by Will Bly
The hobbling of wheels over rocks and dips in the road provided the only audible experience of travel. Times like these caused Farah to miss the friendship she had with Thea. She wished she could have another friendship like that. Maybe with Kay, even. Sometimes they talked, but Kay’s icy shell rarely thawed long enough to connect in any meaningful way. Still, Farah decided to increase effort in getting to know her.
Merek, for his part, had evolved into a better friend, much in part due to her own efforts to help him communicate in more detail. She had by now spent many hours speaking to him, helping him focus and speak better. For all her work, though, she often felt Merek was still something of a reflection. Sometimes, when she spoke to Merek she merely spoke to herself. It would be a long time, perhaps an impossible amount of time, before Merek adequately conveyed his personality through verbal means. She had to build him like some kind of wicker doll.
“What’s with this asshole?” Quinn’s voice startled her from her thoughts.
The bumping came to a halt. Farah sat up straight and stretched her neck.
A lone figure stood in their way about thirty feet off. He was dressed in skins of some sort and a smile ran across a leathered face. He looked either ancient or timeless. Hideous fingernails spiraled away from his fingers at a length Farah had never seen before. She found it repulsive. She must’ve not been seeing clearly for his eyes were opal white except for black, snake-like pupils. There were no irises that she could see. He stood behind a hole in the ground the size of a dinner plate.
Max scooted close to Farah. She had the sense he felt frightened.
“Asssshole? That’ss not nice, iss it? Iss that not a perjorative from the wesstern islands?” The stranger spoke as if through a forked tongue.
“We aren’t nice people,” Kay said, shouldering her crossbow. “We’re looking to keep moving. Through you if need be.”
Quinn pulled an axe in each hand and echoed her sentiments. “So out with whatever you want, creature. Or man. Or whatever you are. And be done with it.”
“I’m not one to be russhed. Uss old oness like to take our time with thingss. A year for you iss a split moment for uss.”
Irulen stepped forward. “Well, us young ones need to be on our way.”
“Without clear directionss?”
“What do you know of it?”
“I know you aren’t quite ssure of where you are going…But a map hass I.”
“Oh?” Irulen put his hand to the hilt of his sword. “You one of his? Looking for a fight?”
“Hss, Hss, Hss. Oh no, not one of hiss, no no—he’ss one of ourss, you ssee.”
“And who are you?”
“Ancient oness. Druidss from long ago.”
“You do look old,” Kay said.
“Probably smells like a dusty closet,” Quinn said.
The druid hissed. “Petulant girl, odious oaf. I’ll be ssure to sspend extra time with you. Sslow and painful. I’ll press my fingernailsss through your sskin, let them break as your body ressistss me, and twisst the shardss insside you.”
As if by invisible command, the forest around them came alive with movement. Along the edges of the forest and behind them emerged servants of the druid. They were surrounded. Farah regarded one closely. The servant was a man, or at least had been a man. There was some kind of blight on his face. It took a moment before Farah realized just what it was—roots interlaced with the man’s skin. Dark magic had been performed on these servants, and Farah cared not to entertain the idea any further.
“Look friend,” Quinn said, his eye twitching just a little. “We’ve come across our fair share of assholes. And we’ve survived our fair share of assholes. So out with it, lizard lips, so we can get on with serving you a whooping if it’s a whooping you’re asking for.”
“Hehh, hehh, hehh.” The druid’s laugh sounded wheezy and breathless. Farah thought he might keel over from lack of air.
“Laugh it up,” Irulen said. “It isn’t about who laughs first, is it? More about who laughs last.”
“Hehh, hehh, hehh... You are all sso mad. One might think you might lose your heads. Like your friend here...”
Farah’s blood pumped loudly against her ears as the druid nodded his head down at the hole near his feet and smiled. His eyes somehow found Farah’s, and he winked at her as he crouched down. He opened his mouth in an “O” like fashion as his hands slowly made their way down. Farah thought the action to be entirely dramatic and cruel. Up with his hands came the head of Leofrick, his mouth hanging agape, dried blood caked around his neatly trimmed facial hair. Strands of gore hung from his severed neck. His face, once regal, now broken and slack.
