by Matt Heppe
She ran through the high meadow where they sometimes brought their small flock of sheep. Higher there were only pines and then the rocks where no trees grew. Up there, above the tree line, was a cave that hunters would use and where she knew Nedden and Leva would sometimes go to get away from their parents.
It was cool this high on the mountain. It didn’t help that the sun was well below the mountains, and she was in deep shadow. The effort of running up the mountain kept her warm though. Even in midsummer it would not get unbearably cold. She kept alert for Mellor’s ragged man, but she found it hard to believe some stranger would have made it up into the hills. Wouldn’t a beggar stay down in the village?
The pines became skinnier and scrubbier, and then she broke out onto the open rocks. There were no mountain goats to be seen, not that she was hunting. But it was unusual not to see a few. Perhaps Nedden had come by and scared them off.
Ayja climbed a narrow ridge and turned back to the valley below. From this great height she could see far down the valley, all the way to the village of Peravil. Closer, she saw the big farmhouse she shared with Cam. To the right, on the other side of the ridge was Nedden’s family farm. Lower, closer to the village was Leva’s home. Maybe ten farmsteads made up the hillfolk. She thought maybe sixty or more families lived in town.
She turned and climbed a small outcropping of rock to where Hunter’s Cave was located. She paused as she scrambled over the ledge to a flat rock that served as a foyer to the cave entrance. There on the ground, just a few strides from the cave, was the corpse of a mountain goat.
Ayja was close enough to see that the goat’s neck was twisted at an odd angle and that its throat was ripped out. It was not a wound any hunter would have made, but here the animal lay, right in front of Hunter’s Cave. Had wolves or a mountain cat taken the animal? It was possible, although neither beast had been seen in the area in years.
Taking a firm grasp on her boar spear, Ayja advanced on the animal. She scanned the area for any sign of wolf or cat but saw nothing. “Hello?” she called into the cave. “Nedden? Are you here?”
There was no response, and she knelt by the goat. There were no claw marks on its back like a mountain cat might make as it pounced. The only wound was on the goat’s neck. More like what a wolf might do. But wolves rarely took goats. They were too hard to catch. Wolves were far more likely to go for farmers’ sheep.
There was a lot of blood on the rocks. Some of it trailed back towards the cave entrance. She saw a splash of blood on a flat stone by the door. She frowned at first, not realizing what it was.
A hand print.
Something clattered in the cave. Ayja stood, taking her spear in both hands. “Nedden?” she said again as a chill sent a shudder down her spine.
Was Mellor’s ragged man real?
Something in the cave screamed. It was a horrible, inhuman shriek. Ayja’s heart pounded in her chest, and she took a few steps back from the entrance. As she raised her spear in a high guard, the creature charged.
The beast had human form but scrambled on hands and feet like an animal. Its flesh was pale white, blotched deep purple and black, and it wore scraps of clothing. Worst of all was its face. The pale deathly pallid skin was covered with blood. Dead, flat eyes stared wide-eyed at her over a snarling mouth.
Ayja froze in fear as the creature launched itself at her. At the last moment she raised her spear, catching the beast in the chest. The spear sank all the way to the cross lugs, but the creature’s momentum was so great that Ayja was knocked on her back and her spear wrenched from her hands. The creature rolled past her.
Ayja sprang to her feet and turned to face her assailant. The beast, still impaled by her spear scrabbled to its hands and knees before wrenching the spear from its body.
It was impossible—no creature could survive such a blow.
The beast charged again. Ayja only had time to raise her arms and it was on her, throwing her to her back. It lunged for her throat and she wrapped her hands around its neck. The creatures’s gnashing teeth were just inches from her and she smelled the stench of death on its breath. She gagged, the reek of death was so strong.
The beast pulled one of her arms free of its neck. It was horribly strong. Too strong. She managed to twist her hand free of its grasp and get her forearm on its neck before it could bite her. Again it tried to pull her hands away.
