Bastial Steel

by Narro, B. T.

  He ran west, the opposite direction of their horses. He knew Nulya was his best hope for survival, but he didn’t know what the mookers would do to Jek and Lysha’s horse near Nulya if he made it there in time, nor did he know what they would do to the caged pigeon that needed to be released to inform the King of the status of the rescue mission.

  Bastial hell, I hope nothing happened to the bird. If the King didn’t hear soon enough that the rescue was complete, it may as well never have happened, for he’d send the requested five thousand Bastial steel swords to his enemy.

  Cleve was weaving between clumps of mookers. Fortunately, many of them seemed surprised to see Cleve running in their direction, almost as if they were afraid he would attack. But the moment he passed by, they would join the hundreds behind him, galloping on all fours like a stampede of tiny horses.

  He didn’t have time to see if all he’d passed were still following him. It took too much focus to see where he was going.

  Soon, Cleve was out of the encampment, but there were many more trees blocking his path.

  Lysha was right—there were mookers everywhere. Many were even jumping from the branches of trees.

  One landed on his back and bit into his shoulder just as he twisted to get it off him.

  Their teeth were unimaginably sharp, or maybe the strength behind the bite was just extremely powerful. Either way, he’d felt the fangs go deep into his body, and tendrils of hot pain twisted through him.

  He kept a closer eye to the sky from that point forward, though it was tough with all the plants and roots seemingly rising to trip him every few steps.

  I need more distance to lose them, but too many keep popping out and joining the stampede.

  Cleve didn’t know what needed to be done, and he was only beginning to realize he didn’t have the ability to figure it out while running at full speed.

  A terrible fear began—that he’d run into another group of mookers, and then he’d be cut off.

  And soon, it happened.

  Cleve came to a hillside that forced him to turn left or right. Choosing left, he encountered a group of six or seven mookers strolling toward him in a lively fashion. At the sight of him being chased by the others, their mouths opened to show the rest of their teeth, and they galloped toward him.

  Knowing he couldn’t slow down, he ran at them in hopes of scaring them as he’d done to others. But this group was far more courageous, picking up speed as they were about to clash.

  Cleve slowed so he could slice his sword at the diving mookers, cutting two in half. The other three were already in the air. The force of them slamming into Cleve nearly halted his movement.

  He jumped and spun to get them off him. Two of the three were flung before they could sink their teeth in, but one remained around his leg and bit down hard.

  He heard himself scream just before stabbing the little bastard with his sword.

  It felt like hot coals were in his thigh while he continued to run, a meager attempt to escape the hundreds more behind him. Soon, Cleve felt something else latch onto his leg—another mooker.

  It bit him before he could do anything. Then he cut it away with a quick downward swing.

  Cleve was slowing, he could feel it. The other mookers were loud behind him, a roaring entourage of “mooks” said with such anger that the fright of being their target sent another surge of energy into his legs.

  He had gained back his speed, both legs screaming at him to stop, however.

  I can’t go on much longer, he realized. A quick look over his shoulder showed there were too many mookers to consider fighting. Is there a dance I could do?

  He thought back to asking Lysha about the we are peaceful dance. If that wouldn’t work, why would any other? Now his exhaustion was catching up to him. Push! Cleve yelled at himself.

  He had to find his second wind. Without it, I’m dead. He searched deep for strength but couldn’t find it. Again he was slowing, and the mookers grew louder.

  Then he thought he heard his name. But it was difficult to tell through the roaring “mooks” behind him.

  “Cleve!” This time he knew he’d heard it for sure. He looked over his shoulder. Coming from the distance were three horses. Jek and Lysha?

  They were riding toward him, continuing to shout. “Hold on! We’re almost there!”

  Just the glance over his shoulder was enough to allow two more mookers to catch up. He could feel them jumping at him, nicking his heels with their claws. But they didn’t grab on, weren’t close enough yet, he figured.

