I looked longingly at the skeleton’s feet, seeing a pair of soft black leather boots with thick hard leather soles. The boots looked like they could be pulled on easily and worn all day. They looked to be in excellent condition.
Under the skeleton’s skull was a medium-sized black leather satchel, sewn shut.
I stood and looked around, careful to inspect every skeleton resting in this cavern. The only true human in the space was the one in the middle. I was in an underground crypt which contained the remains of one human and twelve human-like beings. And my inspection had revealed evidence that most of the humanoids had not passed away peacefully in their sleep but from violent attacks. Some had limbs sheared in half, others caved in ribcages. Most displayed head wounds ranging from merely fatal to conditions of over-kill such as skulls being completely demolished.
“Well Tink,” I said as I stood and stretched. “When I prayed for humans I got humans, all right. And the violence and mayhem that they carry with them. And I seem to have gotten a bonus too. A completely different species, apparently.”
I walked back out of the cave into the mesa bowl. Tinker stayed inside. I wanted to think things over. This was a bittersweet find. I was, of course, overjoyed to discover evidence that others of my kind existed. There was nothing that could ruin my delight at that discovery. But the presence of these other beings worried me. I recalled joking about zombies the night before. Was that idea now not so much of a joke? But then, there was really nothing that showed that these beings were savage. In fact, their remains were the ones which had obviously suffered violent deaths. Did that happen because they were passive creatures unable to defend themselves against bloodthirsty humans? I saw no weapons other than the ones next to the human skeleton. But someone had obviously arranged the body of the human in burial. He or they could have removed the weapons of the ‘others’ for whatever purpose. I finally came to the conclusion that I didn’t yet have enough information to figure all of that out.
My next conundrum almost made me ashamed. I was naked. I needed clothes. My back and shoulders were already feeling the effects of days walking unprotected in the sun. And boots. My feet and legs were almost raw from days of walking unprotected. And now it appeared possible that I might need weapons to defend myself as well. All of those things were waiting and available back down inside that cavern. But they all belonged to a dead man. I had no desire to strip and rob a corpse.
Another thought. What if I was to take the clothing and weapons and later be discovered by fellow humans while wearing the duds of their deceased and beloved hero? The human interned below was obviously revered by whomever had placed it there. If I was seen strolling through the forest wearing his clothing would they not be inclined to roast me over a slow fire?
I looked at the sun. It had now risen to a position that I would compare to ten thirty or eleven o’clock in the morning, Earth time. I had no desire to spend the night in a mausoleum. I needed to make a decision about the clothes and get out of here in time to put a lot of distance behind me. I kicked at a small rock and watched it skitter across the mesa bowl. It was an action that came from habit. I often kicked at small stones and other objects whenever I hiked in the foothills around my hometown of Clovis. It was a way of breaking up the boredom of a long walk. But back then I was always wearing my light brown Army hiking boots. Kicking the stone now with an unprotected foot shot a flash of pain into my toes. Such a small action but I could see the bruised skin on top of my foot that had come from it.
I made my way back down to the cavern and stopped at the entrance. Tinker was sitting on the ribcage of the human skeleton, gazing at his fleshless face. There was something sad and respectful in her manner. I wondered if it was possible that she had known this warrior. She emitted a faint trill that was musical and sad to my ears. She leaned forward and placed one small hand on the forehead of the skull and stayed that way for several minutes. I stayed quiet, respecting her moment of reflection or reverence or whatever she was experiencing until she noticed me. She slowly climbed down. Then she looked at me and trilled again. She picked up the helmet in her tiny hands and held it out to me. I accepted it. The meaning of the gesture was plain to me. The clothing was mine to take.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dwan
Dwan awoke and the first thought she had was whether or not she would die today. The sun was peeking over the ridge of low hills, its faint warmth trying to displace the night’s chill. The unbearable pain in her shoulders had been chased away by a blessed numbness. The leather braid holding her hands behind her back had not been removed or even loosened in two days. The lack of circulation and movement had reached the point where it was impossible to not cry out in agony. That action had previously earned her a vicious backhand across the mouth, adding to her misery. After that she bore the pain in silence.
She looked to her left and saw only one warrior left of the three that had been captured with her. The remains of one could be seen by the fire and the small pit where her captors had thrown their trash and relieved themselves. The remaining warrior was named Vynn. He and she had whispered back and forth to each other on the first day and into the night. All of the captives had made quiet and desperate plans with each other about escaping. They tried to stretch the braided leather bonds which held them but the ligatures were too strong. They had been staked out just far enough from each other that it was impossible for one to help the other untie the cruel knots which bound them.
Their communication grew less frequent as they saw what was happening to them. The screams of the other two prisoners still rang in their ears, not to mention their souls. Through the last night Dwan and Vynn spoke hardly at all. All hope had been drained away from them by then. They both knew what the morning was bringing. The only question was who would be next.
