Metamorphosis Alpha 2

by Craig Martelle (ed)

  The Shaman was right. He is delirious with fever

  Dartmuth kept speaking, each word coming more difficult than the last.

  “This tribe performed…miracles. They could heal the sick. They…could…heal…the land.

  His words were madness. The ramblings of a dying old man…her friend. For his sake, she had to let him continue. She had to make his last moments as comfortable as possible.

  “What happened to them?”

  Dartmuth’s face turned grim

  “The cougaroids began to attack the strangers, repeatedly, every time they came.”

  “What happened?”

  Dartmuth nodded. “The strangers didn’t fight them. Eventually, they just stopped coming and the land and people continued to die until there was nothing left.”

  The mention of the vicious creatures enraged her. She wanted nothing more than to run her spear through them all.

  The old man’s breathing turned to wheezing. He struggled to move the pelts covering him and remove a strap from around his neck. Elaira helped him.

  She held it up to the light. It was a clay medallion.

  “Take…it…where the…ivy grows…on the path,” he said, with short breaths. “It’s the key to their…return…”

  The wheezing stopped. Her elder’s body went limp and his color seemed to disappear before her eyes. Death’s herald had finally caught him.

  She knew it was going to happen, but that didn’t make it any less painful. She wailed, clutching the gift he had given her. She had no words. She just wanted to scream until the pain went away…until she forgot.

  Elaira barely noticed anyone who entered the hut. She felt herself being pulled away from Dartmuth’s body. She screamed louder reaching for her friend, but he was moving further and further out of her reach. She could see the healers now. They were huddled around the man. The last thing she saw before the being carried out of the hut was his face, old and haggard, but with what looked like a hint of a smile.

  Perhaps, finally, he was truly at peace.

  ***

  Elaira didn’t count the days that past. Remembering too painful.

  She stood in the meadow, her spear in her right hand, at her side. Her arm ached and quivered. She had been practicing for hours alone, throwing the spear dozens and dozens of times at a stump that jutted up and out of the tall grass. Her rukey, the thin leather strip tied tight around the forearm of her throwing arm, dug into her muscle more and more with each throw. The pain it caused was meant to train a hunter to focus on hitting the target with the spear in spite of injury and any other distraction. A hunter was likely to only get one chance at a kill and food was too scarce to risk missing that chance on a poor throw. Apprentices often could not prove themselves until after the rukey would leave a permanent scar. The scar was the mark of a true hunter and the pain they endured to earn the right to hunt for the tribe.

  The pain in her arm was the furthest thing from mind.

  She ordinarily would be practicing with the other apprentices, but in the days since Dartmuth’s body had been released to the spirits, Elaira’s life had seen great change. There had been whispers among many in the tribe about why Elaira had been chosen as Dartmuth’s confessor. They said things – horrible things – about why the two always spent so much time together and why an old man would choose a girl, just blossoming into a woman, over another elder, as the one to carry his last words? People started to treat her differently, saying she had been spoiled for her future husband by the old man. Some of the other apprentices started to look at her as though she were one of their kills to be shared. She thought it best to not be around them while she had her spear.

  Why would even those that knew her best make such assumptions? Even her own mother was unable to ignore everything. None of it was true! So why?

  But at the same time, she was aware of what people said about Dartmuth when he was alive. How he saw things differently and often disagreed with the Shaman. Elaira had heard these things, but she didn’t care. Dartmuth was warm and compassionate. He saw great potential in her. It was he who convinced her she could be a hunter. If not for Dartmuth, she would be weaving baskets or stitching hide. Up to now, the master hunters saw her as one of their future. They seemed to see the same potential Dartmuth had. But now, she was all but ostracized from the group.

  But there was the story…

  Men coming out of the earth. Healing the land and people. It truly was fantastic!

  …fantastic like a fairy tale.

  She had been wearing Dartmuth’s medallion around her neck since he gave it to her. She held it, staring at the clay circle tied to the string. It was flat, but not perfectly so. It was obvious it wasn’t the work of a pottery master. Elaira remembered she had always seen him wearing it, but never asked what it was.

