Groundborn

by Scott Moore

  It all came back down to those damned bastards in that damn castle. None of this would have happened to him if they hadn’t asked him to do the one thing he couldn’t do. He should have left then, left and never looked back, but he didn’t. He joined those stupid fucking rebels and thought he could change the world. Thought he could change his fate and become something again, but he had been wrong. Always wrong, and now he would be eaten alive.

  The creature moved closer with its yellow fangs. Its yellow eyes bore into Miles. Miles closed his eyes. Now the end presented itself, and he could find no good reason to stare death in the eyes. Death would remain a mystery until the bitter end. He focused on trying not to shit himself as the last strike came down; leave a clean corpse.

  He heard the grunt as the creature pulled back its claws. It would be a matter of seconds now. Miles found it surprising that his last thought would be about nothing. Had he lived such a horrible life?

  ***

  The beast pinned Miles’ dagger to the ground. His arm limp from the creature’s weight. Sammy could tell that the struggle would be futile. The creature had the advantage and the surprise of the attack did enough to defeat Miles. What had Miles been thinking anyhow? Why had he charged full sail at him? Miles yelled out trying to push his hips into the air, but the creature pushed back with a better vantage point.

  Sammy had little choice in the matter. He didn’t feel strong or brave, but he knew he couldn’t let the creature kill Miles. Miles hadn’t been a friend to Sammy, but he didn’t send him away either. He had clothed him and let him sit around the fire. Sammy clenched his fist. He didn’t know the first thing about fighting. Hit hard and hit fast, he thought. It had seemed to work for the creature on Miles, so it had to work for him.

  Sammy took off at full speed. The wind and rain pelted him, and the mud squished between his toes. He ducked his shoulder, the way he had watched the beast do, and he lunged full force into the air. Surprise would win him the moment and give Miles enough time to regain his wits and finish this fight.

  Instead of hitting the creature, however, Sammy’s shoulder, waist, legs, and all went through the creature as if it didn’t exist at all. Sammy tumbled down on the other side of the struggling duo and neither seemed to notice anything had happened. The creature didn’t look up to acknowledge Sammy. Sammy passed right through it like the wind.

  Sammy stood up and shook off the leaves from his body. He moved forward taking a swipe at the creature’s head. He saw Miles looking into the creature’s eyes, and Sammy’s hand passed right through its head. Miles looked up, eyes wide, he said nothing. Sammy couldn’t touch the beast. He couldn’t help Miles, at least not by killing the creature for him.

  Sammy looked around, there had to be something he could do. Miles continued to struggle with his free arm, but the strength left him. The creature would finish soon. Sammy scanned the ground, there was something he just had to find it. Then his eyes caught the gleam of the silver blade. Miles’ dagger still lay near his trapped hand. He wouldn’t be able to grab it himself, but Sammy could help that cause.

  Sammy moved through the creature, again stepping through him as if he did not exist. Sammy grabbed the dagger and pushed it through the creature’s body landing, it into the hand of Miles. Sammy couldn’t kill the creature, he couldn’t touch him, but Miles wrapped his fingers around the handle, and pushed up through the creature’s throat. Sammy could tell this wasn’t the first time Miles had killed and it wouldn’t be his last, but Sammy could also see the fear as his closed eyes shot open. The creature fell limp and dead onto Miles. Miles pushed him aside and sat up, breathing heavily and trying not to look at Sammy, but Sammy didn’t need to see his eyes to know the fear, his shaking body told Sammy all he needed to know.

  5

  He could have done nothing better. He knew that. It didn't mean that he didn't feel like a complete failure. He had gone with a purpose. The council was supposed to listen to his words and heed his warnings. Instead, they scoffed, and all but laughed in his face.

  What would they have done anyhow? Would they have amassed an army? Where would they have gotten the soldiers? Sure, there were troops. Nov knew hundreds of men who carried swords. Did any know the first thing about fighting? He doubted as much, thinking back to talks over their porridge.

