She didn’t know followers of the One Son’s beliefs concerning an afterlife, and it really didn’t matter. When she died, she knew Lane would not be there waiting for her with open arms. Rachel cared little for the gods since they cared little for her. They could all get stuffed. She knew no one waited for her on the other side.
She rode her borrowed horse as swiftly as she dared. Not being a rider left her at a disadvantage. If she fell from the mount, she would never make it to the safety of the stone cliff that made up Cliffside. As far as she knew, they would stand little chance against the attack that would surely come tonight. To die fighting was a better outcome than surrendering to death.
The sun hung low in the sky when she rode into the buildings that made up the small neighborhood on top of the cliff. The tavern she stayed at last night, as well as all the buildings made of wood, were in flames.
A small contingent of fighters stood watching the flames. In the center stood the magistrate. Rachel spotted the woman—her bronze breastplate stood out amongst the leather-clad men that guarded her.
The horse trotted up to the group, eager to return to its owner. Rachel slipped off the rear of the animal before it reached the group. Last thing she wanted was to be taken out by friendlies.
The magistrate grabbed the horse’s reins as it trotted up to her. “You returned. I guess I should not be surprised.”
Rachel held her hands high, waiting for an invitation to join the cluster. “I have nowhere else to go, besides I don’t think I want to miss tonight. Should be hells of a fight.”
With a wave of a hand, the older woman motioned for Rachel to join her. “Your words might hold more truth than you think. What of my home?”
Rachel took a few steps closer. “I am sorry to tell you your home and all the buildings are gone. As I rode back, all the buildings I could see were in flames. The monsters should have no place to hide the day away.”
“I am glad to see my orders have been followed. I only hope those that are out there have time to return before the attack…” The older woman let her words trail off as her mind seemed to wander.
Rachel glanced over her shoulder, gazing the way she came. The sun set too quickly for her liking. “We know walls do little to slow them. I have a few ideas that might even the odds, if there is time. If we survive the night, we can add to our defenses tomorrow.”
“Our best defense will be to shelter in place and hope the monsters pass us by. The average population will have no chance against these invaders.” The older woman let her horse go, slapping it on the ass to make it trot a few steps away from the group.
Rachel assumed they had nowhere to stable the animal now. It was on its own to survive the night. She asked, “Does the city have a plan?”
“Each home will become a fortress, one fighter per home, if we have enough. Which we don’t. The people of the city will be responsible for blocking their openings and defending themselves. The more doors the monsters need to break down, the more people might survive. In this fight, there will be no winners.”
“We have no way to flee by the water? No help will come?”
“We have no boats. Those that had them left last night. I don’t expect anyone to come for us. I think anyone that holds that hope will be disappointed…” The woman turned to the cliff and the steps that led to the next level. “No, we are on our own.”
Rachel followed the woman. “If you can spare a moment, I have an idea. I can sketch it out for you. It should help defend the walls and bare roofs of the homes. It will take work to get enough made.” Rachel took her sword and, in the dirt, made a hasty sketch of spears joined to make a wall that would slow the attackers. “If we can place these where the monsters might jump from above, we might impale some. If used at the weak points, it might slow then enough for us to fight them. I would love to kill a few before they…” Rachel let the words trail off. She was under no illusions that the town of Cliffside would survive the coming onslaught. The best they could hope for was to delay the inevitable. The chance to live and see one more sunrise, no matter how dark the skies remained. It wasn’t a cheerful thought, but as a warrior, she experienced little happiness in her life.
The older woman in the bronze breastplate smiled at her idea. She headed down the steps followed by the boys that guarded her.
Alone on the cliff end in the fading light, Rachel muttered, “I guess I’m technically free to go.”
That would never do. She started down the stairs, looking for a home that stood unguarded. Any home would do, but she wanted to help those that couldn’t help themselves.
Three levels down, she came across a door wide, a man and woman working to get their windows reinforced with the wood they had. “Do you have help for tonight?” Rachel asked.
The man looked over and shook his head. “No… All the warriors were assigned before they reached our level.”
Rachel shrugged. “I can help if you like.” Her words held no bravado. She simply wanted to fight. If the warriors had all been placed in homes before they reached the third level of houses, the town might not even survive to see the dawn.
If the creatures needed darkness to hide from the sun, like Rachael assumed, they were about to gain access to a wonderful forward base from which to operate. From the size of the town, Rachel estimated the population to be near ten thousand, with enough cover to hide a small army, including the beasts they rode.
The strain in the man’s face and wrinkles on his forehead smoothed at her offer. “Please, help us if you can.”
This looked as good a place to die as any. She fled the training camp with nothing but her sword and leathers. That was still all she carried.
She strolled through the front door, inspecting the defensive capabilities as she went. She was taller than most on this shard, so she stood a good hand taller than the man who tried to secure the home. She doubted he would be much help protecting the building.