Dwan was a healer and, despite her age, was one of the best in Olvion. She was so effective in her craft that she’d caught the notice of advisors to King Zander. She’d been offered a position at court and had accepted on the condition that she’d also be allowed to administer to the warriors returning from battle. With battles and skirmishes with the invading Greys occurring more and more frequently throughout the sprawling kingdom, the surviving wounded were stabilized and transported back to the walled city for more involved treatment. Dwan knew her skill was badly needed in those efforts and she was determined to participate. The healer felt she owed a debt to those who fought for the kingdom, for her, and treating members of the royal court gave her access to the returning wounded.
After two years of treating the horrible wounds of those warriors she felt the need to do something more. Other healers, mostly men, had followed the warriors into the field, saving hundreds by treating their wounds on the battlefield and keeping them alive until they could be transported to safety. As stories of these heroic healers flowed into the kingdom Dwan felt less and less like a healer and more like a fraud. Her oath was to go wherever the sick and wounded most needed her help. Though she was serving a purpose in the royal court she knew she could save more lives at the actual battle sites. She was discouraged by many including the king’s mother. But Olvion was a free democracy and Dwan was resolute. As long as she was not weakening the kingdom no one would stop her.
Few were surprised by her decision. Dwan was a person that naturally drew attention to herself. In a world where the average man grew to a height of five and a half feet she was at least three inches taller. In addition to her unusual stature she was considered especially beautiful. Her long legs and athletic build was the object of many a young man’s dreams and hopes. But she’d had very few romantic relationships in her twenty five years, none of them serious. For a reason she did not understand most men simply failed to attract her. She was more drawn to the Warriors than others but she could not tell if that was because she was really attracted to them or that she simply admired those who put themselves in harm’s way in order to protect the less able.
Dannis, the
king’s mother, had hugged her on the day of her departure and gave her a beautiful riding jacket as a parting gift. Dwan had been surprised at the gesture. Then Dannis leaned in to whisper to her. “I have always hoped that you might one day take my place as Queen. Zander would be well served by such a decision.”
The statement amazed Dwan. She knew that Dannis had frequently invited her to royal functions but Dwan had always demurred because she would feel out of place. Now the reason for the invitations was revealed. Like most citizens of Olvion, Dwan had enormous respect for Zander. But she had never harbored aspirations to join the royal family. Her life was pledged to healing.
So it was that she’d left five days ago in the company of thirty warriors and ten wagons of food and medical supplies destined for one of the kingdom’s outposts. The nearest battle line was a tenday’s travel. On the second morning they had been set upon by Greys. Some twenty of the creatures had evidently spent the night slowly crawling through the surrounding waist-high grasses and sprang just as the warriors were rigging the wagons to the burden-beasts.
Though they were outnumbered by the humans Greys were much stronger and had the advantage of surprise on the Olvion fighters. It was accepted doctrine in the kingdom that it took two warriors to successfully defeat one Grey in battle. Even so the warriors in Dwan’s caravan fought fiercely and slew half of their attackers before the fight was lost. Dwan had been rushed into one of the wagons and protected valiantly by her fellow Olvionis. She was finally dragged from the conveyance and tied by the neck to Vynn and the other two warriors, all of whom had been captured only because they had been knocked unconscious in the battle.
The Greys abandoned their cruder weapons in favor of those taken from their vanquished enemies. Olvion had the best arms makers on the continent and such treasures were never left on the field.
Then the real horror had begun. Greys were cannibals. Some disputed this designation, claiming there was nothing human about the creatures and, thus, they were not really eating their own kind. Dwan tended to side with that line of thought. Though they had a human shape they also had much about them that was…less than human. The fact that they were generally stronger than a normal person was one difference. The lust for killing and consuming human flesh was another. Physically the biggest difference was the grey skin and the swath of black hair that started low on the forehead and grew all the way down their backs almost to the waist. They were shorter than the average human but more powerfully built with stout limbs and barrel chests. And their eyes were entirely black. Looking one in the eyes was said to be like staring into the pits of hell.
Greys usually didn’t consume humans that had been killed in battle. Whether this was out of respect or some prohibition of custom was unknown. The burden beasts that had drawn their wagons had no such protection. All were slaughtered even though there had been no time for a leisurely meal. Hunks of raw meat, still dripping blood, were torn away and gnawed on.
After the battle Dwan and the warriors were stripped, bound and tied together at the neck, then kicked and prodded away from the site of the massacre. This area was still largely under the control of Olvion and the raiding party was careful to keep moving after their ambush lest they be discovered by human patrols. The prisoners were dragged along for hours without food or water. When they stumbled their overseers struck them with spear shafts to the amusement of the onlookers. They pushed on into the night, their captors obviously wanting to put as much distance as possible from the site of the attack. They finally halted some four hours after darkfall.
The last two hours had been spent traveling over rocky ground that would not show a trail to anyone stalking them. The unprotected feet of the prisoners were shredded from the sharp rocks. The prisoners were untied from the neck then had their arms drawn and tied tightly behind them. A stake was then pounded into the ground and a thick leather braid was tied to the stake and to each prisoner’s ankle. They were left that way all night with no food or water. The four spent most of the time whispering escape plans amongst themselves before falling to exhaustion.
