by Steve Vera
He tried not to think about how much trouble they were in.
“How long are you going to let him sleep?” Cirena asked, taking a seat beside him on a dead log. Her cloak puddled by her boots.
“A couple more minutes,” he said with a shrug. It was barely dawn.
“The longer we take, the more people will die.”
Gavin gazed at her. They were so far away from where they needed to be right now that they might as well have been on the moon. Five minutes wasn’t going to make a difference either way.
Tarsidion and Noah joined them.
“Have you decided?” Noah asked. Somehow, she always seemed to look fresh in the morning.
“Yes,” Gavin said. “We’re not splitting up. The only way we even have half a chance crossing that pass is with our combined strength.”
“Good,” Tarsidion said with a nod. “To do otherwise would feel...wrong.”
A familiar current of resentment washed through him as all eyes were pinned on him, that he should be, by default, the one responsible for their actions, for formulating the plan. For saving the world. He suppressed it.
“Ironic that it should require us being on the wrong side of the world to compel us to stay together,” Cirena said.
Something in her tone must have made it to Skip’s ears because a moment later his tent’s zipper went up, parting two olive nylon flaps. A second later his sleep-puffed face stuck out, silver-streaked shock of black hair plastered to the right side of his face.
“Coffee?” he croaked hopefully, breaking the seal of gum between his lips with his tongue.
“Tea,” Gavin answered.
His shoulders sagged. “I’ll be right out.”
The man was good to his word because two minutes later he was dressed and looked three times as alert. Outside his tent he laced up his Timberlands, rolled up his sleeping bag and broke down the Coleman dome-tent in under three minutes. When he was done he inserted the folded segmented frames and textile fabric neatly into the carry-pouch and handed it to Gavin.
“Keep it,” Gavin said. “It’s yours now. The ruck too.”
Skip nodded somberly, looked back behind the campsite. “I’ll be right back,” he said and then made his way to the stream that splashed deeper in the trees. When Skip came back, Gavin handed him a cup of black tea, which the police chief accepted with a grateful nod before settling around the fire. Skip wiped crust from his eyes. “So what’s the plan?”
It was a simple question but hung in the air like sulfur.
“We head north,” Gavin finally said.
“We know where we are, then?”
Gavin nodded with a shrug. “More or less.” The fire popped. No matter where he sat the stupid smoke seemed to follow him.
“Why do I get the feeling I’m missing something here?” Skip asked.
Gavin frowned and rolled up the numbness he’d erected around him. Beneath it was a molten core of simmering bitterness. He stood and drew his Quaranai. “This X represents us,” he said, digging two slashes into the granite with the point of his blade as easily as if it had been wax. It made a filing sound. “Up here,” Gavin continued, carving upside-down Vs two feet above the X, “is the World Ridge.”
He didn’t just stop at four or five but carved a good twenty for effect, unable to keep the anger out of his exertion. The scratchy grate of the point of his blade against the granite mixed oddly with the quiet stirring of the forest. He glanced up and saw Tarsy, Cirena, Noah and even Skip watching him with the same expression they might have used while dealing with a drunk about to lose it. Gavin cleared his throat and stopped carving.
“Over here,” he continued, took a step and carved another X on the north side of the Vs, “is where we need to get. From there, theoretically, we should be able to actually begin our quest of warning all civilization that the Underworld is coming for their souls.” Gavin sheathed his Quaranai and crossed his arms. “And there you go.”
“That doesn’t seem so bad. All we need to do is get to the other X, right?”
A collective bitter smile went through the four.
“What’d I say?”
“Here’s the...challenge,” Gavin answered. “The World Ridge is not just a couple of mountains strewn together. It separates the world between North and South. It’s impassable. Only a handful of people in all of history have ever successfully gotten to the other side.”
“Which by definition means passable. Not impassable.” Skip sipped his tea.
“Imagine an entire range of mountains each the size of Mount Everest, some much larger.”
Skip nodded appreciatively. “Got it. Himalayas on steroids. You guys don’t have mountain climbers here?”
Tarsidion chuckled.
“Besides the tens of thousands of feet straight up in negative fifty temperatures, any person trying to get to the other side would have to deal with blizzards, wild gryphons the size of small elephants, firedrakes, cave monsters, treacherous ridges so steep and sharp that even birds can’t perch on them and if they actually made it that far, that would only be the half of it.”
“Naturally,” Skip said.
“The Ridge is essentially a double-range, with another equally impassable giant sierra running parallel like train tracks. The space between the ranges is a wasteland devastated by the chaos of the Elemental Titans. The Valley of Chaos. The outcasts of the Elements. And they’re always angry, have been since memory. Even with our magic we wouldn’t last ten minutes in there—massive earthquakes, spewing lava, fire storms, blizzards, tornadoes, ice storms so powerful they could shred plate mail in minutes—across that, up another wall of thousands of feet, more monsters and then down again. With more monsters.”
Skip scratched his neck. “Will you please fast forward to the good news?”
Gavin shook his head. “There is no good news.”
