It Happens Every Day

by Derek A. Murphy

  A sudden, muted sound as of many voices and tramping feet came to them through the mist and the battered remnant of their band closed ranks, standing facing out toward the mist. The sound grew louder and they began to pick out individual voices and recognize the languages used. The few humans left began to grow restive, as though a hope had come to them that they had come to doubt. A few humans moved from the mist to stand looking at the carnage in front of them and Brian noted that most of them carried long poles carried upright with sharpened ends that disappeared in the mist. Where they had gotten the wood, he didn’t know; he had never seen so much wood anywhere in this place.

  More and more humans came out of the mist, gathering in an unbroken line, Rocheg-oc-ule and Bor-bon-meeg alike wore expressions of grim determination. Here and there women of the Bor-bon-meeg looked in appraisal on the men, no matter the race, and smiled their smiles of invitation. Brian had to smile at the way their minds ran in a single track and simply shook his head for a moment.

  One of the Bor-bon-meeg women walked forward, her woolen clothing peeking out from under a makeshift leather cuirass. With the huge, prosthetic breasts under it, she looked almost ludicrous until he remembered how bravely the other women had fought. The woman threw back her head and addressed the survivors.

  "We came! The Good Lord’s call has been answered!"

  Her gaze sought across the small crowd inside the ring of standing stones until her eyes lit on Brian and she looked sidelong at him, a smile curling her lips.

  Before she could say more, Urh-mor-hrh turned and indicated that Brian should mount his back and before Brian was quite ready, began to move through the crowd. As they passed the Bor-bon-meeg woman, she reached out as high as she could to caress the worn leather of his shoe.

  Chapter Eleven

  She was jarred from sleep by the arrival of one of the women and as Petra blinked her eyes, she recognized her as the more timid of the three. The woman rolled her to her stomach and she felt something tug quickly at the cords on her wrists and ankles and then she was free. Rolling to her side, she pushed herself into a sitting position on the stone just as the woman tucked a small, stone knife back into a loop on her harness. She was able then to loosen the cords that dangled from her wrists and ankles and toss them from her as she looked up at the small woman.

  "What has happened?"

  Falling to her knees, the woman bent till her head was in Petra’s lap and her blubbering was such that Petra had to take her by the shoulders and shake her to get her to speak sensibly.

  The woman said, "The Grey One fed from my mother and sister, saying that our work was too little to re-energize the Sisters! I hid when I saw what he intended and watched as he fed from them and gave them to the Soos-tow. He cursed and said that there was so little energy in them that it would do no good against the Uu-mor and their allies."

  Petra’s heart leapt in her breast as she asked, "Are they attacking? How close are they?"

  Wringing her hands, the woman said, "I heard their roars as I fled into the caves! They are nearly here! Will they understand that we only did what the Good Lord ordered us to do? I don’t want to die because they don’t know of our part in this!"

  Taking the woman by the shoulders, she drew her close and hissed into her face, "Hide in the caves! But first, tell me how to get out of here! How do I find the Grey One?"

  Looking tremulously at her, the woman rose and took her hand, leading her toward the door through which she had come. Once there, she passed through and led Petra up a short flight of steps and stopped just short of another door. Turning, she embraced Petra and the taller woman thought she was going to have to push her off, but after some seconds, the Bor-bon-meeg woman released her.

  "Go well! When the Good Lord releases us from the Curse, I will name my first child for you! She will be called Savior of the Veils!"

  With a last caress, the woman fled back the way they had come and soon, even the pattering of her feet was lost in the silence of the cave and once again, all Petra heard was the drip-drip-drip of water. Taking a step through the door, she was instantly swallowed up by the mist and could see nothing but the billows of moisture. Where it touched her bare skin, she was cold and after so long in the cave without the touch of it, she wondered how she had endured it for so long. Walking straight ahead, she trusted that she would encounter one of her doubles or part of the group of Uu-mor that she knew must be hurrying toward the Temple. Thinking of them, she wondered that she couldn’t hear them; the woman had said that she heard them while on her way to her. Why couldn’t she hear them?

