Remains of Urth

by Jennifer Martucci

  Maxx’s gaze immediately drops to the ground below, to his brother Cian’s skull, caved in and bloody. His head snaps up and his features turn to stone. Anger and hurt radiate from him, merging to form a sensation, a charge to the air similar to that of the atmosphere before a lightning storm. His nostrils flare and he breathes like a beast ready to charge. He advances a step and the rest of us follow suit.

  As if sensing a death that will be slow and torturous, the Urthmen surrender their weapons, and their pride. “Look human, if you want to live, you’ll stop right where you are. There are more of us coming. If you let us go now, we’ll spare you.”

  Standing still and with the small muscles around his jaw bunching and flexing, Maxx doesn’t flinch. He glares at them as they speak. “We aren’t letting you live,” he says in a voice that’s low and gravelly.

  His words silence the forest. All I hear is the beat of my heart for several seconds before Maxx steps toward them. The Urthmen try to run. But Kohl closes the distance and collars them before they take a second step. His powerful hands grip the backs of their necks as if they are small children. Maxx slips his daggers from the sheath at his waist and slices the throat of the one who shot the arrow. He writhes and clutches his throat but his efforts are in vain. His lifeblood gushes from him too quickly to stop. Within moments, his hands drop to his sides and his body crumples.

  The remaining Urthman, the one who bludgeoned Cian while he lay in the grass and pleaded for his life, begins crying. He makes strange noises and gasps for breath. “Please. No,” he attempts between gasps. “Spare me and I’ll let you live.”

  Maxx’s brow dips even lower, his gaze deadly. He closes the distance between them and grabs the Urthman’s chin. He forces his face to look upon Cian then glowers at the murder’s sunken eyes as a single tear slips from one of his own. “This is for my brother,” is all Maxx says, his voice little more than a whisper, before he shoves the tip of his blade under the Urthman’s chin, driving it all the way to its hilt, his gaze never wavering.

  Kohl releases both Urthmen. They drop to the ground. Maxx retrieves his dagger and walks to his brother’s fallen body. He falls to his knees and scoops Cian’s upper body into his arms. Blood and gore coat Maxx, but all I can really see, all I can truly hear, is his pain. Tortured cries rip through the brush and tear toward the heavens. His younger brother is dead. Never coming back. It could’ve easily been any of us.

  I look at my brothers and sister. Pike and Ara cry but Kohl remains stoic. I look to the slain Urthmen, then to Kohl. Our eyes lock, and though a single word isn’t exchanged, there is a silent understanding that we are in trouble. Any semblance of safety we’ve enjoyed up until now is over. Life as we’ve known it has changed.

  Chapter 2

  Pain is palpable in the silence that stretches between us. Not a single word is spoken as we move through the forest as quickly as we can. We’re shocked and horrified to the point of speechlessness. Animals and insects have quieted too. It’s as if the entire woodland mourns with us. Even though we hunt, we hunt for food. Urthmen hunt for sport. And they kill because they can. They hunt humans out of hate. Cian was nothing to them. Not even a trophy. That realization collides with the utter panic and shock I’m feeling over all that’s happened. I think of Cian, how his life ended, his parents and how they’ll never recover from a loss so tremendous. I think of Kohl, Pike, Ara and myself. We hunted with him regularly. Daily in some cases. What will it be like to not see him every day in our village? In the woods? I think of Maxx and how the two brothers were best friends who happened to be related.

  I glance over my shoulder and see my cousin. He carries Cian’s body over his shoulder. Sweat glazes his body and his face is a mask of pure pain. All of us give him space and remain several paces ahead. I doubt anyone knows what to say at this point. I know I sure don’t. Still, I keep looking behind me, watching as he struggles in every sense of the word and knowing there isn’t a damn thing I can do to truly help him. His emotions are fraught and his body is weak. Both are understandable. Though I believe he’s handling it better than I would. I can’t even fathom how I’d feel if it were Kohl, Pike or Ara, and hope I never have to.