Farah fell back into the cart and pulled her knees to her face. She pressed her eyes tight and wished reality away. Yells and screams happened, though she couldn’t tell who or where they came from. The ringing sounds of struggle came, and though she knew them to be close, they somehow sounded muffled and distant. She looked up to Merek who sat across from her. He was cultivating a neat square of twigs on the floor of the cart. His aloofness baffled her, and she kicked the square of twigs into pieces.
He looked at her angry and punched the wall behind him. Then he got up and stormed out of the cart. She worried after him, and that worry brought her back to focus.
The sounds of metal clashing sharpened. She peeked her head up for a slight moment. Irulen and Quinn were fighting men in close quarters while Kay hunted in the background.
To the front of the cart, Irulen did most of his work with the sword.
Guarding the rear of the party, Quinn’s arms rotated like a windmill as he labored with an axe in each hand. The servants ran to him without fear. He already bled from a wound on his left bicep. Quinn sang while he fought, but Farah couldn’t make out the melody.
Kay lined up shots and let loose with her crossbow in systematic fashion. Beneath the coolness Farah could tell Kay was fatigued. The bounty hunter’s arms wavered. Her stance wasn’t as sharp. Kay’s body wasn’t holding up well from her ongoing recovery. Still her bolts flew true, and she downed two servants in just the time Farah glanced at her.
Farah knew her friends couldn’t hold for long. She had to do something. But what?
Then she remembered something Quinn had showed her while they waited for Irulen to come back to life. He called it a boomstick, something Merlane left them in the cart.
“You fill it with this powder here, and you pack it down with this rod. Drop this metal ball down the tube, aim it, and hold it steady with one arm, then bang! This flint rock knocks off the flat flint receiver until it sparks. Then boom!”
She fumbled around and found the boomstick. The loose flint hung from a string attached to the device. She filled the thing with the powder he had indicated, and for a moment worried that she’d put too much and might just blow her hands off. She’d be no help with meaty, mangled stubs for arms. She packed it down and dropped the metal ball in. She clamored over junk as she moved to the front of the cart and to the right of the mule who was frozen either from fear or boldness.
A servant jumped over the back of the cart to attack her. The man was already missing his right arm at the elbow, likely a gift from Quinn, but remained resolute in his intent to kill. He barreled into Farah and knocked the boomstick from her. The servant gurgled and laughed as he started hitting her with his remaining arm. Farah hoped to withstand the assault until the blood ran out from the foul demon. A thud followed by a ringing told her that the servant had landed a blow against her head. Her hand found a handle along the floor of the cart. She swung it with all her might, and a pick-axe found its way into the servant’s temple. The body slumped onto her as she struggled to free herself and grab the loaded weapon.
◆◆◆
To Irulen’s dismay, one of the attackers managed to grab Kay, whose recent injuries had caused her to fatigue. The servants backed away with her and screamed for Irulen and Quinn to put down their weapons. Irulen found himself roote
d in place by his worry. Quinn joined him at his side, but he too remained steady.
“Give it up!” said the man with a knife to Kay’s throat.
Irulen raised his hands in the air. “This is ridiculous. Do you know what we just went through to save that woman? Kay, you are supposed to be the stealthy one!”
Kay shrugged. The movement caused the man’s blade to press into her neck. A drip of blood spilled off the knife and dripped down her chest.
Irulen knew she’d be good as dead either way, and so found it difficult to muster the will to fight. All told, four men already lay dead around them, but another four still stood, angry to avenge their comrades. But they weren’t dumb. They backed off knowing they had achieved the upper hand. All the leverage they needed resided within the blade pressing beneath Kay’s chin. With such leverage, the voice becomes one’s greatest weapon. They looked to their leader.
Quinn stood firmly in place, his axe dripping with the blood of the cleaved adversary beneath him. The berserker, frail as he might still seem, wore a face tight with rage and determination. Irulen knew that there wouldn’t be any backing down, not from Quinn.
