grew, spreading through him. He let it. When his whole body felt like a balloon ready to pop, he breathed that energy out in one placid breath. Griffith stood serene, feeling the unlimited power flowing around him like an electrical mist. The magic surrounded him, still buzzing, still pulling like a tiger on a chain. He gave that energy purpose and shape – a shattering window, the sound of gunshot.

  With one final thought, he unleashed the spell and his will became reality.

  The gun vibrated in Griffith's hands. The spell went off with the sound of a gunshot. The window shattered.

  *****

  The whole room turned to face the window. Roland saw Griffith standing in the open, staring like a rabbit in a spotlight.

  “Who the hell is that?” The man with Thomas' gun shouted. Another gun shot. Roland leapt to one side of the window and his two captives leapt to the other.

  “Who the hell cares? Just shoot him!” Another of the invaders - Richard, someone had called him - said. He wore mismatched shoes and Roland could see speckles of white hair in his black beard.

  “Right.” The gunman stepped out and took aim with his own rifle.

  Roland watched him lock his eyes down the sight. The other one watched Griffith with a bloodthirsty grin. Nobody was watching him.

  Roland lunged at the gun and yanked it up, just as the gunman fired. Richard sprung at him. Roland turned, using the gunman to block his advance. At the same time, he pulled the gunman in close and drove his knee up into the gunman's crotch. He felt the man's grip loosen.

  “Son of a bitch,” he groaned.

  Roland twisted the rifle. The stock swung around, hitting the man in the mouth. The gunman stumbled and fell. Richard came in swinging. Roland pressed the barrel into his chest. Richard stopped.

  “Think carefully, now.” Roland pushed and Richard stepped back, lifting his hands out to the side. Roland stepped away, giving himself a safe distance. Roland hadn't fired a rifle in a long time, but his hands found all the familiar spots. Roland pulled the bolt back and the spent cartridge flew past his hand. He felt himself flinch slightly as the mechanisms fell into position. He knew he was lucky that he hadn't jammed it in the fight.

  Richard smiled and lowered his hands to his side. “Alright, you got the jump on us. Well done.”

  “You want to try me, ass hole? I will shoot you.”

  “I bet. But there's still four of us and you don't know who you're messing with. You going to shoot us all with one bullet?”

  Roland didn't answer. He knew a stalemate when he saw one. He glanced from Richard to Thomas and Georgia. The farmer looked worried. Georgia looked like she was about to faint. Thomas held her and comforted her. Everything had gone to hell. What the fuck was Griffith thinking? And where had the kid gone now that he'd kicked this hornet's nest?

  Out of the corner of his eye, Roland spotted movement at the door. He spun and levelled the rifle at the movement. The other home invader, Roland had heard his name as Larry or Garry, stopped in the doorway.

  “Who gave the tough guy a gun?” Larry asked.

  “I helped myself. You and your friends were just leaving. So fuck off.” Roland said.

  “Fuck that. I was hoping I'd get to tear you up.” Larry stepped into the room and rolled his shoulders. He turned his neck side to side. Roland heard the bones crack. Larry looked as if he was stretching out, preparing for a fight. Was he serious? Didn't he see the gun?

  Larry grinned and stood by the door. Roland waited for his sad attempt at a boxing stance – ass-holes like him always thought they were boxers.

  But Larry didn't move – instead, he started to change. Roland caught it in his peripheral vision. Larry's arm grew until it burst through his jacket sleeve. The skin turned grey, and thickened like an elephant’s hide. His fingers sprouted razor sharp bone claws. The change spread up to his shoulder and down his leg. Larry looked as if he was on the verge of laughing. His bones crunched and his skin stretched in ways that looked agonising. But Larry kept on smiling. Roland felt his dinner climbing into his throat.

  “Fuck this.” Roland fired. The bullet ripped through Larry's shoulder. Blood sprayed the wall behind him. Larry stopped smiling. Nobody spoke or moved. Except Roland. He yanked the bolt back and spun towards the other two. He fired the next shot blind. The bullet pierced the wall. This time panic set in.

