by Demi Harper
It caused me some discomfort to realize that I had more in common with the mage right now than I did with anyone else in my Sphere. What have I become?
“We just have to cross this last bit of marsh,” Coll was saying. “After that, there’s a stretch of hills—no more than a few miles—then we cross the River Emonand head into the mountains.”
I peered at the map. Coll’s finger rested on a thin band of marshland just before the forest’s edge.
“Is this area a different color?”
“What?” Coll peered closer, then held the map at a different angle, trying to catch the dregs of gray light. “Huh. It does look a bit… red, doesn’t it?”
There was a definite reddish tinge to the area we were about to cross. Looking carefully, it extended across the entire forest perimeter on the north and west sides.
“If Tiri were here, she’d be able to tell us exactly what the mapmaker meant by it,” said Benin. I glanced at the venomous creatures color coded as red dots on my own map and thought I could probably guess.
Darkness before the dawn indeed.
Still, whatever lay between us and the forest’s edge couldn’t be much worse than what we’d faced already. Unless it was a horde of grumpy hoot-hoots, in which case I suspected my denizens would surrender immediately.
Ket said it was just growing pains that were making them act out. She suggested they just needed time to mature out of it. I suggested they should mature into stew for the cooks. She called me a monster and suggested I tell Gneil to drop my gem in the bog and leave me behind.
The owlets were actually being quite well-behaved right now. It was as though they could sense imminent danger. Or maybe they’d finally exhausted themselves after days of being noisy little arseholes.
The unspoken tension rose as we all waited for the scouts to return. I knew the others had the same fear I did: that they wouldn’t return at all.
Despite my concerns, it seemed the scouts had encountered nothing untoward in our immediate path and proceeded to lead the exodus toward the edge of the marsh and our mountainous destination.
Not a minute too soon.
Time remaining for Exodus: 6 days, 6 hours, 51 minutes
The scouts climbed onto the badger’s backs once more, the better to guide them and keep them on the path, and also to defend them with their stonebows if need be. The ground was more treacherous than ever. Up till now, the groundwater had collected into shallow stagnant pools amid the squelchy raised pathways we’d taken. Here, though, the entire surface was beneath murky water.
Darker parts indicated the presence of sinkholes, which curiosity had me popping down into to take a look—perhaps I’d see another neat skeleton like the one we’d found yesterday. But all I saw were snakes and animal bones, and, once, what looked like a human child’s skull. I stopped looking after that.
Thanks to their advanced skills, the scouts were able to lead the wagons carefully around these deeper areas. The gnomes peered over the wooden sides, looking fearful but relieved to be safely ensconced within their shelters, while the warriors picked their way alongside them on foot, weapons ready to lash out at any enemy that dared show its face. Benin and Coll brought up the rear.
The trees were growing sparser, though it seemed even darker than before. The rising mist was almost opaque, swallowing sunlight and muffling noise. Most of the marsh’s ambient sounds had fallen silent; the loons were no longer wailing, the insects were quiet, and even the frogs had taken a break. Every remaining noise became more sinister—it was impossible to tell how far away something was, whether it was the plop of a diving frog or something bigger.
Other shapes loomed out of the mist, revealing themselves to be what looked like fallen trees. The oddly curved humps rose and fell, patterned in black and brown like tree bark. It reminded me of something, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.
Our progress was slow but steady, and Coll predicted we’d be out of the forest by nightfall. Despite my Augmentary map showing a swath of red that indicated an abundance of snakes, the reptiles were keeping their heads down; though we saw plenty slither past in the water between the wagons’ wheels, and heard hissing and rustling in the branches overhead, not a single one tried to attack us, which was actually sort of unnerving.
At least there aren’t as many frogs here.
After a couple of hours, I noticed something interesting. From the shallower parts of the water—the “paths” we were following—there started to spring a type of mushroom I’d never seen before. Greenish-black in color, they resembled slimy moss-covered logs jutting vertically from the ground. As we got closer, I revised my assessment; they looked more like rotting hands protruding from the watery earth, complete with a dozen tentacle-like “fingers” drooping from their caps.