Irulen’s anger grew at the thought of sharp iron grating against the softness of Kay’s neck, the neck he had once kissed so gently. Where is the magic? Irulen looked deep within himself, swimming through a lake of memory and feeling. Where is it? He’d spent up most of his magic saving her life, he’d spend the rest in a heartbeat.
She’d surely die unless he found one last spark. He cursed the bitter irony of her fate. To be saved and lost. Ithial’s plan all along, lose the power—lose the person—lose my will. But they don’t want to kill me. Even these men fought me in a defensive manner. I should’ve guessed what the plan might be. Something is at stake if I die—they need me for something. Irulen threw down his sword and raised his arms. “Okay, listen. Leave her alone. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
“What I want? I want you to watch your friendss die. Yess, I want to take everything from you. We need you stripped clean of thesse sshallow attachmentss. The cavess await you. Ithial already waitss.”
“He’s alive? He put you up to this?”
“Hehh, hehh, hehh, we don’t follow hiss will. He’s ensslaved to uss. He belongss to me.”
A thunderclap snapped the air.
Irulen hit the ground from instinct. He landed facing the corpse of one of his previous opponents with his eyes still frozen in death’s surprise. Irulen turned toward Kay and found her slicing her captor's throat with his own knife. He didn’t care to know what happened. The drive to survival raised him up and onto the man in front of him, plunging his sword into the man’s guts, his blade caught under the sternum. Blood burst in the air from the scream of death leaving the wretch’s mouth. Quinn similarly dispatched his opposition with a well-placed swing of the axe onto the man’s clavicle. Bones crunched as the axe found itself buried into the heart. Quinn struggled to remove the axe, but it proved difficult to dislodge. Irulen stood ready to fight the druid himself, but saw the druid had somehow been laid low on the road ahead of them. Crimson stained the robes of his torso.
“What iss thiss?” The druid writhed in discomfort.
“Merlane sends his regards,” Farah said from the merchant cart. She put the boomstick down and fell back onto her butt.
Quinn, abandoning his stuck axe, ran back to the cart and came back with a familiar bag. “Ire, this is it! This is our chance! Don’t kill him yet. Pin him down! Ha!”
Irulen ran over to the druid who slashed at him with his gnarly nails. He lowered his body and tackled the creature to the ground. An immense pain ripped through Irulen’s side as he pinned the nasty thing’s shoulders to the ground. The breath proved more hideous than he would’ve ever thought—a mix of demonic bile and feces. The druid’s fingernails dug into his side, searching for vital organs.
Kay came around to assist him. She struck downwards with the palm of her hand and shattered the nails that assaulted him.
The druid howled in pain.
Max flew down from the trees above and pecked at the druid’s eyes.
Leofrick’s lifeless head looked on, and Irulen thought a smile had crossed its face.
Irulen felt Quinn sit on the druid behind him and so rolled out of the way.
The druid tried to speak but found his breath gone.
“No more words, friend, this’ll be over soon.” Quinn ripped away the druid’s clothes to find the hole from Farah’s shot. It cried blood. “Hold this,” Quinn said as he placed the receiver shard in Irulen’s hand. Irulen used his knees to hold the druid down. The fight had left him in the end, like any creature about to die.
“I’m not sure if this will even work on such a creature,” Irulen said.
“Only one way to find out!” Quinn sliced at the hole and made it larger. The tightness of the skin ripped the wound open. Quinn pulled out the death diamond that had been used on Bertand, took a deep breath, and pressed it into the gaping hole. “Pretty sure this is where the heart is,” he said as his arm angled upward. “Yep, there it is. Gotta say, I’m surprised to find one beating in this son of a bitch! Okay, Kay, kill him!”
“With pleasure. Goodbye, you filthy piece of shit.” She carved a smile in the druid’s neck as the ground ran red. Perhaps it wasn’t as deep and as final as it should’ve been, because the druid gasped and spurt his way through his last breaths. To Irulen’s horror, Kay grabbed Leofrick’s head off the ground and put it to the druid’s face. “Last face you’ll ever see.”
