Execution

by Shaun O. McCoy

  The wicker next to him vaporizes into dust. Confused, his distant head looks back and forth. My next shot takes him in the neck. I fire again, this time at a different nest and this time with much better aim.

  I see a line of Carrion born creeping along one branch, ready to storm a Dendran stronghold. This bunker is more than just a wicker nest but has wooden boards and appears to be embedded in the trunk itself. They’re not really in my way, but what the hell, I’m pretty sure I have good reason to hate those fuckers after Igraine ordered my rape and torture.

  I flip my rifle over to three shot bursts and pepper the Carrion born. It’s comically easy. They fire back at me, but the buckshot spreads too quickly. Hell, even if I was in range, right now everything but my head is bulletproof.

  They back away, staying out of my line of sight.

  I load another clip and switch back to single shot.

  My effect on the battle is sudden and massive. The limited range of the bows and shotguns means that each nest, whether held by treemen or Carrion born, could keep their heads up to spot and repel an attack. Not so now. With my extended range, the Carrion Soldiers are forced to stay under cover at all times. This gives the Treemen time and opportunity to occupy branches and storm their nests.

  I move to the bridge I want, eyes on the sky.

  I’m pretty sure the Icanitzu and the flight I’d faced earlier are in the next tree.

  “Remember me, assholes?” I whisper.

  Without caution, I begin to jog across the bridge. I can’t let Fabian win this race.

  “Sir!” A voice calls from behind me. “We’re with you!”

  I’m already halfway across the bridge. I look back and see them, a troop of frightened treemen, most of them missing their wicker helms.

  “The hell do you want to follow me for?” I call back.

  On a scale from one to the god damned wrong thing to say—they suddenly seem terrified. The ones in the back look around themselves nervously, searching for more devils.

  I’ve been free for ten minutes and I already have puppies. “Alright, but you can only help me with the next tree. After that, I’m on my own.”

  I realize fighting is about the only area where I’ve met the infidels’ expectations. There has to be some reason why I can do this so well, and yet, can’t seem to do anything else right.

  What was it Q told me? “You are not your enemy, and the quicker you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”

  Or something like that.

  I catch a glimpse of Fabian and his crew, my son in tow, through the branches of a neighboring tree. I’m moving parallel with them, which is good, because if I’m right about which tree they’re taking my son to, they’re going to have to cross my path.

  Behind me, my dozen or so followers have caught up. I lead them fearlessly across the remainder of the bridge.

  Again, I pick my shots carefully. I can hit enemies in this tree, certainly, and some of the ones in the tree beyond it. I do so carefully, rarely striking more than one man per nest, making sure they stay down. And that seems to be enough. All around me, the battle turns.

  Hell can’t withstand me.

  I’m still tracking Fabian and my son. They’re making good time through their trees. His white-cloaked soldiers also have rifles, so they’re probably having a similar effect on their battle. There’s a broad walkway complete with a boarded floor which runs like a road through a series of tightknit trees perpendicular to my path. The treemen called the structure something special. The longbridge. I assume that’s where Fabian and his boys will cross to the Safe Tree.

  My cadre has left me, thank God, and is storming some Carrion born held nest to save civilians. The tree ahead is full of devils, not Carrion born. I trot across the bridge toward it. As I step onto a branch, I hear the leathery flap of wings.

  I turn to see the two survivors of the flight I’d fought earlier.

  “I missed you fuckers.”

  I raise my rifle.

  The second great explosion rocks the chamber.

  The concussion of the blast hits me a split second before a wave of dirt and gravel. The branch beneath me sways, and I drop to one knee to keep my balance. I hear the pop of distant bridges and the cries of men and dyitzu toppling into the abyss. Somewhere a woman is crying. A baby, perhaps the baby used against my son in the trial, gives out a long wail.

  The air is again so thick with dust that I can barely see. Clouds of it billow through the branches. Silt and stone sift down through the upside down canopies.

  A dead man falls past me.