  More were jumping at him, and he felt scratches on the backs of his thighs now. One nearly grabbed on but slipped down in the process and fell off.

  Cleve felt himself stumble. He couldn’t recover in time and fell, rolling twice. He pointed his weapon behind him, anticipating being crushed by a river of mookers.

  There was an explosion, the force of it sending him in a backward somersault. A green cloud covered everything. Sartious Energy?

  With great confusion, Cleve tried to get to his feet. He fell once, but quickly tried again and was successful.

  “Hurry! Get on.” It was Lysha. She was grabbing Cleve and moving him through the cloud.

  Cleve was absolutely bewildered as to what was happening. Then he remembered not to leave his sword. He stopped. It felt so wonderful to cease movement, he wasn’t sure he wanted to start up again.

  “What are you doing?” Lysha screamed. “Let’s go!”

  “I need my sword. Can you get it?”

  “It’s on your belt, you idiot!” Lysha grunted and pulled him hard. Cleve stumbled and fell into her. “What’s wrong with you? Jek can’t hold them off much longer. Get on my horse!” Then she was helping him up, lifting him onto the horse, and they were riding in some direction.

  Cleve couldn’t keep his head up. It felt numb. In fact, everything was beginning to feel numb. This wasn’t just exhaustion. Something was wrong. But for some reason, he didn’t care. He felt at ease, leaning forward to rest his chin on Lysha’s shoulder.

  She was saying something to him. She sounded upset. But her voice, along with all the other sounds of the forest, had become a running river of noise, high-pitched like the squeal of a teapot over a fire. Like Lisanda when she saw Jek.

  As the pitch increased, bubbles formed at the bottom of Cleve’s vision. He couldn’t even tell if his eyes were open. The world around him had become like the noise, just a stream of white. The bubbles rose, and the moment they reached the top, he couldn’t even tell if he was on the horse any longer. Whatever was happening took over his body.

  The white slowly began to dim, until all was black.

  Chapter 22

  When Cleve’s vision came back, everything was distorted as if he were in an oven looking out through the waves of heat. His body was burning. He needed to cool down fast or it felt as if his skin soon would catch fire.

  “He’s awake!” It was Lysha’s voice. She was touching his forehead now. He barely could make out her face. “He has a fever. Help me drag him away from the fire.”

  “How could he have a fever?” Jek spoke next.

  Cleve felt himself being lifted off the ground. His rear dragged against dirt as they moved him out of the oven.

  “Take my clothes off,” Cleve said.

  No one replied.

  “Take my clothes off,” he repeated, desperation growing. He was so fatigued and hot, the last thing he cared about was how others perceived him. He had the realization that his request was strange, but he didn’t care. It felt like all inhibitions had left his body, replaced by burning coals. Nothing mattered except that his clothes be removed.

  “Wait, he’s talking.” Lysha moved her face, or maybe her ear, over him.

  “Take my clothes off,” he said a third time, the strain of repeating it making his heavy eyes want to shut.

  “He says to take his clothes off,” Lysha said.

  “Why?” Jek asked.

  “He’s
out of his mind,” Lysha said too indifferently for Cleve’s taste, as if it were a fact.

  “I’m not.” Cleve wasn’t sure he was even speaking aloud anymore. He couldn’t even hear his own voice. Only then did he start to notice the foreign feeling within him. This wasn’t just exhaustion, but some sort of sickness, possibly even a poison.

  He tried to speak once more, but this time he couldn’t even feel his mouth move.

  Next thing he knew, he was falling back into a fitful slumber.

  Cleve awoke many times. He could tell time was passing, but he never knew whether he was back in reality or the images and sounds invading his senses were of dreams. He constantly tried to sit up to ensure he was awake, but he never could.

  At one point, his whole body felt wet, like he’d been doused with water. Later, he was as dry as a desert, the dirt beneath him prickly on his skin. Cold and then hot, touched by wind, rain, and then sun, it was as if Cleve were sleeping through the seasons.

