Cyrus LongBones Box Set

by Jeremy Mathiesen

  “Come, we must go,” Fibian ordered.

  Cyrus picked up the lockbox and together the trio fled along the seaside path.

  Chapter 8

  DEER TRAIL

  THE TRIO DASHED down the snowy path and cut west along the shoreline. The iron sea grated against the pebbled beach. Cyrus tried to listen for pursuers. He heard only his own gasping breath. Maybe Fibian’s heightened senses could tell them more.

  “Is anyone following us?” Cyrus asked.

  “I do not believe so,” Fibian replied.

  “They’re probably still trying to figure out what happened,” Cyrus added.

  “How is your chest?” Edward asked, clinging to Fibian’s fur collar.

  “It is already beginning to stitch itself,” Fibian said, putting a webbed finger to the wound.

  The snowy path glowed with the light of the moon. The trail started to stir Cyrus’ memory. He had been here before. The lockbox was becoming unbearable to carry. He dropped it on a large stone protruding through the snow. The box did not break. He placed his crossbow on the ground and grasped the container with both hands. He took a deep breath, then, like a large egg, struck it against the rock. The wood paneling cracked. Cyrus repeated the process three more times. A piece broke free. He kicked the remaining panels out like teeth, then reached into the chest. He withdrew several pieces of paper and selected the one he was looking for.

  Cyrus inspected the ink illustrations carefully. The map was simple, yet detailed, marking valleys, trails, a river, and one large fortress directly ahead. A path that appeared to be a deer trail lay beyond the fortress. It led along the coast and up into the mountains.

  “This is it,” Cyrus said, stuffing the map away in his collar, “We have to get as far from here as possible before we can rest.”

  They jogged their way around a small, barren peninsula. Cyrus continued to glance over his shoulder. He remembered a yeti, probably Tier, had carried them along the path weeks earlier.

  They hiked up a narrow cliff-side trail that led around a walled cove. Cautiously, they approached a battered ice castle built over a frozen waterfall. This too was familiar.

  “Klops did this?” Edward asked, gesturing to the damaged fortress, as he crawled along Fibian’s shoulder.

  “It would seem so,” Fibian said, sniffing the foul-smelling air.

  “Come on, the yeti could be right behind us,” Cyrus said, pressing forward into a tunnel that led behind the fall.

  They followed the map west along the snowy coast, in search of a deer trail. There, the path turned north, up into craggy foothills. Cyrus and Fibian climbed powdery banks and icy rocks, their flesh growing warm inside their fur clothing. Edward kept a continuous watch over Fibian’s shoulder.

  After about an hour’s hike, they came to a narrow footpath. Cyrus stopped to catch his breath. He drew the large waterskin from his jacket, took a sip, then offered it to Fibian and Edward.

  “What do you make of the whole Child Eater thing Runa spoke of?” he asked Fibian.

  “I do not know,” Fibian said, taking a drink of the skin, “I have never heard that part of the prophecy before.”

  “She might have made it all up,” Edward said, his eyes low.

  “Maybe,” Cyrus replied.

  “She was going to kill us,” Edward continued, “She was about to rip Fibian in two. I had no choice.”

  “I know,” Cyrus said, “You did the right thing. It’s not your fault this whole plan’s turned to rot.”

  Cyrus’ thoughts turned inward. He wished to Kingdom things had gone differently. It was bad enough they were wading into an army of battle-hardened klops, mutated and modified by some shadowy villain, but now they had revenge-thirsty yeti hounding their heels as well. How were they supposed to find a yeti named Gammal, and ask for his knowledge of the lost hune, when they had murdered his kin, and his people wanted them dead? Was Cyrus even taking them in the right direction?

  Fibian reached out and touched a branch. Several strands of brown hair were caught up in a sapling beside the trail.

  “Deer fur,” he said, with a subtle smile, “We are on the right path.”

  Was Fibian a mind reader as well?

  They pressed on in silence, following the path into a steep valley. Cyrus kept fearing that a yeti would spring out of the shadows at any moment, or that an arrow would suddenly puncture his chest. The trail twisted through delving ravines and across icy creeks and streams until finally they came to a frozen river.

