Forts: Endings and Beginnings

by Steven Novak

  Tahnja shuddered at the ancient thing’s words. Though she’d been trying to figure it out since he first stepped into the corridor, she didn’t recognize his race. The entirety of his body was covered in scars, and when he turned for a moment, she noticed an absolutely massive one running the length his lower back. It almost looked as if he’d once had a tail. His body had been mutilated so badly she wondered if he would even recognize himself anymore.

  Roustaf wedged his way into the conversation from atop Teek’s furry shoulder. “Two questions for you, old timer: can you take us there, and can you do it quickly?”

  Still struggling to catch his breath, the old creature nodded.

  “Then I guess we better get movin’.”

  Using Brutus’s sturdy form as a counter-balance, the four foot tall mess of drawn skin and awful scars tuned on wobbly feet and motioned to the group with his frail, previously six, now only three-fingered hand.

  In a shaky voice he whispered: “Follow me.”

  Before the group could take a step forward, the clank of a sliding lock echoed through the darkness from somewhere behind. This was followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of a thick steel door opening.

  Someone was coming.

  Roustaf was the first to hear voices, deep in tone and closer to a growl than a speaking voice. They were Ochan. They couldn’t have been anything else.

  After throwing the body of Donald Rondage over his shoulder, Brutus lifted the waif-thin form of the mutilated old creature into the air with his free arm and pulled it close to his side. There was no time to waste. They had to move quickly.

  “Which way? Point!”

  The old thing pointed an uneven finger in front of him and Brutus immediately lurched forward, moving in the direction indicated while lugging Donald and the jittery creature at his side. Before Tahnja even knew what was happening, Staci was following close behind Brutus and tugging the pink-skinned woman along.

  Standing on top of Teek’s shoulder, Roustaf gabbed a handful of course gray hair and pulled upward. “Let’s get a move on big guy!”

  Teek however refused to budge. Instead he reached up, wrapped his massive paw around Roustaf, and snatched the little man off his shoulder.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Roustaf snarled, trying to pry himself loose from the furry appendage.

  The Ochan voices were getting louder with every passing second. They were getting closer. As Teek lifted the little man to his face, Roustaf noticed that his eyelids were hanging low. They were heavy and remorseful, as if he’d made a decision he hadn’t yet fully come to terms with. Wedging an arm between two fingers, again little Roustaf tried to pry himself free. Teek’s paw was just too big and too strong. His attempts to wiggle loose accomplished nothing.

  With blood still caked on his dry and frozen lips, Teek’s snout shivered as he spoke. “I’m not going with you.”

  Taken aback by the statement, Roustaf stopped struggling for a moment. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’ll never make it. Lost too much blood already. Can barely walk. No coming back.”

  “Shut the hell up, slappy. Of course you’re coming with, you moron!” Roustaf growled angrily, resuming his attempts to pry from Teek’s steely grasp.

  He wasn’t about to leave someone else behind. He wasn’t about to let someone else die. Not again. Not after Walcott. He couldn’t do it again. He wouldn’t.

  A bit further down the corridor, realizing Roustaf and Teek weren’t bringing up the rear, Tahnja came to a sudden sliding stop.

  Though Staci continued to tug on her arm, she refused to continue forward. She called back to the pair loud enough to be heard, yet soft enough to not alert the Ochans heading in their direction. “Come on you two! What’s the hold up?”

  “You heard the lady!” Roustaf bellowed angrily. “Get moving, ya furry old goat!”

  Though it hurt to do so, Teek’s furred lips stretched into a full-on smile. “I’m sorry, Roustaf.”

  Breathing deeply, he at last steadied his jittery determination. He knew what he had to do. There was no other choice.

  “I’ll hold them off as long as I can, hopefully give you a little extra time.”