The next morning started with hope when they were approached by one of the smaller Greys carrying a bucket of water. Dwan, Vynn and one of the other warriors were each given a dipper of the liquid. The man who had not been served was jerked roughly to his feet. The bindings to his ankle were cut and he was shoved, stumbling, over to the fire where the other Greys were waiting. Dwan looked on in horror as the largest of the creatures came up behind him with a huge cleaver. The warrior heard him approach and turned to see the Grey and the weapon. He then looked back at his comrades.
In the instant before the cleaver fell he smiled at them, realizing and accepting his fate. He stood tall and squared his shoulders.
What followed was a scene that one would have expected to see in hell. The warrior had been butchered like a goat, parts skewered on sharpened sticks and cooked over the fire. Dwan and the other two captives looked away, unable to bear the horror. She realized through her sorrow that she’d never even learned the brave warrior’s name.
After their horrific meal the Greys kicked the remaining humans to their feet. They were retied and dragged along for another day of travel. Adding to the horror they’d already experienced, they watched as the remains of the butchered warrior were packed into animal skin bags and placed over the shoulders of the captives. Another gruesome meal was obviously planned for the evening.
Dwan’s feet were bleeding and her legs trembled as she staggered forward. She was too numbed and shocked by what she had witnessed that morning to care much. Now she thought only of death. Death was a welcome prospect, a relief from her unending pain and exhaustion. It would be a cessation of the terrifying realization of what was to come every morning until it was her turn. She wanted death. She prayed for it. She wanted to be next, to have her consciousness simply stop, not having to bear witness to the imminent savagery of the coming days.
That had been two mornings ago. Now there was only her and Vynn. She hadn’t wanted to know the name of the other murdered soldier but he said it was important to him that she hear it. He was called Towen. The next morning when they saw the Grey approaching with the water bucket he asked her to say his name out loud. She did. When the Grey got close enough Towen kicked him hard in the knee, striking out as hard as he could, striking with his heel. The sub-human screamed in pain, dropping the water and falling backward. Some of his companions watched unmoved but about half seemed to find it amusing. One stood, hefted the big cleaver and approached them. But the injured grey hopped over to him and snatched it from his hands. He then limped his way painfully over to where Towen stood, staring directly into his eyes. As the creature raised the weapon back over his head the warrior spit at him and shouted “The people of Olvion will feed your body to pigs”.
The cleaver fell over and over, spattering Vynn and Dwan with blood and gore.
Dwan had never seen such bravery in her life. The man had done what he could to make certain she and Vynn would live another day. She wished she had told him the night before that that was something she did not want.
It was now the third morning. She had whispered to Vynn in the night that she was going to do something to make them take her next. He had argued but she was resolute. She explained over and over that this was what she wanted. She could not tolerate another day of walking over sharp stones while the blood of another of her comrades seeped from the load she carried and dripped on her shoulders. He finally accepted that she was telling the truth and not simply telling him that in order to protect him. She made him promise not to interfere. “I’m tired, Vynn, so tired. I just want it all to stop.”
As the sun roes the next day, unlike the previous mornings, the Greys all gathered around one of the two fires and began arguing with each other. Dwan watched. She wasn’t sure but they seemed to be weighing their options of where to go and what to do. They sat in the morning heat and swatted at the tiny insects which buzzed around them
, attracted, no doubt, by the smell. The discussion took most of the morning and there were several instances of raised voices followed by answering blows. In the end the largest of the pack made a chopping motion with his hands and stood. That seemed to be the end of the debate
Dwan tensed, her heart raced and drummed in her chest. The time had come. The smaller Grey was once again walking, limping actually on his injured leg, toward them with the water bucket in one hand and the dipper in the other. The big Grey that appeared to have control over the others bent and picked up the cleaver and handed it to him. He motioned toward Dwan and her companion. The other nodded and continued on in their direction. Dwan decided she would try her best to give the water-bearing Grey’s injured knee another kick. If she was successful enough she might even damage this beast to the point that his fellows would kill or abandon him in preference to letting him slow them down. It would be something to die for at least. She braced herself as he drew near.
The water-Grey stopped to speak with one of his companions along the way. Dwan took deep breaths, ignoring the stifling heat and steeling herself for what she knew she must do. She used her two bound hands to wipe the sweat from her eyes. Her entire life came down to this and she was not going to her death without inflicting at least a small amount of damage on her tormentors.
Then she noticed movement.
The Greys slept in the shelter of crude skins propped up by sticks they had gathered from the surrounding area when they stopped for the night. These skins were then wrapped around their waists in the morning and comprised the bulk of their clothing in warm weather. Some wore vests made from the thick fur of ursos. Several of the Greys, after the earlier meeting, had crawled back under their skin lean-tos, escaping the heat of the sun.
The Olvion Reality (The Chronicles of Olvion Book 1) Page 6