by Travis Smith
The Stranger sighed and collapsed back in the sand, his eyes closed, hands covering his face in distress.
“I’ll get you out,” Patrick murmured. “Right now I suggest you sleep while you can, but I have plenty of pursuits as well, so I will find a way.”
He stood and made his way toward the black-haired man who was now drawing in the mud by the pool’s edge. As he walked, he thumbed at the stone in his smock pocket, partly ensuring that it was still there and partly for the comfort it brought him to trace that cursed symbol with his fingertips.
As he approached Ian from behind, his heart dropped into his gut, and he fought a fleeting urge to assail the man from behind and squeeze his neck until his breath stopped.
“What is that?” he commanded instead. His hoarse whisper echoed around the open cavern, but neither The Stranger nor Gregoire made any indication that they noticed.
Ian had etched a matrix of unfamiliar letters, symbols, and drawings in the mud already. Scattered throughout were no fewer than twenty of the sinister double-circle symbols on the very stone within Patrick’s pocket.
“This?” Ian asked in a dazed tone as though he were being dragged out of a warlock’s trance. “Oh … this is my work,” he continued. “My life’s research.”
“No,” Patrick demanded. “What are those?” He bent forward and pointed closely to one of the symbols. He put his hand forcefully on the man’s neck and pushed it down toward the sand like he was showing a disobedient dog its mess.
Before Ian could answer, though, another animalistic call ripped away Patrick’s attention.
4
Patrick snapped his head around, but no one else in the cavern seemed to take notice.
“We have to go!” he shouted in a coarse whisper.
The Stranger propped himself up on his elbows and looked around the dark pool. “Huh?” he murmured.
Patrick bolted to the other side of the chamber and knelt at the entryway to a series of other tunnels.
“I thought you said they were far!” The Stranger called across the pool.
“Shh!” Patrick snapped back. He pushed his head into the dark tunnels and listened, closing his eyes. He could make out the hurried sounds of heavy hooves, claws, paws, or hands clamoring their way through the darkness. He heard similar sounds in four nearby tunnels.
He rushed back around the chamber. By now the three men were standing and watching him uneasily.
“Who’s ’at?” Gregoire asked with his usual grin. His face sagged as his brother approached and he saw the uncharacteristic worry on his face. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, Greggy. Stay hushed.”
“I thought you said they were far!” The Stranger repeated as the boy approached.
“Well, find it in your heart to forgive me,” Patrick barked sardonically. “I haven’t explored here, and this room dulled my senses. Back the way we came. Let’s go!”
He pushed The Stranger ahead and rushed the group toward the tunnels back to the prison. He knelt and crawled halfway into one before coming to a halt.
“What is it?” The Stranger asked, prodding the boy’s backside.
Patrick pulled back and slipped his head and shoulders into a nearby tunnel. “Impossible,” he muttered as he pulled out again and rushed over to another tunnel to sample. In each, he heard the same sounds of cannibal hordes clamoring toward them. “This one caved in behind me. How did they get through?”
“What are you saying?” Ian asked, his eyes as round as his wiry spectacle frames.
The Stranger grabbed the boy by his smock and pulled him directly to his face. “Do you know what these things are?” he demanded. “Get us out of here!”
Patrick shoved the man’s hands away and rushed to another side of the chamber to check a few more tunnels. After, he stood upright again and put his hands over his head in dismay. As he turned back and faced the group of men, The Stranger’s heart sank at the boy’s expression.
“They’re coming from every direction.”
5
“Come on,” Patrick barked after allowing a moment for despair to wash over him. “We have to fight.”
“Fight?” Ian shrieked, appalled at the very notion.
“Fight with what?” The Stranger added.
“I don’t know,” Patrick said, but he rushed back toward the pool, where the large rocks broke up and became smaller stones before transitioning into fine, grainy pebbles. He seized a good-sized stone in each hand and adopted a battle stance, head and eyes darting from one side of the chamber to the other.
