by Ron Root
Hagley cast his silence spell, and they marched forth, the thicket closing in on them, seeming to swallow them. Gresham had never experienced absolute silence before. He’d didn’t realize how much he relied on sound. Not hearing his own footsteps was bothersome. Fearful of tripping, he watched the ground as much as the surrounding woodlands. Twice he thought he spotted distant movement, and hearing nothing to reinforce his suspicions had his gut churning.
The Haunt’s perpetual dusk and dense trees challenged his sense of direction. It made simple things like seeing your pathway nearly impossible. Time and time again, someone in the party would stumble on a tree root, or get struck in the face by a limb released by the person in front of them because they didn’t hear it coming. With no path to follow, Caitlyn and Dzojek made frequent use of Goodricke’s compass, pointing, gesturing, and mouthing words, struggling to communicate within their soundless bubble. Gresham lost all sense of time or bearing, and prayed their guides knew where they were going. His soldier’s training made relying on others difficult.
They plodded on, the thick undergrowth slowing their progress. Holes in the canopy were rare. Whenever they found one, they’d stop and savor its sunlight. During one such break, Dzojek spotted a huge vulture-like bird hunting the treetops. He shook Caitlyn, pointing. She stared, disbelief on her face. It had a long beak and massive wings with huge claws trailing behind. The back of its head extended almost as far as its beak. Was this a bultúr?
They bolted for cover as more flyers came into view; two small raptors and a third bird as large as the first. Dzojek was beside himself, making frantic gestures, dancing and yelling as if someone could hear. A flailing arm hit Hagley.
“Ow!” The unexpected blow disrupted Hagley’s concentration. His spell failed, his pained yelp echoing through the trees.
Horrific screeches reverberated from skies as the giant predators circled and dove, speeding toward the troupe. Jarek extended his arms, fingers waggling. “Defend!”
The largest of the raptors headed straight for Dzojek, its horrific cry echoing throughout the wood. Its fast-beating wings rustled tree leaves as it swooped past them, talons extended, about to seize the fleeing Jacaí.
Gresham reacted. Extending his arm, he chanted. A phantasmal hand appeared in the path of the unsuspecting bird. Gresham opened his palm, spreading his fingers. The phantasmal hand did the same. The creature squawked as it crashed into it. A swat of Gresham’s hand batted it sideways. Flapping furiously, the giant vulture struggled to stay aloft, but crashed as colossal fingers pinned its wings to its body. Branches, twigs, leaves, and feathers flew everywhere. Goodricke leaped on its back and drove his sword through its neck with a two-handed thrust. It flopped briefly, then panting, the gargantuan avian ceased all movement. Goodricke slid down its side. The dead carcass beside him lay shoulder high with the big man.
Gresham scanned the area too. One of the smaller birds chased after Hagley, but just like in the marsh, his adversary found not one target, but many. Gresham had no more idea who the true Hagley was than the raptor did. As it scooped up the nearest Hagley image, Gresham leaped on its back and drove his blade into its neck. It sliced through the bird and hit the captive Hagley. All three tumbled in a heap. Frantic, Gresham jumped to his feet, scouring the area. Relief washed over him. Other Hagleys still scampered about. That couldn’t happen had he killed the real one. Caitlyn was spinning her rawhide weapon, seeking targets. Freeing his blade, Gresham searched, too. Jarek stood over a third bird, his hands extended, pointing at it, watching it in its death throes.
Dzojek yelled, pointing skyward. Their fourth assailant was airborne, fleeing, a small rider clinging to its neck. It disappeared above the canopy.
“Is everyone all right?” Jarek asked.
Hagley stood beside Gresham, smiling. “I’m alive, but I wouldn’t be had Gresham not killed that abomination.”
Goodricke and Caitlyn were stooped over catching their breath. Dzojek was kneeling beside the bird Goodricke had killed, bobbing back and forth, cradling its head in his lap.
Jarek walked over. “Why do you grieve?”
He looked up, his eyes moist. “It’s Jorrel.”
Caitlyn explained. “Jorrel was his bultúr—before the Crone infused it with her evil. That poor creature lying there, although born a bultúr, died an abomination.”
