Behind the barn, a short hairy goblin-like pig creature spied through the wood planks. He locked eyes with Matthew, gave a quick snort, and darted off into the darkness.
Matthew glanced back at his sister. “Pig-runs.”
“Stay here,” Michelle ordered him. She grabbed her bow and a quiver full of arrows and headed outside.
***
Out from the darkness, the upright, warthog-shaped creature emerged, his jagged tusks glimmering in the moonlight. He snorted out the cold air through his snot drenched, flat snout, sniffing and tasting the passing scents ensnared in the blizzard winds. He changed course, slowing his pace to a light jog until he came upon the scaled feet of a huge figure waiting behind the shadows of the woods.
“My lord, your suspicions were right,” said the pig-run. He spoke elegantly, as if he was a royal butler bowing before his king.
“Excellent work, Dew-paw,” said the figure, his voice grating out like a python grinding its scales across the rocks of a riverbed.
Before Dew-paw could form more words, a woman’s voice echoed out, piercing through the blizzard’s wail and howl.
“This is my land. You are all trespassing.”
Michelle stepped into the moonlight, her bow already drawn, the arrow facing downwards to the snow ready to be raised and fired at her whim.
The large figure mirrored Michelle’s advancing pace, stepping into the light to reveal not a man, but something far more frightening. An eight-foot-tall dark green monster more lizard than human. He stood upright and wore an armor chest plate and metal shoulder guards. His body resembled a Komodo dragon in form. His eyes, despite being marked with reptilian slits, possessed a hint of patience and intelligence. He peered down at Michelle as alligators often do with a passing curiosity and indifference. Then he lifted his heavy ax above his narrow head and motioned to those lying in wait behind the shadows of the cold black night.
One small flame ignited in the blackness of the woods, giving birth to more and still more. They mated with one another like courting fireflies until the whole forest was ablaze with hundreds of torches. Their wielders emerged, advancing on Michelle’s small world the way ants swarm out of a trampled mound. Hundreds of pig-runs surrounded the property, armed and dressed for war, squealing for human blood.
***
Sharon studied the photo of her and her mother at the beach as she lay back in bed. She frowned, gliding her finger across her mother’s smile and stopping when she came to an arm wrapped around her mother’s shoulders. She followed the arm to the edge of the photo and unfolded it, revealing her father on the other side of the crease. Eric’s smile seemed genuine. And the photo had not even been taken a year before he left.
You look so happy. So why? “Why did you leave us? Was it all a lie? Is this face just a mask?” Sharon’s question hung in the silent air before snuffing out like a candle’s flame.
“Sharon,” Matthew screamed as he burst through the bedroom door, his face pale and stricken with fear.
Sharon shot up in bed. “What’s wrong?”
“You have to hide,” said Matthew. “Now.”
“Why?” A chorus of squeals caught her attention. She jumped out of bed, stepped over to the window ledge, and gazed outside. Her face went grim. “Not good.”
***
Michelle took a deep breath and swallowed the knot swelling in her throat. She gathered her thoughts and tried to keep her composure before the jaws of the lion. Pig-runs were one thing, dealing with a half-a-dozen or so she could fight off. Maybe. With a slim chance of survival. But with these numbers and with their lizard king, their living god at the helm, her survival and, more importantly, Matthew’s life teetered on his particular mood and whim. Her next words would decide everything.
“Khaba, to what do I owe this honor?” Michelle asked.
Khaba stared her down, the difference in their size almost comical, his long thick tail swishing back and forth the way of an annoyed cat. “Give me the outsider, human,” Khaba commanded her, as if she was a little girl hiding a toy behind her back.
Michelle hesitated, her eyes scanning for the right words. “What outsider? I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her words fumbled out of her mouth.
Khaba bared the jagged teeth in the corner of his mouth. “Be careful whom you lie to woman.” He invaded her personal space, leaning in and brushing aside her bangs from her face with a loud humid snort. “I can smell the magic in the air.” He stuck out his black forked tongue and flickered it like a cobra tasting the wind. “Someone has recently used one of the mirrors.”