  It’s worse for the flying devils. The dezendyitzu clutches a branch, stone shrapnel in one eye. Unlucky fucker. That could have easily been me.

  I sling the M-16 behind my back and draw the Old Lady. Even from where it clings, the thing reaches out a clawed hand as if to attack me. I take a couple unsteady steps toward it and blast its face off at point blank range. Even while dead, it hangs onto the branches. Through the thickened haze, I see one of its cousins, flapping oddly in the air. Its equilibrium must be off. I fire a blast. It gets its wings up as a shield in time, but the action costs it altitude. It struggles back into the air, slamming into a trunk. I take the opportunity to fire again.

  This time I score a hit in the dezen’s side. It launches off the tremendous tree, sailing straight at me. I fire another blast. Again, the dezen shields but that interrupts its swoop and it soars underneath me. It gains altitude on the far side as I load more shells.

  The Icanitzu, black eyes glinting, steps toward me out of the mist, its backward jointed legs a little wobbly.

  The dezendyitzu hurls fire at me, but its equilibrium must not be completely back yet because I don’t even have to dodge. I pop off another couple shots to keep the thing plummeting. Then I sheath the Old Lady and draw the gladius from my pack.

  The Icanitzu must recognize the weapon because it launches off the branch and dives into the abyss.

  Damn.

  I was really looking forward to killing that one. The dezendyitzu follows its leader.

  The mist isn’t clearing, so I just have to guess that Fabian is still on course to get my son to the Safe Tree.

  I feel a breeze though, for what that’s worth.

  Again the world around me is a hellacious, grey wonderland. Distant spheres of fire illuminate baubles of fog on their routes through the chamber, reminding me strangely of the bolts of energy I’d seen traveling through the Erebus. The calls and cries of battle seem more sporadic now. It’s hard to kill people you can’t see. This certainly cancels the effectiveness I gained from having the M-16, but maybe it’s good for Dendra in general.

  I traverse the landings and come to a short bridge. One guardrail is down, but it looks like it can hold my weight.

  Perhaps the most unlucky dyitzu in the labyrinth happens to be crossing over from the other side. A blast from the Old Lady sends it tumbling.

  I slide in a replacement shell as the breeze picks up force, swirling the haze about. I cross and leave the shaky bridge quickly, climbing up to the roots of the tree. The mist seems to dissipate as I rise, and I entertain the hope of catching a glimpse of my son.

  A wicker home rests in the crook of one of the top branches. I see a young woman through an open door, her eyes afire, kneeling in the center of her home. She puts a finger to her lips, signaling for me to be quiet. She’s armed with the broken shaft of an arrow. It’s something, I guess. The point is bloody, so she seems to have used it already.

  Ducking under the low wicker archway, I enter, stepping across the creaking boards as quietly as I can.

  I stand on a pile of skins and blankets which must have been her bed and look out through her window toward where I expect Fabian to be. The woman steps up next to me, also surveying the chamber.

  The line of trees Fabian had traveled along is visible, certainly, but barely. The branches and leaves all appear grey through the turbulent mists. But over there, where the expl
osion occurred, the air is clearer. Another fresh cave gapes open along the edge of Dendra’s chamber. Dyitzu line it, looking for targets.

  Then I see Callodax. He’s mounted on the back of a giant silverleg spider.

  He can control devils.

  “He’s betrayed us,” the woman says, having apparently spotted the infused at the same time as me.

  I turn to her. “You saw me in the trial? You know who I am?”

  “Yes,” she says.

  “And you know where the Wicker Tree is?”

  “Of course.”

  “I need you to go and save the other infidels. Do you understand?”

  She shakes her head. “No, infidel, you brought this upon us.”

  She’s probably right about that. “Okay, then you better make for an exit. I’m not sure if Dendra controls any of them, but that’s your only shot.”

  She cocks her head to one side. “Why not you? Why don’t you save your friends?”

  Because I have to save my son.

  Callodax’s silverleg mount is climbing the wreckage of the far wall. Then it jumps onto a branch. He wants my son. This entire attack is about Callodax getting my son—or possibly me—either way, Callodax must die.

