The Entean Saga - The Complete Saga

by C B Williams

  And faster.

  And she was so tired.

  Her only hope was to get out of the tunnels and somehow trap the sniffers inside.

  The problem was she was hopelessly lost, and in completely unknown territory. So her scent would be the only scent for the sniffers to follow, she had chosen tunnels she had been in the process of exploring for future use, far from her Kin’s escape routes. It hadn’t taken her long to come to the limits of her knowledge, and she had been running since then on instinct more than wits. But maybe, just maybe, her instincts had been leading her true. Wasn’t that a breeze on her cheek?

  Wren held her breath, held still, and waited.

  Yes!

  Softly, she crept further, using her feet to feel her way along the dusty floor while tapping the fingers of her left hand on the wall. Her right hand gripped her second to last throwing knife.

  From behind, she heard the sniffers whining and digging, enlarging the opening she barely managed to squeeze through. She’d heard those sounds before, and knew eventually they would find a way. Then their whines would become bays. She hated the sound, knew if she survived the memories of this night and the relentless baying of the sniffers would follow her into her dreams for years to come.

  If her hand had not been tracing along the wall, she would have walked smack into the tunnel’s end. Her heart plummeted when she realized what the sudden stop meant. Fear squeezed her throat and she shook her head to clear its grip.

  There was still a breeze. It meant this was an opening and not an end. It meant she still had hope.

  With her hand, she traced the end of the tunnel. When she crouched down, her fingers located a grill bolted to the far side. Moving swiftly, she pivoted on her butt and braced herself on her arms, right fist still gripping her knife, and began kicking at the grill, willing the bolts to release their grip. They did, and the sudden lack of resistance sent her sprawling onto her back with an “Oomph.”

  The baying began.

  “Hurry!” she scolded herself. She scrambled to her knees and crawled toward the opening.

  The baying was louder already, and she heard their claws digging into the dirt just a few yards behind and closing fast.

  The sniffers were nearly upon her, and their excited yowls and snarls filled and echoed around the tunnel, coming at her from all directions.

  Her survival pack made it impossible for her to wriggle through the grate. With a frustrated cry, she ripped it off her shoulders and threw it through the opening, then dove headfirst after it, only to be stopped in mid-air.

  She screamed.

  A sniffer sank its teeth deep into her left calf, and then chewing down to the bone while shredding her flesh with its claws. Without thinking, she rammed the heel of her other boot into its muzzle.

  With a yelp it loosened its grip enough for her to rip her leg free. She screamed again, this time in defiance. If they wanted to rip her apart, she was not going to make it easy.

  The scent of her blood drove the three sniffers into a frenzy. They snarled and barked and bit each other bloody while they fought to reach her through the opening, their lethal claws ripping out giant clods of dirt, making it wider.

  She scrambled to her feet and backed against a pile of rubble, leaving a trail of blood.

  So much blood. No wonder she was about to pass out.

  The blood catapulted the sniffers into an even greater frenzy. Their growls rose into crescendo of howls as they redoubled their efforts to reach her.

  Wren took a calming breath and ignored both their howls and her pain as she’d been taught. She took out the first sniffer through the hole with a dagger in the heart. It dropped at her feet.

  The other two paused and began to circle, sniffing warily.

  Keeping her eyes on them, she stooped and tugged her knife from the dead sniffer.

  “One for each of you,” she told them.

  One of the sniffers growled a challenge.

  She growled back.

  Her throbbing leg finally broke through her concentration. Wren glanced down to see blood pooling at her feet. Another wave of dizziness struck. She took a deep breath and refocused. Pocketing one of her knives, she picked up a rock and sent it flying at the nearest sniffer.

  She hit it squarely on the head.

  It yelped, shook its head and stood still, studying her, nostrils distended.

  The other sniffer paused just out of range.

  Smart beasts. If only they could have been less so.

  She felt for her belt, loosened it and stooped to tie it tight around her left thigh, making a tourniquet in order to staunch the flow of blood.