  There was a frightful moment when darkness completely took him and he felt nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing. He couldn’t move, but he knew himself to be awake. He tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn’t obey.

  Am I dead? Is this what death is? The thought of spending eternity like this started a fright in his chest that quickly spread throughout his body until he was shaking. At least then he felt it, the shaking.

  He could feel himself breathing next.

  I’m still alive. What’s happening to me?

  It was like his body was a soup, full of unknown ingredients. Hot and messy, Cleve spooned around trying to figure out what was within him. He found the fear again. It seemed to be the easiest to find: the broth of the soup.

  Where’s my strength? Reela and Rek both have found it before. I need it now more than ever. He felt his stomach churning as he shifted through himself: the rest of the soup. There were too many clumps of vegetables and meats he didn’t recognize. He had to stop—nausea was taking over.

  But he couldn’t. He tried desperately, but the broth was mixing on its own now, his spoon taken out of his hand and fallen into the spiraling soup. He could taste the metal.

  His eyes were open, finally. Everything was blurred still, but at least he knew he was back in reality. He pushed himself to his hands and knees and let the vomit come.

  There was a hand on his back. He only noticed it after he was done.

  Now the hand was patting him. “It looks like you’re going to make it.” Jek’s voice again, his tone overjoyed. “You’ve been in and out for about two days now.”

  “Two days?” Cleve heard his voice, meek, but he didn’t care. He almost cried from the feeling of relief that came with hearing it.

  “How do you feel now?” Jek asked.

  Cleve tried to sit up, but fatigue overtook him. He was starting to fall forward when he felt Jek’s hands grab his shoulders.

  “I’m tired.” Cleve laughed. “I feel good otherwise now.” He laughed again, just for the fun of it.

  “Is something funny?” Jek asked.

  “No. It just feels good to laugh.” Cleve could tell he wasn’t himself, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered to him except that moment.

  He was lying down again, this time on his back. He felt as if everything in the world was right. He was where he needed to be. Nothing was going to move him. But the thought of food and water suddenly made him eager to sit up again. He tried but couldn’t even move.

  With his eyes shut, at least he had enough energy to speak. “Feed me, please.”

  “What’s with you?” Jek asked. “You sound drunk.”

  Cleve remembered the mookers then. All of it came back in such a rush he almost slipped into unconsciousness again. But he fought it. He felt his teeth grit together with resolve.

  “You and Lysha saved me.” Cleve was whispering now. He couldn’t go any louder. “Was that Raymess and Vala I saw with you two when you were riding toward me?”

  “Yes. Are you able to eat something?”

  “So, they’re safe?”

  “Yes, and the bird we released should’ve reached Danvell by now,” Jek said. “Raymess was in bad shape. We cleaned his wounds and fed him, and he’s gotten better. But Lysha and Vala still wanted him to be treated by a chemist before the long trip back. They couldn’t wait for you to be able to ride. We had no idea how long it would take. They left.” Jek took a breath. “I’m staying here with you.”

  “Will they be alright?”

  “We rode all night while you were unconscious, Cleve. We’re out of Karri Forest, back in Zav. They should be fine. You need to eat something. I’ve only been able to give you a little bit of water. Do you feel hungry?”

  “Food…” Cleve couldn’t even express how badly he wanted something in his stomach. “Nothing in the world would be better,” he muttered.

  “Can you get up? Lysha went hunting for us before she left, so we have plenty of meat.”

  “Meat…” Cleve’s voice rumbled on even after he tried to make it stop. He felt drool slipping from his mouth.

  “Yes, meat. Sit up and get some.”

  Cleve tried to push himself up, but he couldn’t even move his arms. Bastial hell, he couldn’t even open his eyes.

  “I can’t,” he admitted. “Feed me.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “No. I need meat, but I can’t get it.”

  There was a pause. It was only the length of a breath, but Cleve was too impatient to let it go longer.

  “Feed me,” he said again.

