Out of Nowhere

by William Cali

  “They would surely learn with time and with practice.”

  “We don’t have the time. If the worst comes and we’re all killed here, they wouldn’t last much longer. We can’t rely on anyone else to handle this, and I damn sure don’t expect Gordenthorpe to help out. Hanar, they need you to lead them. If everything is gone here, if Somerville is burned to the ground, they’ll need you to stay hidden, to restart somewhere else.”

  Hanar contemplated this, and, as he mulled it over, he gave one slow nod. “I think I understand. That’s… a great responsibility you’re putting on me.”

  “It is. They’ll need your shoulders to lean on, just like we’re leaning on them now.” Pent smiled to his friend and rested his hand on Hanar’s shoulder. I guess I really can call him a friend now. He’s had my back since the moment I got here. I don’t think I can say the same for a single person in my world.

  “I have much to prepare for. I must take my leave,” Hanar said. He stood up straighter and spoke more boldly than before. All of the insecurity that was once painted on his face had vanished.

  “Yeah, me too. Make sure you holler at me before you head out, alright?”

  “Yes, my friend, of course.”

  * * *

  Pent continued his rounds, taking stock of everything in the village. If it comes to a fight, maybe we should lead them to the houses. He had no idea what the enemy would be bringing. A house might help shield them from arrows. But fire? I hope Gilbrand’s people haven’t figured out this firebomb trick. If I’m not the most creative person around here with my Molotovs, then we’re going to be in trouble.

  He ended up at the square, where he found Mother Lyle, surrounded by the children of Somerville. She was talking to them in a gentler tone than he was used to from her, and they all responded in a panic.

  “Are we all going to die?” a child named Bri asked. Pent had seen her playing in the square before. She was happy then. All traces of that old happiness had been drained from her face by the fear that blanketed the town.

  Lyle shook her head slowly and surely, speaking in a similar tone. “I can only be honest with you, Bri. I don’t know.” Despite having shared her blunt truth, she smiled. “But the world has survived worse than this. And we’re all making plans.” She clapped her hands together. “We shall give them a great fight.”

  “A great fight. Just like the stories you tell us,” one of the small boys said. Pent recognized him as the farmer Marall’s son, Bart. That’s that dopey kid who asked if I was an ogre when I first showed up here…

  “Indeed. Maybe someday they’ll tell a story about us. Wouldn’t that be exciting?” She smiled at all of them, and Pent understood then why everyone called her Mother Lyle. “Just think of us, among the tales of the great sorcerer Karpas, the Dread Urgornite, and the Western Freewalkers!”

  The children all perked up as she said the last name. One after another they began to yell and chant.

  “I don’t remember that story.”

  “Tell us, Mother Lyle!”

  “Tell us!”

  She grinned and Pent held back a chuckle. She’s good at this. The children had already forgotten their own fear. And in a small way Pent had too.

  She caught his eye for a moment, winked, and then began her tale.

  “Oh, the Western Freewalkers? Have I not shared their story with you all? It’s an interesting one. The Freewalkers were a long-suffering people, but their tale is one of perseverance and triumph. Magic has gone from our world, but some believe that magic still lives in the den of the Freewalkers.

  “There were once many evils that plagued this world, and among them was the blind Scourge of the Desert. A giant beast that was known throughout Cinraia as Forterzo. Forterzo was a mean-spirited creature, so mean that it was only suited to live in the desert of the west. But it was the lord of the land. It was a tremendous beast, ten times larger than any man, with razor-sharp claws. It was in many ways a fearsome creature, but it had one flaw. Forterzo was blind.

  “In life, we don’t choose where we are born. Despite Forterzo’s fearsome nature, many people lived in the desert. They hovered around the edges, and near the center where trace amounts of water could be found. And they lived in peace for a long time as Forterzo stayed to its own affairs.