  Patches where the river was too fast to freeze revealed the rushing water beneath. As the trio hiked north they kept to the eastern shore, using the forest for cover, but in places where the woods were too thick to push on, they were forced to traverse the ice-covered run.

  Wild and eroded, the river’s banks exposed starved roots and permafrost. Cyrus took notice of the gray, leafless bushes growing along the water’s edge. The tangled, bone-like shrubs reminded him of Hekswood Forest. Would he ever see home again? Was there a home to go back to? Sarah…

  The moon began to set and a gray fog rolled into the trees. The river hit a craggy mountainside and cut into a steep, narrow ravine.

  “It sounds like it becomes a waterfall back there,” Cyrus said, trying to spy around the bend in the gulch.

  Fibian took the lead, with Edward on his shoulder, climbing up the hill’s jagged face. Evergreens grew twisted and tortured from the stone visage, their roots thick and desperate, as the branches strained to reach the light. Several feet above, the three came to a plateau. Out of the foggy dawn, a towering waterfall spattered the exposed hillside, creating a bed of icicles in its wake.

  “How high does it go?” Edward asked, looking heavenward.

  “It’s beautiful,” Cyrus said, tracking the fall’s dizzying descent down the mountainside, into the crystal-clear waters trapped within the crushing gorge.

  Fibian spun backward, crouching low.

  “What is it?” Edward whispered.

  “I do not know,” the froskman replied.

  He stood stone still for several moments.

  “We should keep moving.”

  Cyrus readied his crossbow and scanned the trees.

  “Yeti?” he asked.

  “It is hard to tell.”

  Quickly, but carefully the adventurers scaled the mountain. Edward watched their backs from the collar of Fibian’s jacket. The wind grew and started to batter the snowy ridge. The forest thinned with each step. Higher and higher they climbed alongside the soaring fall.

  Around midmorning, snow started to pelt them like hail, hindering their journey. They crawled on all fours, clinging to rocks and roots as they followed the waterway skyward. Sometimes, Cyrus slipped and knocked his knees, other times he slid, barely able to regain his footing.

  As midday arrived, they struck a dead end on a fog-cloaked cliff. Cyrus could hardly keep his eyes open.

  “Where to now?” he asked, peering over the bluff, into the cloud below.

  Fibian’s glowing eyes became wide and searching.

  “Something is near,” he whispered.

  Cyrus looked about, feral and desperate. His limbs tingled with the desire to run. There was nowhere to hide!

  “There was a hollow in the hillside, a few hundred feet back,” Edward said, his voice almost swept away by the wind.

  The snow swirled around the three friends like a mad wraith. Cyrus fought to see beyond the white. Fibian tucked Edward into his collar and drew his hood over his head. Then he grasped Cyrus’ elbow and pulled him back down the trail. They leaped off the path and scrambled up a steep slope. Then they crawled within a shallow, cave-like feature, below a granite shelf. Cyrus drew his knees to his chest, sheltering himself from wind and sight. He was unable to avoid the cold. He aimed his crossbow outward and searched the storm beyond.

  “Do you see or hear anything?” he asked Fibian.

  The froskman curled up beside him, his crossbow too at the ready.

&nb
sp; “Nothing,” he said, “And I cannot catch its scent. It sounded large.”

  Edward peered out of Fibian’s collar, his fur bristled and his eyes probing. The cold bit at Cyrus’ face. He was surprised at how well the furs kept in his heat. He rested his head against the stone. His eyelids began to droop. He would just rest his eyes a moment…

  ‘BANG!’

  “What was that?” Cyrus said, springing forward.

  “Yeti,” Fibian replied.

  Chapter 9

  THE PASS

  CYRUS’ EARS WERE ELECTRIC. The wind howled and clawed at the mountainside. He heard the crunch of footsteps from the ledge above. Fibian motioned for silence. Overhead, a clump of snow fell from the lip of the shelf. The thing was right above them. Cyrus held his breath. His weapon shook in his shuddering grip.

  HAA-WHHOOOOOO!

  “Wolves,” Fibian whispered, gripping his crossbow.