  The screech of one of the owls came to her then, followed by a distant roar and she fancied that she could hear voices raised in conflict. There was a sound as of wooden poles striking stone and she wondered what would make that sound; there was very little wood here that hadn’t succumbed to dry-rot from the incessant mist. Then, underlying the sounds of battle came a whispering sound that she had come to expect.

  They came from out of the mist; a dozen or more of them, just as she remembered them from their one encounter. Pale women with outlandish tattoos all over their bodies that matched the designs painted on their masks. They danced before her, on either side and as one touched her back, she knew that she was surrounded by them. As the mental force of their allure came to bear on her, she found herself moving in time with them and one danced directly in front of her, giving her a guide for her movements. As the woman danced ahead of her, facing her, unmindful of where she stepped, Petra followed her, feeling the pull on her limbs with each step. The dance was somehow slower than before and she had the sense that the women were tired; had been waiting far too long for this meeting and would soon be done with their semblance of life.

  Despite the pull they had on her, she cast her eyes on the women who danced around her and saw that the skin was becoming thin and translucent on several of them. Bones showed through the skin here and there, actually sticking through the skin on a couple of the women. The hair of several of them was dry despite the mist and resembled straw, the yellow strands brittle and lifeless. She felt their pain and somehow understood that they were unutterably tired; had danced for far too long and that now, the end was in sight for them.

  Wishing them to know peace, she forced herself to release the tenuous hold she had on control of her body and danced with them, moving in time with them and felt the joy they knew when they surmised that she had finally joined them fully. Dancing to the silent music that seemed to flow through her bones now, she followed the one as the others danced beside and behind her. Through the mist, she could make out a line of standing stones and saw a glimmer of light from behind them. The end was in sight and soon, very soon, she would know the peace she wished for these, her sisters in misfortune.

  * * *

  He had lost track of Urh-mor-hrh in the madness of battle and struggled up the long incline in the mist with only the combat for a companion. A Rocheg-oc-ule died beside him, the beak of an owl snapping the ribs that covered his heart while a man of the Bor-bon-meeg drove a broken lance into the bird’s side. As the little man levered the owl away from the stricken man, Brian activated the Staff again and again, striking an owl in flight to bring him down in a heap, the smoke from the burning feathers mingling with the mist. As an owl was forced up against him, he was nearly bowled over by the buffet of a wing and lashed out with the stone knife he had picked up, slashing the tendons that drove the wing. An adolescent Uu-mor leapt past him, roaring as it slapped an owl from his way and he stumbled on up the incline, his now useless shoes, with the soles covered with holes, letting his bare feet slip on the wet stone. An owl, downed by another of his compatriots, slashed at him with a talon and he barely fended it off, receiving a slash across his chest that leaked blood like a sieve. His shirt hung from his shoulders, little more than a bloody rag and his slacks might have passed for a pair of cut-off shorts had it not been for the ripped pant leg that flapped on one side. The blood streamed from
various cuts and slashes and he wondered if he would live to reach the Temple by the time Petra needed him.

  With the mist, the Staff gave little advantage, by the time he saw an owl coming through the mist at him; it was generally too close for him to activate the Staff’s powers in time. Because of that, he had used the knife most of the time and achieved good results with it. An owl caromed from a tiger-ape, landing on the stone and sliding into his legs. The impact felt like a ton of meat, bone and feathers had struck him but his legs didn’t feel broken and even if they had been, he wouldn’t have had time for them. He drove the stone knife into the top of the owl’s head and snarled as the stone splinter broke off in his hand when the owl spasmed in its death throes. Hurling the haft into the face of another owl, he bent and snatched another knife from a dying Bor-bon-meeg woman and slashed one eye from the owl as it darted its head toward him. As it reared back, screeching in rage and pain, a Uu-mor’s clawed hand tore its throat out and Brian found himself face to face with Urh-mor-hrh.