Curiouser and curiouser.
I waited impatiently for us to get close enough; as soon as the nearest one was within my Sphere, I activated Insight.
Shrieker Shroom
Fungi
I hurriedly scanned the description for the words “venomous” or “toxic” and relaxed when I didn’t spot them. The smaller size of my Sphere meant the scouts leading us were almost upon the mushrooms before I was able to identify them. I’d been prepared to order an emergency halt, but it seemed we were safe enough for now.
I wonder why they’re called shriekers…
Just as I was about to return to the Augmentary’s description, the first badger in the convoy—Steelpaw, one of the dire badgers—splashed his way past the first shrieker. The scouts had passed by earlier without incident, but the moment the badger’s forepaw disturbed the water around the dead-looking mushroom, it screamed.
The drooping finger-like fringe jerked up and out to circle its cap like a decaying halo as the shrieker earned its name a million times over. Steelpaw shied away from the noise, shaking his striped head violently as though the frequency were actually hurting him. The gnomes on the wagon behind him cried out as well, hands covering their ears, confused children adding their own frightened screams to the din.
The dire badger slipped, one foot splashing into the deeper water of a hidden pool at the side of the path. The wagon lurched sickeningly, and I almost cried out myself at the sudden image of them all tipping into the deep water and being set upon by serpents. But Steelpaw was sturdy and surprisingly agile. Under Longshank’s guidance, he righted himself, then trotted along the path past the shrieker, still shaking his head and huffing in distress.
A few moments later, the shrieker stopped.
The immediate silence was almost as painful as the sudden noise had been. I sensed both Ket and Bekkit’s shock through our bond and saw it mirrored on the faces of the humans.
“Shriekers,” I explained hoarsely. “Noisy bastards, apparently.”
“Yeah, well, let’s not do that agai—”
Benin stopped abruptly when an entire section of nearby ground shifted. What I’d thought to be a massive submerged log off to our right slowly began to move, its shadow sliding darkly beneath the murky water.
I stared around in horror as the other shapes I’d thought were fallen tree trunks also began to shift. It was difficult to tell in the thick mist, but it seemed they were moving in unison, as though with one mind.
A deep hiss filled the air, low and reverberating like that of an alligator, and I finally realized what the pattern on the “trunks’” surface had reminded me of.
Snakes.
No; not snakes.
A snake.
We were surrounded by the coils of a single, unthinkably massive creature.
I tried to keep watch on all the moving parts, but there were too many. How big is this thing?
Most importantly, where was its head? If we could figure that out, and if we were careful, maybe we could avoid it altogether—
A wedge-shaped snout dipped down from the misty canopy, hanging barely a meter above the convoy. Its black-and-brown coloring mirrored that o
f the monstrous coils all around us, though much of its head was covered in algae and pond weed that hung from its brow ridges and mouth.
Directly below it was Ajax. The warrior had frozen along with the rest, eyes wide, but now his grip shifted on his spear. His eyes flicked up to the creature’s head, gauging the distance.
But this was an opponent not even Ajax could beat. The snake’s head was twice as long as Ajax was tall. Its tongue flicked out, tasting the air.
It happened in an eyeblink. One moment Ajax was tightening his grip on his weapon. The next moment the serpent struck. Its massive head jabbed downward, its jaws open wide, and when it drew back, the space where Ajax had been standing was empty.
I stared numbly as the Augmentary text flashed before me:
Marsh Zolom marked as “hostile.”
Forty-Six
The Marsh Zolom
Corey
“It ate him,” Benin breathed. The mage’s eyes almost bulged from his head. “It just… ate him!”
The colossal serpent finished swallowing my most fearsome warrior and reared its massive head. As it bared scimitar-length fangs, old habits kicked in and I activated Insight.
