by K L Reinhart
And down there . . . Terak peered down into the medley of holes in the ground, to see the shafts of the tunnel’s light spearing downwards, illuminating what Terak thought was a green, gray, and brown mass, flecked with the occasional orange or blue.
That was the main body of the fungus, Terak thought, seeing how it clustered at the base of the stalagmites before sending up tendrils like roots to its topmost, chameleon-like covering.
Like it’s a trap . . . Terak thought. The elf remembered how Father Jacques had shown him the nest of a large praying widow spider of the Tartaruk Mountains, which lived high in the corner of one of the attic spaces. Over the course of a moon, the Chief External of the Enclave had instructed the elf to study the ways of the praying widow. Terak had seen how it created strange, trapdoor-like webs between the masonry and in shadow corners–the outer layers as fine as gossamer, and totally unthreatening, barely even seen by the earwigs and woodlice, small beetles and even small rodents who wandered haphazardly into its realm.
Each poor creature had become irrevocably stuck, and the praying widow would emerge from its hiding place, carefully treading around the hapless prey until it tired, before beginning to bite and cocoon it. The younger acolyte Terak had been appalled and fascinated in equal measure by the efficiency and cunning of the praying widow–until one day, when the Chief External had calmly dropped a jar over it and scooped it up.
He had proceeded to throw the praying widow outside, through one of the open shutters.
“For all their skill and cunning, Acolyte,” Jacques had informed him, “The praying widow can only survive in the warmer climes of indoors or caves. It’ll freeze in seconds out there.” The man had said it so casually, and Terak remembered feeling shocked at how cruel he had appeared to be.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, elf!” the Chief External had scoffed at the appalled face that Terak gave him. “Besides, I don’t want Frebius to get bit by it one of these nights, do I?” he’d said, talking about the strange, green-eyed rodent creature that accompanied him nearly everywhere.
Terak still didn’t quite understand that lesson, only that he had come away thinking that everything has a weakness, even such excellent predators as praying widows . . .
“But–it built traps because it was intelligent . . .” Terak murmured to himself, at last feeling his shoulders, arms, and back muscles begin to ache as he crab-climbed back to the apparently solid section of the tunnel where the others were congregating.
“No further!” Falan said, crouching a step ahead of the group as he tested the floor with the hilt and broken shard of his sword, shattered on one of the living statues’ faces.
Ssss! One of the patches of camouflaged moss suddenly gave way under the prick of Falan’s shard-blade. Once more, the cracks spread through the membrane of hardened fungus-top, before collapsing inwards to reveal the lower cave just ten or twelve feet below.
“Lord!” Terak’s feet landed on one of the humped tops. He was still not eager to trust the floor, even if it did look as though it was solid here. Just then, there was a commotion from the lower, concealed chamber under theirs.
“It’s Morlan!” Falan cried out in delight, pointing his blade to where one of the soldiers had apparently survived, thrashing with his arms as he broke from the surface of the spongy material. “Praise the heavens!” Falan congratulated the panicked, wide-eyed man as he looked for a way to help him.
“Hold still! We’ll come to get you!” Falan called down, scrabbling closer to the edge and sheathing his blade in order to lean out—
“Woah, there, human!” growled the very cynical Vorg, seizing the human monarch of distant Brecha by the shoulder with one great hand and dragging him backwards. “Idiots,” Terak heard the Unwanted mutter and grumble, instead unlooping from his belt the whip-like tentacle that Terak had forgotten that Vorg still owned.
Ugh. The elf’s nose crinkled in disgust, as he saw Vorg shake the thing, whispering to it to coax it back to life.
“C’mere, pretty . . . That’s it, wake up, you over-sized maggot!” Vorg was grumbling at the thing, for the mottled gray and off-white thing to suddenly start twitching at one end. Terak had seen him use the whip expertly to seize ahold of his opponents–even the elf himself–or to use it like a thumping, slapping device. He remembered the orc saying that it was a prize that he himself had cut from the body of some strange nightmare-thing in the Ungol realm, and now, it stubbornly remained alive for its new master.