  Reeling back, Teek whipped his arm forward and tossed Roustaf like a rock through the air and in the direction of Tahnja and Staci. For the first time in his life, the little man found himself sailing through the air with absolutely no control whatsoever. Without his wings he was spinning, his arms flailing wildly, and Teek getting further away with every moment. Using her free hand, Tahnja caught hold of Roustaf’s tumbling body and pulled him close to her chest. Again Staci tugged stiffly on her arm from behind. Brutus and the old creature were getting further away, disappearing into the darkness of the dungeon corridors. Soon it would be difficult to find them among the shadows and the endless repetitive surroundings. In the opposite direction, the voices of the Ochans continued to draw nearer. They would emerge from the shadows at any moment. There was no time to coax Teek along. They had to move.

  Prying himself loose from Tahnja’s fingers, Roustaf clawed his way to her shoulder and grabbed her ear for balance. Breathing heavily, he watched as a pair of Ochan soldiers with shoulders so thick they nearly reached from one side of the corridor to the other stepped from the darkness and into the light directly behind Teek. As Tahnja gave in to Staci’s urging and resumed her forward movement, little Roustaf reached his hand in Teek’s direction one last time before finally letting it drop to his side. Though it pained him to admit it, there was nothing he could do. Teek was right. He couldn’t be saved.

  None of them could.

  Roustaf steadied himself, puffed his chest, locked his jaw and nodded in the direction of his gray-furred compatriot.

  Still smiling, Teek nodded back.

  When the shadows at last devoured Staci, Tahnja and Roustaf, Teek swallowed and slowly turned to face the Ochan guards. Surprised to see him out of his cell, the pair of Ochans were stopped in their tracks. Quickly absorbing the situation, their eyes moved from the wounded creature blocking their path to the open cells on either side of him. Teek’s smile disappeared. Steadying his muscles, he pulled his massive paws into a pair of far more imposing fists. His eyes narrowed and his upper lip lifted ever so slightly to expose the dangerously sharp ivory teeth hidden underneath. Sensing his seriousness, and feeling the thickness of battle in the air, the guards pulled their attention away from the empty cells and back to the snarling enemy in front of them. A low growl crept up from Teek’s chest and rolled from between his lips like an earthquake on the horizon. With his gaze trained on the muscular Ochan soldiers, his eyes watched as they slowly slid their weapons from the sheaths dangling from their belts. There were two of them and one of him. They had weapons while he had none. He was injured and they were not. Even without his injuries, he doubted he could have handled them both. They were too well trained, and the corridor was far too tight for any sort of organized combat. They had every advantage.

  And yet, none of this mattered.

  Opening his mouth, Teek growled like a creature half his age and twice his size, thick droplets of bloodstained spittle flinging from between his jaws as his tongue thrashed forward angrily. The roar shook the mortar holding together the surrounding bricks and rattled the steel of the cells. The mortal wound in his side was nonexistent now, unimportant and pointless. The longer he fought, the more time the others would have to escape.

  His future had been written. Theirs had not.

  Breathing angrily, Teek promised himself that he would fight until he had nothing left, until every ounce of life had slipped from his body and until the darkness consumed him and carried him to whatever might lay next. He would fight until he could fight no more.

  Springing forward as if shot from a cannon, Teek’s body slammed into the pair of Ochans. The wild threesome tumbled to the ground, and Teek’s jaw instinctively clamped tightly onto one of their necks. Half a scream and ha
lf a gurgle, the Ochan soldier yelped in pain as his own blood began to fill his punctured throat. With warm Ochan blood seeping past his lips, across his tongue and down his gullet, Teek extended his four-inch claws and swatted at the second soldier with his free hand. The blow was wild though, more of a feral swat than a well-timed strike. It missed the mark entirely. While continuing to choke on his own blood, the soldier beneath Teek managed to somehow retrieve a dagger from his belt. With a single thrust he dug it deep into the belly of his snarling attacker. When the first strike seemed to have no effect, he ripped it from Teek’s shredded flesh and thrust again, and yet again after that in quick succession. Howling in pain, Teek leapt upward and stumbled back before crashing into the bars of a nearby cell. Slowly his body slid to the stone beneath. His midsection had been opened wide and his insides were threatening to spill out. Though his vision was rapidly blurring, he glanced in the direction of the Ochan soldier lying on the floor and writhing in pain. Blood was spurting from the fleshy tear in his muscled neck and spraying against the nearby wall. Even as Teek’s vision changed from slightly blurry to overtly black and his arm became too heavy to hold over the wound in his belly, he could still taste the dying Ochan soldier on his lips. Even as the sound of the uninjured attacker approaching with sword in hand faded into the background and began to dissolve into the nothingness, Teek licked his lips and knew that he’d done exactly as he promised.