  The tiger-ape beckoned with its bloody hand. "Come!"

  Gasping, he followed the beast, sidestepping an owl that darted in and was intercepted by a pair of Rocheg-oc-ule. As the bird gutted one of the men, the other drove a lance into its chest and tipped it onto its back so that a Bor-bon-meeg woman could slash at its throat. Brian didn’t know when they reached the top of the hill until he ran into a standing stone that stood on its crest with a line of them disappearing into the mist. He perceived a glow beyond them and ran ahead of the Uu-mor stopping only when he saw Petra reclining on a large, stone altar.

  * * *

  Dancing to the silent music that seemed to permeate her bones, Petra continued to move forward as she followed her dancing double into the firelight. There, the doubles continued to dance in place, keeping her occupied with the siren song that went through her. Two of them picked at her top, drawing it slowly up her body and over her head as they pulled it free of her arms. The one that danced in front of her drew a stone knife from the mass of hair on her head and quickly slit the weakened elastic of her bra, letting it fall to the cold, wet stone below them. Two more began to tug at her trousers, having trouble with the cord that secured them at her waist and the leader was forced to use her knife yet again.

  Petra stumbled as they tried to draw the trousers off over her shoes and while they were tangled, she lost the time of the music and faltered, looking down at the cold, white hands that fumbled at her shoelaces. The leader knelt, stopping her movements momentarily to slash at the laces. The momentary discord gave her the presence of mind to slip a hand into the pocket of her top where it lay on the stone and pull the Khyber knife from it. She nonchalantly laid the knife on the top of the altar next to her and tried to let the silent music take her again.

  Failing in that endeavor, she simply tried to mimic the movements of the others, wishing for a moment that she could lose herself in their pain and sadness again. Without the music to guide her, she could only watch the movements of the leader and try to keep time with her. As they danced her closer to the altar, she tried to move away from it but was intercepted by a pair of the others. Moving her gently back, she noticed that one of them was in better physical condition than the others and quickly surveyed the skin and muscle tissue; had she been a corpse, Petra would have said that she was fresher than the others. A glimpse of her teeth through the mouth of the mask revealed that they were straight, even and as white as if she had just had a visit to a dentist, whereas the others had yellowish white teeth. She surmised that this then, was the latest version of her to fail to make the crossing; the Lisa that had left her world with Brian. As the woman gently pushed her while dancing back toward the altar, Petra noticed that her flesh felt more like cool ivory than stone, unlike the others.

  When they had her backed up against the altar, she stopped, unsure what to do and one of them knelt, still moving in the dance to pull her laceless shoes from her feet. Rising, the dancers continued to dance around her, as though expecting her to do something. Surmising that they expected her to climb onto the altar herself, she delayed for long moments while they danced in place, waiting for her to move. When they decided that she wasn’t going to climb onto the altar, they gently grasped her arms, legs and body, lifting her to the stone surface and she would have liked to recoil from their cool, smooth touch, so like stone.

  Again, they waited for her to do something and she supposed they meant for her to recline, but she delayed again, weaving her arms and legs in mimicry of the others until they gently pushed her flat on the stone. As her eyes focused on the mist that billowed above the altar; she saw something forming in it and almost cried out as she recognized the form of a man. Involuntarily starting up, she was pressed down again, more forcefully this time as though they were losing patience with her. She groped for the knife she had laid on the altar and as her hand closed on its hilt, she was grateful that none of them had brushed it out of the way when they laid her on the stone.

  The misty form above her manifested itself as a man, slowly lowering his form toward her out of the mist. A gloating smile was on his bearded lips and as he solidified, she saw that he resembled the Good Lord enough to be his brother and knew that what she had been told by the natives of this place was true. As he reached out for her, she shrank from him and forgetting the knife in her sudden panic, brought her legs up to plant them in the middle of his chest. Thankfully feeling the give of smooth skin, she pushed him away from her as hard as she could.