“Nooooo!” Ayja screamed as a white rage filled her. Her vision went silver-blue, and fire seemed to fill her. She shoved the creature back almost throwing it from her. But instead of pressing her advantage, she reached into the aether, touching the strings of magic.
As the creature threw itself forward, she grabbed its face with both hands, and fire erupted from her fingertips. She didn’t hold back and let the magic course through her, fueled by her own strength.
Like the driest birch bark, the beast’s skin erupted in flames. It screamed in pain and threw itself off of her. Ayja twisted the strands of magic and sent a wave of fire after it, engulfing its entire body. The creature burned as if it had no blood—as if it was made only of bones and dry dead flesh. It spun and danced in the flames, screeching out its horrific cry.
Ayja rolled to her feet and picked up her spear. Shouting an incoherent cry, she made a two-handed cut that nearly split the creature from its collarbone to its sternum. It flopped to the ground, still burning, but screaming no longer.
Rage filled her arms with power and silver light filled her vision. She reversed her grip and drove the spear through the creature’s skull. The haft of her spear shattered just below the socket.
Ayja hurled the broken shaft off the cliff face, crying out with the pain of the silver power coursing through her. There was a sound like a thunderclap, and then the world spun around her. She tried desperately to keep her balance but stumbled across the charred body at her feet. She hit the ground hard and feared for a moment she might roll off the ledge.
Still the world spun, and then darkness closed over her. She fought it, fearing what might happen to her lying there defenseless. “No…” she muttered and then silence enveloped her.
***
“Ayja, wake up,” Cam’s voice called to her from some distant place. Had she overslept? Were there chores to be done? “Wake up, Ayja. Are you wounded?”
She blinked her eyes open. Instead of her room she saw the dark of an evening sky. And she was cold. “What happened here?” Cam asked. “Are you wounded? Can you stand?”
“Not wounded. I can stand, I think.”
Cam lifted her to her feet. “Who was that?” Cam asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You did it though, right? With your magic?”
Ayja turned to face the cave entrance and the dead mountain goat there. “Yes, I did it. But it wasn’t a man,” she said, remembering the horror that raced from the cave. “It was some creature. It stank of death.”
“A creature? Not a man?” He held her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “You’re certain?”
“Its flesh was white and cold with death. It tried to…to bite me. I had to use my power on it. It was so strong.”
“Did it have silver eyes?”
Ayja shook her head. “No. I saw silver, though, when I touched the aether. That’s never happened before.”
“Never?”
“No, but then, I’ve never used so much before, or felt so much… fear.” She didn’t know if fear was the right word. Had she been afraid? When the silver light was upon her, she hadn’t been afraid. Then again, it was all a blur. “I think I pushed too hard, reached too far into the aether and overwhelmed myself.”
“Mellor’s daughter was right, then,” Cam said. “She did see something in the forest.”
“You don’t think it attacked Nedden, do you? That maybe he’s—”
“No good speculating,” Cam said. “We’ll look for him in the morning. Let’s get you home. You’ve burned yourself.”
Ayja looked down at her fore
arms and saw the angry red welts there. There was black ash on her hands as well. Her arms and hands hurt, although she was only noticing it now. She hurriedly brushed the ash off, knowing it was the creature’s burned flesh.
“We’ll wash you off and tend to you back home.” Cam stared down at the corpse. “What manner of beast was this?” he asked, seemingly to himself. “Not a varcolac from what you’ve said.”
“Its eyes were sunken and dead. It was a creature from the grave.” Her eyes narrowed. “It burned like birch bark. Not like I think a living thing might burn.”
“I’ve fought a lot of strange creatures, Ayja. I’ve fought eternals and varcolac and giant capcaun and urias. They were all men transformed by magic into something else by Akinos and the Orb of Creation. This thing you describe…this is something new.”
“You think it’s Cragor? Did he do it?”