Dzojek jumped to his feet. “No! He was no longer her minion.” Red-faced, he wheeled on Goodricke. “You killed my Jorrel!”
Caitlyn stepped between them. “That is not so, Dzojek, you know the Crone’s devilry when you see it.”
Dzojek’s anger succumbed to grief. He looked down at the dead bird. “No, he was still breathing when I reached him. When he looked, he knew it was me. He was no longer minion, he was Jorrel.”
“Stand aside!” Jarek spoke the words with such authority that Dzojek scrambled out of his way. Kneeling, his uncle placed a hand on the animal’s head and closed his eyes. Everyone watched. After a moment, Jarek spoke to the little Jacaí. “You’re right, it died as Jorrel, not as a minion. He recognized you before his life force left him. Do not despair, he preferred death to serving the Crone.”
“Bah!” Dzojek scoffed. “How could you know such a thing?”
Jarek gave a gentle smile. “I spoke with his soul.”
Dzojek threw his arms up. “You don’t even speak Jacaí. You only say what you think I want to hear so my people will help you.” He turned his back on the magus. “That will not be. I will never aid those who killed my Jorrel.”
Jarek’s tone was soft. “Souls communicate through senses the way we do words, and are often very exact.” Dzojek looked dubious. “Perhaps I can convince you. Ask a question whose answer only Jorrel would know.”
The little Jacaí stared back at him, doubt in his eyes. “Tell me how he was taken.”
Jarek pressed his palm to the bird’s skull. Everyone watched in silence. “Is see you and Rajko scouting, you upon Jorrel, him riding… Thundar. Flying minions attacked, crippling Thundar’s wing. When you tried to help, Jorrel went down too. You were the only one to escape.”
Dzojek said nothing, but his stunned look told everyone Jarek’s accounting of events was true. The little man knelt beside Jorrel, rubbing fingers over its scarred wing. “Jorrel took this wound.” He looked up to where the bird and rider had escaped. “Poor Rajko.”
“How so?” Caitlyn asked.
“It was he and Thundar who flew away. It’s what I was trying to tell you when no one could hear.”
Jarek stood. “Jorrel is at peace in death.” He looked skyward. “But I fear his cohort has gone to warn his mistress. We should leave.”
With their presence no longer a secret, stealth gave way to speed. They ran when the terrain allowed and hurried as best they could when it didn’t. They kept up their blistering pace despite their weariness. Exhausted, they trudged on.
They had no more encounters that day, save for an isolated creature or two that turned and fled upon seeing them. Jarek halted everyone when they came upon a knoll. “Caitlyn says we’re well past where the Crone has been sighted in the past, making an encounter with her less likely. We still need to remain vigilant however, because we won’t make it out of The Haunt until tomorrow at best. We dare not sleep in the open, and this is the first place I’ve seen that’s defensible. We spend the night here.”
They explored the small hillside, seeking the best possible hiding place, eventually choosing an open area in front of a rocky alcove. Small, it offered protection from above and behind and a clear view to the front.
Jarek removed his pack. “Remove yours too, but keep them close. And no bedding tonight, lest we need to flee at a moment’s notice. I’ll mask our camp in the image of thorns. With luck, it will discourage wandering beasts.”
They decided upon two-person watches that would allow the others to sleep. Goodricke and Caitlyn took first watch; Gresham and Hagley were assigned the s
econd. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep, Gresham found a somewhat comfortable place where he could scout the area, but eventually his eyes grew heavy, and weariness claimed him.
Goodricke’s gentle shake woke him. The big man held a finger to his mouth. “Something prowls nearby,” he whispered. Gresham had never seen the big man this wary. “Lots of somethings.”
While Goodricke woke Hagley, Caitlyn did the same to Jarek and Dzojek.
Gresham took a calming breath, his hand drifting to his sword. He could hear them, whatever they were. The occasional crack of twigs was unnerving; but not as much as the sniffing sounds. Those sent a chill up his spine. Jarek and Hagley had masked for sight and sound, but nothing had been done to hide their scent.
The sniffing drew louder, ultimately stopping just outside their burrow. Gresham held his breath. The noises resumed as their stalkers fanned out, surrounding them.