“Where is he?” Vorg grumbled, standing on the edge to look down into the fungus pit.
Morlan was gone, Terak realized. Had he sunk under the moss?
“I’ll have to go down there and get him,” Falan was saying urgently, just as there was another gasp and flurry of movement, this time from a few yards away from where Morlan had first reappeared.
It was Morlan, he realized a moment later. It was the same Brechan soldier, loyal to Lord Falan, but half of his clothes were in tatters, and half his face was picked clear down to the bone.
“Urgh!” Falan gasped, falling backwards.
“Teeeth!” came a low, ululating wail of alarm as the second of the fallen Brechan guards surfaced, deeper out in the cavern.
“Lieutenant Bella?” Falan said imperiously. Terak saw this Bella start to thrash her arms about her as she became even more anguished.
“Teeth! Hundreds and hundreds of teeth!” Lieutenant Bella screamed, as she managed to get one arm out of the moss, for Terak to see that it was covered from fingertip to exposed elbow in many tiny red wounds.
It is a trap. The fungus is intelligent, Terak suddenly saw, as he pushed himself forward to at least be nearer to the doomed human woman.
“Vorg!” Terak hissed. The orc was already moving, drawing back his arm and snapping it forward for the still half-alive tentacle to crack and elongate, reaching down between the pillars of rock to the carnivorous chamber below.
“Ach!” The tentacle caught a hold of the woman’s red-speckled arm, and Vorg, with one gigantic heave, pulled backwards. With a moan of pain, Lieutenant Bella was yanked upward, scattering the detritus of the green-brown lichenous body from her. With a curl of disgust on his lips, Terak saw the small fragments writhing and moving as they fell from the soldiers’ body.
“Got you!” Falan groaned as he caught the flying form of Bella, who landed on top of him and was scrabbling away from the hole, her eyes wide and rolling.
“It’s full of teeth. At first it was soft–I thought me and Morlan had lucked out . . . but it was full of teeth!”
“Hush, easy . . .” Falan caught a hold of the woman’s shoulders, firmly but also gently, Terak saw. “Hergist?” the young lord muttered, and one of the few remaining soldiers stepped forward, his eyes already deeply shadowed and his skin a little sallow with the efforts of his magics. It was clear that this Hergist was the one with the most magical potential of the group. Just about everyone in the world of Midhara could do something like call up a were-light, but fewer could cast complicated cantrips and battle-magics.
“Peace of air, peace of mind, strength of rock and stone . . .” Terak heard the bearded human mumble as he lowered himself over the frantic Bella, his hands cupping each other. A greenish-tinged light started to spread.
Terak watched as Hergist lowered the ball of light over Bella’s head, opening and widening his hands so that the light could fall downwards, touching her tightly-wrapped brown hair.
Everywhere it went, the green light seemed to close and heal the small scratches, scuffs, and bite marks of the carnivorous lichen. Terak watched it flow down the woman’s face, over her shoulders–and a smile of relief start to play over her features—
Until, suddenly, the light flickered in front of Terak, drawing backwards.
“Ah!” Bella flinched backwards instinctively, pushing herself backwards into the light that flowed behind her.
And away from me! Terak realized. He had been crouching close to Falan and Bella
, watching the calming transmogrification with his sharp elvish eyes . . . and he saw clearly how the green healing light was flowing away from him.
Damn it! Terak scrambled backwards, and instantly the wave of green healing light resumed its flow around the woman. But the effect hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Hergist gave a low growl at the back of his throat, and the green light in his hand faltered for a moment, before he let out a long, slow hiss of breath through his nose, his eyes drooping as he concentrated.
“Peace of air, peace of mind . . .” Terak heard the human continue.
Terak looked to Falan. The human lord had released Lieutenant Bella into the comforting light and was looking at the elf in horror.
I should have known . . . Terak felt that kick of shame and resentment through his gut. He lost in a heartbeat that earlier feeling of concentrated calm.