  The sounds of barking and snapping came from overhead. More snow brushed from the ledge. A wolf snarled with fury. The ruckus receded into the storm. Cyrus’ heart thudded in his chest. Fibian abandoned cover. He moved crouched to his right, along the earthy slope. Cyrus clutched his crossbow and followed. The ground leveled off. Cyrus and Fibian peeked over the granite ledge. Edward crawled onto Fibian’s shoulder. The blizzard revealed little.

  “There’s too much wind,” Cyrus said, snowflakes stinging his face, “Everything’s being blown over.”

  “There,” Edward said, pointing.

  A trail of blood led east, around the mountainside. A muffled snap, like a cracked stone, rang in the distance.

  “What was that?” Edward asked, his jaw quivering.

  “It sounded like Runa’s staff,” Fibian replied, his eyes illuminating the swirling snow.

  “It’s not safe out here,” Cyrus said, the wind howling in his pointed ears, “We have to go back and wait for the storm to break.”

  * * *

  THAT EVENING Cyrus awoke achy and cold. His nostrils were raw and his back was full of knots. He yawned wide and inhaled a breath of winter air. The scent of snow and stone swept the fog from his senses. He was alone. He looked out from the cleft, then followed Fibian’s footprints up to the cliff, further up the path. The weather had cleared. The moon was bright and the sky full of stars. Like death’s grasp, shadows reached across angel white snow.

  Near the cliff’s edge, Fibian sat crouched with Edward on his shoulder.

  “What’s going on?” Cyrus asked.

  “Look,” Fibian said, pointing north to a snow-capped ridge.

  Cyrus searched the mountaintops. He spied a dark trail of smoke rising in the distance.

  “The yeti were right,” he whispered.

  “We have found our destination,” Fibian said, “Edward and I have discovered a way down into the valley below, though the climb will be dangerous.”

  “What about the wolves?” Cyrus asked.

  “They left no trace,” Fibian said, “The storm covered their tracks.”

  After a breakfast of bread and water, the group trekked northeast around to the mountain’s flank. There, the precipice gave way to a stagger-stepped cliff. The cliff face deteriorated into a steep slide, ending in a wooded vale.

  “Will you be all right with one hand?” Cyrus asked Fibian.

  “I believe so,” Fibian said, removing his single glove, “Remember, keep your weight in your legs and at least three points of contact.”

  Cyrus followed Fibian down the narrow steps. Edward huddled inside the folds of Fibian’s jacket. The going was slow. Fibian picked his way carefully down the craggy rock. Cyrus mirrored his footholds. A large cloud rolled in, shading the moon. Despite the cold, Cyrus began to sweat. Don’t look down, he told himself. With each step, he was one foothold further from the top, which meant he was one step farther from turning back.

  He caught sight of the ground below. His body began to tense. He knew if he did not master his thoughts, his fears would become reality.

  “Master Cyrus, you are doing well?” Fibian called up.

  Putting on his bravest face, Cyrus nodded assurance. Something in Fibian’s expression told Cyrus that his bravest face was little more than a ghost white stare.

  “Keep your eyes on the cliff.”

  The wind returned, blowing large drifts of snow down onto the trio. Dark clouds swept the heavens. Cyrus could feel his hands growing numb. Keep moving, he told himself.

  CRACK!

  Cyrus’ stone foothold gave way.

  “Fibian!”

  He tried to hold on. His fingers lost all strength.

  “Master Cyrus, climb!”

  Cyrus slipped from the cliff, kicking through the air. Fibian reached out with his copper hand.

  Snap!

  He caught Cyrus’ collar.

  “Hold on!” Edward screamed, from Fibian’s shoulder.

  The froskman fought to cling to the ledge. The snow-covered rocks provided little purchase. Fibian lost his grip. He leaped clear of the jagged rock, hoisting Cyrus along with him.

  “Keep your limbs in,” the froskman shouted.

  All three fell several stories, before landing on a steep, powdery slope. Cyrus’ knees shot up and punched him in the chin. Stunned, he began to tumble and roll down the hillside. He exhausted his strength struggling to fight the fall. His lanky limbs thrashed and twisted in their sockets, the crossbow jabbed at his back, and his canteen whipped around his neck. Frozen chunks of water, within the water skin, smacked him in the face and chest.

  After much tossing and spilling, his suffering came to a halt in a deep field of snow. Slowly, he moved and tested his body. He had split his chin and chipped a molar.