  “But eventually Forterzo turned its sharp ears and nose to the people of the desert. It had grown tired of living underneath the sands, in a world of endless darkness. Forterzo was envious because, for all the strength it commanded, it could not see. But the poor inhabitants of the desert, they could. And Forterzo wanted that ability for itself.

  “What was a peaceful life soon changed in a tragic way, as life proves that it can. Forterzo went from desert hamlet to hamlet, and it ignored no one. It grabbed up every man, woman, and child there was, and bound them together. From that point on, the desert was a shifting field of slaves. All marching together as one, serving as the eyes of the monster.”

  “Bound them together? How?” Pent asked. The children all glared at him, their faces furrowed in anger at the story being interrupted.

  Lyle frowned. “The tale is not very specific. Magic still existed then, so I’ve always assumed Forterzo used some kind of magic to capture everyone.” She stomped her foot on the ground playfully. “My audience is growing impatient, Pent, do you mind if I continue?”

  “Sure, yeah don’t let me hold you up.”

  She cleared her throat, then began again. “After years of turmoil, a group of heroes appeared. They fought across the length of Cinraia, ridding the world of all these horrible evils. Their travels led them to the western deserts, to Forterzo and its army of slaves.

  “The people of the desert watched in awe as the heroes fought their way to the center of Forterzo’s territory. The fighting was brutal and bold, but where there was a need, the heroes heeded the call. Forterzo sent his slaves first, and, against their wills, many of the desert peoples fell in battle.

  “In the end, two of the heroes stood out among the masses: A brave knight and a powerful sorcerer. The sorcerer brought forth powerful rains to the desert. The rains undid Forterzo’s magic and freed the slaves. They rejoiced under the showers of freedom.

  “The knight battled with Forterzo itself, wounding it, and forcing it back into its lair. The knight did chase, and with many of his allies by his side, defeated the horrible creature. It was forever silenced, never able to torment the people of the desert again. But it came at a terrible cost. The knight lost his life, succumbing to his injuries at the end of the battle.

  “The people wept for their fallen hero but began to rebuild their homes. The sorcerer stayed with them for some time, teaching them his ways, and helping to transform the desert into a lush paradise. From that point on, the ones who roamed the former desert were known as the Freewalkers. They would be under the control of a master no longer. Eventually, the sorcerer moved on, and the people crafted a great society from his teachings. They say that there are still Freewalkers who worship the name of their savior.”

  The children shared their appreciation with many “oohs” and “aahs.” They all slowly got up and made their respective ways back to their families, their fears forgotten for the moment.

  “That’s some story,” Pent said. “Makes me think we might have half a chance. At least we’re not fighting some giant desert mole monster.” He scratched his head. “How much of that story is true?”

  “I wasn’t there, so how could I know? This was years ago, centuries perhaps. But there are grains of truth in every one of these tales. You spoke of being inspired, and it does feel that maybe we are doing something not completely different from what those heroes of old did. A few of the weak masses rising up against an impossibly strong foe.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. Some real David and Goliath stuff.” He noticed the blank stare on her face. “Never mind.”

  “There is one thing about the story that I left out.” She glanced at the ground, a sad expression was
hing over her face. “I didn’t want to upset the children.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “The names of the heroes. I heard this tale as a child, and I remember them clearly. The warrior was Picart, but his name is not so important. The sorcerer was named Yozer.”

  “Yozer? The same one we’re involved with?”

  “Like I said, this was years ago,” Lyle said, kicking at the ground with the toe of her shoe. “No one can live that long, so perhaps it’s someone who took the same name. Someone who heard the story themselves perhaps. Or maybe none of it is true at all.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Thank you for listening along, but if it’s all the same, I think we both have tasks we should attend to.”

  She was off before Pent could even process what she had said. He mulled it over for a moment. Gordenthorpe said that Yozer has been around for years upon years. Could it really be the same guy from that story? What are we supposed to do against someone like that?