It had no overhead exposed to the sky. That was good—the monsters could not dig through the roof. Two small windows covered in weak shutters. They would not slow the beasts, but they were too small for the animals Rachel had witnessed to fit through, so they could be less guarded. That left the door. It was not as thick as the magistrate’s. With hinges on the outside, even beings with limited intelligence could defeat this opening easily. They would need to barricade themselves in.
There was little furniture in the room where they stood. Growing dark, the space was illuminated with twin oil lamps.
After inspecting the front entrances, she asked, “How many rooms?”
This time the female answered. “Three more.” Two little ones clung to her legs, keeping her from working. She would be of little use in the fight. The cleaver she held in her hand looked menacing against a human, but after what Rachel had seen the creatures do to trained fighters, she knew it would offer little defense against the coming attack.
Rachel walked the rooms. The bedroom held the strongest interior door, but Rachel judged it would not be strong enough to last for long. “Take your children in here and block the door as best you can. Do not open it until someone comes to get you.”
Surprisingly, the woman didn’t question the command. She kissed the man and hustled the children inside the room. The door closed behind her.
“Will they be safe?” the man asked.
Rachel was never one to give false hope. “Not sure, we will see. Now we need to block that front door some.”
The man had asked a good question. There were too many variables to give a good answer. The night the dojo was attacked, Rachel had no way to count the number of attackers. Given the number of arrows that struck per volley, she would guess fewer than twenty riding the beasts. A scouting party–sized force, they would be able to move quickly, attack, and retreat back to safety.
For being beasts from the hells, they sure attacked like humans. Fewer than twenty took out a camp of trained fighters in a short amount of time, less than an ho
ur. If not for the stout doors of the magistrate’s home and the sunrise, they would have all fallen that night.
This time it might be different. Cliffside had advanced warning, they knew the capabilities of the attackers, and with no walls to defend, each home had been turned into a miniature fortress. Hopefully, it would be enough.
She found the table in the kitchen to be nearly as thick as the front door. It covered the front opening with room to spare. It took some work, but braces were added to hold the slab of wood in place. It would not stop the monsters, but it would surely slow them. Now came the time to wait.
The sun set, and the twin moons would soon rise. The more Rachel reviewed the previous attack, the more she thought distance might be their best ally. On her ride back, it was clear to see that every shelter between the dojo and Cliffside had been put to the torch. If the creatures slept or hid during the day, they had an impressive distance to travel before the attack. They would need to return to safety before dawn. That travel distance would limit the time on target, perhaps giving the town a fighting chance to survive.
The twin moons had been overhead before the demons attacked the training camp. It took Rachel nearly a full day to travel to the training camp and back to Cliffside. She tried to do the math in her head to decide when the attack would come, but she had never liked numbers. Besides, she didn’t know the speed the demons could travel. From what she saw, they were as fast as a horse.
Waiting for an attack remained the hardest part for Rachel. Once the fighting started, the moments melted into one long series of events, time lost all meaning. The wait, on the other hand, seemed to never end. Her thoughts raced as she played out possible scenarios, causing sleep to elude her. Thoughts of death remained a constant reminder of her mortality.
She didn’t mind dying so much as she didn’t like the idea of death as a nobody. A nameless, faceless body, unknown for all eternity. That hurt the most.
The distinctive screams of the monsters broke her morose thoughts. The time had come, they were at the edge of town. The cries were probably the animals being forced over the side of the cliff. She could only guess, but the sound drew louder with each passing moment. Three levels of homes before they reached her. Each home that fell, the town would lose a fighter and a family. Every home lost, the town got weaker. She could only hope some of the monsters would fall before the town died.
The floor of the home reverberated through the stone. Rachel was certain something heavy jumped to the platform right outside the front door. That platform was someone’s roof. Blockaded into the home as they were, she had no way to see what happened outside, but by the sound, the creature tore at the stone, digging away into the house below them.
There was another loud thump as a second joined the first. Heavy breaths of the creature smelled at the windows before it let out a scream. It must have caught a scent.
The people of Cliffside miscalculated the tactics. They assumed the monsters would be systematic in the attack on the town, clearing one building before the next. They placed all the fighters on the first three levels of the cliff dwellings. These were not humans but animals, so they attacked in a different manner. One might call it haphazard, or they held different goals in mind than simply destroying the town.
It mattered little now, the decision had been made for the defense, and it proved the wrong choice. The unprotected families would be paying the price for the miscalculation.
Rachel drew her sword from the scabbard. There was no sense crying over spilled milk now. At least one creature clawed its way into the outer wood door. After it tore that asunder, it would continue working on the barricade.
The sun would not save them tonight. She doubted anything could save them now. The timber of the outer door gave way. Rachel glanced to her left, and the man of the house stood by her side, spear in hand, pale as the full moon of Major shining on a clear night. Terror was written on his strained face.
The clawing stopped and was replaced by the blood-chilling scream of the beast. Maybe it was talking to the others, getting ready to claim its prized meal. The reason for the pause was irrelevant, the table needed to hold at all costs. The longer Rachel held the room, the longer the town would survive. Tomorrow, the survivors would need to regroup and think of a better strategy. If there were any survivors.