The struggle ended. Stillness reclaimed the air. The receiver shard glowed brightly in Irulen’s hand.
Chapter 27: An Overdue Nap
“There it is,” Quinn gestured.
They had looked for the better part of an hour, roaming the area like the mindless undead trapped between two realms. That’s the thing about ghosts—they are homeless and lonely. Farah also felt stuck between two worlds; except it wasn’t about being between this world and the next. She felt stuck between accepting reality and rejecting it. Leofrick had been murdered in cold blood, his body desecrated. His head severed from his body. His body tossed down the side of this ditch abutting the road. She didn’t want to be the one to find him and thankfully she wasn’t. Quinn had that honor. And so she at least knew what she’d see as she walked to the edge of the road and looked where Quinn pointed. A body without an identity, no face to make it human. An unfinished wicker man. Something waiting to be constructed that will never be finished. Yes, she was lucky Quinn found him, he had only just met him, after all.
“I only just met the poor fella,” Quinn said as if reading her mind. “I’d say he was a quick friend. Goodbye, friend.”
“He told me once that his people bury the dead where he comes from—wherever that is. We should move his body to higher ground,” suggested Kay. “It’ll flood out down here when it rains.”
“Good point,” replied Irulen, looking over her shoulder. “Let’s move him first. Quinn and I can bring the body. Could one of you, err, bring the bag? And someone, the shovels?”
“I’ll bring the bag,” Farah said without thinking. She regretted it. The bag, of course, was the brown sack that now held Leofrick’s head. Beaten and lifeless—the robber robbed of the most precious thing. She closed her eyes and shook away images of him being beaten and who knows what else. She took notice of Leofrick’s mouth as she grabbed the bag off the ground. The outline of the mouth could be seen pressed against the brown bottom of the bag. A silent scream of protest never to be answered.
She thought about being back home at Frostbridge while she walked. Having ale for the first time with Jorin and Brom, fulfilling the simple tasks required of her at the inn. She’d never insult simplicity again. A clean mind, a rustic existence. Something to aspire to.
She half-stumbled, half-bumbled down from the road. She kept her eyes up from the spattering of dried blood she knew to be on the ground. Irulen and Quinn moved faster than she did
. Already had the body some thirty feet away and moving quick. Kay and Merek shadowed them. Farah felt alone until she looked at the tree above her. Max hopped along the branches as she walked. She never felt more grateful to a bird.
Be that as it may, it took them a little while to catch up, and Farah found herself surprised at how hard it proved to carry a severed head through the forest. The brown fabric kept getting snagged. Farah kept tripping. Once she had to get over a fallen tree, and the head hit against the trunk a little hard. She apologized to Leofrick for the indignity of it all. The incline grew, as well, and the climb caused her knees to hurt. What she thought of as a hill turned out to be a mountain, heavily forested and acutely angled. Her heart pumped energy into her limbs as she buckled down and moved along.
She finally caught up to them. The four of them stood over a certain spot where the ground was relatively flat. They looked achieved, somehow proud that they had found the right spot and that they were in the right place for the right reasons. They found the only resting spot for Leofrick in the whole world. Farah placed the bag gently on the ground. She made sure the head laid on its side. She didn’t want to rest it on the open wound, and she didn’t want to stand Leofrick on his head either. On the side seemed best.
They all took turns digging. Irulen and Quinn got the hole started from different ends and dug as if competing with each other. Farah thought it was an impressive start, although Quinn’s side was a little deeper when they tired.
Farah joined Kay in taking up the shovel then and set to the hard work. The ground fought them seemingly every inch of the way. They battled through deeply compacted earth, rocks, roots, and every other annoying and difficult thing that formed the backbone of the ground. She found comfort in the solitude and simplicity of the work, allowing her brain to go numb and her mind to wander the woods around them. She tired before Kay did, and truth be told, it took much convincing to get Kay to take a break, but she did eventually. And by the time they were finished, the hole was well crafted and about a foot deep. Only six more to go.