  Even as the deathblow was dealt and the absence of all things physical at last took hold, he somehow found it within himself to grin.

  *

  *

  CHAPTER 21

  WHAT FAILURE DOES BEST

  *

  The Red Forest of Fillagrou turned silent once again, less than an hour after the group of rescuers led by Fellow Undergotten, snuck through the Ochan invasion brigade with the help of Owen’s wonderful invisible talents. Only the sounds of the rustling forest beneath their feet accompanied them now, only the rapid beating of their worried hearts. Fellow generally found the utter lack of noise in this world a bit disconcerting. His home world was a far more boisterous place, more alive. Before the Ochans invaded, Chintaran was overflowing with the chirps, squeaks, and whines of any number of tiny insects and creatures. Every part of it was in a constant state of change and growth, and not the least bit ashamed to make this known to any and all that swam in its waters or walked among its trees. It was a vibrant place, layered in hope and steeped deeply in tradition.

  He missed it.

  Like the peaceful creatures that inhabited it long before the Ochan army invaded, by comparison, the forest world of Fillagrou was far more shy and reserved. One might even describe it as humble. While Fellow appreciated the humility on some level, he’d never entirely trusted it. Fillagrou was a land of secrets, and Fellow Undergotten no longer had the patience for secrets and hidden truths and riddles for which there were no answers. His focus had become a straight line leading to a singular point on the horizon. His focus was on rescuing the children and keeping them safe. This was his cause and this alone his reason for existing.

  Trudging carefully through the forest behind the Chintaran fish man, Chris Jarvis’s current state of mind was remarkably similar. Though he wasn’t sure when exactly he made the decision to simply accept what was happening to him, or if was even a conscious choice at all. At some point in the last few days he’d chosen to do exactly that. There wasn’t any point in fighting it. He was in another world, surrounded by creatures that had no right existing yet did exactly that. They were alive and they were real, and they were the norm. He was the outsider here. He was the freak. The stream near the tree fort his children built led him here, and he was caught in the middle of a war. This was all real. It was very real, and it wasn’t going away, no matter how much common sense principles and logic indicated it should.

  With the setting of the Fillagrou suns, the forest had turned a black so deep Chris could barely see three feet in front of his face. At first he wondered how the greenish-blue fish man leading the way even knew where he was going. In the end he decided it best to simply trust his new traveling companion. Fellow had been nothing but honest with him since he arrived, and seemed, for whatever reason, to genuinely care about the welfare of his children. Though he could come up with no concrete reason to trust him fully, Chris believed the sincerity in the fish man’s voice and the honest straightforwardness of his words. The same as he made the choice to allow himself the freedom to believe in the unbelievable, Chris had long since decided to do the same with Fellow Undergotten. Wherever the fish man was leading him, he was going to follow. It was as simple as that.

  Trudging parallel to Chris Jarvis, the soles of his feet on fire and a thin sheen of sweat glistening off his face in the subtle glow of moonlight sneaking through the trees, Owen Little winced. He was tired of walking. All anyone ever did in this world was walk. Not only that, but everyone acted like it was no big deal. There was a reason Owen got Cs in his physical education class every year, and it wasn’t because he was a dynamo of athletic ability. He wanted a car, or maybe even a bike. He would have settled for a skateboard, even though he doubted it would do much good on the uneven forest floor. He would have been willing to give it a shot, though.

  It was at least worth a try.

  Huffing while whipping a gob of sweat from his forehead, Owen felt a hand grab him by the cuff of his shirt and hold him firmly in place. It was Mr. Jarvis. A couple of feet in front of them, Fellow Undergotten had come to a stop. The blue-skinned Chintaran turned to the group and lifted a single finger to the crest of his lips.

