by Travis Smith
The Stranger spun beneath the soaring creature, sword hoisted high above his head. Kryp collapsed in a monstrous heap upon the sand. The whirring and gnashing of its teeth ceased, as did its unearthly bellows.
“What sort of damnation have we brought upon ourselves?” Robert asked as he slowly approached the sizzling abomination. “Slaying a protector against dark magic?”
“I know not,” The Stranger replied, “but the world is changing, father. This punisher was not set to vanquish only darkness. I can assure you of that.”
“Well, at least we’ve resolved the issue of our food shortage!” Robert called, grinning back to his wife and Laura.
Though raised in a community that strived to waste no form of meat, The Stranger still held reservations. “You think that fit to eat?” he asked his father.
“’Tis a relic of the ancient kings,” Robert shrugged, “a memory of the magic that once ruled this land. It will be fine.”
The Stranger took his father by the arm and kept his voice low enough so the women couldn’t hear. “And would this not be the perfect creature to harbor the dark spirits of the evil amongst us who have passed away?”
Robert met his son’s eyes. “What else do you propose we eat?”
12
Despite the loss of white magic that once controlled it, the punisher beast’s meat did not contain any dark spirits. The Stranger wandered around the rubble of the small city on the edge of the Daskan Desert and gathered up bits of wood and straw to make a small fire. In the hot sand at midday, he and his family ate a meal very far removed from that to which they were accustomed, surrounded by gore and rubble and destruction. The meat was surprisingly savory to have come from a ground-dwelling creature.
“How much do you think we can carry back with us?” Laura asked her husband after they’d had their fill.
“We shall see,” he responded. “’Twill be nice to have our stores no longer looking so scant. Who knows when we’ll find good food again.”
She smiled in agreement. “Perhaps we’ll find ourselves washed ashore on some deserted island soon…”
The Stranger looked at her. William grinned at him from her arms.
“Where we may spend the rest of our days in peace.”
“Perhaps we will,” The Stranger said, wrapping an arm around her.
William laughed merrily as his father leaned in and gave him a kiss on the head.
13
Skuttler sat hunkered in the darkness, his unblinking eyes wide and his tongue flicking across his crusty mouth. He’d been thwarted by an uppity stranger in his own home, and now the visitors had brought the wrath of Kryp down upon that very home. He’d be exiled again. Forced to roam these desolate wastelands of Sodar alone in search of a new home.
He crawled, hunched over on his hands and feet, to the beam of light that shone in the entrance to the cave. He winced as the light touched his face.
That stranger would pay dearly for slighting Skuttler. Perhaps he had already paid. The mighty Kryp was not a creature to be trifled with. That stranger likely lay dead in the dessert amidst the limbs of all the fallen sand people …
… and if he hadn’t paid, he would. Of that, Skuttler was certain.
Chapter 9:
From Cell to Shackles
1
Now Skuttler looked upon that very stranger through a steel cage in the old man’s cellar. He had travelled far, and he had found company. Company that accepted who he truly was, embraced the monster within him, in fact. Skuttler now had a home and a family and a crew, and he’d been allowed to truly grow into himself. He’d finally lost a few of the nervous quirks he’d possessed, and he’d picked up a few new talents along the way. With the dynamic of the new world, the men he’d found himself travelling with were no longer just pirates and bounty hunters; they were ranking officials, carrying out the biddings of The Baron himself.
“’Ello again, Stranger,” he said through the bars with a menacing sneer.
2
“Miles?” The Stranger asked, conjuring the memory from what seemed several lifetimes ago.
“Skuttler,” the rogue interjected. “Ye c’n jus’ call me Skuttler now.”
Skuttler’s appearance had greatly improved. Many of the sores on his face had vanished. His mouth was markedly less crusted, but as The Stranger made the observation, the man’s tongue darted across his lips to a small patch of chapped skin at the corner of his mouth. He seemed much less twitchy and nervous, and even his voice had altered. It was now a combination of the shaky, whistling falsetto of Miles Cutler and the hoarse whisper of the hunkering Skuttler who had attempted to take Laura away with him into the night. The man’s previously overwhelming stutter appeared to have vanished completely.
