Remains of Urth

by Jennifer Martucci

  Following him, I step out of the hut. Though the temperature is comfortable at the moment, the air is thick with humidity. The sky is deepening in color with every second that passes and not a single cloud is visible. It promises to be a hot day, adding to the many struggles that await us. Maxx and his parents wait for us.

  “Have you been waiting long?” my mother asks, a hint of apology in her tone.

  “No, we just got here,” my aunt Sanna replies.

  “Oh, okay. If not I was about to ask why you didn’t come in.” My mother’s words are calm, her demeanor easy, as it always is. It shocks me that she’s able to remain normal with all that’s happened and is about to happen.

  Aunt Sanna’s smile is weak. She wears her pain plainly. She lost her son only hours ago and is about to leave what is essentially a family of one hundred and thirty six. “We would’ve,” she says softly. Her eyes shine with unshed tears and sadness radiates from her in waves.

  My mother reaches out a hand and takes one of Sanna’s. “I’m so very sorry,” she offers.

  Aunt Sanna sniffles and bobs her head. “Thank you.”

  My mother drapes an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into an embrace. Though she’s small, my mother hugs her tightly, fiercely.

  “Thank you, Cassidy,” Aunt Sanna replies. She pulls away and wipes her eyes. “I appreciate your kindness.” She pauses and takes another look around, her eyes scanning the village. “But we need to leave now. We have a long journey ahead of us and the day promises to be harsh.”

  My mother nods and looks to us. I understand her expression to mean the time has come. We’re leaving. After a wordless exchange between her and my father, all of us walk toward the front gate. As we round the corner of the section of the village where the living quarters reside and the common area begins, I see Arundel. He is dressed in black from head to toe despite the impending weather and blocks the gate along with roughly twenty armed men, all members of our community. I recognize each of them. They’re all friends of my parents, my aunt and uncle, Kohl’s, mine. “What the heck?” I mutter to myself but no one with us hears me. They’re all too stunned.

  “What’s all this?” my father clips his chin toward the men, but he addresses Arundel as we approach.

  “I can’t let you leave,” Arundel replies flatly. “I won’t let you take children to their deaths.”

  “The children are ours. They’re our concern, not yours,” Uncle Thom says. His words pulse with warning.

  “You are not leaving.” Arundel pronounces each syllable of each word for emphasis.

  Uncle Thom and my father draw their swords, followed by Kohl, Pike and I.

  “Is this really what you want?” Uncle Thom asks Arundel first, then allows his gaze to scan the nearly twenty men present.

  I’m shocked when Arundel replies, “No, it isn’t what I want. Not at all, in fact. But I can’t allow you to leave.” I can’t tell whether his words are for the benefit of those around him or whether he’s sincere.

  My father answers any questions I have when he says, “Then we’ll have to walk over your corpse to get out the gate.”

  Arundel jerks his head back, his expression aghast. The men beside him look among themselves, unsure of their next move. They’re more than members of our community. They’re close friends. Family though no blood relation exists.

  “Do you want this, Jonah?” My father addresses one of the men by name, his voice as calm as a coiled snake.

  “You know I don’t want this, Colin,” Jonah replies. He shifts his weight from one leg to the next, then shakes his head. “Just listen to him.” I can’t be certain, but he appears almost embarrassed of his words. “Stay. It’s for your own good.”

  “I decide what’s best for my family,” my father replies, the edge to his voice deadly.

  Uncle Thom advances a step and the men blocking the gate finger the hilts of their weapons. They draw and the collective clang of their swords causes my stomach to bottom out. Though we’re clearly outnumbered, our skill set bests theirs by far. Regardless, I don’t want to hurt any of these men I’ve lived with and worked beside my entire life. My heart sets off at a gallop, battering my ribcage so hard I fear it’ll beak free. The moment in which I exist seems surreal.

