One of them was Ousted. “Cap’n, you all right?”
“Fine,” Heinrich grunted, tasting warm water on his lips. He was soaked to the wick, his underclothes clinging to his body like a second skin. “Help me up.” Two of his men hauled him to his feet.
“You should rest,” Ousted advised.
“I’ll rest when I’m dead. We’ve got a battle to fight, and I won’t sit on the sideline like an invalid. That bastard has taken three of our own and I’ll be damned if I’ll let it escape again.”
As it turned out, by his own words, Heinrich was damned, because after a fight that lasted well into the night, until each and every man was exhausted to the point of muscle failure, the monster escaped, hauling the chain, sled, boulders and all into the water with a splash.
Twice it had attacked them again on shore, but they were ready for it, staying well away from where the monster landed each time.
Frustrated and bone-weary, none of them spoke as they ate a brief dinner and collapsed in their tents, not even having the energy to mourn their latest lost comrade.
For once, Heinrich was the first one up the next morning. His men were all fast asleep, a chorus of snores and breathing melting together in the otherwise still and silent predawn hours. His eyes half closed, he stumbled to the fire pit and struggled to start a fire, something he hadn’t done in a while. I’m spoiled by my men, he thought wryly. I need to take part in all aspects of camp life going forward. The thought made him laugh considering the circumstances, but he quickly cut himself off, remembering Matthias. “Sodding creature,” he muttered, tossing his flint aside when it, once more, failed to produce so much as a spark or wisp of smoke.
Now, more than ever, he wanted to see it dead. And yet, the thought of potentially losing another man in the process was more than he could fathom.
More awake now, he wandered down toward the lake’s edge. He froze, gawking at the shadow that fell over him. Impossible. I’m dreaming. I never woke up, I’m still in my tent fast asleep…
He approached the enormous carcass of the dead monster, its scales beginning to shimmer as the sun peeked over the horizon.
We did it. Somehow. Some way. We killed the bastard!
He ran a hand over the rough scales, shocked at how hard they were, each scale like an individual plate of armor. He was looking at the tail, moving back to front, the top of the sea creature’s humped head towering over him like the misshapen spire of some eccentric’s castle.
Something’s not right. Yes, they’d certainly tired it out to some degree the previous night. Yes, they’d hooked it and forced it to drag chain and sled into the water. But they hadn’t inflicted any real damage on the beast. And even if they had, would it really have become disoriented enough to swim back here in the night and beach itself directly perpendicular to their campsite? What were the odds? One in a thousand? More like one in a million.
Yet the truth was in the giant monster carcass resting right beside him.
As he came around to face the beast, he was hit by the truth in the form of its burned out eyes and toothless maw.
The dead flesh had been desecrated, the eyes removed by hot torches or pokers, the teeth pried out one by one. Taken.
Someone did this. Someone who’s not us.
“Cap’n?” a voice said from behind. Ousted. Behind him stood the rest of his men, having silently woken and wandered down to see what he’d found.
Someone or something more capable of surviving in this wilderness had killed the lake monster, of that Heinrich was certain. Still, he wasn’t certain what message the locals were trying to send them, if any. He didn’t want to make a rash decision, not when this might be the first step toward a peaceful alliance with the natives of the Hinterlands.
“I was foolish to think this far north would be deserted,” Heinrich said. “Especially after we discovered the warm lake water. I was too focused on that thing…that monster.” He gestured to the mountainous carcass.
“It’s all right, Cap’n,” Carver said. “We all were. We don’t fault you for it.”
“I know,” Heinrich said, “and I thank you for that. But it’s not all right. As your captain I have to think more broadly about every situation. I have to be ready for whatever comes, no matter how farfetched. Thus far I’ve failed you on this expedition, but I won’t let that happen again. I want opinions. And then I’ll make my decision.”
“It’s a peace offering,” Carver said right away. “Clearly someone was watching our failed efforts to kill the monster. Then they killed it for us and left us the meat. That’s a whole lot of meat, it’ll feed us for weeks. Why would an enemy provide us with sustenance?”
“To confuse us?” Ousted offered. “Or perhaps that thing’s meat isn’t edible, or poisoned. Who knows?”
“What about the burned out eyes?” Gunther said. “And the missing teeth?”
Heinrich nodded. “It was almost ritualistic—at least the eyes were. But the teeth…they could use them to make weapons.”
“Frozen hell,” Gunther said. “If I end up surviving that beast only to end up impaled on one of its fangs…” He let the thought hang.
“We should leave immediately,” Ousted said. “Our numbers are already too low. If whatever killed the monster comes for us in force we won’t stand a chance.”
Heinrich was inclined to agree. “Anyone opposed?”
No response.
“Fine. We leave immediately. Head southward, hugging the lake so we don’t get lost. From there we’ll make our way back to the pass through the mountains. Men, we’re finally heading home.”
The men clapped at the decision. Heinrich knew it was the right one.
The storm hit before nightfall.
“The snow is as thick as Gunther’s head,” Ousted said, shielding his eyes from the sideways snowfall with a broad hand.
“Thicker,” Gunther agreed.