  Chapter Thirty

  A day passed. Pent slept well, but his muscles ached from labor. Faldo had been hard at work and the foundation for his fortifications was taking shape. Pent wondered if they would be done in time, and what their deadline really was. At Faldo’s request he had been pulling resources from the forest. It was monotonous and grueling work. Somerville had no horses, but they did have carts, so after a group of men felled a tree to the north, they piled the logs onto a cart, and another man took them home. Pent was one of those men, hauling the timber rickshaws back to Faldo. Got me working like a mule out here. By the time Pent arrived at the front, the men were cutting and chopping at the wood to Faldo’s specifications.

  “These fortifications need to be strong. If they are rammed by a row of horses, we need them to hold,” instructed the builder.

  “How do you know we’ll be rammed by horses?” one of the workers named Getoe had asked. He was a small framed villager who was sweating profusely, not used to being worked to the bone like this.

  “I don’t,” Faldo snapped back, “so let’s be prepared for anything, shall we?” That was good enough for the men, and they went back to work.

  There were a decent number of children in Somerville, as well—almost two dozen. Pent had only learned a few of their names. Bart was constantly getting into trouble, always sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. He was usually playing with a girl and boy, Tash and Fen. Faldo had set these children onto simple tasks, usually consisting of fetching smaller items of need.

  Many of the children went out into the woods after the adults to gather up sticks. Anything left behind in the retrieval of the lumber, too small for the construction of the towers but bigger than a twig. Bart spent about half of his time breaking the sticks in half for fun, regardless of Faldo’s constant protests.

  “What are all the sticks for, man?” Pent asked.

  “We’ll need these for a variety of purposes.” Faldo waved his hand over all that had been gathered so far, which he had separated into three separate piles of diminishing size. “The largest of these we’ll sharpen and use as spears. I’m no tactician, but I can only imagine Cenk won’t have a sword in every man’s hand by the time this all starts. And if it comes to us fighting horses, spears will come in handy. Try swinging at a man on horseback with a two-foot-long sword.”

  Pent remembered Gilbrand riding in on his horse. He pictured swinging at the knight with Faldo’s sword while he was on horseback. In his mind he swung for the fences, uselessly clashed with Gilbrand’s armor, and was promptly impaled through the neck for his troubles. “Yeah, I can see that not going well.”

  “Me either. I’ve never tried it myself, but I can picture it vividly enough. It ends with you face down in the ground, blood spurting from your neck.”

  Pent grimaced. “That’s funny, I just had the same thought. Good call on the spears then, the reach should come in handy.”

  Faldo continued, “The smallest of these, we’ll use for kindling. If we set up a fire here, and here, we can keep your firebombs alight. We’ll need a constant flame going. If the fire dies, then any chance of using those weapons dies with it. So, we’ll need a good amount of these, along with more chopped logs to keep the fire burning. Those we will still need to gather… Bart!” The child darted to Faldo. “Go alert your father, we’re going to need more wood after all. We need the cart to be ready.”

  Pent involuntarily let out a groan. He didn’t want to spend his days just gathering firewood, even if it was important work. His arms were already beyond tender. He pointed at the last pile. “So, what about door number three?” Faldo stared at him with a confused look on his face. “Is it seriously not implied at this point? Never mind, what about this pile?”

  Faldo smiled a wicked, sinister grin. It was a grin filled with a lot of malice. Glad he’s on our side. “Look over there, between the two fortifications.”

  “Yeah, there’s a line drawn there in the dirt.”

  “That’s right. The plan is to dig a hole there, and in several other places outside of town. Digging it to about knee length, that should be enough.” He picked up one of the medium-sized sticks and studied it for a moment, then he jabbed the tip of it close to Pent’s face. “I’m going to have them sharpen these, both ends, and then jam them in the ground. We can lay out a netting of leaves over each hole.”