  Sickened to the point of lightheadedness, I squeeze my eyes shut for a split second. When I open them, a situation that was surreal and awful transforms to my worst nightmare realized. My gaze is struck not by the armed men in front of me who plan to kill me if I try to leave, but by the sight beyond them. Eyes widening and mouth going dry, the grip that holds my sword goes slack. My weapon falls to the ground with a clatter. I try to swallow, but my throat feels as though it’s lined with sand and my heart freezes mid beat. I pause a moment to ensure I’m not dreaming. Straining to hear against the hammering of blood against my eardrums, the deep, desolate notes continue to chime. Cold washes over me, bleeding my body of every ounce of warmth, and leaving in its wake the bitter awareness that the Urthmen are here. “They’re here.” My voice is rough and gravelly and my breathing is ragged as I whisper the words.

  I stare in shock, my heart vaulting to my throat as it sets off at a sprint. Churning like a dark and deadly sea, their numbers are dizzying. They cover the large, open grounds from the tree line to our gate. I estimate two or three hundred, all dressed the same. Early morning light shines on their weapons, making the blunt tips of their clubs gleam with lethal light. They march in formation, their booted feet thundering against the earth in a savage rhythm that sends bolts of icy panic shooting through my core.

  When finally I tear my gaze from the horror that waits beyond the gate, I see that Arundel and his men, as well as the entirety of my family, watch me, perplexed. I return my gaze to the field and their eyes follow the trajectory of mine. “Urthmen,” my father gasps.

  “Oh my gosh,” my mother breathes, the rise and fall of her chest ratcheting up visibly.

  Uncle Thom whirls on Arundel. “They aren’t coming, right, Arundel?” His words are pure poison. “Fool! We might’ve made it out of here if it weren’t for you.” He stabs a meaty finger at our leader. “Instead, all of us will die today!”

  His words chill the marrow in my bones. We will all likely die today.

  “Ring the bell!” Arundel screams and Jonah springs into action, moving faster than I’ve ever seen him move. At the southern side of our wall a bell resides. Ringing it alerts all one hundred thirty six people in our camp that we’re under attack. Within sixty beats, the mournful toll fills the ether. People stream from their homes and flood the streets, awoken from sleep to learn that life as they’ve known it is over.

  I bend and scoop up my sword, clutching it so tightly my short fingernails bite into my palm.

  “What’s happening?” a frazzled man named Teegan asks. His hair is wild and his eyes flash with terror.

  “The Urthmen are here!” I reply and watch as Teegan’s face blanches. Everyone around him hears what I’ve shouted. A wild panic breaks out.

  “Archers! Get to the wall!” Arundel shouts. Three dozen villagers scramble to retrieve their bows and arrows then race to the top of the wall.

  “I’m going, too!” my sister, Ara, says. Determination shimmers in the depths of her malachite eyes.

  My father nods in agreement and she disappears, streaking to the wall like a flash of lightning. Then to Pike and Kohl, he says, “Get everyone together. Make sure everyone has a sword and is prepared.”

  Inhaling a trembling breath, I tear my gaze from the seemingly innumerable monsters at our gate and survey the archers that’ve assembled on the wall. Poised with bowstrings pulled taut and arrows loaded, they’re prepared to fire. My sister is among them, her gold hair glittering like firelight. And in the second I see her, I decide I need to be there on the wall beside her. I’m not nearly as good a shot as she is, but I’m still a competent archer. I race to the shed and grab a bow and quiver loaded with arrows.

  With the q
uiver slung over my right shoulder, I dash to the winding stone staircase that leads to the top of the wall, taking them two at a time. Once I reach the top, I peer out and my estimate of three hundred seems conservative.

  Ara rushes toward me. “Lucas! I-I can’t believe this, can’t believe they’re here!” Her voice betrays the stony look on her face.

  “I know. I can’t believe it either,” I reply. Then without hesitation, Ara steps forward and loads her bow, pulling it taut. In the space of a breath, she releases her bowstring. Her arrow flies, cutting through the ether with a soft whistle, until it lodges into the eye of an Urthman below. The Urthman cries out and falls to the ground, the arrow still bulging from his skull in an expanding pool of gore. Those who witnessed Ara hitting her mark release a cry. But the celebration is short lived.

