Urøk smiled for the second time that day.
Definitely a monster, he thought to himself.
This reminded him that he had to move and find shelter. He couldn't allow himself to be spotted by a roving Scout. The borderline was always patrolled and if caught out in the open, reinforcements would arrive and kill him.
This was not a place where monsters were welcome. Even if the monster in question had once been one of them. Looking around, Urøk quickly picked up which way he had to travel in order to get to the nearest Tree Portal which would lead him to Terra.
Terra, Earth. Edínu's twin world.
Terra was a loathsome place. Urøk was looking forward to visiting it.
The CéataCranné Tree Portals were the only gateways between Edínu and Terra, and could only be used by the álvur, or those possessing a key. He had a key, but it wasn't for him. It was to be given to the Praesāgiī, the Harbinger. Seeing that he had been able to pass through the Sentinel's ring of protection without any trouble, Urøk was confident that he would be able to use the CéataCranné without a key. There was still some semblance of álvur in his DNA.
Heading in his specified direction, he saw a copse of trees under which to hide and regroup for a second. He still had to figure out how to get the beiier out of the Void. Worst case scenario, he could always wait it out until dark underneath the trees, in the safety of their shadows.
Urøk made sure to tread as lightly as possible while also maintaining a good pace to get to the trees. Entering their shade, he immediately felt better. The natural gloom was kinder to his eyes and his senses. He didn't feel so overwhelmed by all the sights and smells of Edínu as he did in the open. Even the accursed breeze was a source of discomfort to him. It smelled fresh and brought with it a hint of life.
This world made him feel queasy and a little dizzy. It was too much. Too much color. Too many different angles of depth and perception. Too many different scents. Too much life.
The Void had been formless. Endlessly the same. Ashen soil devoid of life interspersed with rocky outcroppings that stretched on forever. Sure, there were valleys and hills and even mountains down there, but they were all anathema to life. What lived down there was diseased. Closer to death than alive. The entire Void was cursed. It was a blight on existence.
The plants that grew there were fungoid in origin. Black or gray, seeping with pestilence. Most of them burrowed under the diseased ground, like worms trying to avoid the surface. Those that dared life above the lunar surface grew on rocks, getting their sustenance from the oily liquid that seemed to cover every rock down there.
The Void was a dark, dreary world and it was one that Urøk longed for now, standing within the shadows on Edínu. The twin suns were too bright and they hurt his eyes. He closed them for a few seconds, hoping for some relief. He never thought he would ever miss the Void, but Edínu was just too bright and too colorful. Opening his multiple eyes, Urøk took stock of his surroundings.
He was in the center of a thick copse of green ash. Their bark alive and healthy, foliage full of vitality. There were birds and squirrel-like rodents in the trees. They were all silent, though. Keenly aware of the predator within their midst. Afraid to make a movement, less they be seen and hunted.
Urøk noticed the hare. It was within arm's length and shivering uncontrollably, frozen in place. It was a fine, brown specimen. Healthy and grown fat from an easy life. Its eyes were huge and bulging, nearly covering its entire little furry face.
Urøk's foot came down within a split second, so fast that it had been nothing but a blur. The rabbit seemed to explode in a cloud of red. Blood and liquefied lungs and heart spurted out its mouth, intestines and stomach came out the other end. The body crushed to a pulp underneath Urøk's foot in a millisecond. Only the head and tail seemed normal, whereas the rest of it had been pulverized.
Urøk laughed. Or tried to, at least. The sound that escaped him was that of a gurgling beast. It was deep and unsettling, scattering birds to the air and giving the rodents a jump.
Urøk stopped immediately. That laugh might lead to madness. He might never be able to stop.
Instead, he returned his attention to the squashed hare. With a smirk, he wiped the carcass off his foot on the bark of the nearest ash tree. It was only then that the scent of fresh blood registered. He swiftly went down on all fours and lapped at where he had crushed the rabbit. The warm blood, flavored with liquefied organs were the best thing he had tasted in centuries.