Michelle gritted her teeth, puffed out her chest, and tried her best to project confidence in her voice. “I saved her life. She belongs to me.”
Dew-paw snorted himself into their conversation. “Under normal circumstances, yes, but we are at war, my lady. And these lands belong to Khaba. His rights supersede yours in times of civil unrest.”
She had no rebuttal. He was right. By choosing to live here she became subject to all pig-run laws. This was their country. And though, ironically, she had enjoyed more individual freedoms and rights here as a woman than under any human rule, she had no say in the matter. And to make matters worse, any rights she had only applied during times of peace. In times of war the pig-run government changed from a primitive republic to a dictatorship, absolute power handed over to their chosen king to ensure swift victory.
“What possible use could this girl be to you?” Michelle asked Khaba.
“That is none of your concern.” Khaba turned from her and shouted out to his warriors. “All right, search the property.”
The pig-runs charged the yard, gaining speed as they swarmed closer and closer in on the cabin.
Michelle raised her bow, drew back with all her strength, and released.
Whoosh. Thud.
The arrow struck inches from Dew-paw’s hooves.
The advancing pig-runs froze mid-stride.
“Nobody move a muscle,” Michelle roared. “Khaba may rule this country—but this plot of land belongs to me.”
Khaba raised his huge ax to strike, bending his knees in preparation for a leaping lunge toward Michelle. He would close their distance in one stride and end this with one swing.
Michelle loaded another arrow—her hands moving in a blur of speed—and turned her bow on Khaba.
Khaba froze, his expression one of a man who just stepped on a bear trap and heard the click.
“I wouldn’t,” said Michelle. “Your ax must weigh a ton, Khaba. My arrow doesn’t. I wonder which will strike first.”
***
Light pierced through the darkness, flooding in the storage basement. Matthew opened the latch and lifted the trap door up from the floor. He glanced back to Sharon.
“Oh no—no basements,” she said backing up. “I learned my lesson the first time.”
“You have to hide,” he said.
“You first.”
He frowned. “I can’t. I have to save my sister.”
“And how are you going to do that exactly?”
He ran to a long slender chest underneath the stairs. He pulled the chest out, unlatched it, and popped open the lid. A primitive antique musket made of heavy iron and hardwood lay inside.
“That isn’t what I think it is—is it?” she asked, her stomach sickening with dread.
“All I have to do is kill the big lizard and the pig-runs will scatter. He’s the only reason they had the courage to form an army and challenge human rule in the first place.” Matthew took out the musket, added gunpowder, loaded a small metal ball down the barrel, jammed it down with a long metal bar, and fastened the flint. “Without him maybe...”
“This is nuts. We should just stay inside. I’m sure your sister has everything under control,” she said pacing back and forth.
“I’m not leaving my sister out there to die,” he snapped, wrapping the musket’s leather strap around his shoulder. He headed for the front do
or.
Sharon stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
“Get out of my way.”
“We need time to think about this rationally,” she pleaded.
“Fine, you stay here and think. But I’m going.”
“Matthew, if you run out there guns a’ blazin’ someone is gonna get hurt.”
“My sister will die if I don’t.”
“Getting yourself killed won’t do anyone any good. I know it sucks, but we have to prioritize our own safety first and focus on—”
“She’s only in danger right now because of you,” Matthew cut her short, his words fuming out. “If she didn’t risk her life to save yours back in the forest, none of this would have happened. Why do you think they’re here? The pig-runs have always left us alone before tonight, and now all of a sudden, they’re at our gates. They’re here because of you.”
Sharon’s eyes widened. “The pig-runs are after me? Why? Do they have something to do with the crow?”
“Who knows and who cares. All I know is that she should have just left you out there to die,” Matthew said coldly. He pushed passed her and out the front door.