  Pent sucked in air at the image drawing in his mind. “And so, when Gilbrand, Yozer, or one of their boys steps on the holes…”

  “I see you’ve caught my meaning. This will jam right through them.” He frowned as he contemplated the strategy. “Or perhaps it’ll jam through their horses. Either way, it’s a devious trap and a good one by any estimation.”

  Pent nodded his agreement as Bart approached them with his father Marall in tow. His father was dragging the cart, sheets of sweat pouring down his face. “Sorry if my boy is giving you all trouble.” Bart had already darted off to break more sticks, much to Faldo’s chagrin. “He’s a bit of a handful that one is. But he means well enough.”

  “Kids will be kids, man, no need to apologize.” Pent stood ready to join them in the woods when Chief Pohk sidled towards them.

  He addressed Pent, ignoring the others. “I need to ask you a question of serious importance.”

  “Go on.”

  “You mean for everyone to receive a warrior’s training, correct?”

  “Sure, why not? Not a lot of good in giving everyone a sword if no one knows how to use them.”

  The chief nodded violently. “That’s very sound wisdom. So, when do you plan to teach everyone?”

  “Me? Stop playing games, I’d never even touched a sword before I came here.”

  “I was afraid of this. Alas, there is no other choice, it has to be you.”

  “What are you saying, man, what kind of sense does that make?” Pent was confused by the chief’s persistence. Before, the old man had not been willing to trust him with even the simplest tasks. Now, it felt like he put the world on Pent’s shoulders. I can’t train these people to fight, I don’t know anything about combat.

  “It makes perfect sense! Somerville has not a warrior in its population. You are the closest we have.”

  That was a lot to handle. Pent’s face flushed red, his palms started to feel clammy. He ran their scrimmage sometimes in high school, he took the lead from the QB in a game or two, but this was too much. I can’t believe I didn’t think about this before. I just assumed someone else would step up and play the warrior.

  The chief was adamant. “You must do it, please! Faldo, give him leave to take care of this essential task.”

  Faldo turned away from his work and addressed Pent. “You are a proven warrior in a way none of the other villagers here are. For me, that sword you used was just a decoration I’ve kept around to remind me of my grandfather. You picked it up and used it against an armored knight in real combat.”

  “Yeah, that was some real combat alright. It took everything I had just to stay alive.”

&n
bsp; “But stay alive you did,” the chief said. “Somerville is filled with peaceful farmers and gatherers, some miners, a tailor, a doctor, and some useful craftsmen here and there. It’s as I said, there are no warriors here.”

  “What about Hanar? I’ve seen him move and he can get at someone with a knife,” Pent said desperately.

  “Hanar. I will give him some credit, he is a hunter of some skill. But someone hunting an animal of lesser intelligence is no comparison with fighting a man, sword to sword. Please, do this for us. Teach us to fight.”

  * * *

  After a few more minutes of useless protesting, Pent found himself standing in front of a dozen, shabby looking men. They were tired and weary, fatigued from wearing Cenk’s armor. Some elite fighting group we’ve assembled here. He sighed. Not like I’m one to talk, I’m way out of my league.

  “Okay, guys, listen up. You came out here today, um, because you want to fight to save Somerville, right?”

  He heard a few weak murmurs. One of the men was staring at the ground. Another was picking his nose. A villager at the end of the line in the back was absentmindedly swinging his sword, which clanged off the armor of the would-be soldier to his right.

  “Hey, watch it!”

  Pent had to jump in and break them up, afraid that a fight would start before the day was out. He observed their armor, comparing it to the set that Cenk had given him. Doesn’t look like it’s straight out of Lord of the Rings, but hey, at least it protected this guy from that other fool’s reckless swinging. He pictured Gilbrand tearing through the armor like tissue paper, and a shiver ran down his spine.

  He made a few more attempts to gather everyone’s attention with simple questions, but his patience was at an end. Screw this nonsense. He was suddenly struck with inspiration. Dropping his sword on the ground, Pent marched around to square off with the man standing dead center of the front row.