Suddenly he was in a frenzy, all control lost as he grabbed for the small carcass. One eye had popped out of its socket and he greedily sucked it out of the skull. He swallowed without thinking. He took his time with the remaining eye and gently coaxed it out of the socket with his barbed tongue. He pulled on the muscle until it ripped and then chewed on it, experiencing a feeling that neared orgasm. His breathing quickened and Urøk felt at peace. Done with the entrees, he placed a hand over one of the empty eye sockets and brought the other to his mouth. He sucked hard and the little brain slipped into his mouth. Urøk savored its contours, rolling it around his mouth before biting down on it.
It erupted like an intense, one second explosive orgasm of colors and images and scents and feelings all rolled into one. The tiny creature’s entire existence had been summarized and concentrated into that single second of bliss. Urøk sighed and sat down on his haunches.
This was a new experience for him. He had consumed creatures before, but they had usually still been alive. None like this, though. The creatures from the Void had been cold, their thoughts often alien and leaning towards madness. He had only consumed them for their physical abilities, and instinctual traits that had kept them alive, rarely for their memories. This little hare had been different. A life full of color and contentedness. It had been like a stab to Urøk's own brain and he vowed to think twice before consuming a brain of such a creature again.
Imagine if it had been an álvur. Could my mind survive something like that?
A whinny stirred him from his reverie and he immediately looked up. Being in the middle of the stand of trees, the foliage cover was quite thick and he couldn't even see small patches of sky. That was a good thing though, as horse and rider couldn't have seen him either.
A pair of Scouts have arrived! The idea thrilled him.
Perhaps the fleeing birds had alerted them to the possibility of something amiss amongst this little island of trees in a sea of emerald grasslands?
Urøk smiled again, this time without any discomfort whatsoever. He was about to dine on something a lot more substantive than mere rabbit.
CHAPTER 3
Ylándl was starting to get tired. He knew that his steed, Prosíus, would be even more so. They had been patrolling for more than three hours and it was nearing their time for a short break. The copse of trees near the Guardian Stone was a favorite resting place for them, especially since there was a small fountain near the edge of the trees for the pegáonadann to drink from. The flying steed was a powerful beast, but even they eventually tired. A short half an hour break and then it would be the final three-hour stint before they could retire for the day.
As usual, it was an arduous and uneventful shift. He looked across the ocean of darkness that surrounded his home world and shuddered. Beyond the ring of Sentinel standing stones, there was nothing but blackness. From this height, he could see for miles and the tarry sea stretched out all the way to the curved horizon. He had been witness to some of the things that had crawled out of those inky depths. Hideous things that had only death and destruction in mind. Some seemed truly mindless in their destructiveness and Ylándl couldn't think of a more pitiful creature than one that only lived to destroy and kill.
Yet, it was madness to reserve pity for the creatures of the Void. They deserved none. There were no redeeming features in them, and it was his duty as Scout, to make sure none of them made their way past the Guardian Stones. Enchanted from a time before memory, the Standing Stones cr
eated a protective barrier around Edínu, keeping out most of the dark creatures. Most of them. Sometimes one got through. That was why there was a need for Scouts.
Daytime patrols, however, were uneventful. There was no such word as boring in the álvur dialect. There was no place for boredom here. Every álvur had an important duty to perform. As the first line of defense against the Dark Tide, they were the only thing standing between life and eternal darkness. Unlike night patrols, daylight patrols were uneventful. The monsters never came out during daytime.
They were a furlough away from the stand of trees they were headed to for their break when birds suddenly took flight, as if they had been frightened by something. It immediately piqued horse and Scout's interest. With a whinny, the great Prosíus adjusted his wings and they veered down for a closer look. Their training however, kept their curiosity at bay and they didn’t immediately land.
