by Ryan Cahill
Calen heard the familiar whistle of Dann’s arrow only half a second before he saw it jutting out just above the armour on the creature’s chest. It did not slow it down. Within seconds, it was upon them.
Rist was the closest one to it. Twisting out of its way, he jabbed his spear straight for the creature’s legs. He missed by the thickness of a hair, then took a backswing from the pommel of the beast’s sword. It struck him right in the chest and sent him tumbling into the base of a tree. He didn’t move.
Calen roared. His pulse was like fire in his veins, fear driving him on as much as anything else. The Urak evaded the first jab of his spear with alarming ease, but found Calen just as well equipped to dodge its return strike.
When Dann planted a second arrow, this time in its abdomen, the creature erupted in a frenzy of flailing swings. Calen lost his footing. Tripping over a loose stone, he went crashing to the ground. Smelling blood, the creature lunged after him. In a panic, Calen heaved his spear up into the air behind him, turning as he fell, eroding every last bit of strength he had left in his body as he did.
As the Urak lunged downward at Calen, it was trapped by its own momentum, helpless as the spear plunged straight through its exposed neck, spraying blood down over Calen. The weight of the creature as it collapsed pinned the spear into the ground, leaving both suspended in mid-air above Calen. Its piercing red eyes, void of life, still somehow burned with anger as they stared through him. A putrid smell of rotted flesh wafted from its open mouth, nearly emptying the contents of Calen’s stomach.
Calen didn’t have long to catch his breath. A blood-chilling roar erupted from the remaining Urak. It bounded across the forest floor, axe in hand. Branches and plants crumbled beneath its powerful legs as it covered the distance between them with ease. By the time it reached them, a number of arrows jutted from its unarmoured chest. Enough to have killed a man twice over.
Dann attempted to nock another arrow, but the creature caught him with a vicious kick to the chest. Calen thought he heard a crunch as Dann’s knees buckled, and he fell to the floor in a heap.
His mind was racing. Every fibre in his body burned in a symphony of exhaustion and pain. He didn’t know if Dann or Rist were alive. Neither of them moved.
The massive Urak placed one hand on the body of its fallen companion. Then, with a terrifying display of strength, it yanked the limp corpse free from the spear as if pulling a splinter from a block of soft butter. Blood fountained over Calen as the creature held the corpse above him. Then it tossed it to the ground a few feet away, without even looking to see where it landed. There was no sense of loss on its face. No sobbing, no whimpers.
Calen’s heart pounded like hammer on anvil. Slow, methodical thumps echoed in his ears.
The creature’s chest lifted and dropped in heavy breaths. Its mouth twisted into what could almost be called a grin. Its tongue dripped thick beads of saliva down its jagged teeth. The massive half-moon blade glittered in the pale moonlight, a mix of beauty and misery forged in steel.
With its gaze fixed firmly on Calen, the Urak whispered something in its guttural tongue before raising the axe above its head with both hands. Its horrid red eyes burned into Calen’s skull. Time slowed down as the blade fell. Calen saw what it did to the wolfpine, and he would fare no better.
The panic in his heart gave way to a sudden sense of acceptance. He had always heard that your life flashes before your eyes in the moments before death. It’s what all the bards and storytellers said. How they truly knew, Calen wasn’t sure. It was not as if they had fought in the wars they sang of. It didn’t matter either way. He didn’t have long to look back on, but he would like to see Haem’s face again.
A blinding light filled the space around the hulking shape of the Urak, a flash as bright as the sun. Calen heard someone screaming, shrieking, as if the very noise was burning their throat from the inside out.
The axe never fell.
The massive creature dropped to its knees, the ground shaking as it did. Its arms sagged down to its sides. The axe rang out harmlessly as it fell from the Urak’s lifeless fingers.
Swaying where it knelt, it collapsed on its side with a heavy thud. Smoke and the repugnant smell of burning flesh filled Calen’s nostrils as it wafted back and forth in the wind, emanating from a horrid scorch mark on the creature’s back. The previously ashen-grey skin had been melted and disfigured into an oozing, pitch-black liquid.