“Ian, I’m scared,” Greggy whimpered in the silence.
“All is well, Greggy,” Ian whispered. “Come.” He led his brother back down to the sand without stopping to take a rock for either of them.
The Stranger stepped forward and picked up some stones of his own. He rushed over to Ian and thrust one into the man’s hands.
“I am no fighter,” Ian said, dropping the stone at his feet.
“You are today!” The Stranger said. “Either that, or this is where you perish.”
“Look at him!” Ian shouted. “He can scarcely think, let alone swing a weapon in the dark! We are peaceful people!”
Gregoire looked at his brother with sad, uncomprehending eyes.
“Fools,” The Stranger muttered, retrieving the stone and backing up away from the three of them.
“Here,” Patrick called. He motioned for Ian and Gregoire. “To my side.”
The Stranger watched as moments dragged out and the sounds of clawing nails and gnashing teeth drew nearer. Soon, incomprehensible cries of battle or hunger or fury or elation began to fill the chamber.
“Craow-hool!”
The first of the Hyd-Stumpa breached the cavern to Patrick’s right. The Stranger looked on in horror as two, five, ten of the beasts emerged and rushed toward the boy. They were just as The Stranger remembered. Their faces were adorned with decorative scars, wounds, and implanted bits of rocks, sticks, and, in some cases, other species’ bones.
“Come on!” Patrick yelled over the clamor of the creatures. His voice had lost all trace of the raspy hoarseness with which he’d conversed since The Stranger met him. He hurled a stone that landed squarely on the forehead of the first Hyd, sending it effectively off its feet and hurtling onto its back with forward momentum. Patrick switched hands with his remaining stone and met the next beast head-on. He brought the stone down in an arc and caved the creature’s skull before its body hit the ground. The boy knelt and allowed the next two assailants to stumble over him and go spiraling down the slope and into the pool. He ripped out two long tusks that were implanted in the dead Hyd’s jowl and deftly sank one into the neck of a beast which followed close behind.
By then the things had begun to appear from the tunnels behind Patrick, and two of them closed in on Ian and Gregoire.
“No!” Gregoire yelped. “Who’s ’at? Ian, no!”
The Stranger stood back and watched, his mouth agape and his stones clutched lamely in his fists. Patrick drew the tusk from the beast’s neck and turned to Ian and Gregoire. He leapt down from the rocky slope and bowled through the creatures as they met the two men below. He brought both tusks down atop them, one into one Hyd’s skull, and the next into the other’s chest. Both let out ear-splitting shrieks in their odd language.
While The Stranger stood, still frozen in ineffectual terror, he felt a hand fall upon his back. Before he could turn, he felt the weight of what must have been five of the Hyd barrel into him from behind. He went down onto his chest and slid down the slick, smooth stone toward the sand below. The weight of the beasts doubled atop him as he writhed and struggled to turn himself back over.
“Groooo—!” the thing yelled as he turned to face the one who lay directly atop him now. “Tasty, tasty!” it shrieked, and heavy tendrils of drool flooded forth from its scabby maw. Its nose and eyelids had been cut off. Its eyes were clouded over, dry, and cracked. They bulged sight
lessly in the sockets as the cave-thing brought its slit-like nostrils down and began rooting against The Stranger’s beard like a hog on the first morning of harvest. The Stranger felt its tongue slip out and sample his skin. He heard its fangs clicking and felt them pulling at the hairs of his beard as it struggled to catch a bite on his skin.
“Mine!” another voice yelled from behind. “Tasty mine!”
The blind cave-beast was yanked from atop The Stranger and hurled down the rocks into the pool below, where Patrick continued to scuffle with ten at a time like a tiny, crazed warrior.
As the other beast leaned down, The Stranger was able to move his dominant arm, which had just been freed from the weight of the blind creature. He swung it up, still clutching the stone, and bashed the incoming Hyd’s face with it.
“Creeeee—!” it shrieked as it fell over to one side, clutching its face as a fresh jet of dark blood shot forth.