“All right everyone,” Jarek whispered, “We’ve been found. When I light the area, attack with your best.”
Sword or spell? Gresham ran through what few spells he knew. Hand spells had worked twice before; he’d best rely on them.
Jarek conjured a light globe, brightening the area. A dozen or so hideous-looking creatures blocked the cave’s entrance. Growling and snarling, their rancid breath both frightening and nauseating. The closest were dog-like monstrosities resembling huge hunting hounds, but far larger and broader of chest, with huge, frothing fangs. Other abominations crowded behind them. One was two-legged, almost man-like in appearance, with hideous growths marring its misshapen face.
Gresham lashed out with his spectral hand, grabbing for the closest threat, but his hand crashed into nothingness. Some invisible force was shielding the mongrels. The others’ attacks fared no better. Sword held high, Goodricke charged a nearby beast, only to bounce off this unseen barrier. He crumpled and fell, dazed. Dzojek rushed to aid him.
Gresham’s limbs suddenly went sluggish. He was hardly able to move. Their assailants appeared similarly suspended. Leaves crackled. Something new approached. What? Rancid bile filled his mouth. He forced it back down, but its taste remained.
The once-bultúr they’d seen earlier came into view with a Jacaí-sized shape straddling its neck. Behind it sat a hag. Long and skinny, her scraggly unkempt hair hung low over pointy shoulders. Deep blotches and pocks marred her wrinkled face and jagged nose. She cackled. The Crone had found them.
Gresham found himself suddenly able to move again. He started walking. His limbs felt heavy, as if he were sleep walking. But a part of his mind knew this nightmare was real.
“Gresham! Take my hand!”
His uncle’s voice broke his trance. He’d been walking right toward the Crone. The Magus pulled him down, joining hands with him. Caitlyn and Hagley did the same as they formed a circle. Power surged through him. Linked, their strength countered the Crone’s enchantment, and his urge to join her vanished.
The Crone had one arm stretched out in front of her, gripping a stick-mounted black skull roughly half the size of a human head. She barked some command he couldn’t fathom, and her snarling beasts attacked. But as with his own assault, something blocked them. “I’ve shielded us too,” Jarek huffed.
The Crone hissed. Sliding off the once-bultúr, she strolled over and calmly fondled Jarek’s invisible shield. Ignoring her foes, she studied it intently before walking to where Goodricke and Dzojek lay—outside of the shield’s protection. Dzojek gave what had once been Rajko a pleading look, but his once former friend simply stared back through emotionless eyes that had Gresham shuddering.
The Crone screaked and two beasts grabbed the horrified Dzojek and dragged him to a nearby tree. Two others attempted the same with Goodricke but jumped back howling. His sword was glowing. After another shrill command from the Crone, they renewed their efforts, only to cry out again. The witch stormed over and grabbed the sword. It flared blue, and she too jumped away.
She looked around, assessing, then strolled over to Dzojek. His captors had pinned his arms behind the tree. The poor little man twisted and jerked, desperate to break free. She pressed a hand to his forehead and his struggles ceased. His face went slack, his blank stare mirroring that of Rajko.
Leaving her limp victim, she returned to Goodricke and held out the skull, mumbling. Goodricke’s muscles jerked. He looked stunned, albeit alert. She spoke again, and his face briefly took on Dzojek’s numb expression, but a shake of his head had him glaring at her again.
“Help him!” Caitlyn begged of Jarek.
“I cannot,” he answered. “It’s all I can do to maintain our shield and provide enough light to see. I can’t believe the potency of her Earth Magic.” He nodded toward the skies. Stars twinkled above. “At least we’re not under a canopy. Come sunrise, her strength will wane while ours grows. We need to somehow endure until then.”
The standoff lasted well into the night. To their horror, Dzojek’s transformation continued before their eyes as the Crone stood before him, grinning, with her hand pressed against his forehead, slowly changing him from Jacaí to minion.
Sores had developed on Goodricke’s face, and saliva oozed from the corners of his mouth, but he continued to defy her. Could daylight save them if they lasted that long, or were they getting a preview of their respective dooms?