  Larry screamed. His body stopped changing, leaving him lopsided and off balance. He stumbled, trying to keep on his feet. He gripped the bleeding wound with his massive, awkward claws. Roland chambered the next round. Larry threw himself down the corridor and stumbled in a mad dash for the back door. The last sorcerer in the room, still bleeding from the nose after Roland had hit him, grabbed Georgia and yanked her off the couch. He drew a knife from deep in some pocket and pressed it to her neck.

  “No!” Thomas roared and shot to his feet.

  “Back off!” The sorcerer shouted. Thomas stepped away. Roland could see fear in Georgia's eyes. He looked to Thomas and saw the same terror written all over him. This wasn't a normal day at the farm. After Larry's little exhibition, Roland could imagine how the emotions must be piling up for them. The sorcerer ducked low and closed his eyes. Roland saw his expression change to one of intense concentration. Roland aimed high and fired. The sorcerer recoiled. Roland readied the gun on him again. If the sorcerer had been casting a spell, the gunshot had successfully broken his focus.

  “Let her go and get out,” Roland said.

  “Put the gun down, first.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Then I'm keeping the bitch. She'll cheer Larry up, for sure.”

  “Damn it, let her go!” Thomas cried.

  “Make him put the gun down.”

  “Let her go, ass-hole!” Roland ordered, keeping the rifle level with him. The sorcerer stayed down behind Georgia and backed away, dragging her with him.

  “Don't worry. She'll only suffer for a few hours. After that, she's dog food.” The sorcerer waited until he was in the kitchen before he turned and ran for the door, dragging Georgia with him.

  Roland took off running after him.

  Griffith stood dumbly on the porch, scanning the field. The first two home-invaders had disappeared into the tree-line on the other side of the paddock. With that big thing creeping around, whatever it was, he had no desire to go after them.

  The last one came crashing out of the kitchen door and sprinted past him, dragging Thomas' wife with him. He ran straight into the cattle paddock, through the hole his friends had broken in the fence. Roland followed a second later, rifle in hand. Realising he'd been left in the dust, Griffith charged forward. He rushed through the fence and smacked into a cow. The creature gave him a displeased glare and pushed through the herd away from him. The displaced cows rearranged themselves and one began pushing against Griffith. Griffith moved out of its way only to find himself boxed in.

  A gunshot rang out and a startled cow began stomping a circle around Griffith. Griffith jumped out of its way and ran alongside a line of cattle. Behind him, disturbed cattle began filing out of the paddock, towards the house. The distressed cows formed an ever-changing labyrinth. Openings closed before Griffith could reach them and paths around the cows suddenly changed direction as the animals reorganised themselves. Griffith halted a moment to orientate himself. There was another shot. Something or somebody yelped in pain.

  “Where are they?” Griffith shouted. He tried to climb on the back of a cow to get a better look. The unhappy bovine stomped and shook. Griffith lost his grip before he could properly mount the animal fell. The angry animal pushed through the herd away from him.

  Griffith landed in a small clearing at the edge of the paddock. His whole right side was hurting but his head had hit something soft and fuzzy. A moment later the man pulling Georgia came bursting into the clearing. He s
topped at the fence and started climbing. Roland came into view a second later.

  “Don't move!” Roland ordered. The man pulled Georgia in front of him and held her there by her neck.

  “How many shots have you got left? You know you almost hit her? The farmer won't be happy when he sees what you did to his cow.”

  “I only need one shot.”

  “I bet you could kill us both if you fired from there. Go on.” Roland and the man went on trying to stare each other down.

  Griffith lifted himself up. A low growl caught his attention. He followed the sound and met the gaze of a hungry looking dog. The feral beast had dark, matted fur and had twisted its blood-soaked muzzle into a frightening scowl. Several broken teeth accentuated its razor sharp canines. Griffith pulled himself away from its stare just long enough to see that he had landed on top of a dead bull. Blood and gore poured from the animal's opened ribs. The bull hadn't just been killed, it had been eviscerated. Long gashes across its body oozed blood and intestines. Griffith's focus snapped back to the dog. Slowly he began to lift himself, all the while staring down the vicious mutt.

