Remains of Urth

by Jennifer Martucci

  “NOOOOOO!” I hear myself say as I’m sucked into a swirling vortex of horror and unimaginable suffering. I move toward the Urthmen responsible to seek revenge, but an object slams into the back of my skull. The ground rushes toward me, and my world immediately dims to blackness.

  Chapter 6

  Feeling my body jerked upward violently, my eyes open and consciousness returns to me in a blaring rush. Shouts and grunts are heard. None of them sound familiar. They possess a strange quality that doesn’t register as human. And I can’t make out what’s being said, just that the voices are loud, so very loud. I blink my eyes several times and shake my head, trying to remember where I am and what’s happening. Groggy, and bleary eyed, for several moments, my memory is blank. Try as I may, my brain struggles to connect pieces to fit, to make sense of something important that is so close yet still out of reach.

  “Stand up straight, human!” The voice at my ear scrapes like metal to stone. And suddenly, the world around me comes into razor-sharp focus. Crystal clear vision delivers pain unlike any I’ve ever experienced in my life, and it has little to do with what I actually see when my eyes are open. Rather, it has everything to do with what I see in my mind’s eye. Images of my parents being murdered take shape. It’s there for me. Waiting. Every horrific detail. I relive the moments their lives ended. Each second ticking by with infinitesimal slowness.

  My heart plummets. Tears sting my eyes and spill over my lower lashes. Panic grips me. My parents are dead. Murdered by Urthmen.

  Chest heaving and breaths coming in short, shallow pants, I open my eyes slowly. All around me, bodies lay, slain with limbs and expressions contorted in abject horror, covered in blood and battered beyond recognition in some cases. Almost everyone in the entire village is dead.

  Urthmen swarm from all directions. It’s as if a great nest of hornets has been disturbed and all have rushed out to attack wildly. The one at my ear, the one I now realize holds me with my wrists shackled behind my back, shoves me forward while holding tight to my restraints. The muscles around my shoulders feel as though they tear in protest. Physical pain is irrelevant at this point. A hole has been punched through my chest, raw and ragged and throbbing. Loss. Grief. Words don’t begin to scratch the surface of what I’m feeling. The only shred of hope that exists comes in the form of my brothers and sister. I do not dare dream they are alive. Why would they be spared? Scanning the field before me, it’s a wonder I was spared. And judging from what has happened, each beat of my heart is numbered. Without my family, I really don’t care whether I live or die.

  I scan the area before me again. All that lies ahead of me is death. I see Arundel’s body face down and maimed. He was wrong. So wrong. We could have lived, would have had a chance, had he listened to my father. Instead, bodies are strewn everywhere. The scent of blood hangs heavy in the air, thick and cloying. My stomach churns violently and bile burns up the back of my throat. I allow my chin to drop to my chest, anticipating that I’ll spew at any moment. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling any and all hope seep from me along with the beads of damp sweat that dot my forehead. I gag once and then hear a sound.

  “Lucas!” The voice echoes from a distance, shrill but faint. Ara. It’s Ara’s voice!

  Using every drop of remaining strength, I twist, looking over each shoulder against the considerable resistance of the Urthman holding onto my wrist irons. When I do, I spot my sister. Hope bursts from me like a seedling through black soil. She’s alive! She’s been captured too, shackled at her wrists and ankles, but for now, she’s alive. “Ara!” I shout as loud as I can. My throat is raw and sore and my voice is gravelly. My outburst is met with another shove, only this time my shackles are released and I fall to my knees. My arms are bound behind me, so I’m unable to break my fall or brace myself. I land hard, turning my head in time to avoid smashing my face straight on. Cheek scraped and temple smarting, I curse when my skin meets dirt. But I catch sight of something that heartens me. I see Pike, Kohl and Maxx. And they’re not alone. I arch my back and lift my upper body. As far as I can tell, the entire village has been murdered except for its younger members. Entertaining what reason the Urthmen would have for keeping us alive sends a shiver through my aching body. Were it not for my brothers, sister and cousin being alive, I wouldn’t care what happened to me. I’d invite death, welcome it even. But seeing that they still breathe, that they’re walking, is enough incentive to want to live, to need to live, and protect them if I can.

  “On your feet, human!” the Urthman nearest me kicks me in the ribs first with his booted foot before gripping my handcuffs and yanking me upward. I’m half shoved, half dragged to where Ara, Pike and Kohl are being held.