“Then how did the other people do it?”
“No one knows. What is certain is that thousands have tried. Millions maybe over the ages. And those who have...songs have been written of them.”
Skip kneaded his face with his fingers. “You’re depressing me.”
“That’s the situation.”
“Any other options besides the Valley of Chaos?”
Tarsidion was the one who spoke. “There is the Pass of Almitra.”
“I like it. What is it?”
“It’s certainly nothing that any living thing should ever ‘like.’ The pass is a fabled path that runs through the mountains under the Valley of Chaos and to the other side. It is said to be guarded by a creature that cannot be killed, a perversion of magic that crosses each age without ever dying—the Necromancer.”
Skip stared at them. “Something to do with death?”
“Yes,” Tarsidion said. “The Necromancer is the ruler of death. Of the Undead.”
“Like zombies and shit?”
“Yes. Like zombies and shit.”
“Sounds better than spewing lava and armor-shredding ice storms. At least we could fight the dead, right?”
“We’ll be outnumbered.”
“That’s what I have you guys for. Deal me in.”
Just like that, huh, Skip?
Gavin glanced at his brethren over the dying fire. A casual observer would have seen nothing, but their grim looks and micro-nods told Gavin their thoughts in a heartbeat.
“All right, then. To the Pass of Almitra it is.” He took a breath, put his fist in his palm and began cracking his knuckles. “Of course, we still have to actually find it.”
Chapter 12
There had never been a better smell than the scent of roasted rabbit. The juices in Amanda’s stomach growled in anticipation. On some level, a part of her was repulsed by her actions. A gobbet of a littl
e bunny’s flesh was cooking, impaled on a sharpened stick she’d whittled herself. And she was going to eat it. Eagerly. The days of tossing a couple of waffles into the toaster while darting out late for class were over. There were no refrigerators here, no Starbucks. From this point out she’d have to earn her meals. The thought scared her but oddly, also exhilarated her. It reduced life to the barest fundamentals.
Back home, meat came in a nice, neat package, sealed conveniently with cellophane food wrap. Slaughter houses filled with shrieks and splashed with blood were merely vague concepts she’d never spent more than a fleeting moment on. They were ugly thoughts best left alone. It was far easier to walk down the clean aisles of the supermarkets among the loud, multi-colored advertisements, select her fare and leave.
Not anymore.
Unable to wait any longer, she pulled the sizzling piece of meat from the licking flames and poked at it. It was slightly charred on the left side but smelled absolutely divine. She took a bite, sucked in through her teeth to cool the hot meat and moaned, tucking a drizzle of juice back into her mouth that made a break for her chin.
“How’s yours?” she asked between chews.
A curt nod was all the response she got. She shrugged and popped the rest of the hunk into her mouth. It was so delicious it made her forget about the pain in her back. This was officially the first, and best, rabbit she’d ever had.
Oh, Thumper, you taste good.
They’d fashioned nifty little cups from broad green leaves they’d found growing near the funky toadstools. He’d taught her how to cut the ends so the leaf made a square, and without any tape, fold it into a water-tight cup, which they filled with water bubbling from the spring where the fairies had been. The water was sweet and cold.
“So, what’s on today’s docket?” she asked.
In response, Donovan took out the bigger of his three knives and tossed the blade into the coals of the fire. She shot him a quizzical stare but he ignored her. Masticating.
“Uh, why’d you just put your knife in the fire?”
He took a sip of water. “I need it sterile.” Chew-chew-chew.
“For what?”
He was still wearing those stupid sunglasses—red aviator Ray Bans that relentlessly hid his eyes. “To clean up your back.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Two of your lacerations are infected and filled with puss. They’ll spread, and within a week you will be in so much pain I’d have to kill you just to shut you up.”
She dropped her skewer. “How exactly do you intend to clean up my back?”
Donovan popped another hunk of rabbit into his mouth. “Cauterize.”
“No way,” she said, pushing herself away from the fire. Her stomach had turned to vinegar.
“It’s either that or I leave you to your fate.” Chew-chew-chew.
Only then did she see a crack in his expressionless mask. A slight smile, as if he were enjoying her reaction.
“You think this is funny?” she demanded. Now that she was focused on it, all she could do was feel the dull, throbbing fire.
“It’s time to test that threshold of pain of yours, Amanda.”
* * *
Everyone looked up. It was distant, just below the drone of the river, but a ghastly, agony-filled scream wailed along the currents of a breeze.
“That sounded like a person,” Skip said, standing. His eyes were as wide as the bottom of a bowl. “Like a woman’s voice.”
Gavin agreed. He watched a trio of swallow-tailed hawks fly in formation above them and willed his body temperature to simmer down. He was sweating. It was crazy but that scream sounded like Amanda. Impossible, obviously, but his nervous system hadn’t gotten the memo. His tongue filled his mouth, sticky and devoid of moisture.
“I thought will-o’-the-wisps only came out at night,” Skip said, head cocked.
“That would make two of us,” Tarsidion said, eyes narrowed as they scanned.