  “Uh, you guys...” He said. Roland and the man weren't paying attention.

  The animal lowered itself, as if threatening to pounce. Its jaws trembled with a constant growl.

  “Guys...” He tried again.

  “What is it, Griffith? Kind of busy.” Roland said. The dog lowered. Griffith turned his head, looking for an opening to flee. He realised he'd taken his eyes off the dog too late and he heard a croaking bark. Griffith spun back to face it. He saw the dog latch onto the man's arm and tear him away from Georgia.

  “Run!” Roland shouted. Georgia didn't argue. She fled back through the paddock towards the house. The man wrestled with the dog and beat at its head until it let go.

  The animal dropped and snapped at him again. The man backed away. He stepped straight into the fence. The dog rushed him down again. It closed its jaws around his leg, growling and snarling through trickles of blood. The man collapsed. The dog let go and lunged for his neck. The sorcerer smacked the animal aside but the beast kept going, undeterred. It clasped around his arm again. The sorcerer cried out in pain. Shaking all over, he dug his free arm into his pocket and pulled out a Swiss army knife. He gripped it in his teeth and pulled out one of the blades. The animal didn't notice until he stabbed it. The dog yelped and pulled away. It collapsed on its injured limb, tried to get up but yelped again and fell. The sorcerer stabbed the dog a few more times for good measure, until Roland opened fire. The bullet struck the fence, spraying the sorcerer with splinters. He dropped the knife and scrambled over the fence, tumbled down the other side before limping away as fast as he could.

  Griffith watched him go and then turned to the animal. Roland grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.

  “Get behind me.” He said. Griffith took another look at the dog. The animal's leg and body trickled blood. Between struggles to stand, it whimpered and licked at its wounds. Roland aimed the rifle down at it.

  “No,” Griffith said.

  “What?”

  “You can't kill it, Roland.” Griffith positioned himself between the rifle and the beast.

  “Look at it. With that many holes in it, it's going to die either way. Stand aside and let me end its misery or we let it die slowly.”

  “It doesn't have to. I can help it.”

  “Look what it did to the bull, Griffith! You get near it and it'll kill you.” Roland tried to aim at the dog but Griffith blocked him completely.

  “You look at the bull! Do you think a dog did that?”

  Roland glanced at the bull and regretted it. “Yes. Now move.”

  “It was just hungry.”

  “And it's probably still hungry. Even if we leave it, it can't go far. Thomas will find it in the morning and kill it, himself. You can't protect it forever.”

  “But I can protect it now!” Griffith put his arms out to his side, blocking the animal as much as he could.

  “Get out of the way and I'll make it quick and painless. We all win.”

  “The dog doesn't.”

  “Griffith!”

  “We're pretty close. Like he said, I bet if you shot, you could put a bullet right through us both.” Without waiting for an answer, Griffith turned and knelt over the dog. There was no way Roland would shoot. Roland was only looking out for him, but even if he did shoot, Griffith couldn't have gone on with his pilgrimage if he let a little thing like death scare him off.

  Just as he had done for Roland, Griffith placed his hands on the wounded and frightened creature. He worked the spell and the the wounds closed one by one, sucking the lost blood back into its body. Before the animal got to its feet again, Griffith backed away. The dog eyed both men cautiously. It lowered its ears. Roland kept his rifle levelled at it.

  “Get out of here!” Roland shouted at the animal

  The dog backed slowly away from them. “Stay out of the bush,” it growled in a voice that sounded distinctly feminine and distinctly human. “They're still out there.” Then it ducked under a fence and disappeared into the brush.

  “Did that...” Griffith watched the dog run. “Did that dog just talk?”

  “I think it—” Before Roland could finish, Griffith had vaulted the fence and vanished into the bushes beyond.

