Destroyer of Legends

by Clayton Wood

  Xerxes grunted, then stopped, glancing at Hunter for a long moment.

  “What?” Hunter asked. Xerxes pointed to his glowing mane.

  “Time to drink,” he signed.

  “You mean drink your gel?” Hunter pressed. Xerxes nodded.

  “DEEP…DANGEROUS,” the big guy explained. “YOU DIE…MOM MAKE ME…DIE.”

  “That’d be tough,” Hunter replied with a smirk. “Vi cut your head off and you came back.”

  “NOT TOUGH…FOR MOM,” Xerxes countered with a smirk of his own.

  “But what about Zagamar?” Hunter asked. “What if this whole thing doesn’t work?”

  “WE…KILL YOU,” Xerxes answered.

  “How comforting,” Hunter grumbled. “Love you too bro.” Xerxes chuckled.

  “LOVE YOU,” he replied. “NOT…ZAGAMAR.”

  “Fair enough,” Hunter conceded. “So…how we gonna do this?”

  Xerxes pointed at Hunter’s sword, then at his own glowing mane. Hunter drew his sword, placing the tip near his brother’s mane, then hesitating.

  “Just cut here?”

  Xerxes grunted, grabbing the blade with one armored hand and jabbing the tip into his own mane. It took a surprising amount of force to penetrate the thick membrane; glowing blue gel oozed out onto the blade. Hunter withdrew the blade, and the wound closed almost instantaneously, the flesh knitting together before his very eyes.

  “DRINK,” Xerxes ordered.

  Hunter scooped up the goop from the flat of his blade, holding it in his hand.

  “So am I gonna…

  “DRINK.”

  Hunter shrugged, then brought his hand to his mouth, gulping down the thick fluid…and nearly gagging.

  “It’s warm!” he complained, making a face. “And salty. Oh god,” he added. “Think I’m gonna throw up.”

  Xerxes ignored him, continuing up the rocky incline toward the wall of fog ahead. Hunter grimaced, rushing to keep up with the big guy’s long strides.

  “So is this gonna make me heal real quick from now on?” he asked. Xerxes shrugged.

  “No idea,” he signed. “Probably a little faster, not a lot.”

  “So I’ll still be able to die,” Hunter ventured.

  “LITTLE…HARDER.”

  “Vi heals quick,” Hunter countered. She’d taken a few bone-crunching hits during their assault on the Castle Wexford a few days ago, and healed rapidly.

  “SHE DRINK…MANY TIMES,” Xerxes explained. “ABSORB…TRAITS GOOD.”

  “So you let her swallow your salty fluids over and over?” Hunter inquired with a wink and a nudge. Xerxes, to his credit, ignored him. He suddenly missed Vi’s banter, which was almost always terribly inappropriate.

  They continued their trek upward, falling into a comfortable silence as the fog enveloped them. Through the veil of gray they went, ever forward and upward. Hunter’s upper back and chest – which were still itching like yesterday – began to burn. At first it was relatively mild, but it soon worsened, until it was almost unbearable.

  “Damn,” he swore, coming to a stop. He rubbed the left side of his chest; it seemed swollen, heat radiating from the wrappings still covering it. The wrappings felt as if they were tightening around his chest, squeezing the air right out of him. He tried to take a deep breath, but found he couldn’t. “Shit.”

  “WHAT…WRONG?” Xerxes asked, stopping in front of him.

  “Damn wrappings are too tight,” he answered. The pain in his chest and back worsened, accompanied by terrible itching. He swore again, clawing at the wrappings. “Get this off me!”

  Xerxes obliged, hooking his massive fingers in the wrappings and tearing them off one-by-one, exposing Hunter’s chest and belly. Hunter looked down, seeing his pecs grossly swollen like a bodybuilder’s…and beet-red.

  “Aw shit,” he exclaimed, staring at them in disbelief.

  “WHAT THIS?” Xerxes demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Hunter answered. “She…they poked me with needles,” he added. “Maybe I got infected.”

  Xerxes twisted Hunter around 180 degrees, then tore away the wrappings from his back. Hunter heard a sharp intake of breath.