The scream came again, and this time Gavin was certain it was Amanda.
This is one sick forest. And it was working, too, because it took all of his resolve to not insist on going back to check it out, to be absolutely certain that Amanda hadn’t accidentally followed them across the universe and was now being tortured by some forest monster.
“We’re going to put as much distance between this place and us as we can,” Gavin said, standing. “Our first waypoint is fifteen miles northwest of here. I saw a house on a hill on my way back.”
“Way out here?”
Gavin shrugged. “It resembled a house.”
“Just so you know, I’ve seen this movie before—houses on hills never seem to work out very well—what if they’re not friendly?”
Gavin’s eyes glinted. “Then we’ll persuade them. Let’s go.”
Another scream drifted.
* * *
He was done. Amanda lay motionless, sobbing quietly while drool leaked uncontrolled onto the ground. Her vision was outlined in crimson and there was a roaring in her ears.
“I’ll give you fifteen minutes. Then we move out.”
She was aware of his words, could feel them skitter across her mind, but the nova of agony pulsating through her nerve-endings forbade their actual comprehension. Her senses were raging in an inferno of agony that did not subside. It seemed to grow. The mere act of walking was far beyond the scope of her imagination. That son of a bitch had just operated on her back with a glowing red knife and now she was supposed to hike?
Death seemed preferable.
“You’re not going to die,” Donovan said. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Muscles trembling, she tried to shift her head to look at him, to have him acknowledge that he had indeed plucked the thoughts from her mind, but even that was beyond her strength.
“Fifteen minutes,” he repeated. She could hear him fiddling with his gun.
Amanda cried.
Chapter 13
“I really appreciate you carrying that,” Skip huffed to Tarsidion as he jogged across a forest floor cushioned with years of dead pine needles. Sweat streamed down Skip’s face. “She’s a heavy bitch.”
“I know,” Tarsidion said, not huffing. “I’m the one who bought her.”
“Oh, yeah.” Gasp. “I forgot about that.” Gasp, gasp. “It suits you.”
Tarsidion nodded. He was a perfect rear guard, a point of reference to gain bearings when things got ugly. The cavalry.
“Hold,” Gavin called, fist up.
Slicing through the forest like an old battle-scar was a ravine some twenty feet wide and at least thirty feet down. Sheer.
“Hope one of y’all brought a rope,” Skip said.
“A rope? Please,” Noah said.
In perfect lockstep, Gavin, Cirena and Noah leaped into the air, eyes awash in silky, thread-like light. Their cloaks rippled in the wind behind them as they sailed effortlessly across, landing like falcons on the other side with hardly a bend of a knee.
“Show-offs,” Skip muttered to the faraway trio. “You know how many times that little trick would have come in handy in the Kush?”
Tarsidion responded by shrugging off the Bronto-killer. He looked across the gulf, pointed to Gavin—who nodded—and then heaved it into the air.
“Whoa, wait—”
Tarsidion’s eyes washed over in magic and the 30.9 lb Barrett M107 sailed across the chasm. Just before it landed, it slowed to the speed of a wadded ball of paper. Gavin caught it on the other side as casually as if it had been a football.
“I think I could get used to having you guys around.”
“Your turn,” Tarsidion said, stepping close.
“For what?” Skip asked, taking an equal step back. “You’d better not even be
thinking about tossing me over like that.”
The sable-haired behemoth looked down at him. “You will hold on to me, and I will jump.”
“Couldn’t I do this with Cirena?” Skip asked.
“Let’s not tempt Cirena. She still...smolders.”
An image of Skip’s body entangled around Cirena’s as they flew through the air flashed through Skip’s mind, eliciting a small, private smile, but ended as he mentally plunged to the rocky, mossy bottom. Nope, he was better off with Tarsidion. “Good point. How we doing this?”
“Fireman’s carry,” Tarsidion answered and without giving Skip a moment to prepare himself, Tarsidion scooped his two hundred and nineteen pounds up onto his shoulder like a sack of Spanish onions and leaped, unleashing a flight of butterflies right up Skip’s belly. The big man touched down on the other side like stepping off an escalator.
“That will be five dollars,” Tarsidion said and deposited a grinning Skip to the ground.
“That was fun.”
“Here,” Gavin said, handing him the Bronto. “Your turn.”
Ah, geez. His shoulder had just started to recover.
“It’s not much longer,” Gavin said. “On the other side of this ridge is a small vale with a knoll right smack in the middle of it. That knoll is our destination.”
It was at that moment that all five of them heard what should have been impossible—the distinct and unmistakable sound of pistol fire.
All of them froze.
“That’s gunfire,” Tarsidion said, eyes blazing.
“That’s impossible,” Cirena said, both baffled and horrified. “How could there be firearms here?”
“Thunder from an approaching storm?” Noah asked.
“No way. That was a .45,” Skip said. Another series of sharp barks floated through the trees. “And a 9mm,” Skip added. “There are two guns.”
“Will-o’-the-wisps?” Noah asked.
“How would they know what guns sounds like?” Gavin pointed out.