by Ron Root
Boomaaker withdrew his blade. A swift slash opened her neck. He grabbed her mane, watching the blood gurgle from lips and throat. Her jerking ceased and her body stilled. Releasing her mane, he sliced downward. Despite her hard scales her chest cavity opened, exposing her heart. He made quick work of anything attached, and pulled out the still warm organ. He held it high overhead his head, keening. The peoples perched in the rocks above echoed his cry. Their wails swelled to excited shouts when he tossed the dripping flesh into the pond.
Zakarah watched the offering sink to the mud before holding out his arm, fingers dancing. Instantly his visage appeared in this other world pool. The beast fell to its knees, bowing. Too feeble-minded to have value; he wouldn’t gather this one. He smiled. That didn’t mean it and its ilk wouldn’t prove useful, however. The beast looked up. It was time to instruct it.
Turpin’s Boon
With the Crone’s departure, her surviving minions lost their will to fight. They tried to flee, only to be cut down by iron and magic. What were once snarls, became pitiful death wails. In no time all had been downed. Caitlyn watched as her companions went from body to body, assuring each was dead.
Caitlyn knelt beside Dzojek. The poor Jacaí hadn’t moved since the Crone’s attack. He simply sat staring blindly, not even blinking.
“Rajko is still alive,” Gresham hollered, checking out Dzojek’s friend.
“This one too,” Goodricke called, standing over the man-shaped beast. Caitlyn walked over, studying it. Although it lacked the horrific markings the Crone’s spells had given Dzojek, its face drooped, looking deathly pale. “Stand aside,” Goodricke warned, raising his sword, preparing to end the thing’s life.
“No, not this one!” Caitlyn enjoined, holding up a hand. Falling to her knees, she cradled the creature’s head. “Ewan, it’s Caitlyn. The Crone is gone; you are saved.”
“That thing has a name?” Goodricke said, lowering his sword.
“Yes! Look,” she said, pointing to tattered remnants of what appeared to be cloth. “Beasts do not wear clothing. And this,” she said, tapping a colored spot, “is Ewan’s family crest. This ‘thing’ you see was once as you and I. His patrol went missing moons ago. We thought them dead.” She stared at what had once been a man. “Perhaps that would have been a better fate.”
“Dzojek is no better off,” Jarek observed. “We can’t leave them like this. Killing them would be more merciful.”
“Nay,” Goodricke said, drawing his sword. “You forget Odhran’s counsel,” he added, unscrewing the pommel and extracting its vial. “What better use for Turpin’s potion than this?” he asked, taking a sip. The instant he swallowed, color returned to his cheeks. Facial muscles that had gone slack under the Crone’s ministrations once again tightened. He looked like the Goodricke of old.
They laid Dzojek, Rajko and Ewan side-by-side. Caitlyn propped Ewan into a sitting position and opened his mouth, allowing Goodricke to feed him the potion. They watched in wonder as Ewan’s features slowly changed. The unsightly warts that covered his face and hands began to dissolve, and some of the sores faded, but not all. Many festering ones still remained. Although he no longer appeared to be a Crone minion, he didn’t look totally human either.
Caitlyn offered him water. He swallowed, staring at her the whole time. “It’s all right, Ewan, you’re back among us,” she said in A’rythian. He closed his eyes, tears trailing down his cheeks. The potion may have healed his body, but what had enduring life as a Crone abomination done to his soul? “I must attend the others. I’ll be back.”
Dzojek, although dazed and shaken, made a full recovery, and was ministering to his friend Rajko. Although faring better than Ewan, Rajko had yet to speak. Unlike Ewan, who still had sores, Caitlyn found little wrong with Rajko. “Give him more water,” she instructed, leaving the Jacaí in Dzojek’s care.
She joined Goodricke and Jarek. “Thank you, Goodricke Loddvar. Your gift has returned us three lives.”
Goodricke shook his head. “The gift was from a wizard long dead and a sword given over to my care by Master Verity. I deserve no thanks.”
She smiled and stepped between them, holding each by the elbow. “Then I thank you both, and the dead wizard too.” She watched Dzojek attend to his friend. “Your sword’s magic has done much for them.”