Marsh Zolom
Reptile
A hybrid combination of the marsh boa and the now-extinct umbral constrictor, the Marsh Zolom is a remnant of the Godswoken Era and is capable of surviving for thousands of years.
The Zolom can spend decades hibernating without needing sustenance, though it is notably more aggressive when first awakened. Its powerfully muscled coils are designed for constricting prey, while its sharp teeth allow it to also tear chunks off anything too large to be swallowed whole.
Sure enough, behind the fangs were rows and rows of teeth. I was pretty sure I glimpsed rotting meat and bone and even a flash of metal armor caught between some of them, and I was glad I couldn’t smell the creature’s no-doubt fetid breath.
My denizens could, though. Those on the second wagon cowered below it, visibly trembling. Some of them covered their faces, as though not being able to see the giant snake would make them invisible to it in turn. Solid logic.
Their wagon was pulled by Flea. The badger shuffled his feet and whimpered, and the Marsh Zolom immediately turned its face toward him, tongue flicking out as it glided closer. It opened its mouth wide, nearly unhinging its jaw, and I realized it intended to swallow them whole, wagon, badger, gnomes and all. There was still a lump sliding down its throat—poor Ajax. I couldn’t let that happen to anyone else.
A second before its gaping maw plunged downward, a piercing shriek blasted through the air. The massive snake jerked its head in the direction of the sound, momentarily distracted.
At my command, Ris’kin, who’d been riding on the first wagon, had urged Longshank and Steelpaw to keep moving forward—right into the zone of the next shrieker shroom.
The Zolom slithered over to the screaming mushroom and snapped at the air beside it, but Longshank had already pushed the sturdy dire badger onward. The Zolom scented the air with its tongue as though searching, until Steelpaw triggered a third shrieker.
This time when the serpent darted toward the sound, it was forced to stop short—the branch around which its upper body was wound held it back. It hissed in frustration and withdrew.
Quick! Keep going! I urged Ris’kin.
I took advantage of the snake’s unraveling of itself to Divine Inspiration Gneil, who signaled to General Hoppit that everyone should keep moving as quickly as possible. The convoy splashed along the nebulous path, triggering shriekers every time they passed them. The badgers were wide-eyed with terror; it was a miracle they were paying attention to their riders at all.
As the snake unwound its massive coils, hissing menacingly, I asked my companions, “Suggestions?”
“Holy shit,” was Benin’s less-than-helpful response.
Branches cracked and leaves tore as the serpent plowed through them. Its wedge-shaped head drove into the water at the side of the path, sending a wave of murky water to drench those in the nearest wagons. When it resurfaced, some of the black weeds that coated its brow had been dislodged, revealing not eyes but dark empty sockets.
Like it wasn’t terrifying enough already.
“The serpent is blind,” announced Bekkit.
“You think?” muttered Benin.
I thanked all the gods in all the hells that the Zolom was a boa, not a pit viper like some of the other snakes we’d encountered. If it had possessed those same heat-sensing pit-organs, it would have been able to “see” us all easily despite its lack of eyes.
“It’s got no eyes,” said Coll, late to the party as ever. “But it can still detect us by taste and sound.”
As though its ears were burning—did snakes have ears?—the Zolom twisted toward the sound of Coll’s voice. He clamped his mouth shut, but it was too late.
The serpent lunged at the warrior, sending more water splashing over my denizens on the path as it surged past them all toward Coll at the rear. He sidestepped just in time, and its jaws snapped harmlessly at the air beside him. In one smooth motion, the warrior brought his hammer down with both hands on the top of the Zolom’s head. I could already hear Benin’s impending complaints about being splattered with snake-brains.
The hammer bounced off.
The unexpected force of the recoil sent Coll stumbling back a couple of steps. His foot found a sinkhole, and then he was falling, his armored form landing with a heavy splash.