  His nonexistent fish lips pursed. “Shhhhh.”

  Thinking he could use the man’s much larger frame as a sort of human shield, instinctively Owen slid behind Chris Jarvis.

  Holding his breath while remaining as close to motionless as possible; Fellow scanned what he could see of the forest around him carefully. He could have sworn he’d heard something. It sounded like a rustle or a pop, maybe the crunch of a snapping twig. Whatever it was, it came from somewhere off in the distance and in the opposite direction. Though the forest had gone silent, he was fairly confident there was something out there—or someone. Fellow’s night vision was quite a bit better than anyone else in the group, but in this darkness even he was having trouble discerning anything of substance beyond fifteen or so feet. Realizing his vision was next to useless, he instead focused his full attention on the silence, picking through it and searching for a sound to grab onto, for a repeat performance of anything faintly resembling what he’d heard. As frustrating as the eerie noiselessness of the Red Forest could be, at times like this it definitely worked in his favor. Sneaking around in this world was nearly impossible and getting the jump on someone even more so. For almost a minute Fellow stood still, silently scanning the darkness and listening intently for anything that might indicate someone or something else was nearby, for confirmation that he wasn’t hearing things.

  In the end there was nothing. The forest remained as quiet and mysterious as ever. If there was someone lurking among the trees, those very trees were hiding him. The forest was keeping its secrets.

  Allowing himself to breathe again, Fellow relaxed his muscles and lowered the weapon gripped tightly between his webbed fingers. With a sigh, he turned to the group and shrugged his shoulders.

  His voice barely a whisper, he noticed the terrified look on Owen’s face and chuckled slightly, “It’s alright kiddo. I don’t think it was anyth–”

  Cut off midsentence, Fellow gurgled loudly and found himself being jerked backward as a massive arm wrapped itself around his throat, pulling tight. It’s iron grip snagged his wrist and twisted. A bone snapped. Another fractured. A flash of pain shot instantly across the appendage. Against his will, Fellow’s fingers opened and his weapon dropped to the dirt with a puff. It happened so fast. In a fraction of a second he’d been disarmed and brought to his knees. To top it off, he suddenly felt the unmistakable sensation of cold stee
l against his temple. Shoving Chris and Owen out of the way, the remainder of the group quickly rushed to the aid of their designated leader.

  “Another step and he is dead.”

  Fellow could feel the breath of his captor on the back of his neck, and smell the acrid awfulness of every word as he spoke.

  Leaving their weapons at the ready, the group halted their advance.

  “Hurm. What are you doing out here, Chintaran?” The owner of the concrete grip and the terrible breath whispered menacingly from behind.

  It was the hurm that gave him away. There was something about the annoyed inflection of the grunt, something Fellow instantly recognized. Though he attempted to respond, the fact that his windpipe was being crushed made it impossible, and something best described as a half-breathy gurgle resulted instead.

  As if understanding his issue, the steel arm of his captor loosened just enough for Fellow to formulate a single word: “K-Krystoph?”

  The tip of the blade against Fellow’s head dug a bit deeper, going just far enough forward to break his flesh and elicit the smallest trickle of blood.

  “Hurm. Smarter than you look.” Krystoph murmured from behind with obvious annoyance.

  After re-tightening his grip, the massive Ochan rose from the dirt, lifting Fellow Undergotten with him until the fish man was reduced to wobbling like a drunken dancer on the tips of his toes to keep from being hung.

  The former Ochan general restated his original question. “I will not ask again. What are you doing out here?”

  Realizing Fellow was physically incapable of answering the question posed to him, it was Chris Jarvis that chose to respond. “We’re looking for my son!”

  His voice was jittery, layered thick in nervousness. Krystoph immediately took note of this.

  Maintaining his grip on Fellow, the former Ochan general peered from behind his captive’s light blue scalp and focused his steely eyes on Chris. “Hurm. The designations of the children belonging to you—what are they?”