Claws dug into the hardwood, peeling away great ribbons of wood shavings. At the first sign of a crack, Rachel drove her sword deep into the fissure. If the scaled monsters were like a dog or cat, the paws would be tender to attack. Her sword might slow it down if she could strike home. The man at her left started doing the same with his spear.
Over and over, they continued to defend the failing table barrier. One stab after another. The attacking creature let out a scream as one of the defenders drew first blood. Rachel pulled her sword back and found it covered with blood.
“It has grabbed my spear,” the man shouted.
Rachel dropped her sword and grabbed the spear with the man. “On the count of three push with all your might.” Rachel counted, and the pulling of the two instantly became a push. It was easy for her to feel the weapon sink into flesh. A scream of pain reverberated through the walls of the home.
This was the first attack that seemed to work on the monsters. At the dojo, the scales of the animals defeated arrows and swords alike. Only the soft underbellies proved vulnerable to weapons. Maybe they found a way to fight the beasts—if they could survive the night to tell someone.
Chapter 13, Zorra Villa:
The boat the pair traveled in worked well for their purpose, if small and cramped. Adding a dog to the crew did little to ease the tight quarters.
Zorra was happy to skirt the major shards and stay away from the land. Better to risk the open water than run into a ship searching for survivors to take advantage of. Even if they were far north, any number of bad actors would be willing to take advantage of the situation. Slavers, pirates, and the black ships were not alone in thievery. Normally upstanding citizens often took advantage of a bad situation to better their lot in life. Zorra had witnessed it too often before.
The dog they rescued from the ship stood on the bow and tried to catch the droplets of water as they plowed through the waves. She had never had a pet and had no idea what to call the mutt. Dog would do for now. Joti didn’t care, to him, the animal might be a source of food if they ran out of the dried meat they had raided from the ghost ship.
The strong south wind kept blowing. Joti tacked the boat west for a day until they were certain they had cleared the northern shards. Then they changed course to due north. The pace raced them at greater speed once they sailed with the wind.
Zorra wasn’t certain how Joti knew where to take the ship, but the Great Beach remained their goal. North of Zar, there was little choice in destination. Limited to Cliffside, Perdition, or the Great Beach, Zorra was unsure why her dream wanted here to tackle the wasteland called the Great Beach, but she could think of nowhere else to go. Besides, the dreams pulled her somewhere… She needed to follow her dream, even if it might lead to her doom.
If the forces that murdered her family still lurked about, there was little chance they would follow the small boat to such a dangerous location.
As a child, Zorra had been fascinated by the idea of the black sand beach that seemed to stretch for immeasurable distances in every direction. No one knew what left the scar on the land. Some believed it was the site of the last battle between the One Son and his Father, the Sleeping God. It truly mattered little now. That was her destination.
The idea that a body of land did not have to meet the water with a cliff was rare in her world. Shards were called such because they looked like the land itself had been shattered and broken like a plate of glass. The water rushed in to fill the space between. In some places, the sailors swore the water that filled the cracks never ended, that if you sank in such deep water, your soul would travel directly to the land of the dead.
The de
ad mattered little to Zorra now. She could do little for them now but follow the directions of her dead husband. Or was it her own dreams telling her to flee to the desert of black sand? There was little she understood about why they traveled north, but she knew in her bones they needed to.
She wasn’t even in a position to seek revenge on those who killed her family, unsure, as she was, where to place responsibility. She needed to run, live to fight another day. Seek pain on those responsible at a later date.
Joti knew little of this, of her dreams and her reason for escaping to the desert. She only told him to travel north. If she told him the reasons, he might reconsider the journey and his loyalty to her. She would never take his pledge to serve her for granted, but she needed him now. She knew there was no way she could pilot the boat to the beach by herself, not over the open water.
The pair took shifts, one sleeping, the other at the tiller. The sun and stars were hidden by clouds as they raced ahead with the wind at their back. With no fixed points to navigate from, Joti would veer slightly off course each time he took the helm at night. Zorra would right the course they needed to travel. She didn’t know how she knew where to go, only that her soul pulled her. Something called to her, guided her.
The farther north they traveled, the more the clouds thinned. The rain and mist finally stopped, and the pair was able to dry out. With the return of the sun, the temperature rose quickly. Both shed layers of clothing in the growing heat.
Zorra was at the helm when she first noticed a strip of black separating the dark blue of the water from the pale blue of the distant sky. She didn’t wake Joti. He had just drifted off to sleep, and it would do little good anyway. There was nothing he could do until the boat drew closer to land.
Onward, she drove the small craft. Gentle swells lifted the boat higher so she could see farther into the distance. She half expected to see black cliffs like the shards were made of, or even columns of black stone thrusting into the air, like her home once sat atop. There were none of these on the horizon, only a black strip of land as far as the eye could see, stretching both east and west. Instinctively, she knew there must be shards to her left and right, but she could see nothing in the distance. This was a dead spot of water. Perhaps one of the deep areas the sailors talked about.
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