“Let us hope,” Jarek said, checking the skies, “for we must leave. The Crone may be gravely injured, but she survived.”
Caitlyn looked over at Ewan. “But Dzojek is the only one well enough to travel.”
“Goodricke and I were just discussing that very matter. We can make litters out of blankets and tree limbs. Goodricke and I can carry one, Hagley and Gresham the other. That leaves you and Dzojek free to guide us. With food and a night’s rest, perhaps they’ll fare better tomorrow.”
They assembled their makeshift litters, gathered their belongings, and were once again on the move. Whenever Jarek’s probes sensed something in their path, Caitlyn altered course, but carrying stretchers slowed them. She openly doubted they’d make it out of The Haunt before nightfall.
Their minion encounters were few and their battles brief, happening only when they stumbled upon some unsuspecting beast. Their superior numbers made short work of those encounters. They kept well under the canopy too, avoiding flyers. But as Caitlyn feared, day’s end still found them still in The Haunt.
They pitched camp. Jarek masked their presence with phantasms while she helped Goodricke and Gresham set perimeter traps, and all but the first watch bedded down.
Escape
Rajko was speaking now. After those first spoken words the two Jacaí hadn’t stopped talking since. Envy stabbed her; she longed to speak in her native tongue instead of talking like a child in Outlander speech. But she was Seeker now, this was her new language.
She examined Ewan. The potion had transformed him back into something recognizable. Before swallowing it, had it not been for his clothing, she wouldn’t have known he was human; she’d have let Goodricke kill him. Despite his recovery, he refused to speak.
She knelt beside him. “Ewan! Talk to me,” she said, speaking A’rythian. “Tell me what became of the others, and of your horrors.” She looked around their camp. “It’s me, Caitlyn. We have been friends since we were babes. Share your pain with me.”
Ewan stared at her, opened his mouth, only to shut it again. He held up his hands, examining the growths that blighted his skin. “I’m still her beast.”
He spoke! She grasped his hands. “No, you are free, you’re no longer hers to command. Inside you are as you always were. Maybe the outside can be healed, too. The Mother Healer knows far more of such things than me.”
He pushed her away, albeit gently.
“What of the others?” she asked. “There were seven with you. Taryn was one of them. What became of your wife?”
“She’s dead. All of them are.”
“What happened?”
He buried his face in his hands. “We killed them. I killed them.”
“Ewan, no! Whatever happened was the Crone’s doing. You would never have done such a thing otherwise. You must not think that way.”
“It is what happened. I cannot bear the thought of it.”
“Release it, lest it consume you.”
“You don’t understand, Caitlyn.”
“Help me do so then; tell me.”
“I was scouting ahead when pain suddenly flooded my mind, and all went black. I don’t know how long I lay there before waking, but when I did, the Crone stood above me, grinning her awful smile. She reached out and touched my head, and then…” Ewan buried his face in his hands again.
“Then what?”
“At first, I felt pain, then a numbness in both body and mind. A distant part of me remembered who I was, always. Even when we came into your camp last night, I recognized you. But this new part of me was greater, stronger, this beast within me.
“As I
awakened, I felt blood lust. The beasts around me shared it. Former men or beasts, I knew not and cared not. I just wanted blood. And it was blood we went after. The Crone controlled my mind, including that portion that had been a man, that knew where my party was heading. She used me to lead her to them, and…” Caitlyn started to say something but stopped when he raised his hand. “we killed them all, Taryn included.”
“No, the Crone killed them, you were just her weapon. You said the beast was in control, not you. You must forgive yourself.”
“You don’t understand,” he said, tears pouring down his cheeks. “We didn’t just kill them; we ate them.” His voice cracked so badly she could scarcely understand him. “How can I forgive myself of that?”
Caitlyn had no answer. She sat holding him for most of that evening, listening to his sobs. Thankfully, he eventually fell asleep.
Caitlyn left him to take up her watch. Through the night they heard several traps trigger, but one at a time and never one after the other. Come dawn, they examined their traps. Although nothing had been killed or captured, footprints and blood were proof of visitors.
