Destroyer of Legends

by Clayton Wood

  Hunter adjusted his metal helmet, his scalp sore from having worn it all day. It was functional but not particularly sexy, leaving his face visible from the eyebrows down. He’d gotten into the habit of wearing it after discovering it could protect his mind from absorbing the emotions and memories of everything around him. A necessary precaution in a world where a single mistake could not only cost you your life, but your very soul.

  “How you holding up, bro?” he asked, glancing to his left. A huge creature walked at his side, a beast about nine feet tall, with two pairs of heavily-muscled arms and a body covered in black armored plates. It was Xerxes, the brother he’d never known he’d had, born on this strange world after his mother Neesha had been sucked into an ancient portal. A one-way ticket from Earth to Varta…with no way back.

  Xerxes grunted, raising one hand and flashing a few hand signals. Hunter concentrated, trying to figure out what Xerxes was signing. His brother had been changed by this world, turned into a half-man, half-beetle. Barely able to talk, he’d been teaching Hunter sign language for the past few days.

  “Good,” he saw Xerxes sign. “You?”

  “Tired,” Hunter grumbled. “Hungry.”

  Xerxes grunted again, wagging one finger.

  “NO TALK,” he lectured. “SIGN.”

  “Right,” Hunter grumbled. He signed slowly, struggling to remember the words. “Tired,” he signed. “Hungry.”

  Xerxes nodded in approval. He reached down as he walked, plucking a large white mushroom from the base of a nearby tree and offering it to Hunter, who made a face. Xerxes shrugged, chowing down on the stuff. Little pieces of it stuck to the corners of his mouth.

  “Nasty,” Hunter muttered. He hated mushrooms, as any rational human being should. But the Ironclad – the name for creatures like Xerxes – loved the stuff. It was the beetle in them, apparently. At least that’s what Vi had told him.

  He sighed, wishing she were here. Not that Xerxes wasn’t fine company, but it was a whole hell of a lot easier to speak with Vi. Considering she could, you know, speak. He’d told Xerxes a lot about himself in the last couple of days. About their father. About what their mother’s journey to this world had done to the man. And about what Dad had done to Hunter.

  And in return, Hunter had a lot he wanted to learn about his brother, but with Xerxes barely able to say more than a few words at a time…

  “What’s wrong?” Xerxes signed. Hunter grimaced.

  “Wish you could talk,” he admitted aloud. Mostly because he didn’t know how to sign it. Xerxes took the opportunity to show him, signing slowly with one of his four hands. Hunter watched him, then repeated the signs a few times.

  “ME…TOO,” Xerxes confessed afterward. His voice was deep and gravelly, his voice box transformed by decades of exposure to the powerful wills of beetles in the cave the Ironclad lived in. Descendants of peasants who’d risen up against the kingdom of Tykus half a century ago, the Ironclad were loyal only to Xerxes…and to Neesha, their queen. Xerxes and Neesha were both immortal, possessed of the ability to heal from nearly any injury. And they never aged. It had something to do with the blue bioluminescent goo that they generated; Xerxes had a long translucent mane extending from the top of his head all the way down his spine, forming a short, broad tail. It was filled with the glowing stuff.

  “I miss Vi,” Hunter signed. He felt bad about telling Xerxes, afraid he might offend his brother. But he’d promised himself he’d be brutally honest with the guy, even at the risk of hurting him.

  Holding things in is the exact opposite of letting them go, Vi had taught him.

  “She talks a lot,” Xerxes signed, smirking down at him. Hunter chuckled.

  “True,” he signed back. “But most of it is worth listening to.”

  They continued forward, settling into a comfortable silence. It’d been days since they’d started their journey from the Ironclad caves toward the Kingdom of the Deep. Days since they’d barely escaped from the Castle Wexford – the fortress owned by Duke Dominus – with their lives. Neesha and Vi were still in the Ironclad caves, preparing for a war against Tykus. Apparently Tykus had been attacked by the Guild of Seekers, much of it set ablaze. Rumor had it the Seekers had managed to raid the Acropolis itself, the massive fortress in the center of the kingdom.

  If it weren’t for Zagamar, Hunter thought darkly, I’d still be with Vi and Mom.