  I look at my older brother in my periphery. Kohl, much larger and stronger than Maxx, offered to carry Cian a few moments ago. Maxx refused. With his brow low and his eyes shining with unshed tears, he said, “He’s my brother. I’ll carry him.” He only uttered two sentences, just six simple words, before setting his mouth to a hard line. They made my throat tighten and burn then, and continue to now.

  I’m not alone, of course. Kohl sniffles and fights back emotion. But Ara and Pike sob quietly. I wish I could join them. I wish I could release the tears that keep blurring my vision. But I can’t. If I start, I fear I won’t be able to stop. What happened here today was unconscionable. The image of an Urthman bludgeoning my cousin to death has been branded in my mind indelibly. Each time I close my eyes, I see it. I see the savage delight etched in the horrific face of the Urthman. I see the bloodstain on his club grow wider with every swing. I see life leave my cousin. And for what? Because he’s human? I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense no matter how many stories I’ve heard that claim to explain the history of hatred the Urthmen possess for us. My brain struggles with the animosity the Urthmen feel for us even though I’ve known it my whole life. The elders in my camp shared that with me when I was a young boy. They’re stories I can probably recite word for word by now. Even though some of those elders have long since passed away, their words live on and are handed down among the more than one hundred humans who live in our camp. One hundred thirty six to be exact. All of us know that we’re hunted by Urthmen and that they’ll kill us on sight without hesitation. But I’d venture a guess that anyone in the camp who’s witnessed the brutality I just did would wonder how that hatred has spanned so many decades, why at some point it didn’t wane and fall to extinction. As the stone wall that surrounds our camp comes into sight, I ask myself that question and so many more. I’ll never know the answers I suppose. No one does.

  Kohl clears his throat and his eyes are drawn to the wall. Our pace slows and my gaze searches the span. Thirty feet tall and roughly eight feet thick, the construct rises from the earth and was composed entirely of stones with mud smeared into the stacked rocks to lend stability and a weather-tight seal. It encircles our entire village and acts as a protective barrier between us and the creatures that roam once the sun sets. That, plus the two men perched atop the structure every twenty feet, are charged with the task of securing us. Seeing the men, and in light of all that happened today, I have a new understanding and appreciation for how important their job is and will be in the coming days, should Urthmen begin scouring the forest. The value of the wall is reinforced.

  Built high to keep the Night Lurkers out, the wall was constructed long ago by the earliest settlers of the camp, and although it serves its purpose well, it has its flaws. Namely that it’s not sound proof. Mindless animals incapable of devising a plan to breach it, the Night Lurkers gather around it, snarling and howling in frustration that we are beyond it as soon as the sun disappears and darkness claims the earth. The baying continues until just before daybreak. Some nights it’s nearly impossible to sleep. Those are the nights their yelps and cries are frenzied, incessant. Those nights remind me just how fortunate I am to live within the walls, and that Night Lurkers are stupid beasts.

  Despite the howling and sleepless nights, this place, this walled settlement, is home. It’s where all of us have lived our entire lives and have never been discovered, or we’d have been dead long ago. We’ve all felt relatively safe here. I certainly did. That is, until today. The events of today may have changed everything. Prior to them, four generations of humans existed undiscovered by Urthmen. That may be over now. The thought sends a chill over my skin and causes the fine hairs on my body rise and quiver. I shudder involuntarily. The act isn’t lost on Kohl. He nods as though he’s read my m
ind before he whistles and catches the attention of Killy and Chase, the two men who walk this section of the wall. They stare down, and even from their elevated vantage point, they can see Cian’s body, limp and flopped over his brother’s shoulder. Shock immediately carves their features.

  “Open the gate!” Maxx shouts. His voice is hoarse, roughened by emotion.

  Killy and Chase call out to those who guard the gate below. Hearing the urgency in their voices, two more men from farther down the wall join them. “What happened?” one yells down.

  “Urthmen,” I shout back. I hear the word fall from my lips and still can’t believe I’m saying it. Up until now, Urthmen have only existed as figments of my imagination, the monsters in nightmares. Now the culmination of those nightmares and fear-filled thoughts has come to fruition, and I feel as though I’m stuck in a hideous dream.