Calen retched as the smell hit the back of his throat. Coughing violently, he peeled his eyes away from the charred remains of the Urak that had attacked him, searching for whatever had brought that behemoth to its end. He squinted to see. The mixture of smoke and exhaustion stuck his eyes together.
“Rist?”
CHAPTER 7
Seeing is Believing
Rist dropped to his knees. Exhaustion ached throughout his body. His legs felt like reeds in the wind, and he didn’t have the strength to keep himself upright.
He had been knocked unconscious when the smaller of the two creatures caught him in the chest. When he came to, all he saw was that beast standing over Calen, that monstrous axe raised over its head. Something just took over. He felt a fire burning in his chest, moving up through his arms, and searing pain consumed everything as the fire moved. What did I do?
Beads of sweat cascaded down his forehead. His shirt was stuck to his back. The smell of charred flesh permeated the air, causing his stomach to turn. He held his hands out in front of himself, turning them over and back again, trying to find something, anything. There wasn’t a single mark on them. Nothing.
“Rist?” Calen’s voice was weak and tired, but it dragged Rist out of his own head.
Looking up, he saw Calen on the ground a few feet from him, propped up on his arms. His clothes were ripped and torn, decorated generously with blood. Beside him were two large bodies. One was soaked in blood, with a gaping wound in its neck. The other was a charred, crumpled mess of burnt flesh and smoke. With a sudden retch, he vomited on the ground.
“Rist!” Calen’s voice pierced through the fog in his mind. Rist was finding it hard to focus on anything. He was exhausted, as if the energy had been leeched from his bones. His thoughts danced through his head like girls at the town square, paying him no heed, always just out of reach.
Calen stood over him now, struggling to carry the weight of his own body. “Rist, are you okay? Did you see what happened? It was standing over me… that axe…” Calen glanced at the axe, lying on the ground by the body of that monster, its wicked half-moon blade slick with blood from the wolfpine. “I thought I was dead…”
Rist took a deep breath, attempting to collect his thoughts. “I’m okay,” he sighed. “Dann?”
Panic spread on Calen’s face. He sprinted to Dann’s side as fast as his legs could carry him. He collapsed to his knees beside him, more from exhaustion than by choice, by the looks of it. “Shit, Dann… Dann? Dann, please be all right!”
Rist pulled himself to his feet, wincing as he stood upright. His entire body was battered. The wound in his leg burned brightly. In the panic, he had forgotten about it; fear had concealed the pain. Now, as his heart settled, the pain came rushing back like a rockslide. First a bear, then an arrow, then… Uraks.
He looked over the bodies of the fallen creatures. They were almost human, if not for the greyish leathery skin, the red eyes, and the jagged yellow teeth.
He turned his focus back to his friends. Calen had his hand at the back of Dann’s head. Dann’s eyes were closed.
“Dann! Wake up!” Calen shook him back and forth, gently at first, but more aggressively when he got no reaction. For a moment, Rist’s stomach sank.
Dann’s eyelids flickered. “Ugh… stop shaking me. Curse you. What happened? Did I get it?” Dann’s voice was hoarse, as if waking up from a long nap. Thank the gods.
Calen collapsed backwards, dropping Dann’s head as he did. Dann let out a sharp groan as his head cracked off the tree trunk.<
br />
Rist needed to sit down. He needed to sleep. He felt like he could barely hold his eyes open.
“Curse you, Calen,” Dann groaned, rubbing the back of his head. His eyes fell to the bodies of the two creatures, lingering on the larger, its back a muddled mess of melted skin. “What…. what happened?” Fear laced his voice.
“I don’t know,” Calen said. “One minute it was standing over me, its axe raised up over its head. Then there was a flashing light, so bright I could barely see. Then… it collapsed. Dead. That wound on its back.”
Rist nodded. “Yeah, I woke up to Calen calling me. Both of them were on the ground.”
A pang of fear rushed through his mind. Had Calen seen what he did? What did he do?