Ousted chuckled. “We should make camp. We need to conserve warmth.”
Heinrich agreed, especially because darkness was falling with the speed of an avalanche, but something about the decision didn’t sit well with him. Ever since they departed earlier that day, he’d felt uneasy. Perhaps it was something he’d eaten, or the enormous lake monster carcass they’d left behind. Or perhaps it was his explorer’s instinct, the very same one that had saved his skin more times than he could count.
“We push on,” he said.
There were murmurs and grunts, but no one challenged the decision. Maybe they felt as uneasy as he did.
Soon, however, Heinrich began to regret his choice. They quickly lost their bearings, the frozen lake to the east as snow-covered as the rest of the landscape. For all he knew, they were already walking on it. For all he knew, they were walking in circles.
Their torches blew out from the wind or the cold, leaving them to travel in moonless darkness, barely able to see the man to their front or side.
Still, they pressed on.
“What’s that?” Carver asked, shouting over the howling wind.
Heinrich cocked his head, but couldn’t hear or see anything. He peeled back his thick knit cap and the scarf wrapped around it so his hearing wasn’t so muffled. He heard it. A beat, faint at first—so soft it could’ve been the pounding of his own heart—but growing louder with each successive instance.
Thum-thum...Thum-thum…THUM-THUM…THUM-THUM…
“Sounds like drums,” Ousted said, echoing what Heinrich was certain everyone was already thinking. But still, having his thoughts vocalized sent a wave of dread crashing through him.
“We’re being hunted,” he said.
In the dark, snow stinging their faces, they fled. Or at least tried to. The snow and wind fought them every step of the way, but they fought back, their muscles straining, their breath grunting from their lungs.
THUM-THUM…THUM-THUM…
The drumbeats were steady for a while, but then suddenly got louder, so loud they felt almost on top of them.
<
br /> THUM-THUM!
And then, just like that, the drums stopped. Heinrich raised his hand, and one by one his men halted, their breaths misting the air. “Do you think we lost them?” Carver asked.
Heinrich put a finger to his mouth, listening. He heard nothing. He licked his lips, and it was like he could taste the air. It smelled of smoke and pine and something moist.
As fast as he could blink, torches blazed to life all around them. “To me!” Heinrich shouted, his men automatically closing ranks around him until they were back to back like a human fist. The drums started again, but with greater urgency now.
THUM-THUM-THUM-THUM-THUM-THUM!
Something whistled from the darkness, a slash of silver. There was a gargling sound and Carver fell, a spear protruding from his neck. Three more slashes zipped at them, and three more men died. “Down!” Heinrich shouted, and they flattened themselves on the ground.
Just in time, too, as a dozen more spears flashed past, overhead.
Heinrich could feel the fear, a knot ballooning in his stomach, but he pushed it down to a place of clarity, where his senses heightened. He said, “Anyone seen the enemy?”
Grunts of no all around. “They’re faster than us and have the advantage of knowing these lands. They’ll expect us to keep running. But that’s not what we’re going to do. We’re going to fight back. On my mark, we charge toward that line of torches.” He pointed so it was clear the direction he meant. “Ready?”
“Aye!” the men said as one.
“Now!”
They sprang to their feet together, some stumbling, but all finding purchase and charging for the hidden enemy. Spears spun at them and men died. Heinrich didn’t know how many, but it wasn’t the time to count. He charged as hard as the rest of them, at the very front, until one of the torches was a mere stride away. He leapt forward, tackling the shadow that held the torch. It was skinny and hard and—
A thick branch, planted in the ground. Something snarled and he looked up. The creature was unlike anything he’d ever seen, with four enormous paws and a snarling wolf-like snout. It was white from head to toe, its fur thick and magnificent. That’s where things got strange. Something was on its back, a humanoid creature with hairy exposed arms and a broad chest bristling with spiked armor. Its bone-hard face was the shape of an upside-down triangle, and its eyes seemed too far apart. Wispy strands of long black hair fell to its shoulders. Strapped to its back were half a dozen spears, their silver tips rising over its head.
All around Heinrich, he heard cries of death, snarls, and loud roars.
“Uz kar nath kahlia,” the creature in front of him said from the back of the giant wolf.
“I—I don’t understand,” Heinrich said. “Please. Please spare my men. I am the leader. If you have to kill anyone, kill me.”
The creature shook his head. “Filth language. Been so long I almost forget. I speak you man to man.”
“Yes. Please. But first, stop the killing.”
“I cannot,” he said.
“What? Why?”
“We have no leader. We choose what we choose.”
Heinrich was desperate now, though he sensed it was already too late, the cries of his men getting softer and less frequent. “We mean you no harm. We were leaving your lands.”
“Too late. You broke our pact. You hunted great matho. We kill to show you can be done.”
“What pact?” Heinrich wished he could stop asking questions, but his intellectual curiosity wouldn’t allow it. And he knew if he stopped he would hear only silence around him. All dead. All dead. My fault. I did this. Me.
“Southern filth shall not cross ice lake, shall not swim warm waters, shall not hunt great matho.”
“We didn’t know. We are explorers.”