  Ara’s face is dirty and tears carve a path down both cheeks. “Lucas.” She says my name and the corners of her mouth tug downward, her lower lip quivering. Her eyes overflow. “Mom and Dad,” is all she manages to say. I follow her gaze to where my parents lay dead. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying myself. It’s overwhelming. I look at my sister and without warning, my shoulders curl inward and shudders rack my body. Ara moves toward me and huddles beside me. With our wrists bound at the smalls of our waists, hugging her is impossible. Pike and Kohl gather around Ara protectively. She’s the youngest among us, our baby sister no matter her age and archery skills.

  “It’s ok.” I sniffle several times and wipe my nose on my shoulder. “We’ll get through this. We’ll find a way.” I’m not sure whether she believes me. I’m not sure whether I believe me. The grief and agony I feel over watching my parents die is insurmountable. But I’ll fight, fight to the death, if it means seeing my sister and brothers survive.

  “Hey, back up! Get away from each other!” A tall, barrel-chested Urthman barks at us. Kohl glares at the Urthman, brow low and defiant.

  “Don’t,” I warn my brother in a low voice. I can see the tempestuous rise of ire bubbling within him. I feel it myself. But he has to reign it in. “Not now.” He turns his gaze on me and pins me with it. At any other time, I’d recoil under the weight of his stare. But not now. Not today. This isn’t the time to clash with the Urthmen, shackled and without weapons. I refuse to watch them murder my older brother.

  “Start moving!” the Urthman shouts and uses his club to shove Ara.

  Every cell in my body sparks to life, and anger burns hot like molten lava beneath the surface of my skin. Pike’s head whips up and Kohl takes a step toward the enormous mutant. He spits in the Urthman’s face. “You like pushing little girls?” A vein in Kohl’s forehead bulges, streaking like a lightning bolt. His eyes are wild, reckless, as he stands chest to chest with the Urthman.

  “Kohl, no!” Ara screams.

  “Why don’t you push me?” Kohl challenges and bumps him with his chest.

  “Kohl, stop!” Ara pleads again.

  “No, you like little girls. Those are the only people you can handle, right? Women and little girls.”

  The Urthman bares small pointed teeth in a sinister sneer just as he swings his club backhanded across his body so that it crashes into Kohl’s temple.

  Kohl cries out in pain and Ara cries out in fear. “Nooo!” she shrieks.

  Kohl collapses to the ground on one knee but rises within seconds.

  “Stop! Please, Kohl!” Ara is trembling so hard the curls that frame her face shiver.

  Kohl laughs. “Is that all you’ve got?” he snarls.

  Small eyes the color of coal narrow. Two more Urthmen, hearing the scuffle, now stand behind the one in front of Kohl. The Urthman slaps his club against the palm of his empty hand. A dark, reptilian tongue slips out from his mouth and glides over his teeth. He releases a guttural sound as he throws the weapon to the ground and launches a fist at Kohl’s face. Kohl steps backward quickly and dodges the first swipe and then a second. He laughs, baiting the monster until finally, the Urthman collars him and drills his balled hand into Kohl’s jaw. Blood splatters from my brother’s mouth and he staggers sideways
, toppling over.

  “Kohl!!” my sister screams.

  Slow to get up, Kohl stumbles. The Urthman takes a step toward him.

  “Enough, Armin!” a voice booms. An Urthman wearing the same uniform only with numerous shiny gold decorations over his left breast pocket steps forward. The Urthman who struck Kohl immediately ceases his actions, lowering his head. “We need to leave now!” He stares disapprovingly at the Urthman he addressed as “Armin”.

  “Yes, Hild,” Armin mumbles.

  “Excuse me?” The heavily metaled Urthman takes several fluid steps and closes the distance between them. “What did you call me?” he demands.

  Armin drops his head lower so that his chin rests on his chest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, General Hild.”

  Hild drills Armin with an unflinching stare. “That’s right. I am General Hild. General is a title I’ve earned. One you’re too stupid to ever earn.”

  Anger flashes in Armin’s eyes and for a moment, I swear he contemplates acting. His hand twitches and his grip on his club tightens so that his knuckles blanch.