“He’s had the Orb for seventeen years now. Perhaps he’s mastered it. Even if that’s the case, what would such a creature be doing here?” Cam stared down the valley towards their home. “Let’s go before full dark is upon us.”
“I’ll go to Mellor’s farm tonight,” Ayja said. “I should warn them of what I’ve seen.”
“We need to warn the hillfolk. All of them,” Cam said. “Not tonight, though. Tomorrow. There could be more of these creatures. And we need to warn the townsfolk as well.”
“They’ll think us mad.”
Cam nodded. “I’ll think of a way of warning them.” He took a few more strides and then said, “Was it wearing any clothes? You said it had the form of a man.”
Ayja took a deep breath. “It was a man. Not any longer, though. He wore scraps of clothing. They were worn and shredded.”
“When you see Mellor, make sure to ask him what Nedden was wearing.”
Chapter Four
Telea woke, shivering. Or had she even slept at all? Their fire had burned out long ago. Mekeles somehow still slept. Telea shifted her weight in an attempt to relieve a leg cramp—she hadn’t been able to straighten her leg the entire night.
Mekeles’s eyes fluttered open at her movement. He glanced around at their surroundings. “The nightmare goes on,” he said after a moment.
Telea nodded, looking past him to the morning light. “There’s nothing to do but go on.”
“I won’t make it,” he said.
“We will. As long as this chimney holds out for us.” Telea lifted her water skin and shook it. It was just as empty as the last time she had checked. She unstopped it and sucked at a few residual drops.
“Take this,” Mekeles said. “It’s watered wine, but better than nothing.” He gave her his skin. There was hardly anything left in it.
“No, you need it,” she said.
“I can’t go further. I am too big and my strength is wasted. At least one of us should live, even if she’s only a healer.” There was no jest in his tone.
Telea smiled at him. “Would you like me to sing the Song of Hope?”
“Bah! Women singing is bad enough but summoning as well? Don’t you see the danger?” He pushed his wine skin at her.
“You drink it,” she said.
“It would just go to waste.” He pushed it at her again.
Telea took a single mouthful and swallowed before giving the skin back to him. “Drink the rest,” she said.
He took only a single swig and then let the bottle fall to his side. “If I die, you must do your best to finish our task. Ianwe told you our mission?”
“Yes. I know it.”
“Forsvar can close the Dromost Gate,” he said. “The Orb is needed to close it forever. Can you explain it all to the Saladorans?”
“I can.”
“You must. I hate to think the fate of the world rests upon your narrow shoulders.” With a grunt he started down the mountain face.
“I suppose you’ll need to live then,” she said.
He didn’t reply as he disappeared below her. Telea followed him. Her muscles burned at the effort from the very start and she feared to look how far they still had to go.
She did it anyway and was dismayed at the thousands of paces still to go to the gorge bottom. At least now she could make out the river rushing below her. She prayed that the river did not fill the entire gorge. There would be no way for them to travel along it if it did.
Out of the crevasse they had sheltered in, she could now hear the echoes of a demon’s roar. The summoned fiend was certainly bound to some point on the mountain path above. Depending on the blood magic used, it could be there for a millennium. Longer than it mattered. The Dromost Gate would be opened soon and the apocalypse would be upon them.
Hunger gnawed at her, but she ignored it as best she could. It was harder to ignore her growing weakness. More and more she found herself using the safety hook to give herself rests.
Every rest slows us down. And we can’t spend another night on the mountain.
She forced herself to go on. The sun rose above the mountains. It had to be late morning, or almost noon when Mekeles called out to her. “The crack has ended.”
Telea hooked herself into the mountain and turned to look down at him. “What do you see?” she asked.
“There is a wide opening below me. There’s a shelf, but I can’t get to it.”
“Can you drop down to it?”
He turned from side to side, peering down the mountain face below. Telea couldn’t see past him. “I’d have to hang from my arms and swing into the opening. It might be a cave.”