  He’d said it was the ‘key to their return’.

  What does it mean? Why have you done this to me!

  Elaira looked to the sky and closed her eyes tight, clenching her fist around the shaft of the spear. She screamed. She lifted her spear and heaved it at the stump, with all of her anger behind it. When she brought her arm forward, her thumb had caught the medallion’s string, snapping it. A moment later, she heard the sound of dry clay breaking in to pieces off to her right.

  No! No! No!

  She frantically started searching through the grass. She’d forgotten about everything else and was beside herself with fear that she’d destroyed the gift Dartmuth gave her. Soon she was on her hands and knees, even more desperate to find it.

  She moved a couple steps to her right. When her right knee came down, she felt a sharp, stabbing pain. She cupped her knee with her hand and found it wet with blood. She cursed and moved her leg. What she saw brought her to tears.

  A shard of hard, broken clay had cut her bare knee. The rest of the medallion was on the ground in dozens of pieces around a rock in the grass. In her anger and carelessness, she had destroyed the last memento of her friend; one of two things he’d entrusted to her.

  Some confessor I turned out to be.

  Elaira carefully gathered the clay pieces, putting them in the pouch she had tied around her waist. Maybe she could mend it? It would take time and she would have to make sure she got every piece—

  She saw something among the pieces of clay. She picked it up, brushing off clay dust, held it up and turned it over and over in her hand. It was gray, perhaps as wide as two of her fingers. It was somewhat of a circle that had been flattened slightly, but unlike the medallion, there was precision to its shape as if great care had been taken to make it. She couldn’t tell what it was made of. It was rigid, but also seemed flexible in her hand, like a bow, but it wasn’t made from any kind of wood she’d ever seen before. Then she realized it had been inside the medallion.

  Dartmuth had gone to The Forbidden Place hoping to find out if it were true, he’d said. He took this thing there. Why? Her friend’s words came back again, haunting her. It’s the key to their return.

  “The lost tribe!” She said out loud. Elaira found herself flushed with excitement. Could it really be true? Yes! It has to be! I could go! If I were to find them, everyone would know Dartmuth wasn’t mad. They would know they were wrong about him! About us!

  ***

  That night, no one saw Elaira leave. Sneaking out of the village after dark wasn’t hard. It was doing so with a horse, her spear, her dagger, waterskins, and a food pouch hanging from her body that was the challenge. One whinny; one snort; that’s all it would take to draw attention and Elaira wouldn’t be going anywhere. Fortunately, the apple she fed the horse kept it quiet as she untied and lead it out of the village before riding north.

  She knew exactly where to begin her search. There was only one mountain, in The Forbidden Place, anyone ever talked about. It was visible from anywhere in tribal land and beyond. A huge stone peak reached up into the sky and didn’t seem to end. In all of tribal lore, there was only ever one name for it: The Spire.
It was said to be what the spirits used to mark their way to and from the heavens. That was where she was headed.

  A short distance from the edge of the tribe’s territory, she stopped the horse near a tree line with a lightly worn path leading into it. Beside the path, was a childhood memory; a warning totem, twice as tall she was. It marked the boundary the tribe was not allowed to pass without just cause.

  When she was younger, like all children, she had come out to this totem boundary many times. Older kids would dare the younger ones to step across. No one ever stayed for more than a few seconds, but everyone did it. It was sort of the first rite of passage into childish mischief.

  The totem looked down on her with disapproving eyes.

  Elaira took Dartmuth’s gift out of her pouch, and held it up to the totem in her fist.

  “I’m doing this for the sake of a friend,” she said, with conviction. “Do not pass judgement on my people for this!” Then she slipped the gift on to her wrist. It wasn’t tight but it would be a good way to hold on to it for the journey. She kicked her heels into the horse’s sides. It responded by taking off, at a gallop, up the path and into the trees.

  As she rode on, Elaira saw the landscape change. The trees were smaller. Flowers appeared less and less vibrant. She had ventured further into the Forbidden Place than she ever had before. This is where the land was still poisoned.