  Instantly, the four men on the wall look beyond us, worry clouding their faces.

  “Urthmen are out there!” Kohl booms. “Open. The. Gate!” Each word is enunciated sharply and his voice is a clap of thunder that sets everyone into motion. The gate, constructed of wooden spears with tips sharpened to fine points, creaks and parts. As soon as enough space provides us room to pass, we barrel in. We cross the threshold and enter the village and chaos erupts all around us.

  Panicked cries and shrill screams rip through the ether as passersby catch sight of Cian, of his bashed-in skull and the blood, covering the right side of Maxx’s body. Not one of the one hundred and thirty six people who live here will be unaffected by the death. We are a family, though only some of us are related by blood. We are united, bound by the very real possibility that we may be the only human beings who remain on the planet. Each life matters regardless. But the significance and impact of every death is compounded by the threat that we may be the last of our kind, a species on the cusp of extinction. Everyone knows that. I know that. Only right now, all I can see, all I know is that my cousin was brutally and senselessly slain. Hurt knots tightly in my throat, coiling down through my chest. Cian will be missed. He’ll be mourned by me. By his family. His dad, his mom, both will suffer. That point is punctuated when an anguished scream rings out above all others. I recognize it immediately and it fills me with a sense of dread so profound I close my eyes for a split second in a pathetic attempt to block it out. The agonized sound, the voice linked to the cry, belongs to my aunt, Cian’s mother.

  Petite to the point of coming across far younger than her years, my aunt Sanna’s shoulders past people until she stands before Maxx. Chest heaving for several seconds and trembling uncontrollably, realization overwhelms her. Both hands fly to her mouth and cover it. Her face contorts. “No, no, no,” is all I hear from behind her hands. Tears stream down her cheeks and her body is beset by sobs.

  Seeing his mother cry, the small hold on Maxx’s emotions falters. The floodgates break. “Mom.” The single word, almost a whisper, drags the corners of his mouth as low as they can go and tears fall unabashedly. He carefully lowers his fallen brother’s body to the ground below, his entire body quivering from grief and fatigue. My aunt collapses to her knees and Maxx drops to his. “Mom,” he says again and she reaches out a hand, cupping his cheek. He presses his face to it and cries so hard it gives me and Kohl permission to as well. Shudders rack my aunt’s body and her shoulders roll forward, her hand slipping from Maxx’s cheek.

  Tearing my eyes away from the scene in front of me, I look up and see my parents. Shock and sorrow touch every aspect of their appearances. Those emotions multiply tenfold when my Uncle Thom presses past people and halts just shy of tripping over his son’s lifeless body.

  “Wh-what happened here?” At first Uncle Thom’s words are breathy and low. But he repeats the question again and again, and each time it grows louder. Hurt and anger lace each word and swell with each repetition.

  “Urthmen,” Maxx replies. Swollen eyes toggle mournfully from his brother to his father before a voice grabs his gaze.

  “That’s not possible!” the voice calls out, the sound rich and clear.

  I follow the trajectory of his gaze and know it is Arundel, the leader of our village, before I see his tall, slender build and long white hair and beard.

  “Urthmen can’t be wandering the forest. It’s not possible,” he says again. Confidence so certain it borders arrogance echoes in Arundel’s tone. It’s not lost on Maxx.

  “It is possible and it happened,” Maxx replies sharply. He glares at Arundel challengingly.

  Arundel parts his lips to speak, a look of aggravation that resembles a father who’s both disappointed by and stunned by his child’s sudden defiance etching his features. But Uncle Thom silences him. “Let Maxx tell us what happened! We lost a son, Arundel!” His voice snags on the last sentence he speaks and his lower lip begins to tremble. Arundel dips his chin and closes his eyes as he lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender. My uncle looks to Maxx.

  “We were out hunting and they came through the forest. They attacked and killed him.” Maxx’s chest rises and falls rapidly and his hands shake as he speaks.