  The man receded into the mist with a shocked expression on his face and she breathed a sigh of relief that was short-lived as he came storming back, his face showing his anger and rage. He reached for her, and she instinctively brought the knife around in a sweeping cut that lopped off several of his fingers. The man made his first sound then and it was a scream of rage and pain. Clenching the other fist, he brought it smashing down toward her just as she dodged to one side and slid off the altar. His fist smashed down on the stone, followed by his entire body as the impetus got the better of him. Gone was his ability to levitate and as he sprawled on the stone, he reached out, grasping her wrist, trapping her knife hand.

  Several of the doubles reached for her, their dancing forgotten and she flailed her other arm, knocking the mask from one and as the woman fell, Petra saw her arm snap in two as she hit the stone and it skittered away like the arm of a statue. Horrified, she redoubled her resistance, kicking at anything that got close to her, and smashing her fist time and again into the bearded face, bringing blood as she tried to free her knife hand. Grinning, the Grey Man pulled her toward him and she saw that he was as nude as she and that he was more than prepared for forcible rape.

  * * *

  An owl pushed its way through the men and Uu-mor at his back, catching the Staff in its beak. Brian slashed at its face with the stone knife and saw it fall away, releasing the Staff as the clawed hand of a Uu-mor pulled it backwards. He turned back to face the altar and saw Petra kick a man away from her and wondered where the man had come from; he hadn’t been present just a moment ago. In an instant, he was back, reaching for her and she slashed at him with her old knife. As he swung a smashing blow at her, Brian missed what happened then as a pair of Bor-bon-meeg and an owl bumped him, sending him sprawling. Reeling back to his feet, he saw the man lying face down on the altar and lifting himself to his knees as he grasped Petra’s knife hand. Petra was hitting him over and over in the face and there was no doubt as to what he intended.

  Realizing that this was the moment he was meant to be here for, Brian lifted the Staff and was struck from behind by an owl’s beak; a glancing blow, but it fractured several vertebrae in his back and he fell to the stone, still gripping the Staff. Lifting it again, he saw the man dragging Petra under him as several of the strange white, tattooed women grasped her arms and legs to help him. Brian brought the Staff into line with the man and moved his fingertips to cover the spots that would create a globe of heat and light. He didn’
t really understand what it was meant to achieve, but the Good Lord had told him it was what needed to be done.

  The Globe formed around the altar, and the man jerked as if he had been stabbed and began having something like an epileptic fit, jerking and shaking on the altar. The white women with the tattoos and masks began jerking as well and once they turned loose of Petra, she slid off the altar and crouched beside it, the knife still in her hand. The strange white women fell to the stone one by one and several broke into pieces as though made of stone themselves.

  Brian pulled himself a few feet along the stone with his hands, forgotten for the moment by the combatants around him, friend and foe alike and felt that he had barely begun when Petra threw herself on him. Rolling him onto his side, she tried to lift him.

  "Come on, Briney! We’ve got to get out of here! The path is open and I don’t know how long it will last!"

  Lifting his head, he saw an incredibly bright, shining circle with a wavering image of their stream and its trees in the middle of it. He knew that she would never be able to drag him to the circle in time and that once he was through it, he would be crippled for life anyway, however long that may be. He felt as though his insides had been wrecked by the owl’s beak and didn’t think he would live much longer. Besides, there was the whole guilt issue to be dealt with and he just didn’t have it in him to argue anymore. He reached into the pocket of his ruined slacks and removed a set of keys that he hadn’t believed he would ever need again. Pressing them into her hand, he pulled her close, his breath growing shallow.

  "You’ll need these. My gym bag is in the trunk. There are shorts and a t-shirt in it." He grinned weakly, nodding toward her body. "You’ll need something to wear. My suit jacket is on the ground by the stream. Take it with you, I’d hate to see it ruined; it was expensive."

  Petra understood that he was dying but she didn’t want to leave him. Not like this. There was too much left to say. She began to blubber and he raised a hand, slapping her as hard as he could, which was barely enough to move her head.