  His stomach growled, loud enough that Xerxes heard it. His brother offered a hunk of mushroom again, and again Hunter declined. Still, Xerxes had a point. The longer Hunter went without eating, the more likely that Zagamar would try to take over. And that wasn’t something Hunter was keen on suffering through, on account of the fact that good ‘ol Zaggie was a megalomaniacal asshole.

  Never shoulda drank that shit, he groused silently.

  It was too late, of course. He’d swallowed the liquified brains of Zagamar, a Legend who’d died over six thousand years ago. And now the Legend’s will was exerting itself slowly, taking over Hunter’s body and mind bit-by-bit. There was only one way to stop the bastard from transforming Hunter into Zagamar himself…and that was to go to the Deep.

  According to Mom, the Deep had the power to lock in his traits, making who he was now…his mind and body…permanent. The downside, of course, was that nothing would be able to change him afterward. He wouldn’t be able to absorb memories anymore, or sense other people’s emotions. He’d basically end up being the guy he’d been on Earth. An outcome he hardly looked forward to…but the alternative was to lose himself.

  Hunter sighed, ignoring his tired legs, keeping up with Xerxes despite the guy’s much longer stride. The sooner they made it to the Deep, the sooner he’d be rid of Zagamar. Or at least the sooner he’d stop the guy from taking over. He could summon the ancient Legend if he chose, a process that temporarily gave him Zagamar’s incredible intellect and remarkable ability to view the world in slow-motion. At the expense of risking the guy taking his mind over completely.

  He glanced up at Xerxes, tapping his arm.

  “How you doing?” he signed.

  “Tired,” Xerxes signed back. “Normally sleep during the day.”

  Hunter nodded. Vi had mentioned that the Ironclad were nocturnal. Xerxes had flipped his sleep schedule to accommodate Hunter. He was surprisingly thoughtful and considerate for a monster. Sure, they couldn’t talk much…not yet, until Hunter learned more sign language…but Xerxes was loyal as hell, and had sacrificed himself on more than one occasion to save Hunter.

  “Want rest?” Hunter signed. Xerxes shook his head.

  “Go until you tired,” he signed back.

  Hunter nodded. Xerxes understood Hunter’s greatest fear – that with every day that passed, he might be losing a little more of himself. Subtly, imperceptibly. It was the nature of this cursed world that anyone with a stronger will than you could change you. Could make you more like them. Plants, animals, people…anyone with a more powerful will could do it. On earth, you got to stay yourself. But here…

  He glanced up at Xerxes, wondering how his brother felt about having become a monster.

  “Hey,” he ventured. “What was it like? You know, becoming…you?” Xerxes smirked.

  “A monster?” he signed.

  “Well yeah.”

  “FEAR,” Xerxes answered. He paused for a moment. “WHEN STOP? IF…STOP?”

  Hunter nodded, remembering what it’d been like to have Zagamar take over. The fear he’d felt each time, wondering if he’d be able to take control back from Zagamar…or whether he’d lose himself completely.

  “WONDER,” Xerxes continued, tapping on his chest, then his head. “HOW MUCH…LEFT.”

  “How much of you was left?” Hunter inquired.

  “IS.”

  Hunter considered this, saying nothing more. As much as he hated to admit it, when he first realized his brother was, well, his brother, he struggled more than a little with seeing the guy as something other than a big dumb brute. A
very violent big dumb brute. He hated the fact that he’d made that assumption purely based on Xerxes’ appearance…especially since people in Tykus – and those back on Earth – had done the same to him because of the color of his skin.

  He sighed, trekking onward, rubbing his right shoulder absently. It still hurt after being struck by an arrow during their raid on the Castle Wexford. The cut on his lower back wasn’t faring much better. Not for the first time, he wished he had Xerxes’ and Mom’s ability to heal almost instantly. He told his brother as much.

  “GIFT,” Xerxes replied. “CURSE.”

  “Gotta think it’s more of a gift than a curse,” Hunter ventured. “Watching you get burned alive and heal a few minutes later is pretty awesome.” He grimaced, rubbing his shoulder some more. “Gonna take me weeks to heal from that damn arrow.”

  “WANT…OOZE?” Xerxes inquired. Hunter glanced at Xerxes’ glowing blue mane.

