Groundborn

by Scott Moore

  Sammy fell into step with Miles along the small beaten road. Miles walked as if at any moment he may fall and not get back to his feet. Sammy could tell that the beating had done more damage than Miles let on. Miles didn’t complain or moan about the pain. Sammy didn’t know what pain felt like, but he knew it couldn’t be a good thing after looking at the way Miles moved.

  The beaten path led them to what Miles called a farming town. Sammy guessed that meant it would be a place where people killed food. He hoped that it was a more welcoming place than the last town they had visited. In that town, Miles had killed several people and angered many more.

  Miles said little about the town. He had said very little since leaving the shelter. He had just set off down the road and Sammy had followed, distracted by the tingling of his skin.

  The tingling grew stronger the farther they walked. So strong that it now set the small hairs on Sammy’s arms to standing. He had felt this before when the creatures had popped up out of the ground. Did that mean they were coming now, or maybe already here. He didn’t see any sign of them. He also may have just imagined the feeling. Maybe this was what Miles called fear. Sammy kept his mouth shut and didn’t mention the feeling. He didn’t know what it meant, and Miles wouldn’t be able to tell him anymore than he already knew.

  When Miles stopped in front of him, Sammy almost plowed into his back. Sammy had been so caught up with his own thoughts, that he didn’t notice Miles had been tracking something along the path.

  “The horse didn’t run away,” Miles said. He crouched down near the path and put his hand to the ground. “Tracks end here.” Then Miles lifted something black and hard up off the ground.

  At first, Sammy wasn’t sure what to make of the object. It appeared to be nothing more than a simple rock. On further inspection, Sammy noticed that it wasn’t a rock at all. The shape, groves, and texture told him what it was, or at least had been. Yesterday Sammy and Miles had ridden on the horse this hoof used to belong to. Now it was all that seemed left of the creature.

  Sammy tried to make sense of it but didn’t understand how the horse had disappeared and only left its foot.

  Miles rolled it around in his hand then said, “Wolves probably.” With just a tinge of trying to convince himself it seemed.

  Sammy filed away that more than humans seemed to enjoy killing one another. Miles looked around with his wide eyes. Sammy didn’t have to guess to realize Miles thought this was more than a wolf. Sammy didn’t believe it to be wolves either. He could feel the tingle in his spine. He could almost feel it pulsating through his body. There was something out there, even if he couldn’t see it yet. He could feel it.

  Miles stood and let the hoof drop to the ground.

  “Guess we should keep moving along,” Miles said.

  Sammy could hear the small quiver in his voice. Almost like something had caught his words and carried them off in the wind. Miles busied, darting his eyes in all directions and Sammy noticed that his hand had found the handle of his rusted sword.

  Miles expected another fight. Sammy doubted he would win another fight. His gait looked lopsided already. He walked with sore legs. His face contorted with swollen eyes. His nose wheezed from being broken. He didn’t seem like he would be ready to fight again for some time. Yet, Miles kept hold of his sword and turned to walk toward the town.

  Sammy followed keeping an eye out himself for the creatures. They could pop up at any time he knew. They gave no warning and slaughtered without remorse. Miles didn’t say another word on their journey down the road. The tops of homes crested the horizon around midday. Miles relaxed a bit then, but Sammy felt the urge even stronger, and wanted to tell Miles to keep his hand on that sword. Instead, he said nothing and walked forward.

  ***

  The smell downwind caught him first. The stagnant smell of decay. When they got closer, they noticed arms and legs littered across the dirt road. None of them attached to other parts of human bodies. This was the town all right, but it wasn’t the simple farming image that Miles had supplanted into his mind.

  Further in—bunched up near homes and store fronts—were the bodies that the limbs had belonged to once upon a time. The remains scattered around haphazardly with no regard.

  Miles suddenly felt just how weary his bones were. Felt the weight on his shoulders, as if his head were too big to carry. The pain in his back that seared. Eyes that were too swollen to open without extreme pain. Noticed how every time his lips moved, they busted and filled his mouth with the rust flavor of blood. Miles was tired and bruised. To add to it all, he was sure he had stepped into what a priest might describe as hell.