  I follow Ara and load my bow then immediately let the arrow fly. It shrieks through the air and pierces the neck of an Urthman. He howls out, grabbing the arrow, then falls to the ground. I do not stop, however. I launch arrow after arrow. From the corner of my eye, I see Ara shooting continually as well. She doesn’t miss. Each of her arrows takes down an Urthman. The rest of our archers appear to be doing well. Row after row of Urthmen fall. Discordant cries ring out, their voices harsh and inhuman. But despite the dozens that fall, more appear. There are so many of them. They fire back at us with their own arrows and even resort to hurling rocks. I run out of arrows and dodge small stones as I crouch and run to reload my quiver. When I do, I watch in horror as Killy, a watchman of the wall, is struck in the neck with an arrow. His bow falls to the ground and he clutches the wound, lurching forward and tumbling over the edge of the wall. He lands with a sickly thud and instantly, Urthmen descend upon him swinging their clubs and releasing feral, snarling sounds. The sight of what just transpired, as well as the awful sounds, leaves me paralyzed temporarily. My legs feel like boulders and my heart feels as if it’s plummeted to my feet. I fight the feeling and force myself to move, grabbing as many arrows as I can carry. I stand tall and fire arrow after arrow. My fallen cousin Cian and friend Killy are in my heart. Survival is at the forefront of my brain.

  I continue my effort, always with my sister in sight, until a rock slams into my side, knocking the air from my lungs and causing me to drop my bow. A barrage of rocks begins pelting me from all angles, smaller but more numerous. I watch as Ara is struck several times. “Get down!” I shout. I run to her, protecting my head with my arms, and pull her to the ground. Arrows fly over her head and a shower of rocks rain down on us. “Ara, cover your head and stay down!” I crawl on my belly and chance a look over the wall, and when I do, I see that the Urthmen have cut down a thick tree. They’ve stripped it of its branches and fifty or so of them carry it. They move in unison, aiming it straight at the entrance to our village.

  “Now!” one screams as they drive the enormous log into our gate. The impact rumbles like a clap of thunder. The wall beneath my feet shakes as the gate explodes.

  “No!” The word leaves my lips and is little more than a hoarse whisper, drowned out by the screams and cries down below. They’ve breached our only defense. Panic and chaos erupts in a sonic boom. I hurry back to my sister, gripping her shoulder tight and staring hard into her eyes. “Stay up here, you understand me? Fire on the Urthmen inside our walls.” Her eyes grow wide and she nods. “I need you up here, okay? You’re the best shot in this place.” Her lips press together and her brow lowers determinedly. I leave her despite having so much more to say. I want to tell her to stay safe, to hide if need be. Anything to stay alive. I want to tell her I love her. But time simply doesn’t allow for it. The unthinkable has occurred, a scenario my uncle and father warned about just yesterday. My life has been upended. Everyone’s has. My brain struggles to comprehend what I see as I race down the staircase and stand for a split second in the arched doorway. Urthmen are in our walled village. It can’t be. I can’t be seeing it. I feel as though my body is here but whatever consciousness that should reside within it hovers above, detached and too shocked to return. But the shrill cries of my people land like a slap to my cheek. I rip my sword from my sheath and charge into the fray. Heart racing so fast it pulsates in a staccato rhythm against my very skin, I swing my blade and open the gut of an Urthman who advances on me. He falls and instantly another attacks from the rear. I spin and drive my sword into his heart. As soon as I retrieve it, he clutches his chest and blood pours from the gaping wound. I have a split second to scan my immediate surroundings when the sun is eclipsed from overhead. A club is descending upon my head with deadly speed. I raise my blade in time to block the strike, shoving my arm forward with all my might so that the club-wielding Urthman is forced backward. Taking advantage of him losing his footing, I swing my blade horizontally, carving the air. My blade connects with his flesh, his neck taking the brunt of my strike, and lop his head off his shoulders.