  Nov beat the worn path with his boots. He thought about going home. Thought about covering his head and sleeping till the Groundborn came. Let them knock down the gates while he slumbered in bed. Then, he thought of Earl.

  Earl was the one man who would fight tooth and nail until the very bitter end. Maybe he had already fought to his end. Nov feared a world without Earl. A world where the Groundborn smashed down the gates and devoured the city. All while the nobles ate from their fancy platters and drank from their silver goblets.

  Nov decided not to go home and die alone. Earl deserved a final goodbye, if it was to come to that. Nov crossed his fingers. A stupid ploy, one that wouldn't work, but the superstitious side of him let him hold some hope.

  Nov passed corridors of soldiers; men who claimed to be part of the garrison, but had no blood on their fancy jackets. Not a single nick on their polished blades. Nov wondered how a man could be more inclined about his part in society than his life. Most men would die with their swords in the scabbard.

  They would die looking to the nobles for some recognition. That was the way the city worked. Everyone wanted to move up. The council had said it. Not in those words, but they had said it. Everyone needs to focus on fortune and building their names. No time left to fight the Groundborn.

  A damn shame. When the Groundborn came, there would be no need for fortune. The creatures would kill the rich, exactly like they killed the poor. No regard to a fancy dress, noble titles, or any of the other frivolous bullshit.

  Nov turned into the hospital wing. The sudden change in temperature gave him goosebumps. He hated that damn cold; the cold that seeped into his bones. He absentmindedly rubbed at his covered arms.

  Nurses and surgeons moved back and forth. The wing wasn't only for soldiers. Citizens of the city gathered here to die as well. Often, they referred to it as the House of Death. The better surgeons and nurses worked in the upper district hospitals. Those favored by a nobler brand. Earl would have refused the fancy service, and Nov wouldn't force a dying man to suffer more.

  “Get out of the middle of the hall.”

  Someone pushed Nov aside. Deep in his thoughts, he hadn't even heard the doors slam open behind him. He also hadn't heard the wailing of a small child. Who now lay on a stretcher holding a broken arm. Nurses rushed past Nov. It seemed he was a far cry from the only person in the city with problems.

  A few moments after the stretcher passed, a couple walked through the doors. They looked malnourished, poor, and tired. Nov guessed they were the boy's parents. The nobility needed someone to rule, not everyone could vie for the top.

  Nov gave a curt nod. He could not empathize with them, not in the right sense. He saw injury countless time. They could count their stars that the child would most likely live. Even if the life he survived in was probably not worth living.

  Nov started on his own somber walk down the hallway after the commotion passed. Earl had been in surgery for over four hours now. If he would make it, then it would have been now or never.

  Nov beat on the doors to the patient rooms. A small, round nurse opened the door. In her hands, she held a clipboard and a small writing pen. She glanced over at Nov, scanning for a reason he would be there.

  “What is the nature of your injury?” she asked.

  “I am not hurt,” Nov replied.

  The woman moved quick. She began to shut the door without another word. “No reason for you to be here then.”

  Nov stuck his boot out and stopped the door from shutting all the way. The nurse's face revealed an inner desire to shove the pen somewhere that Nov wouldn't quite agree with. So, Nov tried to make his presence known quickly.

 
“I am here to see the captain, Earl Tanner.” He waited a moment. Recognition crossed over the nurse’s face. “I brought him in four hours ago. I need to make sure he is okay,” Nov finished.

  The nurse quit pushing on the door and it creaked open. Her eyes were scanning the charts now. After a brief pause, she checked something off with her pen.

  “You can visit for ten minutes,” she said.

  She did not wait for a reply. Nov followed her in silence. They passed several sick beds; beds where people would never get up again. Some were already the pale color of death. Nov couldn’t be sure they weren't just waiting on the burial now.