  Wolves are what Miles had hoped killed their horse, or something small that had needed a midnight snack. Just because he had hoped for it didn’t make it a reality. Reality dictated that the creature that killed their horse was something big. Something that made the other bastard creatures seem like a pack of bunnies.

  The bodies led—like a trail—to the culprit of destruction. Midway into town stood a creature that Miles had already laid eyes upon before. Miles could still feel the chill of the night in the city where the rebels had failed to take hold of the kingdom. He could still see those yellow eyes in his dreams. Now he could see them with his eyes open. The yellow claws jutted off the fucker’s hand like forearms. The teeth were long and sharp and made for nothing better than death.

  Miles wanted nothing more than to turn and run. He wanted to make distance between him and this creature, but Miles couldn’t move. Was it the fear this time or the ultimate fatigue of being beaten near to death? He froze, surrounded by piles of dead bodies. With nothing in between him and the damned creature who had made those corpses.

  The end to his story had come. The book of his life finished. It hadn’t ended as he thought it would. Herded like cattle into the king’s city. He didn’t feel the dry itch of a rope burning his neck as he swung above the ground. Yet, he would die the same. He would die and it would be over, and he could have peace. Same end to the story. He was ready to go. Ready to see it all end.

  The creature let out a horrible roar. The foundations of the buildings shook, and Miles heard screams. Screams meant there were still hold outs across the town, people still alive. Miles wanted to get to them, not because he wanted to save them, but because he wanted to hide amongst them.

  Miles jumped a little as Sammy stepped up next to him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Why did this have to keep happening to him? Hadn’t he done the right thing? Did right even fucking matter?

  “You may need your sword for this one,” Sammy said, with about as much emotion as if he were predicting the weather.

  Miles thought about his damned sword. A rusted blade from the rebel’s storage; a hand-me-down from the junk pile of a second-rate band of rebels.

  Miles turned his attention back to the beast just in time to see it duck its ugly head and take off in a sprint. Miles didn’t waste any time, his legs carried him as he turned and took off in a sprint of his own.

  Miles’ legs carried him to a set of swinging doors. He pushed passed the creaking hinges and slid in a fresh pool of blood. Small pockets of blood coated most of the flooring. Someone had escaped the thralls of death only to come into this building and bleed all over the fucking place. Miles caught himself on a nearby table barely keeping his feet.

  Miles walked further into the room, avoiding the puddles. Before the slaughter this place had been a simple home. Miles noticed beds lining the wall. A simple family had lived and slept here. Their stove still smoldering from the breakfast. No sign of the family, or the person who had found this place to die in. Only puddles of blood and a memory of a more peaceful time remained.

  The crack of wood brought Miles back to reality. He turned, this time falling in the puddle behind him. He scooted on his butt toward the wall. The creature used its claws to hack at the wood. Far too big to come in through the door, but it didn’t seem averse to making its own
door.

  The saving grace was that the builder of this building had thought about the horrible winter storms. He had built the walls good and thick. The creature would be at it for some time before it broke through, but it would break through. Like a good saw it would continue cutting the wood until it broke free. It gave Miles a small amount of time though.

  Miles looked out into the street under the swinging doors. From where he sat on the floor, he could see Sammy still standing there unmoved in the middle of the street.

  Sammy showed no emotion. The dead bodies, the blood, the roaring beast, none of it seemed to faze him. Sammy caught Miles’ eye and gave him a casual nod. A nod as if the two had passed in a park during the springtime with their favorite lasses on their shoulders. Miles bit his lip and felt the anger boiling in him.

  This fucker hadn’t shown a single emotion since he met him. He never showed sympathy to the dead, never showed fear of the creatures, or anger at their bringing of death. Sammy showed nothing at all. In return, they showed him nothing as well. The damned beasts had not once even glanced in Sammy’s direction. They bypassed him each time in their search for Miles. They came, claws bared to rip Miles to shreds while Sammy sat back with that damned calm, goofy look on his face.