  I point to the infused. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll try and kill that thing, and you try to rescue my friends.”

  She thinks about this. “Okay.”

  Once more into the breach.

  Callodax’s eight-legged mount thrashes about itself, impaling a pair of fleeing women. Callodax himself has a rifle, which triggers something in my mind. Could it be this easy? If Callodax can touch old world substances, then he can be shot.

  I just need to get to a good vantage point. With a long, loping run, I traverse the bridge to the next tree. The millions of years my ancient ancestors spent in African canopies pays dividends now. I leap from branch to branch, and when they are too far apart, I find handholds in the trunk’s rough grey bark.

  My target is a sap drawing station near the roots above me.

  Callodax is only a tree away from me now, on one of the larger platforms which helps support the longbridge. Icanitzu and dezendyitzu surround the bastard, hurling fire and lending their wings to protect him. The infused and his cohorts are cutting their way through a mass of women and children.

  Josh had thought the civilians were going to be taken to the Safe Tree, but these people must not have had time to make it to their sanctuary. Something in my soul twangs like a broken string as I watch a silverleg spiderleg impale a helpless boy. Guards are rushing in even now, trying to make some space for their unarmed citizens to flee, but the treemen are getting the worst of it. Their arrows don’t seem strong enough to pierce the dezens’ wings. Hell, my bullets weren’t even powerful enough earlier.

  The good news is, though, that at this distance, the dezendyitzu will not know to shield against my fire.

  I crest the edge of the small platform and unsling my M-16. I lay down, shouldering my rifle. The fact the infused is a tree away and riding on the back of a twitchy arachnid isn’t going to make my job any easier.

  Desperate treemen usher their women and children across the platform, often paying for the struggle with their lives.

  There’s a branchwall which runs across the platform. Two men are at the base helping the fleeing line of often wounded civilians over it. From where I sit, I can see on both sides of the wall. On Callodax’s side are the demons and the fighting treemen. On the far side they’re collecting the survivors.

  There’s a pair of kids running away, though guards call out fiercely after them. They’re trying to make it to the longbridge. A dezendyitzu sweeps down and grabs one. The other is caught by an Icanitzu. Jesus Christ.

  I hear the high-pitched scream of what must be a mother as her child is borne away.

  I’ve got you, little guy. Just hang on.

  As I steady my aim, I notice the dezendyitzu releasing its child, dropping the poor kid into the mists. Too late. I turn back to Callodax.

  Even as I fire, Callodax turns toward me.

  His head jerks back, like he was bitten by a horsefly. Holy fuck, please tell me he didn’t dodge my bullet. I fire again, but this time it’s his arm that twitches.

  I am hitting him, my bullets just aren’t doing any damage.

  He’s staring right at me. Fuck.

  Two treemen hurl spears at the beast he rides. One bounces off the spider’s exoskeleton. The other buries itself in the arachnid’s side. The treemen aren’t cut out for this. Armed with arrows and spears, they can hold a nest—but there, on the open platform, exposed to the swooping devils and the dyitzu fire, they don’t stand a chance.

  But I don’t care about them, right? I’m just here for my son.

  I need to get moving again. With all this fighting at the branchwall, Fabian isn’t going to be able to use the longbridge to get to the Safe Tree. What route will he take?

  I can backtrack and get there via the Prima Tree.

  Come on, Cris. There’s nothing you can do here. Nothing. You saw that your bullets can’t affect the thing.

  But I don’t move.

  I can’t make myself move.

  Instead, I steady my breathing and drop a dyitzu, and then another. And another.

  The battle is lost, but I can’t abandon helpless children.

  Please, Cris. You don’t care about them. Your son is on the line here. Remember those bastard tikes that threw rocks at you in Maylay Beighlay? That’s all these kids are. They’re monsters, just like every other human being. Just like the Nazis. Like the murderers and the thieves.

  Just like me.

  I fire again, missing. I switch clips.