  She only dropped her gaze for a moment.

  Reflex made her duck and roll.

  With a yelp, the leaping sniffer smacked into the rubble pile Wren had been leaning against. Before it could recover she was on it, slicing through its sleek hide, going right for its jugular.

  Its blood mingled with her own as the creature bled out.

  With a grunt she rose, pushing herself off the creature, and faced the final sniffer.

  She blinked, but her vision kept going in and out of focus while spots danced around her in little explosions of color. She sucked in another breath and reached for the second knife.

  Do Not Faint.

  The sniffer paced a few steps, scenting again, sniffing its downed companions, its growls interspersed with whines and whimpers.

  Watching it move its sleek body back and forth was almost hypnotic.

  “Come on!” she taunted. “Get on with it.” She was surprised to hear her shout emerge as a thready whisper.

  The creature’s ears pricked in her direction. Through her wavering vision, she saw its muscles bunch.

  I should be throwing my knives, she thought, feeling her knees give way.

  The beast snarled and launched itself.

  Chapter 6

  The Sausage

  At least he had his strength back.

  Eloch wrestled with the creature while it writhed and snapped its great jaws. Even though he was strong, Eloch knew he needed to come up with a plan fast to quell its battle madness. Otherwise he would be forced to dispatch it, which was not an option. Spur needed Her creatures.

  He could feel its claws digging into him, returning his lethal embrace. Fortunately, his tough leather clothes held fast. Elbow on the beast’s neck, he first clamped one hand over its muzzle, and then the next, holding its jaws shut. The creature thrashed harder. Eloch began to sing the crooning song he used to soothe Entean’s beasts.

  The creature stilled, but Eloch suspected it was more from surprise than pleasure. And perhaps fatigue. He kept singing, and was rewarded when the muscles under him relaxed into sleep.

  Keeping one hand clamped around the sleeping beast’s jaws, he pulled a cord from his tunic and wrapped it tight around the beast’s muzzle, knotting it securely. As soon as he moved, it woke up, and its growl turned into a whine when it couldn’t open its mouth. It started to struggle again, trying to use its claws to tear at the binding, but Eloch was ready, using another cord to bind all four paws together. When he was convinced the beast could not escape its bindings, he rolled off it and stood to retrieve his staff.

  He watched it for a while, ready with another cord should either of the two snap.

  But the beast lay silent, its sides heaving, while it watched Eloch warily.

  Although Eloch suspected it would try again after it had recovered, for the moment, the beast was quelled.

  It was time to tend to the girl who lay in a crumpled heap, a throwing knife loose in her outstretched hand.

  From what Eloch could patch together, the beasts had been hunting the girl, and if he had arrived a moment later, the remaining beast would have successfully completed their hunt.

  The howls and snarls had attracted his attention. Eager to meet the wildlife of Spur, he had changed course immediately. The ferocity of the baying alerted him that a hunt was on. He broke into
a run when he came around the towering heap of rubble and saw their prey was human. And when he saw her waver, he knew she wouldn’t survive the remaining beast’s attack.

  Flinging his staff and pack aside, he flung himself at the springing beast to save her. Now he knelt down to examine her quickly, impressed that she’d known to tourniquet her wound in spite of being under direct attack. It was probably why she still had a chance to live, despite the terrible wound. Quickly he scooped her up, retraced his steps, and collected his belongings before he jogged with her back to his encampment.

  He’d done all he could for the girl.

  The medical kit Aiko gave him was equipped to handle only the most minor of injuries. He had been forced to use up all the cleaning and clotting spray to get the wounds to finally stop bleeding. He’d used all the wound sealant as well. Her poor calf muscle had been shredded to ribbons.

  Eloch had no idea if she would ever be able to walk on it again.

  If she lived.

  If she lived was now up to her.

  For the moment, she had a slight fever but was sleeping quietly. He hoped the fever would not worsen.