  Miles concluded that Sammy had to have brought these fuckers. He had pushed the idea out of his mind earlier, but now it wouldn’t leave. Sammy had come into his life and then these bastards started showing up. They never bothered Sammy. He may not have control, but the fucker was cursed. He brought them wherever he went. Miles had to get away from him and fast.

  The claws continued smashing at the wood and with each swipe Miles could see the wood giving way. It wouldn’t be much longer before the creature greeted him face to face. Miles grabbed his old, rusted sword.

  Creeping to the swinging doors, Miles looked for a good way out. The creature didn’t stop slamming into the wall, determined to get through. Miles watched it rear back and slam with so much force it should have torn its body into pieces.

  Miles thought only of the imminent death. Maybe he should just let it happen. His life wasn’t the most pleasant life. He didn’t have many prospects, even if he could escape the death bringing creature.

  Yet, he still didn’t want to die, at least not at this moment. He would try his damndest to take this old, rusted piece of junk and shove it so far up the creature’s ass; they would hear him roar in the king’s castle.

  Miles tucked his head. He had one shot to catch the monster off guard. To ram his sword through the ribs of the creature without being smashed to bits. Miles bolted out of the door at full speed. The bastard didn’t look over toward him as his feet glided over the wooden porch. For a moment, Miles felt elation. He would ram the rusted sword through the fucker. Then reality came back to him in a hurry. The creature turned at the at the last moment and with a swipe of its hand swatted Miles ten feet from the porch and out into the dirt road.

  The dust plumed up into Miles’ face. He coughed small bits back out into the air from his lungs. Miles reached around and rubbed his back, surprised the creature hadn’t caved in his chest. the flight hadn’t done too much damage to his body. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for his prospect of living. He had blown his one.

  Sammy stepped in front of Miles as the bastard monster came off the steps. The creature paused. Miles thought it almost looked a little confused. Just as quick, the beast started moving again and stepped through Sammy as if he didn’t exist at all. Miles had to have been right, Sammy was a cursed man.

  Miles pushed himself backwards onto his hands and started to walk by driving his heels into the dirt. He wouldn’t be able to outrun the creature this way, but he was too afraid to stand up and turn his back. The creature didn’t run, it knew Miles was easy prey. Miles pushed forward to his knees. No use running. He would try one last ditch effort to slay the fucker. One forward lunge into the underbelly of the damned thing, and if that didn’t work then he would die having tried.

  Miles’ fear seemed to slow down time. The creature seemed to be at a standstill, but Miles knew it came. His sweaty hands grasped the pommel of the sword. He would have to wait until the bastard was close enough to attack. He tried not to tense up and show his hand too soon. He wanted to surprise the monster.

  With ease the creature moved toward him. Miles waited with baited-breath and then saw his opening. He lunged forward with all the speed he could muster. He lengthened his reach with the tip of the sword held out before him. The monster looked taken aback. The creature had expected an easy prey.

  Miles flew. His sword hit the creature, driving into it. Black ichor spilled all over him, hot and sticky. The creature roared out. The only downfall, Miles had hit nothing vital. He had driven the sword into the meaty part of the fucker’s thigh.

  The blood—or what Miles thought blood—didn’t disgust him as it hit his skin. He remembered the same feeling the first night he had met the creatures. The thick substance seemed to make him feel stronger. Like the pain in his body lifted. Like the strength in his muscles grew. The sword in his hand felt lighter, his feet spry. Miles lunged forward again. His mind took over control of his body. The creature had no time to adjust as Miles pulled the sword free. More black blood spilled over Miles and he felt even better. He moved under a left-handed swipe from the beast and rolled to his knees. The creature’s hand hung in the air for a split second too long and Miles took advantage, lopping it off at the wrist. The bastard let out a roar that shook the buildings and made every hair on Miles’ body stand, but he was done with fear. He felt nothing at all except surety he would survive this damned encounter.