  “Not gonna lie,” he admitted. “I’m a little tempted.”

  “NO…TELL MOM.”

  “Why?” Hunter asked. “She gonna be mad?”

  “IF…ZAGAMAR…TAKE OVER…”

  “Ah,” Hunter muttered. He hadn’t thought of that. “How about we wait until the Deep,” he decided. Xerxes nodded.

  “DEAL.”

  “Hey,” Hunter stated, perking up. “Since we’re going to the Deep, you can lock in your traits,” he realized. “So you won’t have to worry about losing your voice anymore.”

  “Or getting it back,” Xerxes signed. Hunter grimaced.

  “Right,” he signed back.

  He sighed, feeling suddenly glum. There was no good outcome here for either of them, only a choice between the lesser of two bad ones. He suddenly wished – and not for the first time – that he’d thought things through a little more when he’d met Lady Camilla. If he hadn’t been so caught up in his guilt and obsession with revenge, he would’ve thought twice about trusting her. And he’d never have gone into that damn crypt. A master manipulator, Lady Camilla had sensed his weakness instantly, and had taken advantage of it.

  And him…in more ways than one.

  He felt a tap on his shoulder, and glanced up, realizing Xerxes was trying to get his attention.

  “Yeah?” he asked. Xerxes wagged one index finger.

  “Sign,” Xerxes signed.

  “What?” Hunter signed. Xerxes gestured ahead.

  “Look,” he signed.

  Hunter looked ahead, spotting something rising far above the treetops a quarter-mile ahead. A huge black tower piercing through the forest, tapering to a sharp point at the top. It looked to be a few hundred feet tall, with lush green vines crawling up the sides of it. He saw more towers beyond, mostly hidden by the dense foliage.

  “Almost there,” Xerxes signed.

  Hunter nodded, feeling a powerful sense of déjà vu. He knew this place, had seen it before. Not in his own memories, but in the memories he’d absorbed from a mace back at Vi’s house, after she’d been mostly killed by Traven. He’d discovered that the more memories he absorbed, the harder time he had remembering which ones were his and which weren’t. Thus his helmet.

  They strode toward the spires, eventually reaching a wide dirt path leading them toward it. A few minutes later, the path ended abruptly in a chasm easily a quarter-mile wide ahead. A black stone bridge some twenty feet wide spanned the gap, supported by thick stone columns rising up from the chasm. This bridge led to a massive wall made of the same black stone. Trees grew against the wall, and thick vines crawled up its surface all the way to the top…so densely that their leaves almost completely obscured the stone. Hunter and Xerxes stopped before the bridge.

  “Guessing this is it,” Hunter ventured, glancing up at Xerxes.

  “Yes,” his brother signed.

  “Don’t see any guards,” Hunter noted. Xerxes grunted, pointing up with one hand. Hunter frowned, spotting a flock of large birds gliding near the top of the spires high above. He raised an eyebrow at his brother. “You’re saying this place is guarded by birds?”

  Xerxes didn’t answer, stepping onto the bridge, his feet thumping on the black stone as he made his way toward the wall ahead. Hunter sighed, following behind. He glanced over the edge of the bridge; there was a several-hundred-foot drop to a river below…and no railing to stop people from stumbling off to their deaths.

  “Not exactly kid-friendly,” he grumbled.

  They made their way across the bridge, reaching a huge stone archway in the wall ahead. There was no closed portcullis, no massive double-doors. Nothing to stop them from coming in. Which was odd. Why go through all the trouble of building a wall if you were going to let anyone walk through? But he didn’t have time to ponder the question. They passed under the archway, coming to wide stairs leading upward a good thirty feet. This too was strange; the leftmost part of the staircase was normal, with normal-sized steps. The middle had much larger steps, while the rightmost part was a ramp leading upward, its surface roughened instead of slippery…and with a carpet of dead vines sprawled all the way up its surface.

  “Huh,” Hunter said, stopping at the foot of the stairs. “Weird.”

  If Xerxes found it weird, he certainly didn’t show it; the big brute started walking up the middle portion of the stairs, the huge steps slightly too large for even him. Hunter stuck to the leftmost section – the one with sensibly-proportioned steps – making his way up to the top.

  And stopped dead in his tracks.