  “What?” he asked. The tightness around his chest was gone…but the pain was not. He turned to face Xerxes, then reached around with one hand, feeling the back of his left shoulder.

  There was something soft there…a small, fuzzy patch. It was remarkably tender.

  “What is it?” Hunter asked. Xerxes glared down at him, grabbing him by the shoulders.

  “WHAT…YOU DO?” he demanded.

  Hunter considered lying again, then lowered his gaze.

  “Something stupid,” he admitted.

  “WHAT?”

  “I kinda asked a bird-guy to give me wings.”

  Xerxes stared at Hunter, his black eyes widening. Hunter sensed his brother’s shock, and grimaced.

  “I was drunk,” he explained. “I…”

  “YOU…BIRD?” Xerxes interrupted incredulously, letting go of Hunter’s shoulders and taking a step back.

  “I saw them flying,” Hunter protested. “I thought it’d, you know, be…cool. To fly.”

  Xerxes just shook his head slowly.

  “Did I mention I was drunk?” Hunter asked rather lamely. Then the pain in his back worsened, feeling as if his shoulder blades were on fire. “God damn that hurts,” he exclaimed. “Why the hell is it hurting so much? It wasn’t doing this before!”

  “GOO,” Xerxes answered.

  Hunter stared at him, not comprehending.

  “HEAL QUICK,” his brother clarified. “GROW…QUICK.”

  “What’s growing?”

  “WINGS.”

  “You’re saying I’ve got wings?” Hunter blurted out, reaching around and feeling the fuzz on his shoulder blade again. There was something long and hard beneath the fuzz.

  Then it moved.

  “Aw shit,” Hunter mumbled. It was a bone he was feeling. A wing bone. “Oh shit oh shit…”

  “CALM.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Hunter retorted. “You’re not the one growing fucking wings!”

  “YOU…WANTED.”

  “I was drunk,” Hunter yelled.

  “NO MORE…DRINK.”

  “Thanks for the tip bro,” Hunter grumbled. “Super helpful right now.” He let go of the wing, running a hand through his short hair. “Okay, we can fix this,” he reasoned. “Cut them off.”

  Xerxes blinked.

  “Here,” Hunter urged, unsheathing his sword and holding it out for his brother. “Take it and cut them off.”

  “NO.”

  “Just do it,” Hunter insisted. “Make it quick. Maybe I should lay on the ground so you can hold me down with a couple hands while you do it.” He started to crouch, but Xerxes lifted him right back up.

  “NO,” Xerxes repeated.

  “Come on,” Hunter pleaded. “If you put pressure on the…”

  “NOT…WORK.”

  “Not work?” Hunter retorted. “Not work? Why in the hell not?”

  “DRANK GOO,” his brother explained. “CUT OFF…COME BACK.”

  A chill ran down Hunter’s spine, and he stared up at his brother wordlessly for a long moment. Then he swallowed in a dry throat.

  “Come back?” he asked. Xerxes nodded. “You mean regenerate?” Another nod.

  Hunter lowered his gaze, staring at his feet.

  “Well fuck.”

  “FUCK,” Xerxes agreed.

  They both stood there in the dense fog, neither of them saying anything for a long, long time. At length, Xerxes stirred, putting a hand on Hunter’s shoulder.

  “IT…OKAY.”

  Hunter glanced up at him, feeling utterly defeated.

  “No it’s not,” he muttered.

  “IS TOO.”

  “I’m a goddamn bird,” Hunter retorted. Xerxes patted his shoulder.

  “JUST…WINGS,” he soothed. “NOT SO…BAD.”

  “Easy for you
to say,” Hunter retorted. Xerxes just stared at him. “Ah,” he mumbled. “Right. Sorry.” He sighed, kicking a small stone down the rocky slope. “Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he added. “I thought you’d get pissed.” Xerxes smiled.

  “Wish I could fly,” he signed.

  “Don’t think I’d be able to carry you,” Hunter replied. And despite himself, he smiled back. “Thanks for being so understanding.” Xerxes shrugged.

  “FAMILY,” the big guy reminded him. Hunter nodded.

  “Family.”

  Hunter sighed, peering through the fog around them.