  “Are you sure your stomach can handle it if you’re in this kind of state?” Cleve heard Jek moving around him. “You probably can’t even chew it.”

  “Chew it for me,” Cleve said, completely serious. Though, he realized Jek probably would need some convincing.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this.” Jek seemed intrigued, but Cleve didn’t know why. “Lysha and I noticed you were bitten by mookers. From your body’s reaction, we figured they must’ve poisoned you. I’m thinking the way you’re acting now is a side effect of that poison.”

  “That’s what this is?” Cleve could tell he was far from his usual self, but still, he didn’t care.

  “It has to be. We’ve never heard of someone being bitten by a mooker and living to feel the effects of the poison. Every time a mooker bites someone, there’s ten more mookers there to finish the job. We can’t even say how long this will last.”

  “I don’t mind it as long as you feed me.”

  Jek sighed. “I’ll try, but I’m not going to chew your food for you.”

  Cleve managed to adjust his hand, moving it just slightly. He noticed then that he wasn’t lying on dirt, but grass. It felt wondrous against his palm.

  He twitched his fingers—it was the most he could do. The grass tickled him as if it were alive. He laughed.

  “I’m going to need to sit you up so you don’t choke.” He felt Jek grab his hands and pull. “You’re so heavy!” Jek’s voice was strained. “You need to help me.”

  “I can’t.” Cleve laughed, now enjoying the situation more than he knew he should.

  Jek let him back down, giving out an exasperated breath. “Bastial hell, I’ll just flip you on your side and put food in your mouth. We’re starting with bread, though.”

  “No, give me meat.”

  Jek sighed. “You’re acting like a child right now. I really hope this doesn’t last long.”

  Cleve tried to feel sympathetic, but it was too hard when all he cared about was tasting meat as soon as possible.

  Jek eventually convinced him to try a bite of bread.

  At first, it was the most delicious food he’d ever tasted. But then, before he even could swallow it, his stomach already was trying to expel it.

  He spat out the bread. “I’m going to vomit again.”

  “I had a feeling.”

  Luckily, the nausea passed, and Jek gave him some water, bringing the flask to his lips.

 
“Where is Nulya?” Cleve couldn’t open his eyes to check.

  “She’s not far, same with my horse.” Jek pressed the flask against Cleve’s lips again. “We’re in the middle of an open field of grass, just outside Karri Forest. It’s not the safest place, so we should be moving as soon as you can. Any idea how long that will be?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Then, go back to sleep.” Cleve felt Jek’s hand squeeze his shoulder. “I’m going to rest as well. I’ve gone too long without it.”

  Next thing Cleve knew, his blanket was draping him, covering him with warmth that made him feel even more at ease. He wanted to thank Jek, but sleep was taking him, and he didn’t have the strength for even the words.

  Chapter 23

  Cleve awoke to voices he didn’t recognize.

  In his groggy state, he still couldn’t open his eyes, nor could he understand the words he was hearing. It felt like being underwater.

  Someone stepped between him and Jek. A voice farther away spoke out. “Don’t do that,” she whispered. There was something about her voice and tone that gave Cleve the impression she was young, perhaps eleven or twelve.

  “Quiet,” a boy—the stranger between Cleve and Jek—whispered back. Cleve almost asked what he was doing. But being unable to move made it seem like a bad idea to give away that he was actually awake.

  He heard the boy step over him, joining the girl near his feet.

  “Are they dead?” she asked.

  “No. I saw one of them breathing.”

  “Why are they sleeping in the middle of the field?”

  “Maybe they’re hurt,” the boy answered.

  Cleve heard Jek grumbling and sitting up. “Who are you?” Jek asked.

  “We live around here,” the girl answered.

  “Who are you?” the boy asked in return.

  “We’re from Goldram, trying to get home. My friend is sick.” Cleve felt Jek shaking his shoulder. “You awake?”

  Now that it was clear Jek didn’t see these kids as a threat, Cleve decided to try moving. His eyes opened easily, at least far easier than earlier.