Suddenly all went black.
“Gresham!” It was Hagley, shaking his shoulder. He must have dozed off. He sat up with a start, his heart hammering. It was dawn. “Gods! Did I break our circle?”
“The circle was broken, but I did it, not you. Look.”
The Crone and all her minions were asleep, their grotesque bodies sprawled on the grounds before them. So were their friends.
Hagley grinned. “Although flesh and blood couldn’t penetrate her shield, my sleep spell could. Magus Verity said her strength wanes in daylight, so I thought it might buy us time.”
Gresham surveyed the area. Dzojek looked even worse than before. Warts similar to those of the other minions adorned his face, and his features now drooped, making him appear more minion than Jacaí. He looked for Goodricke. “Goodricke’s gone!”
Hagley nodded. “Yes, I saw him leave.”
His explanation was cut short by the Crone’s screech. Had their talking awakened her, or perhaps the dawn light? Whichever, her cry roused her minions. She rushed to the beasts who’d had been guarding Goodricke and grabbed them by their necks. They jerked backwards, their bodies shaking. Blood oozed from their mouths. After a moment, their thrashing stopped. They stilled. She’d killed them with no more effort than that.
She whirled, facing her captives. No taller than Caitlyn, and thinner than any living creature ought to be, she nonetheless looked formidable. Her look of loathing made Gresham wince. She stood before them, her bloodshot gaze floating from person to person, her glare menacing. She raised a hand, shadowing her face from the rising sun, something not lost on Jarek.
The comforting surge of the ceangailte coursed through Gresham. “Be ready,” Jarek whispered. “The moment those rays touch me, I’m dropping our shield. Strike when I do. There’s no way she could have kept her shield active while asleep. Let’s hope she hasn’t restored it.”
Gresham felt the warmth of sunlight. “Now!” Jarek hollered.
Gresham swung his sword at one of the dog-like creatures crouching before them, severing the head. Turning about, he plunged his blade through the eye of another. Yet another fell to a vicious swipe. His companions were attacking other minions, and had them leaping about, howling their hideous barks. Powerful gusts bowled over other attackers, victims of his uncle’s Wind Blast. Hagley stood beside him, wielding Jarek’s short sword. Although causing little or no damage, he was nonetheless keeping the beasts at bay. Caitlyn used her disks on anything still moving. Their surprise attack soon had every creature downed or stunned, save for the Crone.
Hair flapping, she stood holding her mounted skull at arm’s length,
using it to part the maelstrom Jarek was directing her way. Gresham added phantasmal arrows to the mix, but those too, were diverted by the black skull. Seeing Gresham’s attack, the Crone pointed a bony finger at him, her ominous cackle filling the area. He lost awareness of all but her, and sat unmoving, sure he was about to die.
But the anticipated attack never came. Instead, blood gurgled from her mouth as a glowing sword emerged from her chest. Goodricke stood behind her, twisting Turpin’s blade.
Her hideous face contorted. Falling to her knees she grabbed the blade, its touch evoking a horrific scream. She lurched forward, pushing the blade backwards. It came free. She twisted to face her adversary, hate pouring from those loathsome eyes. She lifted a hand as Goodricke moved to impale her again. Whatever she did stilled him.
She struggled to her feet, the skull absorbing any attacks directed toward her. Blood poured from lips and nose. She staggered back to her bultúr. Snarling, she swatted Rajko from his seat. The once-Jacaí landed in a heap, unmoving. Taking his place, she bawled a command and the raptor lifted off the ground. Shrieking a thunderous caw, it pumped its massive wings and flew away, disappearing above the canopy with the Crone clinging to its neck.
Boomaaker stood before the pond, taking comfort from the shimmer of the moons’ reflections. One-Who-Hunts fed only in daylight.
He awaited the God-man’s appearance. Why hadn’t it revealed itself yet? Perhaps it desired a sacrifice, some show of the people’s worth. Surely that was it. He waved a claw, and two warriors dragged over a squirming female, laying her at his feet, her neck exposed. Fangs foaming, she thrashed, resisting her fate. Had she been worthy she would have willingly given herself. Her loss would be meaningless.