  The totem was a long way behind her now and this was a long way past simple mischief. The Shaman warned violating The Forbidden Place, would bring another Rain of Fire. Sickness, pestilence, and death would befall the tribe. When she returned, she would likely be lashed for this even if she found the lost tribe. She wondered if she was being selfish to put everyone at risk like this. But everyone had shunned her. How selfish could she possibly be? And if she succeeded, if she really could find the lost tribe, they could cure any sickness that followed Elaira’s return, or so she told herself.

  ***

  Elaira felt like she’d been riding for days. The distance wasn’t something she had fully anticipated. Her horse was getting tired, becoming hard to control. She hadn’t been feeling too well, herself, and her hands cramped from holding the reigns for so long. She could see a small clearing up ahead. It was as good a place, as any, to rest before continuing on.

  Elaira dropped her spear to the ground, dismounted and tied the horse to a nearby tree. She had two waterskins hanging across her neck and shoulders. She used one for the horse, squeezing water through the nipple into the horse’s mouth. It lapped up the water feverishly. When the skin was nearly dry, she sat down on a nearby rock and turned it up to her own mouth. There was sweat running down her face, which was surprising on a cool, breezy night. Her stomach starting feeling uneasy part way through the ride. She’d dismissed it as being nervous, but now it seemed like something more. Has The Forbidden Place cursed me with a sickness?

  The Spire loomed over her even though it was still off in the distance. She never thought she would get this close. She craned her neck to look straight up the rock face. It was well lit in the moonlight and seemed to go on into infinity. Elaira then noticed something strange. In the area of the clearing, the trees, the grass, the flowers, all flourished. Just a short distance away, everything was withered and barely clinging to life.

  Elaira stood, picked up her spear, and walked across the clearing, stretching her sore legs and working her aching shoulders. Her rukey was digging into her arm again, aggravated by the long ride. In the moonlight, on the far side of the clearing, she saw a large rock, with beautiful ivy crawling up its sheer surface. It was probably as tall as four or five men. The ivy had amazing multi-colored blooms that shone brightly, even in moonlight. She walked over and cupped one of the blooms as she leaned in and closed her eyes, taking in the smell. It was sweet and calming and brought a smile to her face.

  Dartmuth’s gift, on her wrist, caught her eye, next to the bloom.

  Wait…

  Elaira stepped back, tracing the ivy that crawled up the rock with her eyes. She looked around at the healthy vegetation in the clearing.

  What was it he said about ivy? Is this it? Is this where he told me to go?

  The breeze turned to a gust. The horse snorted, pulling on the strap that tied it to the tree. Something was spooking the horse; a scent it picked up in the wind, maybe. Elaira turned around, her spear at the ready. She peered into the shadows between the trees that surrounded the clearing. Something was moving. She started to make her way back to her horse, still watching the shadows. The wind kicked up, again, blowing her hair in front her face. Elaira struggled to brush it away—

  “MRRRRROOOWWW!”

  Something jumped on her, knocking her the ground. She screamed. There was a piercing sting and the feeling of something wet running down her back. She could hear swift, light footsteps on the ground running around her. She got to her feet, instinctively bringing her spear up in front her. She flung her hair back so she could see again. And there it was.

  A cougaroid.

  It was roughly as tall as she was, walking on its hind legs. It bounced lightly on its toes, ready to pounce again. Its arms were outstretched with claws extended on each forepaw. They dripped with her blood.

  “The laaasssst one did not belong here! Yooouuu do not belong heeerrree!” The cougaroid hissed.

  ‘The last one?’ Dartmuth?

  The cougaroid howled again, more viciously, this time. “You…will not leave…this placcccce.”

  All Elaira could see was Dartmuth’s bleeding wounds and his dying face…then rage. In a swift motion, she brought the spear up to her ear, pivoted her shoulders, and threw it, screaming.

  The beast side-stepped the flying spear.