“Can you do it?”
He looked up at her. His face was flushed and sweaty. “I’m an eighty-weight man who’s been climbing for two days.” He shook his head and looked away from her.
“Maybe I can do it.”
“Great. And what will that do for me?”
“I’ll go down first and pull you in when you lower yourself.”
“I’ll drag you right off the mountain.”
“I’m coming down. Move aside.” She started lower.
“What? You can’t get by me!”
“Move aside. I can do it.”
“This is mad,” he said, but he did as she asked. He kept one hand and one foot in the crack and then leaned to the side. He still had his safety belt and had fastened the belt hook into a small crack. The rope was taut and if the hook slipped, he would certainly fall to his death.
Carefully, Telea lowered herself to where he clung to the mountain. Her foot slipped, and her booted foot landed on his hand. He cried out as she lifted it.
“Demon! Do it again and I’m lost.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. She lowered herself past his hand and then was next to him. She hooked her own rope in and looked down.
There was a shelf under them, but the only way to it was to drop down. The crack they had followed for thousands of paces ended at the very top of the cave entrance.
Her heart thudded in her chest. Just as he had said, the only way down was to lower herself by arms alone and then swing into the cave. And if there wasn’t a cave, but only a shallow indent? She’d bounce off of it and fall into the gorge.
She looked left and right, hoping there was some other way, but all she saw was sheer mountain face.
“I sing a song of hope—” she started. Mekeles immediately picked up the tune. He sang in a deep fire, so there was little magic in it. She smiled in appreciation and started downward.
Telea had only gone two paces and then there was nowhere to put her foot. She took a firm grip with her hands and lowered her legs into the abyss. She grimaced at the effort, her arms on fire.
I have to go lower before I can swing in. But to go lower meant letting go with one of her hands, and she couldn’t do it. She knew she could only hold on for moments, but fear kept her from moving.
Mekeles poured himself into the Song of Hope. His voice was rich and powerful, but he was an earth singer. His magic was not in the high registers. Low fire was as high as he could go.
Still, T
elea felt the magic in it. Courage…hope…she could make it. She let go with her left hand and took another handhold. And then the same with her right. She could go no lower.
Once, then twice, she swung her legs forward. They met no obstacle. Maybe…
She let go. Fear coursed through her as she dropped. And then she hit the rock shelf. She tottered backwards and then collapsed on it, clutching at the ground.
She’d made it. Telea took three big breaths and stood. “I made it!” she shouted. “Your turn now!”
“I won’t be able to do it. You find a way when I die. Everyone depends—”
Telea didn’t wait for him to finish. She was a water singer, and the Song of Hope was at its strongest in the water range. She launched into the song. Her clear mist of the high falls voice rang out into the gorge. She was only paces from Mekeles, and not only that, she sang to him.
Telea was tired and thirsty, but her song was the only thing that would keep Mekeles from plummeting to his death. She surrounded herself with music and sang.
Mekeles’s first boot appeared and then the other. Then his shins. He grunted with the effort. Telea stepped closer to him, weaving her song so that it restored his strength more than his spirit.
Mekeles lurched downward, dangling by his arms. His arms were straight, and she saw he didn’t even have the strength to bend them. His face was bright red. He was at his end. Mekeles kicked his legs forward, but his body hardly moved.
Telea clutched his boot as his hands gave out. She pulled as hard as she could as he fell. Mekeles struck the edge of the shelf, grunting as the air was knocked out of him. His upper torso slid over the edge as Telea fell to the ground, still clutching his leg.
He dragged her forward, and Telea knew she didn’t have the strength to save him. But then his right hand clutched the edge, and he stopped. She pulled with all her remaining strength, and, somehow, he dragged himself up to the shelf.
The both lay there, gasping in huge lungfulls of air. After a few moments, Telea sat up. Mekeles crawled away from the ledge.