  Eloch rummaged around in the medical kit and found two syringes loaded with antibiotics. As a precaution, he injected her with one. Then he wrapped her in his blanket and left her sleeping on his bedroll.

  After one last look, he went to the broken-down building housing his makeshift shower. The building next to it had a roof, and seemed sturdy. If he planned to befriend the beast, he would need a very sturdy enclosure. He would also need a floor. Its claws told him it was a proficient digger.

  Good. The building still had a floor, and would be perfect for his needs.

  It took him nearly two hours of diligent work, but when Eloch finished he was satisfied he could keep the beast contained. After checking on the girl, he returned to the skirmish site to fetch the beast and make things right.

  It was none too happy to see him, rumbling deep in its throat when he approached. From the churned-up earth, he could tell it had struggled against its bindings, even managed to flip itself around before it gave up. It continued to growl while he stood over it. But when he reached down to assure himself the knots were secure, the beast flinched, as if it expected a beating.

  Instead Eloch stroked it gently and told it how magnificent it was. Its hide quivered under his touch, and the beast growled another warning. Eloch kept stroking it, feeling for any signs of bruises or other wounds. He kept his touch gentle and his voice melodious until it began to relax again. Satisfied the animal needed no care other than food, he stood to survey the scene. The beast still watched him with a malicious glint, but it had stopped growling.

  It was time to honor the fallen. As it appeared somewhat intelligent, he wanted the remaining beast to see what he was doing, so he dragged the bodies of its two fallen comrades where it could see them.

  The beast whimpered.

  “You do have intelligence,” Eloch mused. “You recognize them.”

  The creature eyed him warily.

  Eloch ignored it and began his ritual. If he were back on Entean, the bodies would have already been returned to Her care. With a sigh, he picked up the small shovel he’d brought and dug a large grave. He gently arranged the two creatures within it and then covered them. When he had finished, he outlined the two graves with bits of rubble.

  “I thank Spur for the gift of your life and I re-gift you back to Her,” Eloch said, making the sign of gratitude for life. He glanced over at the bound beast.

  It was watching him.

  “You were excellent brethren. I suspect you will be missed,” he added to the buried creatures.

  Eloch ended the ritual by smoothing away evidence of the mêlée and burying the spilled blood while he thanked Spur for the gift of life.

  Next he picked up the pack the girl had dropped, collected her throwing knives, wiped them clean, and put them in her pack, glad to find additional meal bars, water and a blanket inside.

  “I will not be cold tonight after all!” he exclaimed as he reclosed the pack and tossed it near his shovel.

  The tunnel opening had been torn apart by the frenzied beasts. So none could follow, Eloch filled the gap, building a wall of rubble and permanently sealing off the tunnel. When he finished, he mopped the sweat from his eyes, grateful the girl’s water bladder was close at hand.

  As he took a long, refreshing drink, he noticed the beast’s eyes following his movements.

  He went over and squatted down by its head.

  “You’re won’t bite me if I free your jaws to drink?” he asked it as he loosened the leather cord.

  The beast was quick, but Eloch was quicker. He held the jaws closed until he felt its surrender.

  “We will do this one more time, Beastie,” he told it. “If you act up again, you’ll be thirsty for a little while longer.”

  It was docile enough for him to get one good squirt down its throat before it erupted in a frenzy of snarling and snapping, ripping the bladder out of Eloch’s hands and showering them both with its contents. With considerable effort, Eloch was able to re-bind the beast’s jaws and leave it to thrash out its frustration while he surveyed his handiwork. Except for the graves, there was no evidence that anything out of the ordinary had taken place here.

  Deciding to let the beast tire itself out, he scooped up the empty bladder, slung the pack and shovel over his back, and returned to his encampment.

  The girl’s fever was worse. When he forced water down her throat, she cried out at his touch and struggled weakly. Eloch moistened a rag and wiped her face, speaking as gently to her as he had to the beast.