“Hmm.” There was a much deeper, but somehow much less scary growl from Vorg. He flicked his wrist and the half-alive tentacle released its suckers with an audible smack, to curl back up into a loop.
“You said you had led an interesting life.” Vorg the Unwanted took a few steps to lower his great paw to help Terak up from his crouch.
“Hss!” Terak heard himself hiss, standing up on his own in a surge of petulant annoyance. That same old curse. Again, he thought. He felt vulnerable and hurt by his own existence–by the very reason why he had been sent away from his mother and given to the harsh Brothers and Sisters of the Enclave.
I’m a null. An abomination. No living thing will ever accept me . . .
“Huh,” Vorg chortled, uncaring over Terak’s smarting feelings. “One day, little elf, you’ll find out that it doesn’t matter what other people think of you,” the orc muttered under his breath.
“What do you know about it?” Terak whispered, turning his back to the rest of them, for Vorg’s chortle to suddenly grow larger and louder, into a caustic, full-blown laugh.
“Are you, an elf, telling me that you feel hated?” Vorg the Unwanted said, and the truth of his statement only made Terak feel worse.
Scrape—
But their negotiations and revelations were short-lived. Vorg’s laughter was cut short by the sound of stone scraping on stone, coming from behind them in the wide tunnel.
The stone statues had finally made their way out of their mausoleum, and as Terak turned in horror to look–he could see their shapes, marching fast toward them.
12
Hopscotch in the Dark
“Up!” Lord Falan bellowed. He helped Bella and the others to clamber onto the sides of the cavern wall and to climb crab-like, as Terak had just a few moments ago, across the false section.
They had no time for ropes, but Vorg whipped the half-alive tentacle to a nearby outcrop of rock about halfway along the wall. It curled and stuck fast as he stood at the near end, holding the line taut for the humans to pull and brace against.
We’re down to six, Terak counted. With Falan insisting that the already-injured Lieutenant Bella be the first to go across, and although he wanted Hergist to go next, both the magic-user Hergist and the other soldier (Rojart, Falan called him) insisted that Falan himself was the next across.
“You’re our liege-lord,” the thin soldier said next, “and you can keep Bella safe.”
Ssscrape! The statues were advancing, moving fast on their untiring, strong legs. Terak gritted his slightly pointed teeth in impatience, as next clambered Falan, then Rojart, then Hergist.
“Go, pointy-ears,” Vorg grumbled, the cords of his neck muscles bunching and pulling obviously with the effort.
Terak looked at the statues that were now large in their view, reaching out with their stone arms.
“No.” Terak drew his shortsword and stood beside the orc. As much as Vorg had annoyed him, he couldn’t deny that yes, he and Vorg were similar in their difference to the others. They were the unwanted and the outcast ones–and Terak wasn’t about to leave Vorg defenseless as he held the others safe.
“Idiot,” Vorg grumbled pragmatically, before grunting with the strain of the clambering humans.
Ssscrape! The statues were barely forty feet away as Bella left the end of the tentacle-rope, reaching out to the natural handholds of the rock.
“Hai!” One of her feet slipped, and Terak shot a quick look to see how Falan slammed an open palm against her back, pressing her against the cavern.
“You can do this! You have to do this, soldier!” Falan was already maneuvering himself off the tentacle, bunching his legs and arms to climb around Bella, helping her with the next handhold and foothold and the next.
“Idiots,” Vorg grunted once more at the slowness of the others’ escape. The soldier Rojart was only just reaching out to begin his free climb, lessening the tension that Vorg had to hold–but there was still Hergist, halfway along.
“It’s not far! I see light!” Falan was shouting, already zig-zagging down to the far part of the cavern-tunnel, where the ground apparently lost its humps of submerged rock. Terak could only hope that meant it was the end of the carnivorous cavern below.
“Grargh!” The orc grunted in agitation, releasing one hand on the tentacle to bat and fumble for the battle-ax on his back.
They aren’t going to make it. There isn’t time, Terak hissed, knowing what he had to do.