Ewan and Rajko were stronger that morning, allowing them to abandon the litters. They hiked in pairs for safety. Holes in the canopy became common, and mountains appeared off in the distance. Limbs aching and weary beyond belief, they mustered up what little of their strength remained.
Finally, they reached foothills. Escape was at hand. The open terrain between the woods and hills resembled the grounds where they’d first entered the Haunt. This time they’d have to climb the cliffs. Its boulders and hills offered places to hide, but to reach them they needed to cross two hundred paces of exposed meadow. Their joy at reaching the end of the haunt abruptly died. A band of abominations occupied the final field they had to cross. Of all shapes and sizes, their numbers were too vast to count. All looked hideous—say nothing of dangerous. There was no way their exhausted party could do battle with them. Worse, there was also no way to slip past them without being seen. Caitlyn’s heart sank. Had they come all this way only to die with escape seemingly inches away. How could the gods be this unkind?
There was one bit of good news in that Jarek’s probes had sensed them before they unwittingly stumbled into their midst. Dzojek and she returned to tell the group the gloomy news. They discussed options and possibilities, Caitlyn translating for Ewan, Dzojek doing the same for Rajko. It was Ewan who finally posed a solution, one that sent chills up Caitlyn’s spine.
“Ewan says he knows the abominations’ minds and ways, even their language.” Ewan gave her a wry smile, nodding for her to continue. “He says at least some good came from having been among them for five moons.” Ewan interrupted her again, holding up his mottled arms. “He says he still looks like them, too.”
“So, what is it he proposes?” Jarek asked.
“That he enter their camp as one of them. He says they are easily incited. He will tell them he has found us coming up the trail and lead them to us. When they leave, we’re to run for the foothills. Once there, he says it’s unlikely they’ll follow. Leaving the Haunt risks falling prey to guardians. Ewan can then slip away and join us.”
They sat silent, contemplating Ewan’s proposal. “And he thinks this will work?” Jarek asked.
Caitlyn repeated the question and translated Ewan’s response. “He makes no promises but asks if you have a better plan.”
Jarek looked at the others. No one spoke. “All right, tell him we agree. Ask him when best to try it.”
She translated.
“Láithreach bonn,” he said, smiling.
“Right now.”
Staying under the cover of bushes, they edged their way back to the meadow. Peek holes in the scrub offered unfettered views of the minions. Caitlyn and Ewan hugged. “Thank you. Be careful,” she urged.
Ewan slipped off into the brush. Soon they heard his cry as he charged toward the abominations, yelling, pointing back the way he’d come. The excitable abominations grew hysterical, dancing about, jumping and screaming. Those not hopping about were frothing at the mouth. Ewan let out another scream and raced for the woods, to a spot a good distance from the humans. The abominations gave chase, screaming their lust.
With the beasts gone, they burst from their hiding place, racing hell-bent across the field to the shallow canyons at its other side. Using knolls and boulders to shield them, they wound their way up the hillside, not resting until they were well up the slope. While the others struggled to catch their breath, Caitlyn peeked back down the valley, searching in vain for Ewan.
After a short respite, they resumed their climb, every so often stopping to check for him. On their sixth such stop they finally spotted him, talking with the minions. Even from their lofty position they could tell there was contention. Instead of trying to sneak away as promised, Ewan appeared to be taunting them.
“What’s the matter with him?” Gresham asked. “Why doesn’t he shut his mouth? He’s going to get himself killed if he keeps that up.”
Jarek looked at Caitlyn. “That’s his wish, isn’t it?”
The truth of his words stung. “Dias!” she cried, pressing her hands to her mouth. “No! Ewan, it wasn’t your fault! Oh no, please; Ewan, no!”
Sobs stole her voice as the abominations mobbed Ewan. He made no effort to run or defend himself as he vanished beneath a pile of teeth and claws. Caitlyn wailed. The others prayed.