  “Guess we should get going,” he ventured.

  “STILL…HURT?”

  “Oh yeah,” Hunter answered. And it did, a burning pain that throbbed like a toothache. Every heartbeat sent another burst of pain through his back. His chest still hurt too; his pecs looked massive. No wonder his wrappings had gotten tight. Pukwa had warned him that he’d develop a second set of pecs under his first, one that allowed him to flap his wings. And another set of shoulder blades. He gazed down at his pecs, cupping them in his hands.

  “Damn,” he said. “I look jacked.” He frowned then. “Guess I should take off the rest of these wrappings,” he added. “You got my clothes?” Xerxes gave him the pack he’d been carrying. “All right, turn around,” Hunter ordered. “Don’t want you laughing at my dick.”

  Xerxes obliged, and Hunter tore off the rest of his wrappings, getting back into his pants. He hesitated when it came to his shirt, however; with his growing wings, he’d need a few alterations. And his breastplate, well…he’d have to have one specially made for him when he got back home. He pulled on his shirt, then told Xerxes to turn around, handing the big guy his sword. A few deft cuts later, and his little baby wings fit through nicely. He picked up his pack with his bow lashed to it, slinging it over his shoulder…and howling in pain as it struck his tender wing.

  “God damn,” he swore, dropping the pack. “Wow.”

  Xerxes chuckled, taking the pack and slinging it over his own massive shoulder. And held on to Hunter’s bow. Hunter sighed.

  “This,” he muttered, “…is gonna take some getting used to.”

  Chapter 9

  The sun was setting in the forest when the creature awoke, curled up on the forest floor underneath a large tree. A terrible pain in its belly had woken it, an ever-present hunger that could never be appeased for long. It’d spent the last few days tracking the dark figure, the one that’d left the trail of blood earlier. Its scent was on the ground and the leaves it’d brushed past, an unmistakable odor that led ever forward through the woods.

  The creature grunted, getting to its feet.

  It moved much more quickly than it had days ago, its limbs far less stiff now. Much of the bark covering it had cracked and fallen away, revealing smooth black skin underneath. Its joints ached, a constant, throbbing pain it had learned to endure. It continued forward, following the scent of the one it was compelled to follow.

  The creature ate as it trotted through the forest, pulling leaves from the brush and dead leaves from the ground. A constant stream of food to keep the hunger at bay.

  Voices called out, startling the creature. It paused to listen for a moment, then continued forward, ignoring them. The voices came, but they meant nothing. They were not from outside. They were inside. Memories, vague and fragmented. Alien. The creature paid them no mind.

  Hours passed.

  The creature continued tracking the Dark One, not knowing why it was doing so. All it knew was that it had to.

  Suddenly there was a rustling sound ahead. The creature froze, its heart beating rapidly in its chest. It was not afraid; its heart just beat faster now, even when it was resting.

  It sniffed the air, a whiff of something strange but familiar reaching its nostrils. A hint of the Dark One, mixed with something else. Its sense of smell was duller now, though its other senses seemed more keen.

  Something stepped out of the bushes ahead, sniffing the ground. A dog…or something like it. Its hair was all-black, patches of fur missing on its body. Its legs were too long for its body, its head flatter, with sunken black eyes. Its flesh stuck to its ribs as if it were starving.

  The dog-thing turned its head, spotting the creature. Then it turned away, following the same trail the creature was, eating leaves greedily as it went.

  The creature paused, then followed behind the dog-thing. Somehow it knew that the thing was not something to be feared. That it was an ally.

  They were brothers now, drawn to the Dark One. They were the Dark One, but…not. And they had to find Him, and follow Him. He would make them better.

  The creature followed close behind the dog-thing, both of them making their way through the woods. Following the scent of their master.

  * * *

  The sun was barely over the horizon by the time Sukri spotted a break in the forest ahead, the morning having barely begun despite hours of following Dio after a far-too-early start to their day. Beyond the forest was a short grassy field, a stone bridge beyond crossing a wide chasm. The bridge led to a huge black wall in the distance. Five dark spires pierced the sky beyond this wall. They had finally arrived at their destination…the fabled Kingdom of the Deep.