Rage flared inside The Stranger. He and his family had been accosted and cast into death and suffering while this bumbling monster had prospered. “Looks like you’ve really come into your own,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Many a moon have come to pass, since I set me sights on yer lady’s fine ass!” Skuttler sang back jovially through the steel bars. The accompanying crewmen laughed uproariously.
“Y’ know this rascal?” one asked, clapping Skuttler on the back.
“Not formally,” he replied, flicking his tongue across his filthy grin. “Let ’im ’n’ his lot bunk up fer a storm, ’n’ they run me off in the night.”
“Oh, he looks too pretty t’ be a ruffian, don’t he?” another chimed in.
“Aye!” Skuttler cackled. “Ye shoulda seen ’im ’fore that scraggly beard!”
The Stranger was too broken, beaten, and frankly outnumbered to muster a retort. He glanced at the old man, Eugene, who stood silently at the back of the small crowd. “This is why you kept me alive?” he asked. “To send me away with these imbeciles?”
The crew laughed at this insult. “What’s yer name, matey?” the apparent leader asked him.
The Stranger stared in silent insolence.
“Hey, ain’t he the son of the king?” another chimed in.
The leader’s eyes lit up. “I knew I reco’nized ye!” He whistled joyfully and turned to Eugene. “Yer lucky ye didn’t kill ’im ’fore we got here! The Baron woulda had quite a time with ye.”
“I don’ kill,” Eugene said plainly, “’n’ I certainly don’ carry ou’ the biddings o’ the likes o’ Bernard.”
“Ye’ll watch yer tongue, lest ye’d see it cut out o’ yer traitor’s mouth!” one of the crewmembers barked.
“Ye took yer merry ol’ time gettin’ here,” Eugene grumbled. “Jus’ take ’im off me hands ’n’ get off me island. Seen nothin’ but death ’n’ destruction since the lot o’ ye showed up.”
“Death ’n’ destruction is all ye’ll see ’f ye keep goin’ against The Baron’s will! And we woulda turnt up sooner if ye’d warned us ’twas the son of the king ye’s keepin’! Coulda brought ye a bounty too, but alas …”
“You must not keep too closely with Bernard,” The Stranger chimed in. “’Twas he who found me and left me on this isle in the first place!” He doubted these men would willingly let him go, but he had to try.
“Noice try, Stranga. We’ll let ’im sort ye out when we return.”
Eugene lifted his cane shakily and pointed it at the leader of the small crew. “I don’ go fer or agains’ any will but me own! I mind me own time alone ’ere ’til this ’n’ washed ashore! There’s forces ’igher ’n Bernard ’at see to that, ’n’ unless I’m mistaken, ’e knows as much! I’d ’ave ye take it up wiv ’im if ye don’ like me tone.”
The crew glared at Eugene in sullen silence.
“Now get ’im off me ’ands ’n’ be on yer way!”
3
“Very well, then,” the crew’s leader said, turning back to The Stranger. “Y’ gon’ try any silly business while we shackle ye, Stranga’?”
The Stranger stared, refusing to respond, hoping beyond hope that Eugene wouldn’t introduce the men to his
handy little blow darts.
“Oh, ’e’s a slipp’ry ’un!” Skuttler proclaimed. “Ye’ll wanna watch yer back wiv ’at one!”
Please let him be the one, The Stranger thought. Let that scuttling bastard try and get me out of here.
“Ye wanna do the honors?” the leader asked him, handing a pair of shackles over.
Skuttler looked back to The Stranger as a wide grin spread across his face. He flicked his tongue across his teeth and left it momentarily at the corner of his mouth. “It would be me genuine pleasure.”
“Keys, old man,” the leader said, extending a hand to Eugene, who relieved himself of the keys to the cell.
Reborn, but born into captivity. The old man had been right about that. From the cell to the shackles. The Stranger sat and waited. All that flashed through his mind was a frantic need to escape. He would thrash and fight his way out until he were either free or dead. Each of the four men carried long swords upon their waists, but not a single one of them had the sense to draw his weapon. The Stranger could practically taste his freedom.