  Uncle Thom pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. And he has only heard the broad strokes of what happened. He doesn’t know the gruesome details. Neither does Maxx. Maxx didn’t see it. He cannot describe it as I can. But no one needs to know that. My aunt, uncle and cousin will be spared the grisly particulars. “What happened to the Urthmen? Did they get away?”

  “We killed them.” Maxx nods to me and I close my eyes and bob my head in agreement.

  Uncle Thom looks between the two of us, tears carving a rivulet down his dirty face. He then looks to Cian’s body. Facial bones on one side are pulverized in some places and sticking out in others. One eye is left intact while the other is missing from the socket. He winces and his features gather in agony. We killed the Urthmen, but their deaths still do not return my cousin to the living. Answering a death with a death is hollow vengeance in that regard. “They killed my boy, and you killed them,” Uncle Thom says quietly. He then closes his eyes and more tears flow.

  “I don’t believe you.” The words drip from Arundel’s tongue and might as well be venom. Uncle Thom’s head whips in his direction, as does mine, Kohl’s, Maxx’s, and my father’s.

  “Be very careful, Arundel. It sounds like you’re calling them liars,” my father, typically a calm man not prone to initiating an argument but better equipped than anyone to end one either with his words or his sword, says. His voice is low and controlled, but within it there’s tremendous power. Everyone around him quiets as they always do when he speaks.

  “Yes, why would the boys lie?” Uncle Thom is far less controlled than my father and fairly shouts at the village leader.

  “Maybe it was some sort of accident they’re covering up.” Arundel splays his hands in a feeble attempt to garner support.

  “It happened as they said. There wasn’t an accident.” Kohl’s voice tolls like a bell, rich with anger bubbling beneath the surface. Like my father, Kohl is respected by every member of our settlement. He looms taller than all and he seldom raises his voice. But when he does, I don’t know a single person among us who’d be foolish enough to challenge him.

  Pausing a moment and collecting himself, Arundel strokes his long, white beard. When he speaks again, he asks. “What did you do with the Urthmen bodies?”

  “We left them where we killed them,” Kohl answers.

  Arundel’s keen, dark eyes widen before they narrow to angry slashes. His lips tighten, causing his hawk-like features to gather. “You fools!” he shocks everyone by addressing us so harshly, especially Kohl. “If there are more Urthmen out there, those bodies will be found.

  Uncle Thom advances. He closes the distance between him and Arundel. Trembling with rage, he growls, “If you call my son or nephews names one more time, so help me I will—”

  “Stand down, Thomon!” Arundel snaps. He and my uncle stand so close their noses nearly touch. “I know yo
u’re grieving and I’ll allow this one act of insolence to pass, but make no mistake about it, this is my village and these are my people. I am the leader here and will not be threatened or spoken to disrespectfully. Is that clear?”

  Uncle Thom grinds his molars hard. I can see the small muscles around his jaw flex.

  “Arundel,” my father’s voice is smooth and rich. He takes a single step toward both men and the village leader instinctively retreats a step, positioning himself farther from my father and uncle. “This village is all of ours, not just yours,” he corrects. “And calling any honorable member of it a liar or a fool is an act of disrespect, is it not?”

  Everyone is silent. A pin could be heard if it dropped to the ground at this very moment.

  “Yes,” Arundel answers with a slight hint of defeat coloring his tone. He sighs heavily and squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, he says, “The bodies can’t be found, Colin, you know that as well as I do.”

  Summoning every ounce of courage I have to interject upon the conversation, I add a thought no one has mentioned. “The night creatures will eat the bodies. They’re still fresh.”

  “No, Lucas.” Arundel levels me with his gaze, an act not lost on my father. “If the bodies are left as they are, they’ll be discovered. Their bones and clothes. You need to return and bury them.” He states each sentence with such certainty and finality, he leaves virtually no room for negotiation.

  “If they go, I’m going too,” Uncle Thom says.

  “I’m going as well,” my father says.

  Arundel regards them curiously.