“There are only ever two paths: the right one and the wrong,” he thought as he leapt forward, shortsword raised toward the marching statues. They were so close that the elf could make out every finely-carved detail of their stone hair, their fingernails, even the creases of outrage and anger at the corners of their eyes and mouth.
And, in all of Terak’s training, the “right” path always meant the Path of Pain.
Pain is the guide. Pain is the teacher. The words of the Book of Corrections filled his mind, as he danced forward toward the implacable, perhaps unstoppable foe.
“Elf!” Vorg roared in shock. For the briefest fraction of a heartbeat, Terak wondered just what it must have looked like to the orc and any of those humans behind who still cared what happened to such a twisted thing as a null. Terak was small for an elf, small and light of limb, and the statues of his own distant relatives, elves of the First Family, had been made implausibly tall, nine or ten feet.
So, Terak the Null, the Worm, and the assassin of the Enclave was outmatched in almost every way by the gang of murderous statues–every way except one: speed.
Terak had always been fast compared to the other novitiates, acolytes, journeyers, Brothers, and Sisters of the Enclave. What Terak did not know was that he was fast in comparison to other elves, too–especially stone ones.
The assassin of the Enclave pivoted his wrist at the last moment, sending a skittering, glancing clang along the stone arm of the Lady, who was reaching for him with a silent snarl of hatred. Terak managed to save his blade from splintering as he ducked under the sweep of her arms. He continued his leap to one side, straight toward the next statue–a slightly shorter elf-warrior with a long stone spear, shooting toward him
“Hoi!” Terak gasped, swiveling on the ball of one foot as he pirouetted, allowing the stone spear to slide past his back as he dropped one hand to grab hold of its haft.
With a jump, he vaulted over the statues’ outstretched weapon, landing on the far side and jumping forward, behind the small contingent of four adversaries.
Terak turned, his eyes picking up an apparition of movement in the second before it came toward him.
Another statue, this time a larger, sturdier sort of elf lord bearing a mace, had turned and was sweeping his weapon toward him.
Terak managed to dodge to the far side of the cavern. The spear-holder and the mace-bearer turned to bear down on him.
But the Lady and the last remaining statue, another woman wielding two long knives, had appeared to forget that he even existed, as they closed with the still struggling Vorg—
“Hey!” Terak hollered, not knowing whether statues could hear.
The assassin’s body pushed out from the wall with all of his might, ducking the sweep of the mace and lengthening his stride as he stepped, hopped, and jumped right onto the back of the Lady. She was almost within reaching distance of Vorg. Ahead of him, as Terak straddled the back of some long-dead First Family Queen, he saw that Hergist was finally leaving the tentacle rope. There were the standing forms of Lord Falan and Bella on the far side, helping Rojart down from the wall to the less-carnivorous side of the cavern.
Terak juddered and rocked on the Lady’s back as she suddenly halted her attack, reaching out to swipe at the much smaller elf. Terak swung himself to one side, his hands grabbing onto her head and gripping the stone tendrils of her hair, before he had to swing himself back to the opposite side as the Lady’s other stone hand wind-milled up toward him.
Crack! There was a resounding slap as Vorg spun, flicking the fattened body of the half-alive tentacle around the neck of the other knife-bearing statue. He roared as he pulled her savagely forwards.
These statues might be preternaturally alive, but they were still stone. Still heavy. Terak saw, out of the corner of his eye, how she toppled over one of the humped outcrops, flailing forwards–and crashing down through the fake floor to whump into the bed of monster-lichen below.
“Elf! Behind!” Vorg bellowed, as somehow both he and Terak felt the same awareness that there were still two more of the murderous First Family statues behind the Lady.
Terak kicked out from the Lady’s back, somersaulting through the air, over the gap where the knife-wielding statue had crashed, and down toward the fake, lichenous floor.
“Hech!” The elf righted his feet at the last moment, pointing them to catch two of the humps of stalactites as the floor between and on either side crumbled away, loosened with the shock of his impact . . . He felt himself falling forward, toppling toward another stretch of the fake floor—