  The nurse turned a corner and Nov followed her. Here, he could hear the cries of both men and women. The city was an eventful place. Nov continuously had to remind himself that the world continued outside the barracks and Earl’s teachings. If the Groundborn broke through, there were thousands of people who would die that he would never know.

  The squat nurse stopped in front of him. Nov barely avoided toppling her over.

  “He is in with the doctor.”

  Then, she pointed to a small set of chairs opposite the doorway. Nov didn't need to ask the question. She meant for him to sit and wait for the doctor to finish.

  “Is he okay?” Nov tried asking.

  The nurse checked her clipboard, wrote something that Nov could not see, and then started back off down the hallway.

  Nov guessed that an answer wouldn’t come from that woman. So, he turned, making his way to the chairs. They were hard and cold, just like the rest of the hospital.

  Nov sat there listening to the sounds of the hospital. Sounds of sickness and death. Hospitals were much like a battlefield. The warriors were the nurses, the generals the doctors, and the wounded were who they fought against. Disease and plague were the two biggest killers in the city. They were the silent killers, those that were not sick tended to forget that they existed. Those who were sick were shunned, placed to the side.

  Over an hour Nov sat in that cold chair, in that cold hall. Long enough to realize that if Earl passed away, he would be the head of the troops. His word would be the final word against the Groundborn.

  Most of all, he realized that his word would fall to ears that did not care. He did not speak of fortune, titles, or women. That meant his words wouldn’t interest those who were left in the barracks. They would scoff at his warnings. Sure, they would mock the situation. They would strap on their shining swords, they would put on their pressed uniforms, but they would not fight.

  If they died out there on the field, they could not be promoted to the fancy titles or attend the fancy ballroom dances. Nov tried to push down the resentment. Not everyone had been tutored by Earl. Not everyone saw the world the way he did.

  Finally, the doctor pushed open the door to Earl's room. His face looked haggard and unkempt.

  “Is he going to make it?” Nov asked.

  He stood to his feet. The doctor looked back to the room, as if recalling which patient he had been with all this time.

  “I don't see how he pulls through this.”

  Nov had been ready for the answer. He had expected little, but it still hit him hard. He stumbled backward into the seat. The doctor's expression didn't change. The man had given this news to many families. Nov drew in a quick and shallow breath, followed by another.

  “Breathe,” the doctor said.

  Nov looked up again and drew in a deeper breath. It helped him clear his head. He drew in another and it made his head stop spinning.

  “Nothing else we can do?” Nov asked.

  The doctor shook his head. “Not unless you are a better doctor than I,” he answered.

  Nov tried not to panic. Panic unlocked the door to death. Earl had pounded that into his mind. The doctor started to step away but paused a moment.

  “I administered pain medication. He isn't dead yet. But unless he has the will to live like no other, he will be by morning. Say your goodbyes now.”

  With that, Nov was alone. This time, the door to the room stood open. Nov felt like a new barrier had been placed.

  Walking through those doors meant seeing Earl in that bed, dying and weak. He paused at the thought. If Earl died, he deserved to die a hero; sword in hand, and mouth yelling a battle cry. Nov couldn't give that to him anymore, but he could reserve the memory.

  “You proved to be a brave man out there today.”

  Nov didn't need to turn to know who the voice belonged to. He remembered her cowled face, right along with the blood and gore. The woman who had showed up at the right time, bringing some kind of white light with her.

  “Not brave enough,” Nov replied.

  He turned away from the door, using the conversation as an excuse. He didn't have what it took to lead. If Earl lived, then he remained the captain.

  “Bravery and victory are not the same,” the woman said.

  Nov doubted that. It was hard to look brave with a sword impaled through the liver. Most men looked like whimpering babies at that point.

  “No matter, I failed.” Nov glanced back at the door.

  “There is still time to save others. The ones who can't raise swords for themselves.”

  Nov tried to gauge her face, but the shadows played tricks behind that cowl.