  Tension as thick as any I’ve ever felt hangs in the air until finally, General Hild turns on his heels and takes a single step. Armin relaxes and turns his back to the general. Then without warning, Hild pivots, drawing his sword from a sheath at his hip. Within the space of a breath, the blade whistles through the air, carving a tight arc that ends at Armin’s neck. The blade passes through skin, muscle and bone with ease, removing Armin’s head from his body so quickly no one has time to react. Armin’s head lands on the ground with a thud and rolls several feet before stopping. His body falls shortly thereafter, animation finally leaving it after a macabre display of headless hand gesturing.

  General Hild wipes the blood off his blade, using Armin’s uniform as a rag, glowering at the Urthmen around who stare in shock. “Now let’s go,” he orders.

  Every human is silent. The Urthmen are as well. We are lined up and linked by a chain between each of us then file out through the gates, leaving our village behind and the bodies of our parents or loved ones to rot in the growing heat.

  About twenty of us remain. Kohl is the oldest among us. He quickens his pace so that he’s beside me. I turn my head to look at him. His cheek is swollen and is already an angry purplish-red. “Your face,” I say and shake my head.

  Kohl snickers. “Yeah well, good old Armin’s face looks much worse right about now.” Both eyebrows lift and his eyes widen briefly.

  I offer a single “huh”. That’s as much laughter as I can muster even though what he’s said is funny in a sick way.

  Kohl looks left then right. “What do you think they want with us? Why’re we still alive?”

  I part my lips to reply and say that I don’t know but another voice interrupts me. It belongs to General Hild. “You’re alive, scum, because Prince Cadogan has been gracing our city with his presence. You will entertain him.” He scowls at us.

  “Entertain him?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  Hild chuckles haughtily. It’s a horrid sound. “You’ll find out soon enough. Now move.” He shoves me hard and from the front of the chain connecting us, there’s a forceful tug. We speed our steps to keep up as we enter the forest.

  We walk and walk. The sun beats down from overhead unrelentingly. Hunger gnaws at my belly and thirst burgeons. I can’t remember when last I ate. The Urthmen offer us nothing. The sun continues to move and I estimate we’ve been walking for around five hours. Exhaustion makes my limbs feel weighted and my head feel disconnected. I drag my feet and struggle to keep my thoughts clear. I hear labored breathing from behind me. I turn and see Ara. Her skin is paler than usual and her eyes are sunken. She looks confused, disoriented. “Ara,” I say her name but my throat is so dry it comes out as a croak. “Ara,” I repeat. This time my voice is stronger, still she doesn’t respond. Her eyes roll back in her head and she starts to fall forward, fainting. “Ara!” I shout. Suddenly, the chain is jerked. Pike, Kohl and I stop walking to resist the pull and prevent Ara from being dragged. The other humans with us follow suit. The Urthman closest to my sister grabs an object from his belt. Within seconds, a length of leather thrashes the air, whipping Ara’s back. The crack of it striking her skin is immediately followed by a cry of agony. A red welt blazes brightly in the wake of the strike. “Move now!” the Urthman yells.

  “You friggin’ monsters!” Kohl screams. He lunges at the Urthman but the chains limit his movement and prevent him from making contact. This time, instead of trying to stop him, though, my temper boils over and I join him. No longer enervated by heat and exhaustion, fury merges with adrenaline and floods my cells. I strain against my restraints and headbutt the Urthman who whipped my sister. Pain explodes at the point of contact and my forehead feels as though it’s been hit with a sledgehammer. I reel from it and so does the Urthman but my act is met with a swift reaction. The sting of a whip lashes my chest. Searing pain radiates from the spot. I cry out in spite of myself. I don’t want the Urthmen to have the satisfaction of seeing me suffer. I hate that they made my sister suffer. All I can think about is that Ara endured this pain.

  Kohl is struck as well. He doesn’t cry out as I did. He remains stoic. His stoicism garners a reaction. Four other Urthmen descend on all of us. A flurry of clubs and fists. I’m struck countless times and by countless objects. I’m hit so many times, the pain is no longer distinguishable. It melds, one strike blending into the next. All of us are battered. Kicked. Punched. Whipped. Bludgeoned. I hear my sister’s cries, hear her plea for an end to the beating. I hear the moans and grunts of my brothers. And an unexpected phenomenon occurs. I no longer wish to cry. I no longer wish to tuck my knees to my chest and embrace unconsciousness. I feel something else entirely.

  Rage rises from the cavernous hollows of my being, an untapped wellspring that rushes forth. I’ve never in my seventeen years felt hatred, though I’ve heard the word and learned the definition. Until now.