Dann nodded and exhaled loudly. They sat in silence for a few minutes. The sounds of the forest echoed in the background.
“We should probably get moving,” Dann said, a steely look on his face. He pulled himself up to a seated position. “If we’re going to carry one of these guys with us back to The Glade, we need to start moving now to get there before the sun sets tomorrow.” Dann’s words hung in the air for a second.
“Bring one of them with us?” A look of disbelief crossed Calen’s face. “Why in the void would we want to bring one of them with us, Dann?”
Dann shrugged. “Well, nobody will believe us if we don’t, and they need to know they are out here. And it’s our chance to pass The Proving – and become victors of The Hunt. Nobody is bringing back anything worse than these guys. Uraks, Calen!”
Calen said nothing. His mouth tightened into a thin line.
“But… what are they doing here? Uraks haven’t been seen anywhere near The Glade in at least two years, not since—” Rist saw the look on Calen’s face and didn’t finish his sentence.
“I don’t know, but for whatever reason, they are here,” Dann said. “We need to bring one back. Well… maybe just the head?”
Rist couldn’t hide the look of surprise on his face. “The head?”
“Well, I figure the entire body is probably too heavy for us to carry – or even drag. We could fit the head in one of our bags. Kind of just makes sense, really.” Dann spoke with a matter-of-fact tone; it was clear that he had already decided this was the best course of action. He had always been that way. Once a decision was made, Dann Pimm’s mind was like stone.
Dann got to his feet without waiting for a reply. He hobbled over to the two corpses; his hand held to the spot on his chest where the Urak had kicked him. Rist glanced over towards Calen, who had remained silent during the entire discussion. Calen always withdrew into himself when anything to do with Haem was mentioned. Uraks definitely fell into that category.
“Are you okay?” Rist placed the palm of his hand on Calen’s shoulder and lowered his head to look him in the eyes.
“Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine.” Calen shrugged off Rist’s hand and got to his feet, making his way over to Dann. Rist sighed, sitting there for a moment before standing up and joining the others.
“Which one?” Calen said.
“Huh?”
“Which head are we taking?” Calen’s voice was cold, void of emotion.
Dann didn’t seem to notice. He folded his arms as he pondered. “Well, I’m thinking the smaller one. I don’t think the bigger one will fit in any of our bags, and I don’t fancy holding a bloody head in my arms the entire way back to The Glade.”
“Okay. Well, get it done, and let’s get moving, then.” Calen didn’t wait for a response. He just walked away and sat in silence on a nearby log.
Dann turned his head towards Calen and then back towards Rist, unfolding his arms. “What’s his problem?”
Rist raised a questioning eyebrow. “You don’t see how fucked up this is? Not to mention… Haem?”
“Oh…”
“Well… Get it done,” Rist said as plainly as he could. Then he turned and walked over to join Calen on the log.
They sat there listening to the forest until they heard the loud thump of metal sinking into flesh. Calen winced at the sound. Rist felt his stomach lurch again. A grunt was followed by another thump. A few moments later, Dann stood in front of them, blood seeping through the fabric of his bag.
“Didn’t really think that through,” he said with a shrug.
“You never do,” Rist said.
As they set off into the forest, Rist looked back at the bodies of the Uraks. The axe, now wet with fresh blood, lay beside the headless body of the smaller creature. The gemstone set into the axe blade seemed to give off a red glow as the twilight sun faded over the horizon.
His eyes dragged over to the body of the larger Urak and the gaping wound of seared flesh on its back. The unnerving sound of crackling skin still wafted through the air. He looked down at his hands once more.
What did I do?
CHAPTER 8
I See You
The orange glow of the setting sun drifted through the canopy as they approached the edge of the forest near The Glade. They had walked through the night and straight through the next day. They were late; they should have been back in The Glade that morning. Calen’s legs burned, struggling under the weight of exhaustion. His clothes were torn in more places than he could count, and his body was painted with enough cuts and bruises to last a lifetime. He wanted to sleep for days.