Behind it, The Stranger saw countless others closing in. Directly above him stood five. The closest one drew back a long spear above The Stranger, who had no time to think or digest his impending demise. He flailed his arms uselessly, but he was lying on his back. The beast kicked out and struck his waving arm, knocking The Stranger’s only weapon down into the sand.
A delighted grin spread over its mangled face. What looked to be two rib bones from a child were pierced through its human ears, and a necklace of teeth hung around its neck. It drew the spear back higher and straddled The Stranger.
As he stared dumbfounded at his attacker, he saw the world begin to light up around it. He saw the four other Hyd flanking this one, and he saw the ten or more others who encroached from behind. They grew brighter in the darkness until The Stranger saw the beast’s expression change. As its lips drew back from teeth that were shaved to a point, an arrow plunged into its chest. The light went out, but The Stranger saw its arms drop to its side and the spear fall to the stony ground.
When the creature collapsed, The Stranger turned around and saw the cavern ablaze behind him. The hordes that attacked Patrick and the other two men were now shrieking in pain and retreating, engulfed in growing flames. As he watched, two fiery arrows flew down through the skylight from the world above. They each struck a beast and dropped them dead in their tracks.
The Stranger scrambled backward away from the startled horde. He snatched up the spear and drove it into the nearest creature’s chest. The Hyd collapsed, and The Stranger retrieved its weapon as well, a woven three-pronged pitchfork.
“Patrick!” he bellowed over the cacophony. The boy turned just in time to catch the spear, which The Stranger sent hurling through the air at him. He deftly caught the weapon and made use of it in an instant.
The heavy wood twirled in the boy’s capable hands and brought two Hyd to the ground nearly simultaneously with a swift thump at the bases of their skulls.
The Stranger plunged his pitchfork into two more, but it became stuck in the second creature’s chest. While he tried to withdraw, another beast threw itself into the fork and lodged itself behind the first. Before The Stranger could drop the weapon, ten more were atop him. The momentum drove him backward, down the stony slope. He dropped the pitchfork, but not in time to catch himself. His arms wind-milled before he tumbled backward into the cold pool below.
6
The Stranger heard a series of heavy splashes above him as he kicked and twirled underwater, trying to swim away from the edge. Just as he was about to breach the surface, he felt a strong hand wrap itself around his ankle and drag him deeper. He tried to call out, but his voice was muffled underwater, and he spent what little was left of his breath.
He felt himself sinking deeper into the dark pool. Looking up toward the surface, he could see more fiery arrows soaring through the chamber, but they grew more and more faint. He writhed, but the grip on his foot would not relent.
Finally another splash erupted above him. Small hands locked onto his and yanked him strongly upward. It was the final kick he needed to escape the death-grip of the Hyd that was sinking below.
As the two burst through the water’s surface, The Stranger heaved a deep, desperate breath.
“We are fucked!” Patrick screamed in his ear.
He blinked water out of his eyes enough to see Ian and Gregoire scurrying along the sand toward the water. They waded in as droves of the cave-creatures poured out of the walls behind them in every direction. Even with the arrows flying in by threes, they were dismally outnumbered.
“Wait!” The Stranger called, sputtering above the water in Patrick’s grasp. He pointed to the opening in the sky.
Patrick looked, but at first he saw only the gloomy night sky above. Then, as another pair of flaming arrows soared in, he noted two ropes descending down above the beach. He dropped The Stranger from his grasp and swam back toward the shore. “Ian! Look! The ropes!” he called.
Ian and Gregoire turned and snatched at one of the ropes dangling in front of them. The old man looked up through the towering skylight without an inkling as to what to do.
Patrick rushed the shore, snatched his spear, and halted another two creatures that were closing in on Ian and Gregoire. He turned and began wrapping the rope around the old man’s wrists.