  “Edward, Fibian?” Cyrus moaned.

  He tried to dredge himself from the powder.

  “Beside you,” he heard Fibian reply.

  “Is everyone all right?” Edward asked.

  “Not sure,” Cyrus said.

  The ground around him was stained with blood.

  “The cut is small,” Fibian said, gesturing to Cyrus’ jaw, “Use the snow to stop the bleeding.”

  “Holy Sea Zombie!” Edward gasped, crawling up Fibian’s arm.

  Cyrus peered about. A fanged beast, half-covered in snow, lay at his feet. Cyrus kicked and clawed away from the monster.

  “It is dead, Master Cyrus,” Fibian assured him, “Frozen over.”

  The froskman moved through the powder with feathery ease. He brushed much of the snow from the beast’s face.

  “It is one of the wolves, I think,” he said, trying to uncover the creature further.

  The wolf looked a third of the size of a yeti. Its gray fur was thick and shaggy, and its teeth serrated and bloody.

  “Do you think it fell from the cliff?” Edward asked.

  The wolf’s eyes were crystal blue. Its brow was heavy and its leathery nose broad.

  “Maybe,” Fibian said, uncovering the beast’s shoulder and chest.

  The snow around its heart was stained with blood.

  “Or a yeti shot it with that staff and threw it over.”

  Cyrus looked to Fibian, then began to search the surrounding valley.

  “Come,” Fibian said, rising to his feet, “There is nothing more for us here. We must push on.”

  Cyrus tried to dig the slush from the back of his clothing. Much clung to the fur within. Remarkably, neither he nor Fibian had lost their crossbows slung across their backs, but Cyrus’ blade had disappeared, somewhere back in the slope of white.

  “Do we still have food and water?” Edward asked.

  Cyrus had to strain to see the spider on Fibian’s shoulder. His friend blended perfectly with the caked-on snow.

  “What’s left is safe,” Cyrus replied, feeling the remains of the loaf against his chest.

  The three pushed on into the valley, plowing through knee-deep powder. The going was slow, but once beneath the trees, the snow became firm, their footing sure. They crossed large cat tracks o
verlapping small rabbit prints. Above, the wind made the frozen trees groan. Mounds of snow, too much for their limbs, fell in clumps to the earth. The mountains began to close in on either side, forcing the party northeast.

  Snowy fields gave way to a snaking ravine. With each step, the passage twisted and grew tighter. Cyrus started to wonder if they had stumbled across an enemy trail. Stone steps cut into steep rock heightened his unease. His senses began to tingle.

  “Be on your guard,” Fibian called from the lead.

  Cyrus heard movement behind them, somewhere down the winding gulch. Fibian signaled silence. He motioned Cyrus forward. Together they scrambled up a steep gully. Creeping water clung frozen to the granite walls. Ahead, someone had cut hand-holds into the sheer rock face and had felled several trees across the ravine, to form a sort of bridge-way.

  A belly growl roared at their heels, echoing up the hillside. Something whistled past Cyrus’ ear. A chesty snort came from the bridge ahead. As if punched, Fibian spun to face Cyrus. He stood staggering, clutching a shaft protruding from his left lung.

  “Fibian!” Edward shouted, clinging to his shoulder.

  “Get down,” the froskman wheezed, trying to un-shoulder his crossbow with one hand.

  Cyrus attempted to hunker low behind a snowy ledge. The gully offered little protection. He fumbled with his crossbow. He saw a spotty, gray head poke up from the bridge-way.

  “Water klops!” he shouted.

  Cyrus loaded his weapon and returned fire. The arrow missed the creature, hitting the side of the bridge. The water klops smiled a crooked grin, licking his chops with a milky tongue. A second creature appeared, wisps of black hair flailing from his scalp. The two fiends raised their weapons and fired another pair of bolts. One hit the ledge near Cyrus’ head; Fibian caught the other with his left hand. With nowhere to hide, the froskman loaded the enemy projectile one-handed and fired back. Both water klops ducked behind cover, avoiding the shot with ease.

  “We have to turn back, now!” Cyrus shouted.

  He and Fibian tried to retreat. Two more arrows forced them to the ground.