Up ahead of him, Dann trudged through the gradually thinning undergrowth. His bag dangled over his shoulder, stained red with dried blood. Rist lagged a bit behind. Calen had a feeling his leg was giving him a lot more trouble than he was letting on. “Nearly there now, Rist.”
Rist’s response came in short bursts, separated by sharp huffs of exertion. “I’m not tired. Are you tired? I could keep going for days. I bet Dann is tired. Dann, are you tired?”
Dann chuckled up ahead. “Not long now, Rist.”
Blisters had formed on Calen’s feet at some point over the last few hours. The grinding pain was a constant reminder as his feet rubbed against the inside of his boot. He grimaced and kept walking. I’m getting a new pair of boots.
In the space of just a few minutes, the forest began to thin out. The ground regained a firm spring, and the heaviness in the air dissipated as the trees peeled away. When they emerged from the forest, the cool breeze that swept across Calen’s face was almost enough to drag a smile out of him – almost.
As soon as Rist was out of the forest, he collapsed in a heap on the ground, like a puppet whose strings were cut.
“Rist!” In a panic, Calen bounded over to where Rist lay motionless in the grass. When Calen reached him, he was lying on his back, staring up at the sky, a hazy grin on his face.
“I’m fine,” he said with a satisfied sigh. Closing his eyes for a moment, he inhaled deeply and smiled from ear to ear. “I wasn’t sure if we were ever going to make it out of that forsaken forest. It’s nice to look up at the sky and not see branches and leaves.”
Rist’s focus waned for a second as he stared at his hands, covering every inch of them with an intense gaze. Relief poured through Calen. He allowed himself to collapse down beside Rist. They lay there for a minute, just staring up at the unobstructed blue sky.
“Are you two nearly done?” Dann said. “Because it looks like someone has noticed we’re back.”
Calen dragged himself into a seated position, looking out over the fields, squinting in the fading light from the sunset. A few hundred feet to the northwest, five horse riders were galloping towards them. As they drew closer, Calen could make out the riders. Leading the group were his father and Erdhardt, with Lasch, Tharn, and Jorvill Ehrnin galloping alongside them.
As the riders reached the young men, Vars slung his leg over the saddle and slid off the horse in one smooth motion. He crashed straight into Calen, embracing him so tightly that Calen thought he might actually break a rib.
“I thought maybe…” The words escaped Vars’s mouth as nothing more than a hushed whisper.
Calen pulled his father
into a tighter embrace, deciding the pain was worth it. “I’m okay.”
Lasch and Tharn embraced Rist and Dann in a similar fashion. After they had all made their greetings, Erdhardt spoke up. “It is good to see you boys – men – back safely. We feared the worst when the sun sank into the ocean, and you had not emerged from Ölm. The last of the groups arrived back hours ago.” His eyes passed over Calen, Dann, and Rist one by one. Despite the scarcity of light, Calen knew he was taking in everything: the torn clothing, the cuts, the blood. They must have looked like they were half-dead. “What has happened?”
The boys all exchanged a look with each other, agreeing with a nod.
“The story might take a while,” Calen said, unable to hide the hesitation in his voice.
“Take the time you need. The truth is what is important.” Erdhardt folded his arms across his chest, a sombre look in his eyes.
Calen let a small sigh slip out before diving into the events of the last few days. He left out what had happened to the larger Urak. He didn’t really know what had happened after all, but Rist had been acting funny since, despite what he had said. They didn’t push as to how it actually died, and none of them noticed when Calen moved swiftly onward. The group of men listened intently to Calen, exchanging a few looks between them from time to time. A gasp escaped Lasch’s mouth when Calen told them how Fritz had shot Rist in the leg with the arrow.
Dann chimed in occasionally, mostly just to elaborate on his own feats of heroism, which received more than its fair share of glares from the men. Rist, for the most part, stayed mute. His eyes appeared slightly glazed over, as if lost in deep thought.
When Calen finished, there was a brief silence. Just the chirping of crickets accompanied the pale moonlight as the twilight sky gave way to the night. Erdhardt spoke first. “Are you sure, Calen? Uraks haven’t been seen here in at least two years, not since—”