The Stranger made his way to the sand and stumbled forward to the rope. “I’ve got it!” he called up at whomever may have been on the other side of the skylight. “I’ve got it! Let’s go!” He snatched at the rope and wrapped it three times around his wrists, then gave it a hearty tug. In a moment, he felt himself being lifted off the ground, just as one of the creatures bumbled forward and swatted at his dangling legs.
“What are you waiting for?” he called back down to the boy as he was hoisted higher into the air. “Let’s go!”
Patrick was still helping the old man when another arrow rained down from above and dropped a Hyd that was almost upon them. The boy ignored The Stranger’s call. He also ignored the dying creature beside him. He was focused on knotting the rope securely around Gregoire’s wrists. He gave the rope a tug to signal he was ready when he was bowled over by a wave of the attackers.
7
Patrick felt the wind rush from his lungs as he was tackled down into the sand by at least three of the beasts. He saw as he fell the old man’s arms get pulled up overhead and his body begin to lift out of the sand. Ian shrieked and let go of his brother’s tattered clothes. He backed away and cowered from the horde, which was largely ignoring him.
One of the Hyd growled and exhaled a hot breath that smelled only of death into Patrick’s face. He winced against the puff of fetid air and closed his eyes, struggling to push against the weight of the creatures atop him. He felt an impossible amount of drool pour forth and splatter over his face as the beast’s maw opened wide above him. The foul substance made him retch instantly, and when he turned to the side and opened his eyes, he saw that it was dark, musty blood, not drool.
He looked back up in time to see the Hyd’s corpse slide off into the sand, spear jutting through his open mouth from the back of his skull.
The Stranger seized him by his smock and yanked him back upright in the sand. “You make a better leader than I ever would have,” he said, thrusting the spear into the boy’s hands. He’d let go of his rope and fallen from greater than twice his height back onto the beach, so he limped forward and plowed his shoulders into a group of the creatures that was closing in on Ian. “Get to the rope, Ian!” he hollered.
Shakily, Ian obliged.
The Stranger got himself another long, heavy stick as a weapon, and, as he looked into the faces of the beasts closing in, he smiled. His thigh twanged in painful memory that served only to fuel his delight in gutting a few more of these foul beings.
He and Patrick proceeded to hold off the masses while Ian and Gregoire were lifted painstakingly into the night sky. Arrows continued to carry flame and pinpoint destruction into the Hyd that drew too near the raging duo. The creatures continued to grow in number until their g
roup filled nearly the entire large cavern and others were forced to wait, crouched on all fours inside the tunnels.
At last the two ropes descended again between The Stranger and the boy. They backed toward them together, getting in their final kills before wrapping a rope around their arms and tugging simultaneously.
The Stranger chucked his stick down at one of the beasts that was jumping and snarling just below him. After the weapon left his hands and he was high enough in the air to lose concern about the horde below, he looked at the dark sky above and felt regret at surrendering his only weapon. Whoever was up there was helping them, no doubt, but he had no idea just how friendly they may be—or what their motives were.
When he reached the precipice, The Stranger reached his free hand over the edge and clawed at the dry, rocky dirt above. A heavy hand reached under his shoulder and hoisted him up onto his stomach.
“Heyo, Stranger!” said a delighted, familiar voice.
8
“John Tompkins?” The Stranger gasped, bewildered.
“At your service again,” John crooned in a sing-song voice. He was wearing his signature grin from ear to ear. As The Stranger looked past him, he saw Gregoire glancing around gleefully, all memory of the horror from moments before erased. He wore a similar grin.
“How—” The Stranger stammered. “I thought you were dead …”
“Take more ’n a bunch o’ pirates t’ kill this one,” another familiar voice said. It was Robert Forlo. Beside him was his wife, Maria Vilsen.
The Stranger was speechless. He remained on his stomach, looking up with his mouth agape like a babe learning to crawl. For a moment he thought he may weep. Though he’d left them all and spurned their assistance, and though he was still just as far from his family as the day this all began, he felt in a sense that his family had found him.
“Come on, now,” John said. He helped The Stranger to his feet.