This time, the Zolom could not miss. Its teeth sank into Coll’s arm with a crunch. Though I didn’t think they’d pierced the chainmail, the force was clearly enough to bruise, and Coll yelled when it refused to let go. As its teeth squeezed tighter, threatening to break the man’s arm in its attempt to force its way through his mail, Coll panicked, hitting the snake over and over again. Everywhere his hammer struck, the snake’s rippling scales seemed to go oddly rigid; just for a few seconds, but it apparently caused the creature enough discomfort to slacken its grip. Coll yanked his arm free, then spun and smashed his hammer into the serpent’s nose.
Clearly not expecting any level of resistance, the Zolom hissed and withdrew, slipping beneath the water and out of sight. A glance at the Augmentary’s map assured me it was still there, waiting.
“It’s all right!” I called to Coll, who was shaking his arm furiously as though trying to shake off a spider. “Its bite isn’t venomous. You’re fine.”
The warrior swore and muttered something about that being easy for me to say, but my reassurance seemed to calm him somewhat.
The rest of the convoy were making steady progress, led by Longshank and Steelpaw, but the latter had faltered at the sight of more shriekers lining the path ahead.
I eyed them thoughtfully. I wonder…
I focused on my map and selected the nearest shrieker. Just like I had with the frogs, I chose a random color and assigned it to the shrieker shroom species.
An array of amber dots appeared on the map. They were arranged in a rough circle, spaced around five or six meters apart. We’d had the misfortune of triggering the ones at the circle’s very eastern edge. Had the scouts found us a path just a little further east, we might never have known the shriekers—or the Marsh Zolom—even existed.
My denizens could not avoid the shriekers now; if they strayed from the path even a little, the wagons would become mired, and more casualties would no doubt follow. I had to help them get past and out of the Zolom’s territory. Luckily I had just the thing.
I eyed the amber dots on my map, rising to the upper limits of my Sphere to better pinpoint the shriekers’ locations. Below me, Ris’kin sensed my intent, reluctantly lowering herself down from the lead wagon and wading through the shallow water back down the length of the convoy. Binky attempted to follow her, but I ordered him to remain with my denizens. For the first time, I felt resistance, but in the end he succumbed to my instructions.
“Ket, Bekkit—stay with the ark,” I instructed.
“Benin, Coll—protect their rear.”
“W-what are you doing?” asked Ket.
I grinned. “Buying you some time.”
An instant later I was looking at the world through my avatar’s lone eye. The usual disorientation that came with activating Double Sight—the suddenly localized sounds, the shift in perspective—was exacerbated by the newly unbalanced vision, as well as by the addition of extra senses. Namely smell; the marsh reeked, of fetid standing water and rotten wood and venomous plants. Shallow murky water clung to our leg fur, cold mud squelched between our toes, and I was overcome with the uncomfortable realization that anything could be down there, waiting to bite our feet…
Sir Fura tugged on Ris’kin’s ear, pulling us both back to the urgency of the situation. The convoy was approaching the next shrieker on the path. Ris’kin’s sharp vision—though only in one eye—let me easily pinpoint the shriekers along the opposite side of the Zolom’s lair, and we raced over, arriving at the first shrieker just as Longshank’s wagon was about to trigger the next one on the opposite path.
I waited, tense. The moment the other shrieker started to scream its outrage at Steelpaw’s presence, Ris’kin and I leapt in front of our own shrieker.
Nothing happened.
The Zolom was weaving its way over to the first wagon. Its route within the mist was marked only by rasping scales that seemed to come from everywhere at once; the Augmentary map showed me exactly where it was, but its targets were glancing around nervously, blind to the approaching danger.
My avatar waved her arms frantically, but the shrieker remained silent, refusing to trigger. Panic surged through us both.
Why isn’t it working?
The scouts hadn’t set off the shriekers during their reconnaissance. We’d only discovered their existence when the badgers and wagons had gone near them.
Ris’kin isn’t that much bigger or heavier than a gnome, I realized. She isn’t large enough to trigger them!