  Sukri stared at the arched entrance to the kingdom beyond the bridge, goosebumps rising on her arms. She’d heard countless stories of the kingdom while growing up in Tykus, tales of corruption beyond imagination. Men and women exposing themselves eagerly to wild artifacts, engaging in bizarre rituals. Sacrificing children to strange gods, turning into half-humans and eating babies. Much of it had to be hyperbole, of course, but every legend held a kernel of truth. The Kingdom of the Deep was the antithesis of everything the kingdom of Tykus stood for.

  Here they worshipped nature, not humanity. Chaos, not order.

  “So what exactly are we going to do here?” Sukri asked Dio, trudging behind the silent Seeker.

  “You’ll see.”

  Sukri sighed, having known that was exactly what he’d say. It was just about all he’d said for the last few days that they’d been traveling. Dio was the worst conversationalist she’d ever met, having no apparent need or desire for human connection. She’d met blocks of wood that were more emotional than he was.

  “Tell me about the kingdom,” she pressed.

  “The Kingdom of the Deep is where all of Lady Camilla’s Seekers train,” Dio answered. “Technically we’re Seekers of the Deep acting as independent contractors for the Lady. All potential Seekers must register with one of the five shrines there.”

  “What shrines?”

  “You’ll see,” came the reply.

  Sukri sighed, stepping onto the wide stone bridge and following Dio across it to the archway beyond. They passed through, a wide set of stairs leading them upward. They reached the top…and were rewarded by a spectacular view: a huge, lush wilderness entirely enclosed within a circular stone wall. Occasional buildings dotted the landscape, some built atop trees, others on the ground. And five huge, black stone structures with tall spires reaching toward the sky, taller than any building Sukri had ever seen.

  “Wow,” Sukri breathed, taking it all in. She glanced at Dio, whose expression was flat, as usual. “This is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s the…everything?” she pressed, looking around. There weren’t any people that she could see. And no castles, and not many buildings, really. Not much of a kingdom.

  “You’ll see.”

  “You know, sometimes I think that’s all you know how to say,” Sukri groused. “One of these days it’d be nice if you, you know, actually told me something.”

  “All Seekers of the Deep have to register at one of the shrines here,” Dio stated, gesturing at one of the spires in the distance.

  “Okay…”

  “All of the Lady’s Seekers are Seekers of the Deep,” Dio continued. “So you need to register.”

  “Fine,” she replied. “I’ll reg
ister.”

  Just then, a group of bare-chested men ran toward them, their hair long and straight, their skin darkly tanned. They reached Dio and Sukri quickly, stopping before them. One of them stepped forward, raising one hand upward.

  “Greetings,” the man stated. “Welcome back, Dio.” He glanced at Sukri. “Who is your guest?”

  “I’m Sukri,” Sukri replied.

  “I’m Kip. Good to meet you,” the man stated, flashing her a warm smile. Sukri smiled back.

  “See Dio?” she said, turning to her dour teacher. “That’s what they call a ‘smile.’ You might want to try it sometime.”

  “What brings you here?” Kip inquired.

  “She wants to register,” Dio answered. Kip’s smile broadened.

  “Excellent!” he exclaimed. “Does she know which shrine she’d like to register with?”

  “No,” came Dio’s reply.

  “Then I will bring you to each of them,” Kip decided. “And you can make your decision,” he added, turning to Sukri. “Come!”

  Sukri glanced at Dio, who inclined his head slightly. Kip grabbed her hand, pulling her away from Dio and toward one of the spires far in the distance. She allowed herself to be led without resistance, eager to get away from the cold-hearted bastard.

  “What are the shrines?” she asked. “Those spires?”

  “Yes,” Kip answered. “Each spire marks one of the five shrines. Each shrine houses the spirits of the five categories of spirits: the mammals, the birds, the reptiles, the water-dwellers, and the insects.”

  “Spirits?”

  “Everything has a spirit,” Kip explained. “And spirits can be shared.”

  Sukri nodded, realizing that Kip was talking about wills. Everything living had a will, and wills could be transmitted and absorbed. It was just another way of describing the same phenomenon.