  She slowly quieted and sank back into a fevered sleep.

  While she slept, Eloch went back for the beast. It had turned itself around again, its sleek hide now covered with dust. Its flanks were heaving, its nostrils expanding as it tried to catch its breath.

  To a chorus of snarls, Eloch scooped it up and slung it over his back as he had with the girl’s backpack, surprised to find it was lighter than he’d expected. Its ribs dug into his shoulder. “Poor Beastie,” he murmured.

  Feeling the need to hurry back to the girl, he jogged back to his encampment.

  “I’ll see to you later,” he told the beast as he laid it gently within its new enclosure.

  It answered him with a snarl.

  She was sleeping, even hotter to the touch. Eloch gave her the second injection of antibiotics. After soaking them in water, he used shreds from her bloodied leggings to wrap her ankles, head and neck. Before he went back to the beast, he forced her to drink more water.

  The beast he fitted with a metal collar and harness he created from the bits of metal he found strewn about the encampment. He was rather proud of his handiwork as he hammered it shut and saw the pieces were snug and secure around the creature’s chest and shoulders. He next manacled all four legs and chained it to the wall by its hind legs. Since the beast was still bound, he took the opportunity to trim its claws with one of the girl’s knives.

  “Quit your fussing,” he told it while he worked. “They’ll grow back before you know it.”

  Then he slowly unbound it, jumping back from its lunging reach, holding his staff between them. The chains held firm, yanking the beast’s paws out from under it and throwing it to the ground when it reached the chains’ limits. With a smooth, liquid motion, it was up again, only to be thrown to the ground again. And again.

  “I’ll let you struggle with it for a while,” Eloch called over the angry din. Satisfied the chains would hold, he returned to the girl.

  Eloch’s first night with his new companions was spent nursing the girl and minding the beast. In time the beast, weakened and defeated, had quieted enough for Eloch to remove the leather binding from its jaws. Of course it snapped at him, but was more interested in the food and water he’d brought. He discovered the beast would eat the meal bars, and was again grateful for the additional ones the girl had with her.
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  On one of his returns from visiting the beast he found the girl was up, braced for an attack, her injured leg held up as she wavered on the other. The cooling strips of cloth were scattered everywhere, and her eyes were glazed with pain and fever. She was obviously out of her wits.

  “Don’t come any closer,” she told him. “I will kill you.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” he replied conversationally.

  She reached into an imaginary tunic pocket. When she brought it out, her hand balanced for a throw. “Not one step closer. I won’t warn you again.”

  He took a step.

  She threw and then gasped when he kept coming. “You survived!” she said, eyes wide. “But that can’t be.”

  He caught her before she hit the ground, assuming she had finally passed out from the pain. He carried her back to the bedroll and gently laid her down. Before he covered her, he checked the wound. It looked angry but did not smell of disease. Her forehead was still blazing with fever, though. He rinsed and then reapplied the strips of cloth, then removed them when she started shaking with chills. He forced her to drink. He took it as a good sign when she swore at him and called him Flick.

  The fever broke a few hours before dawn, and she began sweating profusely. He bathed her unconscious body and dressed her in his spare leggings and tunic, rolling up the shirt and legs. He hoped the looseness of the leggings would make her wounded leg more comfortable.

  Now she was out of danger, he took the time to study her. She was small and strongly made, all muscle and lean lines, reminding him a bit of the beast. Her small nose was straight, her mouth a little bow. As she slept, the little bow parted and she sucked in air like a small fish. The thought made him grin.

  Still grinning, he reached out and stroked her damp, coiled hair. “Stay out of trouble, little one,” he said.

  After collecting the blanket from her pack, he wrapped it around his torso, brought his staff within easy reach, and drifted off using his arm as a pillow.

  It was either the throbbing pain shooting up and down her left leg or the gnawing hunger that woke her. Wren couldn’t decide which. Both were equally distracting, enough to yank her from the warm floaty place where she had been drifting.