Sharon clenched her fists and averted her gaze to the floor. He’s right. I’ve been nothing but a burden to them. To everyone. Maybe it would have been better if I had died out there. At least then only my life would be lost.
***
“Michelle!” Matthew came barreling out the front door, down the steps, and across the yard, making a beeline toward Khaba and his sister.
Michelle turned her head but kept her bow focused on Khaba. “I told you to stay inside!”
Matthew stopped in the middle of the yard when he was satisfied enough distance was gained. He took aim with the musket, raising the weapon and lining the sight up with Khaba.
Khaba squinted, trying to focus his eyes on a small figure in the darkness. A glimmer of moonlight reflected off the metallic barrel. His jaw dropped in a sudden gasp when he recognized the object Matthew held.
“Die, monster.” Matthew squeezed the trigger. The powder ignited in a flash of smoke and fire—blasting the small iron ball toward Khaba.
Smoke filled the air.
All the pig-runs stood still, alert, and silent.
The smoke cleared.
Matthew’s confidence died as a bolt of terror shot through him.
Khaba wiped a trickle of blood descending from a slither of a cut across the side of his face. “You should have gotten closer to me before firing, boy. Those muskets have piss-poor accuracy.” He motioned to Dew-paw.
Dew-paw charged Matthew, wrestling him to the ground and disarming him. After taking control of his hostage, Dew-paw slid out his knife and pressed it against Matthew’s throat.
“Don’t,” Michelle yelled.
She spun to shoot Dew-paw, but stopped midway as Khaba stepped toward her. She spun back to Khaba, focusing her arrow on him and halting his advance. Khaba would kill her if she used her arrow on the pig-run. He was too close. No way would he give her time to reload. But Dew-paw could kill Matthew at any moment. One arrow. Two targets. An impossible choice.
Khaba grinned a lizard’s grin. He had her. Matthew just threw away any advantage she once held. “Your courage is impressive, human.” Khaba locked eyes with Michelle. “But this conflict is meaningless. Violence will only lead to more grief.”
Michelle bit down on her lower lip, drawing blood as the tears fell from her pale gray eyes. “What would you know of grief?” she hissed the words out with all the venom of a thousand vipers. “Huh? How many have suffered under the war between the three kingdoms? How many lives have been lost because of your pride?”
Khaba’s expression remained calm and indifferent as he took in her words. “Whose lives are you referring to?” he asked. “Human lives perhaps? Where were your protests when the pig-runs were driven from their ancestral homelands? When your kind slaughtered them by the thousands along the infamous River of Crying?”
Michelle glanced over the hundreds of pig-runs behind Khaba, scanning their somber, pain-soaked faces. The pig-runs’ memories of that atrocity, that genocidal march of death just under a decade ago, was still fresh and vivid, their grief as powerful as if it happened this afternoon.
“You humans are all the same. You care only now—when it’s your own blood being spilled.”
A drop of blood trickled down Matthew’s throat, staining Dew-paw’s filthy blade.
Michelle clenched her eyes shut to cut off the flow of tears, but to no avail.
Khaba waited for her rebuttal, but none came. “So, what will it be? Kill me and this war might end. But you and the boy die. Make your choice.”
Michelle stood there motionless for the longest time as she made her choice. Then, oddly, her expression changed. The muscles in her face loosened and relaxed. The tears stopped, she opened her eyes, and gazed up at Khaba. But her pale gray eyes were different somehow. They were cold, drained of feeling, hollow eyes of an empty soul. To Khaba it was like she had changed into a completely different person in that instance. As if a caterpillar broke free of its cocoon before his very eyes and emerged not a butterfly but a death moth.
Khaba grew visibly shaken. He was a god among men and yet this woman he towered over sent a primal shiver of fear down his spine.
Michelle drew back her bowstring to the breaking point and peeled her fingers from the string one by...
“Stop,” a voice boomed out.
Michelle relaxed her bow and turned.
Everyone followed suit and shifted their gaze to the cabin as Sharon descended the steps of the front porch.