  Roland looked back towards the farm house. He could hear Thomas calling them. He could see the cattle moving and shifting to make way for the farmer. He looked towards Griffith, gritted his teeth and swore under his breath. Roland dropped the gun by the bull, clambered over the fence and raced after Griffith and the talking dog. He ran as fast as he could – faster, he was sure, than Griffith had been running but neither the impulsive sorcerer nor the talking dog could be seen.

  Then the whole world slipped away from Roland and he was swallowed by deep shadows. He tumbled and rolled through dirt, taking in mouthfuls of earth as he dropped into darkness. All at once he stopped moving and hit something like solid ground. He groaned out a painful breath into the darkness and somebody in the dark groaned back.

  Chapter 7

  Pentdragon's voice echoed like a summer storm. Each syllable cracked, shaking the walls of his throne room and the nerves of his servants. Half a dozen men knelt before him, bent forward, eyes turned to the ground. The room was dark. Lord Pentdragon stood by his throne, a crimson aura surrounding him. That aura alone illuminated the room.

  “An apprentice and a mortal! You have been outsmarted and beaten – physically, in one case – by an apprentice and a mortal. Each and every one of you is unworthy to serve in my court. You are unworthy of being in my presence!

  “I invited the most important and most noble subjects of the realm to an execution and I have been embarrassed by your incompetence. Incompetence! I have a mind to put you all to death and give the execution I promised. Do you have any idea what it looks like when The Great Lord Pentdragon is unable to defeat a mortal man? Any idea? Did not one of you think for a moment that, when you fail, it appears to the court that I failed? I am Lord Pentdragon and I fail at nothing. Nothing! The entire realm exists and functions because I say it does.” Pentdragon turned from his men and pressed his thumb and index finger against his forehead. His unbridled rage threatened to turn a dull throbbing over his brow into a full-blown headache. He took a few slow, deep breathes to settle his nerves.

  Feeling calmer than before, he turned around to face his servants again. One of them, a wiry man with a disgustingly hairy face, was looking at him. As soon as Pentdragon looked at him, the hairy-faced man turned his head downwards again. His whole body quivered non-stop. Pentdragon continued quietly:

  “Each and every one of you lives because I say you may live. Your continued existence is at my mercy and you may all be thankful that I am merciful. I am merciful.” He took a seat on his throne and from his place above his subjects, he scrutinised them quietly. Not one of them spoke. They were a pathetic lot; hardly worth his attention and
each only slightly more adept at sorcery than a child apprentice. They cowered before him and suffered his temper in the desperate hope that he would throw them the scraps of his knowledge and wisdom. Yet, they were each uniquely unworthy of the slightest amount of pity. Their loyalty was outweighed completely by their uselessness.

  He waited to see if any of them would dare to speak. They were too timid in his presence to even muster up an apology for their stupidity. He might have looked kindly on them if they had even enough spine to beg forgiveness. They didn't. They only offered him failure, time and time again.

  “Why do I keep you? Why? Somebody tell me. Rise and speak, one of you; tell me what use you offer.”

  Nobody answered him. They didn't even move.

  “We will bring them back.” Pentdragon continued. “You will have another opportunity to prove yourselves. Now stand, all of you. Stand.”

  They stood but kept their heads low.

  “Return only when I have summoned you. I shall engineer a way for you to find them and you will bring them back to me. Now go. Go!” Each turned and left. The door closed behind the last and left Lord Pentdragon in solitude.

  He sat silently and contemplated the task before him. The burden of creating both the method and the means of hunting and retrieving Roland and Griffith rested on him and him alone. If Griffith continued to use magic, one of his many spies across the Tablelands would surely find him again. But even when they did locate them, what were the chances of ambushing them a second time? Surrounded, as he was, by useless servants and vain courtiers there was nobody Lord Pentdragon could turn to for aid in any of his grand designs. So it was in lonely bitterness that he schemed the deaths of his new foes.

  He worked undisturbed for an hour or more. He did not move from his throne and he did not speak. Nothing disturbed his thinking until, without warning, he heard the door slam closed. He had been so deep in thought he did not even hear it open. Was he expecting someone? Had he absent-mindedly called for one of his attendants? No, he hadn't. Some unwelcome intruder had come into his chamber.