Boomaaker lowered an eye fold, shielding the sun’s glare. The people had formed into groups the God-Man called scods. They stood side-by-side, one people for each toe on Boomaaker’s claw. The God Man had decreed that scods would make the warriors mightier. With his back to both pond and cliffs, Boomaaker surveyed the meadow before him. The people’s scods stretched as far as the eye could see, each armed with pointed sticks and sharpened rocks.
Prey! popped unbidden into Boomaaker’s mind. The people shrieked as One-Who-Hunts swept in low, scattering the scods. Boomaaker tried to run, but as always, One-Who-Hunts’ magic prevented it. None could move. All he could do was watch in dread as One-Who-Hunts landed and crunched a people in its mighty jaw. Leaping skyward, it circled and dove again. Prey!
Although their terror was great, the people were still frozen, weighted down by fear and magic. One-Who-Hunts flew low over a scod, grabbed a people in each claw, and flew from sight. With One-Who-Hunts’ magic gone, the peoples could run again. Boomaaker did.
Jacaíoi
Jarek bent over, leaning on his knees, struggling to catch his breath. After a nearly sleepless night, today’s steep ascent was hardly bearable. It was late afternoon, and they’d been climbing without pause since escaping The Haunt. Watching his younger companions climb with relative ease underscored the fact that he was growing old.
The higher they climbed, the more arduous the terrain became. Occasional scrub grasses were the mountain’s only vegetation. Gullies dotted the landscape, likely rivulets during the rainy season. In dry season these gravel-strewn trenches simply made footing more treacherous. Still, distancing themselves from The Haunt had brightened everyone’s spirits. Even Caitlyn was faring better. He wondered what nightmares had driven Ewan to seek such a ghastly end. And what of the Jacaí, especially Rajko, who’d endured life as an abomination for more than a moon? The pair had been leading the climb all day, and neither seemed depressed. Jarek had his own worries. The final Nexus was two nights hence, and any opportunity of rescuing Lavan fading. There’d be no fourth Nexus.
Goodricke looked down the hill, checking on him. Caitlyn did too. He’d best catch up. Ignoring his body’s complaints, he resumed his climb.
They camped at sundown and did little else but rest. Staring at the valley below, it was hard to believe something so beautiful could harbor such horrors. When he’d first learned of the Elders’ reluctance to return Dzojek to Jacaíoi, he’d thought them callous. Now he understood.
Caitlyn was conferring with the Jacaí. Although
he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her audacious plan to accompany them to the Outlands, he was nonetheless relieved that she wouldn’t have to risk a return journey back through The Haunt.
Gresham and Hagley gathered kindling, and Goodricke prepared a meal. The prospect of finally eating heated food sounded wonderful.
Caitlyn joined him. “Rajko and Dzojek say if we keep our pace, we might make Jacaíoi by nightfall tomorrow, but they warn the climb steepens the higher we get.”
Not good news. “Is there no way to get there sooner? The Nexus is imminent.”
Dzojek was there too. “I am sorry Máistir, it is not likely.”
Jarek bedded down, too glum to converse. Wrapped in his blanket, he studied the moons. Juno and Ceres looked close enough to create a precursor event—and perhaps generate sufficient aethers to contact Lavan. He closed his eyes, fondling his ring.
Lavan! Can you hear me?
Jarek! The gods be praised, you’ve reached me. I have important news. Zakarah will use the upcoming Nexus to enter our world in the flesh. He’s after the university’s relics and anyone Gifted.
Lavan, I’m coming for you, do not despair. I’ll get you home yet.
Such false hopes are more than I can bear. There was a brief silence. Zakarah knows we’re communicating. He comes. I must go.
Jarek lay back on his bed. The impending arrival of Zakarah was grim news indeed. Stewing at its portent, he tossed and turned well into the night. Come morning, he shared Lavan’s revelation with the others.
As the Jacaí had warned, the hills grew steeper; so much so that Jarek had to grasp shrubs or rocks, anything anchored, to keep from sliding. Where the previous day’s climb had been filled with boisterous chatter, today’s was solemn. Between the steepening ascent, thinning air, and thoughts of Zakarah’s plans, hardly anyone spoke. Still, they made reasonable headway—until the cliffs became too steep to climb.