  “Why are you here?” Nov asked.

  “To help you, to help this city; before it falls to ruin,” she said.

  Nov thought to the meeting earlier today; those bastards sitting around that table. San’s sagging face as he told him to piss off. The city didn't care. The city had no interest in war.

  “They don’t want your help. It doesn't want my help. The only man able to give it help is dying behind us. It is a piss poor situation and when Earl dies, it will be hell.”

  The woman didn't seem shocked at the words coming from Nov's mouth. From what he could tell her emotion hadn't changed at all.

  “Get me a meeting with your council,” she started.

  Nov cut her off. He had tried a meeting. It had failed. Getting a second meeting would be like trying to pull the teeth of a rabid Groundborn.

  “It won't happen,” Nov told her.

  She didn’t show any discouragement. She continued as if the interruption had not occurred.

  “Get the meeting for me, Nov.”

  It wasn't a question, Nov sighed. The woman would not convince them. He knew that already, but what the hell could it hurt if he tried. If she—by some miracle—swayed the old bastards, then maybe this city could be saved.

  “I will try,” Nov replied.

  The woman nodded. “You do that.”

  Nightmares come in all shapes and sizes, but all leave a lasting impression on the mind.

  6

  Miles didn’t bother with falling asleep. No point in pretending he could lay still long enough. His body hadn’t stopped shaking since the beast had tackled him to the ground. It didn’t help that he tried masking his fear from the man who continued to follow him, the man who may have saved his life. The same man Miles had planned to kill, if not for the beast tackling him.

  It turned out Sammy didn’t call the damned things. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That didn’t explain why Sammy passed through the beast without touching him, but Miles couldn’t ask that question now, he couldn’t cope with the answer; if Sammy even had an answer.

  The moon peaked in the sky while Miles fought the creature in the woods, now it trailed down the other side, and the sun would soon rise. Miles hoped it would help his nerves rise. Everything had been setting him off since the encounter. Sticks snapping under his boots almost made him shit his pants in fear. The howling of the wind alluded to another creature just around every bend, blocked only by the shroud of trees. Miles felt sick, tired, and clammy, but he tried to keep it in check, which he found easier said than done.

  As an added discomfort, his shoulder throbbed with every beating of his heart. The creature had dug in deep, and Miles infection wouldn’t settl
e in. His best hope rested on the shirt he had tied around his arm stopping the bleeding enough to keep him alive. Any good town would have a bar that he could find alcohol to clean his wound with, now he had to get there.

  He had traveled here before, but he had never counted the miles between towns. It could be right around the corner, or another twenty miles away. He couldn’t remember. He had never had reason to give a damn before. Now his shoulder seared like the hot tip of a fire poker, his nerves were on edge, and this damned mysterious man followed his every step. Miles thought about telling Sammy to leave, but he didn’t have the energy, or maybe he was fucking scared of Sammy too? He just didn’t know anymore. Everything fell apart around him. Everything had crumbled like dry shit in the wind.

  Yet here he was, striving forward, moving toward who knew what. Just like him to never know when to stop and let things go. To let life be and quit trying to make it better. In the end, nothing ever got better, at least not for Miles Tiro, the worlds unluckiest asshole.

  ***

  Sammy knew the creature that had attacked Miles in the woods. Not really knew it but remembered it somehow. At some point in his life he had known the creature, maybe not that exact one, but one like it. He knew what it was, but he couldn’t recall how. It itched at the back of his mind, but it stayed unreachable, so he let it go.

  There were plenty of other things for him to worry about. Like why couldn’t he touch the creature? When Miles had needed him the most, when death drew seconds away, he couldn’t help him. What had caused it to occur? He could touch everything else. He made sure of that, by touching the trees as they passed, pulling on the leaves and flowers, and he didn’t fall through the ground when his feet hit the dirt. There was something special about the beast, but Sammy couldn’t figure it out.