  For there, spread out before him, was a massive open space surrounded on all sides by that tall black stone wall, easily as large as the kingdom of Tykus. But in stark contrast to Tykus’s countless buildings and cobblestone streets, this place was lush with trees and shrubs, short green grass dotted with wildflowers serving as verdant streets. Long wooden buildings with curved roofs dotted the landscape, some over sixty feet long and twenty feet tall. Other buildings seemed to be built into the earth itself; indeed, wherever there was a hill, the entrance to an underground building could be seen. And in some of the larger trees, treehouses had been built. Not the simple, small treehouses one might expect, but huge structures built across numerous trees, with wooden bridges connecting them.

  And spread throughout the landscape were five huge spires made of black stone, vines crawling up their sheer walls. Each had to be over thirty stories tall, and tapered into sharp pyramidal peaks at the top.

  Hunter stared at the magnificent view, then realized his mouth was open. He shut it with a click.

  “Wow,” he breathed, glancing at Xerxes. He couldn’t read the guy’s expression, as usual.

  “Agreed,” Xerxes signed.

  A group of men walked out of one of the long wooden buildings nearest Hunter and Xerxes, then started running toward them. The men were unarmed, with tanned skin and long black hair. They were wearing loincloths…and little else.

  “Incoming,” Hunter warned, taking a step back and reaching for the hilt of his longsword. But Xerxes shook his head.

  “HOLD,” he ordered.

  Hunter obeyed, forcing himself to relax as the men ran toward them. They slowed as they reached Hunter and Xerxes, stopping a few feet away. Which was a bit too close for Hunter’s comfort.

  “Hello!” one of them greeted, smiling broadly and raising one hand. “I’m Kip.”

  “Hunter,” Hunter replied, pointing at himself. “This is Xerxes,” he added.

  Kip and the others nodded…and promptly took to staring at Xerxes.

  “What are you?” Kip asked the big guy.

  “He’s an Ironclad,” Hunter answered. Kip frowned.

  “Never seen one like him before. Was he made?”

  Hunter frowned.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Was he made, or was he born?” Kip clarified. Hunter glanced at Xerxes, who just stood there looking down at them.

  “Made,” Hunter admitted.

  Kip and the other men nodded…and proceeded to stare at Xerxes for a long, increasingly
uncomfortable moment.

  “Is this the Kingdom of the Deep?” Hunter inquired, breaking the silence. Kip blinked, turning to him.

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “This is our home. What is yours?”

  “I uh,” Hunter began, then stopped. He could say that Tykus was his home, but these guys probably didn’t get along with the kingdom. “I’m from Earth.”

  Kip frowned, glancing at his fellows. Then he shook his head.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I came through the Gate,” Hunter clarified. “From another world.”

  Kip’s eyes widened, and he broke out into a huge smile, reaching out and grabbing Hunter by the wrists. Hunter resisted the urge to jerk his arms away…and decapitate the guy with his sword.

  “An Original!” Kip exclaimed. He turned to his fellows. “From the Great Turtle, like our Ancestors!” Kip turned back to Hunter. “Tykus didn’t get you?”

  “They did,” Hunter admitted. “But I escaped.”

  “Ah,” Kip replied. “This is good, this is good. Come!” he ordered, pulling Hunter forward. “The Elders will want to meet you!”

  Hunter glanced back at Xerxes, who merely shrugged, stomping behind Kip and Hunter as Kip dragged Hunter forward. At first Hunter thought that Kip was going to take him to the long building the men had come out of, but they passed to the right of it, continuing down a wide street of short grass and flowers. The air was fragrant with the flowers’ sweet perfume, and Hunter’s alarm at being pulled along by total strangers soon gave way to a pleasant contentedness. Vi’s training made it instantly clear what was going on; the environment was changing his mood, even with his helmet on. Either Kip’s enthusiasm was affecting him, or the surrounding environment was. Either way, it was a good sign; people here were generally happy…and happy people didn’t brutally murder strangers.

  Typically.

  Not that Hunter was particularly worried; these men were unarmed, and Xerxes could wipe the floor with them. And if they really threatened Hunter, Hunter could always unleash Zaggie on them.

  He allowed himself to relax, giving in to the emotions around him.