  I feel hatred for the Urthmen.

  Everything I’ve heard about them—the stories I thought were mere legends, exaggerated in some cases—all of them are true. In fact, they were understated. None of them came close to the reality of their atrociousness.

  When the beating stops, all I hear is a loud ringing in my ears. Above it, I hear a voice. “Get up. All of you! If she stops again, she dies. You do too!” I have no idea who he’s addressing. It could be any of us, though I assume it is Kohl, Pike or myself.

  “We can’t lose any more time,” one Urthman says to another. My eyes are so swollen I have trouble telling one from the next.

  “We need water. That’s why she fell. That’s how this started.” My throat is so dry my voice sounds as rough as the dirt pressed to my cheek. I may be beaten worse for speaking out, but what I’m saying is the truth.

  After a conversation among them that includes some argument and a lot of arm gestures, Hild breaks up the heated debate. It is determined that water is necessary for us to continue. Reluctantly, we’re given water. When it’s my turn to drink from an oversized metal ladle, I’m offered a single serving. I suck it down greedily, the cool fluid so welcome and refreshing I want to keep drinking. But all too soon, I’m sucking at metal and making a slurping sound. The utensil is pulled away from me and filled for the next person. After everyone receives his or her allotted drink, we continue to a large cave with an entrance covered by large rocks. In the seconds that I see the opening with rocks piled high to conceal it, I realize the Urthmen have spent a great deal of time in the woods, not only scouting but surviving nights, or more specifically, all the creatures that roam the night. We are shepherded inside and our shackles are switched from behind our bodies to in front of them. The change of position is welcome. A team of Urthmen leave to hunt. While they’re gone, we’re too tired to speak and afraid of the consequences of doing so. They return quickly and cook their catch as the angle of the sun is dangerously low. I don’t kn
ow what they feast on. It smells like succulent boar but I can’t be sure. A charred rat is tossed into my lap, into all of our laps. Blackened and tasting of ash, I can hardly choke it down. I force myself to, however, hunger trumping my gag reflex. All of us eat. I inch closer to Ara gradually in hopes of doing so unnoticed. Kohl and Pike do too. When finally our knees touch, Ara swallows the last bite of her meal. She looks up at me. One cheek is bruised and countless lacerations mar her skin. Her green eyes glisten with emotion. “What’re we going to do?” The desperation in her voice, the fear and pain in her expression, in her heart and every part of her, crushes me. Tears spill from the corners of her eyes and cause mine to well up. Pike begins to cry softly. I look over their heads at Kohl. Neither of us has an answer. The understanding that survival is unlikely settles upon us. I fear none of will survive.

  Chapter 7

  After three days of walking, my legs burn and tremble from exertion. Most of the Urthmen have gone on ahead without us, continuing at a faster pace conducive to their well-fed, well-rested bodies. Only a dozen or so stay behind with us. Still heavily guarded and exhausted in a way that causes every part of me to ache, when we exit the forest and paved roads roll out before my eyes, my pulse speeds and a strange terror-induced excitement bubbles in my belly. A sight I’ve never seen unfurls before me. Stout structures, some made of red material that resembles rough, rectangular stone, emerge from smooth, black streets. They give rise to taller constructions of smoother, gray material that soar, towering to the sky and eclipsing the sun in some spots. My mouth hangs agape. All around and bustling in and out of shops and among outdoor stands are Urthmen. They’re so numerous, they walk between buildings, dodging and weaving to avoid colliding. A buzz hums in the air, a frenetic energy that dictates an equally frantic pace. Everyone appears to hurry, racing and scurrying to an unseen destination that pulls them with the force of a great magnet. When they see us, however, the urgency that drives them, the magnetism, comes to an abrupt halt. Heads whip in our direction, many doing double-takes. Jaws drop. Eyes round. The reactions vary, all except for a single unifying element: hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred hangs in the atmosphere like a mist. It coats my tongue, foul and acidic, as fists are shaken and curse words hurled. “Human scum!” a female Urthman calls out as she passes us. The Urthmen leading us along by a chain don’t react in the least. In fact, not one among them even flinches. We, on the other hand, are horrified. Pike’s feet shuffle to a halt. Ara places her body slightly behind mine. Kohl’s muscles tense. And my head rears. The world beyond the forest is loud. Smelly. And hostile.