As Skuttler fumbled excitedly with the keys in the cell door, he winked at The Stranger. “Gonna get ye home t’ see that fine wifey!”
Yes, you keep on gobbing, The Stranger thought. He imagined his face must be as red as the setting sun.
The cell door finally opened, and The Stranger had to resist an urge to leap upright and seize the buffoon on the spot.
“Stand up ’n’ gimme yer arms,” Skuttler commanded. Was there a hint of a stutter in that demand?
The Stranger stood slowly, grunting as though he were stiff and painful. He approached Skuttler and extended his hands toward the shackles. At the last moment he paused and grasped the chain linking the two cuffs rather than putting his hands through them. His eyes locked on Skuttler’s, and the wormy man opened his mouth to say something. The Stranger could easily see how much he was feared. Despite Skuttler’s weapons, despite his posse and his perceived power, the twit still feared him. He feared the steel he saw in The Stranger’s eyes. The mincy would-be king he’d met in Dask had died. The Stranger that stood before Skuttler in this moment had been shot, beaten, and locked away for far too many nights, and, now completely healed, the man moved with far too much energy to be stopped.
The shackles were ripped from his hands and slammed into Skuttler’s unguarded face before he could produce so much as a whimper. The Stranger seized the sword from Skuttler’s waist and attempted to remove it from the scabbard, but the dolt hadn’t put it on properly, so the entire piece fell to the floor.
In the heat of the moment, The Stranger improvised. He grabbed Skuttler by the back of the head, fingers weaving through greasy hair that had grown considerably less mangy since their last encounter. He slammed the back of the man’s head against the steel cage and allowed his body to fall on top of the now unconscious Skuttler. The three crewmen had begun shouting and rushing forward, but The Stranger was now on a careening rampage. He lunged forward and grabbed the fallen sword. It slid effortlessly from its scabbard, and he pointed it straight at the approaching men.
His foot upon the softly groaning figure of Skuttler, he bellowed, “You will let me pass, and not a one of you will follow, or I will skewer each and every one of you! Especially you, you meddling old man!”
“How many of us d’ye reckon’s up them stairs?” the leader asked with a grin.
“Test me,” The Stranger replied flatly. He stepped forward, taking no measures to tread lightly on Skuttler. “I see few reasons to let any of you live.”
The men laughed merrily and took a step backward, as if to let him pass, but the leader retrieved from his smock a small wooden tube that The Stranger recognized immediately. For a fleeting moment he thought to assail the man in front before he could bring the tube to his lips, but there wasn’t enough time.
The Stranger closed his eyes and accepted the tiny poisoned dart.
4
The Stranger awoke in a seated position against the wall in Eugene’s cellar.
“’Bout time ye got up!” the leader of the small crew hollered immediately. “Y’ got berries fer brains if ye think we’re draggin’ yer sleepin’ arse through the jungle!”
“Aye ’n’ ye nigh slaughtered poor Skuttly. Woulda made ye carry his ’n’ through’t if ’e hadn’t come to!”
“I’ll die before I’d do such,” The Stranger whispered.
“Nay, ye ain’t gettin’ off that easy,” the leader responded.
The leader yanked The Stranger up onto his feet. He glared at Skuttler, who was rubbing his head sullenly at the back of the crew. “You’re lucky,” he murmured.
“C’mon, Cap’n Jules, jus’ gimme another shot at ’im,” he whined to the leader.
“Ye’ll address me as Julian when ’ere’s comp’ny present,” he responded sternly, as though this weren’t the first time he’d had to correct his inferior, “and I think this ’n’ might clobber ye even in his shackles, me boy.” The other two crewmen laughed jovially.
One man clapped Skuttler on the shoulder and flashed a haggard, toothless grin. “In time, mate. Ye’ll earn yer place soon enough.”
Skuttler glowered and looked at The Stranger once more before fixing his gaze back on the ground. “Yer the lucky ’n’,” he grumbled.
“Won’t be s’lucky soon’s Bernard sees ’im so,” Captain Julian said. “C’mon, up ye go!” He swatted The Stranger across the backside with the broad edge of his sword, corralling him up the rickety wooden staircase.