  I’m just wasting ammo. My efforts aren’t going to be enough. I see that now. The treemen are fleeing already. I take out a few of the devils in pursuit, dropping one dyitzu even as it forms a fireball.

  The treemen are cresting the branchwall as they flee, many of them dying as they cross to the safe side. I fire a few three shot bursts, forcing some of the devils to take cover.

  One of the retreating treemen should be ushering the children away. Others should hold the branchwall in a heroic last stand as the children escape along the longbridge. But that’s not happening.

  If Cid were in control of the battle, that’s what would be happening.

  But then I see help coming, treemen running along the longbridge from the Safe Tree. They’re armed with guns, too, not just bows! In their midst is a man clad in black.

  Amirani.

  And, as if they are my own children he’s coming to save, my heart soars to see him.

  I fire more and reload. Only two clips left. I’ll need to get closer to help.

  I descend, looking for a good place to cross.

  Amirani and his men make one wave, while Callodax and his devils make another. They meet at the branchwall, and for a moment I can’t see which side will crest over the other.

  Reports of gunfire fill Dendra’s chamber. Amirani, also armed with an M-16, empties a couple of clips. He knows some strategy which is fucking up the dezendyitzu. For whatever reason they can’t seem to get their wings up in time like mine did.

  I make it to a bridge which crosses over to that platform.

  Alright, Amirani, hold on. I’m on my way . . . not that I have a fucking clue what I’m going to do when I get there.

  Some dezens take notice of me and release a few volleys of fire as I approach. There’s almost nowhere to dodge on the bridge, so I duck.

  The wave passes mostly overhead, but a few burst on the guardrail vines and the fire splashes on me. As before, the fire dies on the infidel armor, but one searing droplet burns painfully on the back of my hand. I move forward, shaking the droplet off, but stop cold as I hear the popping of vines.

  Oh shit, my bridge is about to go.

  I drop to the braided floor and wrap my legs around it. More dyitzu fire is coming.

  It gives.

  Oh, Lucifer, w
hat the fuck did I ever do to you?

  My stomach is in my chest as I and my bridge plummet down past the branches, dyitzu fireballs passing all around me.

  Then, with a sudden jerk, the vine pulls taut and my momentum forces me downward toward the bridge’s singed end. My legs snap through two pairs of supports for the guardrail before I get caught on the third.

  I’m swinging, like some infidel Tarzan, through the upside down Hellforest.

  And I’m heading for a trunk.

  But then I’m in the thick of the canopy, leaves the size of people grabbing at me and my bridge. Another branch, somewhat perpendicular to my path, catches the vine above me, and I’m swinging up.

  For a split second I’m weightless, then the vine swings backward.

  I don’t wait for it to stop completely before I start climbing.

  My adrenaline fueled limbs power me up the vine. It’s like I’m Q or something.

  I arrive at the platform and there’s a cheer from the treemen. I duck a fireball and draw my gladius, hoping to catch sight of what caused the treemen’s celebratory call. They’re looking at me.

  Oh, they’re cheering for me.

  And of course they are.

  They don’t know I’m not fully trained and emotionally unstable. They don’t know I’ve been defiled. Instead, they think I’m here to fight for them. To protect them and their children from demons.

  Hell, maybe I even am.

  I lay about me with the ancient-forged sword, hacking and stabbing and ducking and turning, making my way to the branchwall as friendly arrows and bullets fell the devils which get too close. The platform seems larger when you’re standing on it, and uneven planks make each running step treacherous. Dyitzu take cover in the broken gaps between the planks, rising and hurling their missiles before dropping down again to stay out of the defenders’ fire. The branchwall rises up above me, perhaps ten feet tall, a perfect obstacle to the devils’ progress. As I mount it, I see Amirani facing off against Callodax. Amirani, like myself, stands at the apex of the wall, his infidel sword in his left hand, batting away at the sudden jabs of the six foot silverleg blades as he fires his M-16, one handed, with his right. He’s shooting at the thing’s eyes, which seems smart.