The first pass produced nothing. There were well over fifty trees in this grove and towards the center they grew on top of each other, making a view of the ground difficult. An overhead view would not prove much worth if the trouble was in the center of the copse.
“Another pass,” Ylándl suggested. “This time from another direction,” he whispered into his partner's ear.
Ylándl received a soft whinny as confirmation and they turned over the grasslands and headed back from a different angle. Once again, they couldn't see anything, but for some reason Ylándl felt ill at ease. Something felt off down there.
Had he imagined it or had someone called for help? They were at the end of the grove, and he was about to ask Prosíus if he had seen or heard anything when he saw an arm poking out from the shadows. It was attached to a body that was almost lost in the shadows of the trees. Only the forearm, hand and fingertips reaching for the sunlight were clearly visible. It was definitely an álvur.
“There,” Ylándl pointed needlessly, as the pegáonadann had also seen the álvur in distress and was already turning around for a better look.
The next pass offered them a clearer view and showed that the álvur was on his chest and there was blood smeared across his back and upper arm.
“Down Prosíus,” Ylándl ordered.
An álvur was in need. Something was seriously wrong here. Not only was the álvur injured, but he had also been stripped of all his clothes.
Ylándl started running through a list of names in his head. The names of friends who had duties to perform in this area. Each possible name sent a cold shiver of dread through his heart, as if each one had been lost to death. Death was natural and not something the álvur feared, but dying from unnatural causes, before it was your time, was always met with sadness and loss.
He hoped the álvur down there could still be helped.
CHAPTER 4
The ruse worked.
His extended álvur arm had drawn their attention. Just as his álvur body had drawn unwanted attention in the Void.
Urøk's arm tingled in the sunlight but he resisted the temptation to turn back into his battle-ready, Void-mutated body. The Void had been a terrible place, but it did bestow upon him a few magnificently deadly improvements over the last three centuries. Shape-shifting was one of them.
Although a painful process, the results were spectacular.
Lying in the shade at the edge of the stand of ash trees, he had turned into his old, loathsome álvur self for the first time in nearly three hundred years. Just seeing his pale, fragile arm made him want to vomit because it made him sick to his core. It reminded him too much of what he had been like. For the briefest of moments (Urøk would never admit this, even to himself), he wondered if he could just stay in álvur form and live out his days on Edínu. No one would know what he had become. What he was underneath that exterior of piety and beauty.
Of course, it wouldn't work. There would be too many questions. There would be suspicions. Where had he been for three centuries? At least five álvur had seen him being taken by the Void. There would simply be too many questions. But that wasn't the deal breaker.
He didn't want that life anymore.
He was irrevocably changed into something that he thought was superior. A small part of him also knew that he would never be able to fit into that dull life again. Not when he had this seething hatred bubbling underneath his skin. How long before he tore off a neighbor's head and drank from the spurting neck?
It wouldn't work, even if Urøk decided to kill and eat every last one of his kin. Living with them would drive him insane. Simply being in that old skin would lead to madness. No. He was a creature of the Void now. A Disciple of the Dark. A bringer of death and chaos. It was his true calling and something that appealed to his dark nature. There will never be a life of peace and tranquility for him. Urøk could not think of a worse kind of torture than living out his life in service of the Light.
A life of conscience, servitude and do-goodiness.
It would be too boring.
And so he lay there looking like a prone, hurt álvur, knowing that help would come. The little thing that passed as a hare had been left too decimated to be used as a prop. At first, Urøk tried to smear himself with blood and gore from the pathetic little carcass, but there was simply nothing left. Instead, he changed his own skin to suit his needs, creating deep tears in his flesh and having blood gush out, simply by thinking it.
The bait was offered, the trap set.
Urøk heard the pegáonadann and rider land not too far away. The rider was next to him within seconds, turning him onto his back. Urøk made sure that his face was a death mask of blood and gore. He even went so far to have an eyeball hang out of one socket. It looked like a wild animal had mauled him and he immediately sensed the álvur Scout's distress and empathy.