  The hand fell to the ground, but like before with the other creatures it disappeared. Miles didn’t have time to ponder. The creature turned and tried to grab Miles with its good hand. Miles twirled to his right and ran headlong into the creature’s knee. It dazed him for a moment, but then he felt his hand moving again. It was almost like he had lost control and instinct had taken over for him. He drove the tip of his blade into the meaty part of the creature’s opposite thigh. The monster bellowed again. Miles rejoiced in the sound. It meant he would win. More blood spilled onto the dirt road, making mud below them.

  Miles rolled backwards and flipped to his feet. The creature hobbled forward and Miles could almost swear there was a grimace on its face. Could the fuckers feel pain? Miles didn’t have time to consider, as the creature lunged forward with massive power even under its injured legs. Miles dodged the creature’s massive, yellow teeth. As he did, he spun and drove the pommel of his sword into the creature’s shoulder blade. The creature stumbled forward and fell to a knee.

  Miles didn’t stop to figure out his next move. His feet carried him forward with unusual speed. Miles wasn’t sure where the elation had come from. He no longer feared death. Not today, today he was death. He was the bringer of death and he would win. Miles felt his right boot hit the creature’s back first; then his left as he ran up the massive creature’s back. He was too fast, faster than he thought possible.

  The creature didn’t have time to react before Miles buried the sword into the base of its neck, severing the spine. Even before it could let out a roar and smash hard into the ground it evaporated into thin air, leaving Miles hanging above the ground, only to come down with a hard crash onto his shoulder.

  Miles felt the pain as it flooded back into his body. The pain from the war, his beatings, the journey, and now the pain from the fall; it all overwhelmed his senses. Miles closed his eyes. He would just lay there for a good long while.

  41

  When they came for him the next morning, they didn’t even comment on the broken cell door. Two new soldiers pulled him to his feet. Nov looked at them with bloodshot eyes. He did not catch a wink of sleep. It was hard, when he closed his eyes all he saw were the dead bodies across the ballroom. He saw the yellow teeth and claws of the Groundborn ripping the nobles to shreds. He saw himself cranking the wheel to open Sera to the
death from those fucking bastards.

  The two men put their arms under his and hoisted him. His legs dangled for a moment, tingling from sitting in the same position all night, but after a moment he braced his own weight.

  “Hope you’re ready to hang, buddy,” said one soldier. The other laughed but didn’t comment.

  Nov let the words hang in the air he had nothing to say to them. He was ready to hang. Had come to grips with it overnight. Deserved whatever he got in the council room. Although he doubted it would be today. The council would need more time to gather the crowds. Merchants would want to sit up stands close to the execution. The council would use that opportunity to garner more taxes and fill their coffers. It would be a spectacle. Executions were not something common in Sera. Nov couldn’t think of but two in his entire life.

  The guards pushed him forward as they reached the stairs Nov slid forward scrapping his shins.

  “Got to learn to walk,” said the soldier behind him. The other planted his boot into Nov’s back. While he wouldn’t hang today, he would probably be beaten. Both mentally and physically. Nov’s chin bounced off the step in front of him. He could feel the cut from the previous day reopening.

  “Let’s go,” the soldier grunted and pulled Nov back to his feet.

  At about the midway point of the stairs, Nov could already hear the gathered crowd. There would be hundreds of people packed into the streets. More would be packed into the council hall. All standing around the seated council and not even one of them his friend. They were there to see him sentenced to hang. First in line would be the Lady Duchess Mankamp, sure to kill the idea of war.

  Who would they place in front of the troops now? Earl was dead, Nov would hang, and now they could control the soldiers with ease.

  The soldiers stopped again at the top of the stairs. One drove a fist into Nov’s stomach, the other braced him. Nov lurched forward, losing all control of his reflexes. His soldier training kicked in and he head-butted the man in the jaw. His hands were still tied, which was lucky for the man in front of him. The man behind grabbed Nov by the throat and pulled him back.