CHAPTER 11
The Pyramid of Life
SHARON STEPPED FORWARD, anxiety swelling inside her, stiffening her joints and tendons. Just keeping her balance became difficult, keeping a brave face damn near impossible. The usual nasty batch of stage fright had nothing on this. She was center stage, the spotlight beaming down on her, and her audience—an army of angry snorting pig-runs armed to the teeth. Their eyes all fixed on her, awaiting her next line.
Be strong, she told herself. You have to be strong. This storm will pass… you just have to ride this out…Whatever lies ahead… you can do this… She hated lying to herself.
Sharon inhaled a deep breath and inched into the moonlight, one step at a time. As she passed Matthew, she locked eyes with his captor, Dew-paw. “It’s alright. Please lower the knife. I’ll go with you guys.”
Dew-paw relaxed his grip and released Matthew.
She smiled gently at Matthew. “Don’t worry. It’ll be over soon.”
Matthew nodded with watery eyes.
She headed for Michelle.
“What are you doing?” yelled Michelle. “Get back inside.”
Sharon placed her hand on Michelle’s shoulder and slowly pushed her straightened arm down, so Michelle’s bow aimed at the ground. “It’s okay. No one has to die tonight, least of all for me.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Michelle pleaded.
She grinned. “I told you I would surprise you one day.”
Michelle let go of her grip on the bowstring and the arrow fell to the ground. She hugged Sharon, moving her lips to Sharon’s ear. “I’ll get you back,” she whispered. “Somehow I’ll find a way. In the meantime, just try to stay alive.”
“Any advice on the whole staying alive part?” asked Sharon.
“Khaba, the big lizard over there, and the pig-runs live by their own strict codes of honor. According to their laws unarmed hostages can’t be harmed.”
“So Khaba can’t kill me as long as I don’t pick up a weapon?”
“Right, so just do as he says for now and try to bide as much time as you can.”
“Stall, got it,” Sharon said turning her gaze on Khaba, determination in her eyes.
She marched over to Khaba and sized him up, masking her fear with anger, substituting bravery with hate. “I’ll go without a fight but only if you leave them alone, understand?”
Her anger subsided when she saw Khaba’s eyes. They were wide with disbelief, like she was some ominous ghost from Khaba’s past come back from the grave with a warning. A prophecy of ill omens meant for him and him alone.
He snapped out of his trance and turned from Sharon without saying a word, almost as if he were a shy boy avoiding his crush’s gaze. He signaled to the pig-runs and they retreated into the blackness of the woods.
Matthew ran to his sister and hugged her, squeezing as hard as his small arms would allow. Together they stood powerless as Khaba and his army marched away with Sharon and disappeared into the night.
***
“Hey, not so rough, pig,” Sharon shouted at a particularly large and ugly spotted pig-run with long jagged tusks.
He ignored her and continued pulling the cart she was in over the bumpy road. The large spotted pig-run had just steered over a pothole jolting her out of the crest of REM sleep.
Sharon’s protests got louder.
He snorted a growling grumble back at her without faltering his pace, keeping in sync with the rest of the marching army.
Sigh. Just when I finally fell asleep too. She gazed up at the sky. The sun peeked over the mountains. Morning. Another day to look forward to in my personal hell. Mom must be losing her mind right now. She probably already called the police to inform them of her missing daughter. I wonder what excuse Morrie used for my sudden disappearance. If any at all. Does he even know his mirror is magic? Of course, he does. He knew about the crow didn’t he…?
Sharon tumbled back against the cart’s bed as the large spotted pig-run clumsily navigated the cart over a series of rocks. “Are you blind or just stupid?” she asked, her irritated mood exasperated by the foul aroma of pig-runs. The stench of their unwashed, filthy mud-crusted bodies stung her eyes to the point of tears. “Where are you taking me? Hey, are you listening to me?”
The Crow Behind the Mirror_Book One of the Mirror Wars Page 9