They were such pure hearted suckers, always willing to help.
So easy to predict.
A few moments later, the Scout let go of Urøk's wrist and whispered, “What happened to you?”
The Scout turned to the pegáonadann and called to him. “We have to get him to the nearest healer. His heart has all but stopped.” The Scout picked Urøk up with a great effort and slid him over his shoulder, holding Urøk around the midriff.
The flighted steed moved cautiously closer. “Who?” it asked.
“Not sure,” the Scout grunted as he moved slowly forward with his burden. “Let me get him on your back and I'll have a look.”
Urøk readied his cells for the swift change he would need in his shoulder, arm, and hand.
In his natural state, Urøk would have been impossible to lift by a simple álvur. He was well over seven feet and weighed more than forty stone. But in his álvur body, he was naturally proportioned in all aspects as he had once been, his body having adapted to its role perfectly. Lying there, he weighed no more than fifteen stone. Instead of a monstrous hulking giant, horse and rider were faced with a fair, slender victim.
The rider managed to carry Urøk over his shoulder to the pegáonadann and angled him over the beast's back behind one of the giant white wings. Urøk suffered the disappointment of not being able to hurl his acid-like bile all over the creature's magnificent back and wings. Urøk wanted nothing more than to watch this fine beast turn into a black, melting, screaming ruin.
Urøk's head, shoulders, and arms were now resting against the horse's opposite flank, away from the Scout. This was his chance. Urøk changed the hand hidden from the Scout's view. His well-manicured álvur fingernails elongated into five deadly sharp claws.
His entire hand and forearm changed back into that of a Korgon and he went straight for the pegáonadann's throat. He angled and lifted his body to slide across the horse's back, away from the álvur Scout, putting the pegasus between himself and the Scout. At the same time, he reached out and slashed at the stallion's throat. Dark blood spurted as the carotid artery was shredded apart in five different horizontal gashes.
In an instant, before the horse or rider could suspect a thing, Urøk had slit the noble bea
st's throat. Blood came out in great, red gouts. The five incision-like cuts were so deep, that the steed's vocal cords were severed. Its head lolled forward grotesquely as the horse screamed silently in agony. It bucked and tried to throw its killer off its back, but Urøk was already off and moving away from the dying horse, putting distance between himself and the Scout.
In its attempt to get away from the sudden vicious attack, the steed knocked the álvur Scout to the ground. It continued rearing and bucking in its retreat and Urøk was grateful that it moved away. A pegáonadann was a strong beast and would fight until its heart burst from fatigue. This one however, was done for.
Urøk saw his opportunity and deftly closed the distance between himself and the stricken álvur. He landed on top of the confused Scout before the álvur really knew what was happening.
Urøk didn't want to kill his old brethren too quickly. He wanted to have some fun first.
He pinned the Scout to the ground with his powerful Korgon hand on the álvur's throat. Only then did he start the complete transformation from álvur to svartálvur. He enjoyed the look of consternation change to terror on the álvur's face as his own features changed from fair álvur into that of a dark creature.
Changed into a svartálvur, his skin immediately started to bubble and boil once more. It gave off a noxious odor, but the smoke coming off him seemed almost sensual as it weaved and bobbed like a heat mirage in the sunlight. It gave Urøk a dreamlike look, as if he were a monster borne of an oasis in the desert.
Urøk was about to gut the Scout and leave him to squirm on the ground like a worm, when his senses alerted him to danger.
He rolled out of the way, just as the gallant pegáonadann tried to trample him underfoot. Instead, it nearly succeeded in caving in its rider's skull, but managed to turn away at the last moment, its hoof thudding down next to the álvur's head. Focusing on Ylándl, the pegáonadann turned its head too late, trying to impale its attacker on its single horn.
Stirring Embers: An urban fantasy action adventure (The Light and the Void Book 1) Page 3