Once atop the stairs, The Stranger saw the old man’s cottage for the first time. The tiny hut looked startlingly similar to the abandoned one he’d wandered into during the storm. This one wasn’t nearly as rundown, it had no weeds and vines growing along the crumbling walls, and there was no childlike apparition beckoning him, yet a shudder ran down his spine nonetheless. In the low light of the fading day, this homely little cabin struck him as a taunting reminder of that stormy night so long ago, when he had shed his former skin and emerged into a new life and then right into Eugene’s net. The old man had been living comfortably here for no telling how long, and even while he’d been keeping The Stranger down in the cold cellar sleeping on the hard floor, he’d been able to hobble upstairs and enjoy his nice bed and watch the sun rise from his dining table. The Stranger looked back and caught the man’s eye. Eugene looked away, as though he were ashamed.
Good, The Stranger thought, you should feel ashamed. You kept me locked away against my will until much stronger men could take me and kill me for you. You claim to have a cause, but you’re just a meddling, self-righteous old bastard.
“Quit yer dallyin’ ’n’ let’s go! Daylight’s a wastin’!” Julian nudged his captive forward. “We thank ye on behalf o’ the barony,” he told Eugene. “If ye’d said who he were, we’d’ve brought ye a bounty! This ’n’ll be worth quite a bit o’ booty!”
“I don’ need no bounty,” Eugene wheezed. “Jus’ get t’ yer skiff afore nightfall ’n’ be off me island!”
The crewmen laughed maliciously at this as they meandered out the door. Even Skuttler laughed, appearing to have recovered from his earlier slights.
“Crusty ol’ quim, innee?” one of the men cackled.
5
Once the party had walked through the jungle a ways, Skuttler had grown bold yet again. “Not lookin’ so tough now in yer cuffs,” he murmured into The Stranger’s ear from behind.
“Try me.”
“Ooh, ye c’n blindside me once, jus’ like yer pappy blindsided me back in Dask, but I’ll see ye comin’ here on out.”
The Stranger closed his eyes in mute frustration. If all hope of saving his family were lost and he were going to die anyway, he might just settle for taking this yelping swine out with him.
The other three crewmen were trailing behind The Stranger and whispering uncomfortably. “What’s wrong with your leaders?” he asked Skuttler. “Have they forgotten where their craft is docked?�
�
“We ain’t lost!” he barked back, driving the tip of his drawn sword into The Stranger’s sweat-slicked back. “An’ they ain’t me leaders! Ye jus’ min’ yer own ’n’ don’ worry ’bout what we chew over.”
“Sure seems as though you’re being intentionally left out of the discussion.”
The tall, thin, hunching man looked back at his crew with a scowl and poked The Stranger again with the tip of his blade. “Blow me, pretty boy. Ye ain’t curryin’ no favor wiv me ’n’ turnin’ me agains’ me own mates. Mind yer step ’n’ carry on straight through the trail,” he said before falling back to join the others.
The Stranger continued marching steadily forward, fighting every instant an urge to make a frantic dash into the thicket on either side of the trail. He listened silently as the hushed conversation returned to normal.
“Keep yer eye on the pris’ner, Skuttly! Look at ’im way up there!”
“I jus’ wanted to join the chinwag,” Skuttler replied quietly.
“Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on back ’ere. Only waggin’ y’ need to do is waggin’ yer sword in ’is face, lest he start thinkin’ he can get the drop on ye again.”
“Oh, that’ll be the day!” Skuttler exclaimed as if it were a challenge. “Hang me off the crow’s nest by me toesies ’f I let that happen!”
“Oof!” another of the men exclaimed. He fell to his knees and began wailing, clawing at the back of his own head. “Ow! Ow! Oww!”
“What fuckery is this?” Julian yelled at him. He turned to The Stranger and drew his sword, pointing it directly at the man’s face. “You stay righ’ where ye are, pris’ner!” He turned back to the hollering crewman on the ground. “What the ruddy fuck’s this? What’s happened?”