  She berated herself. She hadn’t set her feet correctly for the throw. But before she knew it, the cougaroid was on her again, leaping at her. She got her arms up just in time to catch it by the chest. Its claws dug deep into her shoulders. The beast’s momentum forced her to fall backward, carrying it down with her. She jammed a foot in the cougaroids gut, pushing with both arms and legs as it rolled over her and sending it flying backward. The claws took some of her flesh with them.

  The cougaroid howled in pain, as it rolled on the ground, before landing on its feet.

  Elaira could see the spear sticking out of some brush at the base of a tree. She stumbled toward it. Her body was shaking, her heart raced. This wasn’t something she ever expected as a hunter. She had to focus! She picked it up with shaking hands and immediately spun around, pointing the tip outward and just barely saw the cougaroid leaping again. She fell to her right, her back hitting against the rock face. She continued to move right to get some distance between them.

  The creature crouched on all fours, moving parallel to her. Its eyes were darkened by shadows, but its teeth gleamed in the moonlight.

  Elaira steadied herself. She slowed her breathing and focused. She could see the muscles in its body tensing. It was about to charge again. She tightened her grip on the spear shaft, preparing to thrust at the right moment.

  “Yooouuu do nooooot beloooong!”

  It leaped again. Elaira raised the spear, but the cougaroid was too quick. It grabbed the shaft and pushed it up and back against the rock wall, slamming her right hand into it. She glanced over. She feared Dartmuth’s gift had broken when her wrist hit the rock

  The cougaroid was face-to-face with her again. It reared its head back, opening its mouth wide, exposing all of its teeth. Elaira struggled, desperate to get out of its grip but it had both of her arms pinned.

  There was a rumbling in the rock. The beast’s head shot forward to bite her neck. Its mouth snapped closed so close to her face, she felt its fowl breath. She suddenly found both her and the cougaroid falling into darkness. The screams of the creature echoed. She could see the bright stars in the sky through a slit in the darkness that was quickly closing.

  She landed hard on her back knocking the wind out of her. She heard the SNAP of her spear
’s wood shaft breaking and the clattering of the pieces somewhere in the darkness. There was also the muted thud of the cougaroid hitting the ground, not far from her.

  Have…to get up. She struggled to catch her breath, but something was wrong; very, very wrong. She could see the cougaroid in the dim light from above. It was coming toward her, limping slightly.

  She tried to get up to face it, but right side was engulfed in a pain worse than she’d ever felt before. She felt around her right side, reaching for her dagger. She found the handle, but when she pulled, it felt like she was pulling her insides out with it. The agony made her scream.

  The dagger stuck in her side when she hit the ground.

  The cougaroid was getting closer, hobbling more quickly now.

  She needed the dagger! Elaira pulled on the handle with everything she had left. The pain was overwhelming. She screamed louder and louder. The cougaroid jumped at her just as the dagger pulled free from her side.

  The two bodies collided again. This time they both screamed. The cougaroid rolled away, hissing and wailing. There was a pungent, metallic smell in the air that wasn’t there a moment ago.

  Blood. Cougaroid blood.

  “Tha…That was for Dartmuth!” She spat.

  She looked around, straining to focus in the low light. She could make out the cougaroid. It was hunched over, whimpering. She tried to sit up, but her muscles betrayed her. A pool of her own blood was soaked her skins. She felt weak. She struggled to keep her eyes open. She almost couldn’t feel the pain in her side anymore.

  Is this what Dartmuth felt before the spirit of death claimed him? It’s just as well.

  Elaira closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. She would join her friend soon. She was ready.

  ***

  Boju…

  Boju? Tu sava?

  “…Wh…What?”

  Tu sava?

  The voice was muffled, but sounded close. All Elaira could see was blackness. Was it a dream?

  “Dartmuth…is that you?”

  Tu es blest! Laiss-mue tu aide!

  A bright light engulfed her entire body. She felt hands touching her, prodding at her side. Sudden pulses of pain caused a surge of adrenaline. Her eyes snapped open. A red figure was leaning over her, touching her wounds.