The man or creature made a sound that might’ve been a laugh, though it made Heinrich cringe, like glass being crunched underfoot while a bird screeched. “You explore death now.”
Heinrich nodded. This was it. He wasn’t afraid of death, only of not living. He had lived, that was more than many men could say when staring death in the face. He stood, unwilling to die on his knees.
The wolf snarled and snapped. Its rider calmly reached back and slid a long spear from its scabbard. Rested it on his shoulder. Lifted it.
Shouts burst through the gloom.
Heinrich’s foe flinched at the sound, which rose up the moment he threw the spear. Heinrich lunged out of the way, an explosion of pain radiating from his shoulder. He looked up at the creature, who had dismounted and was standing over him. Where had the shouts come from? Are my men still fighting? Are they winning?
“You have friend who come,” the creature explained. “Tell them leave north. Tell them never return. Rest of men dead.”
Feeling ill, Heinrich watched the creature stride away, leaping atop his wolf and turning to leave. Shadowy figures flew past, wolves and riders, following. The very last one shoved a spear deep into Heinrich’s abdomen, causing his mouth to fly open as he spat blood across the snow. “Haz jor bak,” the thing snarled. “Southern filth.”
And then they were gone.
Heinrich lay there, in darkness, his face wet with melting snowflakes, tears, and blood. He watched a light approach, bobbing through the storm. The end comes for me. He tried to get up to meet his fate head on, the way he’d handled everything else in his life, but found he couldn’t move.
The light approached.
A dream, he thought, as a face came into focus.
A strong, dimpled chin. Dark long hair. Piercing brown eyes, unlit coals next to the torchlight.
My son, he tried to say. Tomas. But it came out as naught but a wheeze.
“Shh, don’t try to speak, Father,” Tomas said, kneeling over him, inspecting his wounds. In Heinrich’s peripheral vision he could see other familiar faces picking across the snowy landscape, searching for survivors.
He knew they would find none.
He swallowed the coppery taste from his mouth. “You came back.”
“Always.” He was putting pressure on the gut wound, using the heel of his hand to stem the blood flow. Delaying the inevitable.
“Stubborn,” Heinrich grunted.
“I get that from you,” Tomas said. He smiled, but Heinrich could instantly see the pain behind it. The fear.
“It’s my time, son. Do better than I have done.”
“Impossible.”
“I made too many mistakes.”
“You are the bravest man I know.”
Heinrich squeezed tears from his eyes, feeling them harden to ice on his cheeks. “Make me a promise, son.”
“Anything.”
“Leave this place. Never come back.” He coughed, blood filling his mouth. He spat it out, the world spinning, his son’s face rotating around his head. He felt so weak, so weak, so…
No! He refused to die without finishing, refused to leave his son without guidance. “Return to Knight’s End. Don’t fight the crown. The crown will destroy everything we have built.”
“Father…”
“Promise me.” He could feel the life escaping him now, his vision darkening around the edges.
“I—”
“Promise me!” he hissed, the closest thing to a shout he could muster.
Fading, fading, darkness…the cold departing…warmth…so warm…so
“I promise, Father.”
black.
10: Shanti Parthena Laude
Teragon- Circa 321
Absence is dead.
That’s what the people were saying, murmuring behind hands, whispering behind huts. A general air of solemnity had fallen over the city, replacing the usual peacefulness Shanti felt.
But how can a god die? Shanti wondered. She might only be nine years old, but she’d been to temple enough times to know that their god was infinite, with no end and no beginning. Absence was and wasn’t, a void that none could fill. And yet people were saying Absence had been filled.
/> Shanti wanted to see for herself.
So when her mother was busy preparing supper with her sister, and her father had not yet returned from working the fields, Shanti slipped out of their mud-floored hut and into the murky twilight, which seemed to wrap around her shoulders like a gray cloak.
She lived in the capital of Teragon, Shi, a sprawling city of conical huts and long rectangular open-air marketplaces with thatched roofs.
Shanti took off at a run. Not because she was particularly in a hurry, but because that was what she did. She loved the coolness of the wind washing over her face, the blur of her surroundings as they flashed by, the feeling that no one could catch her even if they tri—
A hand shot out, grabbing her arm, and a voice said, “Hold on there, my Sha-flower!”
She jerked to a halt, her mind racing to catch up to her heart, which was still running. “Father?”
Her father was a large man, with thick arms and a broad chest, his hands calloused from days spent working the fields. In the typical Teran manner, his coppery hair was long, tied into three distinct ropes that were secured to his belt to keep them out of his way while working the fields. His nose, chin, cheeks and forehead were blunt, unlike the sharper features Shanti and her sister had inherited from their mother. His large crystalline blue eyes looked darker than usual in the fading daylight. “Does your mother know you are out?” he asked.
Shanti wasn’t one to lie, especially not to her father, who could smell an untruth like a day-old stench. She shook her head, studying her feet, which were bare, her reddish skin visible beneath the hem of her pale blue dress.
“Where are you going at such an hour?”
She looked up and met his eyes, which weren’t angry, but curious. “To see it,” she said.
“Absence?”
“Everyone is saying Absence is dead.”