  Panting and staring at the grisly scene for a second too long, I never see the club that smashes into my back. Pain explodes along my spine, branching out like innumerable needled stabs that travel the length of my arms and legs. I lurch forward, losing my footing, and fall to the ground. I expect to die before my next breath. When I don’t, I raise my head and try to push up onto all fours, but numbing pain prohibits me. I’m stunned, motionless. As I try to scramble to my feet, another club slams into my stomach with such force I nearly vomit. Air seeps from me, leaving my lungs burning. I gasp and wheeze, trying in vain to catch my breath. I double over and am hit again in the back of my head. Pinpricks of light burst behind my eyes like a supernova, brief and luminous, but quickly the points of light dim, and velvety darkness beckons me, tempting me with an end to the pain that fills every cell in my body. I’m about to succumb to it when a voice transcends the smothering blackness. I struggle to open heavy eyelids and when I do, my vision is blurry. But despite the blurriness, I see my mother. Urthmen surround her, nearly a half dozen of them. She tries to fight them off, but her sword is knocked from her hands. She raises her hands in submission, saying words I cannot hear, but she seems to be pleading with them. Answering her pleas, the Urthman nearest her hoists his club high in the air and whips it forward until it crashes against her skull.

  In the seconds that it takes for me to process what I’ve seen, my world falls completely still. My lovely mother, who has the kindest eyes and easiest smile, has been hit.

  She sinks to her knees, a thin rivulet of blood streaming down her temple, then another strike follows. She collapses facedown to the ground and Urthmen descend upon her, beating her feverishly. I try to scream, to shout at the beasts to stop, but I can’t breathe. My lungs refuse to fill and remain frozen, like blocks of ice so cold their chill burns.

  “No,” I try, but the word comes out as a raspy whisper.

  Pain radiates from the center of my chest and branches out, throbbing and aching as my heart shatters into a million jagged pieces. My knees threaten to collapse beneath me. The woman who gave me life, the one who protected me and taught me, fed me, and cared for me, is dead, murdered by monsters.

  Tears sting my eyes. I want them dead; all of them. I want them to suffer for what they’ve done to my mother.

  When finally I’m able to draw a breath, I rise to my feet. I move at a sprint toward my mother’s body and those responsible. I hear a scream tear through the chaotic grunts of the Urthmen and soon realize the scream is mine.

  The Urthmen that killed my mother spin to face me. They laugh at me. It’s a horrid sound that imprints on my brain. One points a blunt, stubby finger at me, his voice scraping like metal against metal.

  But before he can utter another sound, his head is hacked from his body. It tumbles from his neck and lands against the ground with a thud. Two of the others with him turn and are carved at their waists. They drop to the earth below, eviscerated like the animals they are.

  When they fall, I see my father square off with the last of the Urthmen among them, and for the first time in my life I
see him as everyone else sees him. He is a fierce warrior, deadlier than any man or creature I’ve ever encountered.

  The Urthman swings his club recklessly several times. My father dodges his attack with the calm and poise of a predator. The next swing the beast takes is met with my father’s blade. His sword glints in the glow of the morning sun right before it cleaves the Urthman’s arm. The arm falls to the ground, and my father immediately veers and decapitates the monster.

  For a moment, my father just watches the fallen Urthmen, his chest heaving. Then he falls to his knees, to where my mother’s body lay still, and releases a guttural cry of agony so profound, I feel as if my bones shake.

  He scoops her in his arms and holds her close. But as he does so, an Urthman approaches from behind. He picks up my mother’s sword and advances on my father.

  “Dad! Behind you!” I scream with every ounce of strength I have.

  My father looks at me at the exact moment the Urthman drills my mother’s sword through my father’s chest. For a moment, my father holds my gaze, his brows gathered in shock and confusion, then pain. His eyes drop to the pointed tip of the blade that protrudes from the left side of his chest and his mouth parts on words I never hear. He collapses sideways and the Urthman yanks the blade free.