by Lazlo Ferran
“Well I would certainly be too embarrassed to do something like that!”
“I think you are scared!” Groad had said in a serious tone whilst hiding a smile.
“You know what they will say back in Bryntha?” Zarkas had replied, ignoring Groad’s remark. “Zarkas is getting too old for hunting real game. So now he amuses himself by slaying the poor, dumb defenseless zin-zas. Next he will be nailing insects to his wall.”
“You are definitely scared!”
Zarkas had glared at Groad. “Very well, young Groad! We will go and get you a zin-za’s horn, but on one condition only!”
“Which is?”
“You must never tell anyone that I helped you to get it.”
“Am I allowed to tell them what happened if you should get killed?” Groad had asked barely able to conceal his mirth.
“By the elder gods!” Zarkas had exclaimed chuckling. “That would be tragic. Gu Shora, Baltrath’s finest warrior, slain by a zin-za. I will be bashing on Dakur’s golden gates for all eternity!”
Through the ages and through circumstance, the Kithians had developed into a nation of thanatophiliacs, worshipers of Death and the dead. It was more than just a belief in ancestral spirits. Dakur, in all his forms, represents only that which is good and positive. Death to Kith’s enemies means victory. Death to a Kithian, especially in battle, is the glorious uniting with the all-powerful Dakur himself.
Grimwald forest consists mainly of high trees that are widely spaced. This made it possible for fast and easy traveling on horseback. It is probably also the reason why the zin-zas took up residence in this particular woodland. They are able to move their enormous bulks around without much encumberment.
Groad had been first to see the zin-za. It was male and was obviously hungry because it was awake and sniffing the air. Pulling back on his reins, he had given a silent prayer to Dakur, not only thanking him that they were downwind, but also for the fact that zin-zas always hunted alone.
“Do you see him?” Groad had whispered.
“Yes!” Zarkas had said in a brazen tone. “Now let us put a quick end to this foolish and unnecessary excursion so that we may renew our quest to hunting something more worthwhile and challenging.” Dismounting he had removed the crossbow strung across his back and marched off between the trees. Without looking back he had shouted, “Come on, young Groad, or it will all be over by the time you get here!”
Groad had quickly jumped down off the horse, and stringing an arrow into his bow, followed after Zarkas. His blood had turned cold at the sight he had seen before him.
Zarkas had reached the edge of a clearing, in the centre of which, its back towards them, towered the enormous zin-za. It had obviously picked up Zarkas’ scent as it was now sniffing the air in a state of frenzy.
Zarkas stepped forward into the clearing, and raising his arms shouted, “Ho, stupid! Here I am!”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” shouted Groad taking refuge behind a large tree.
Zarkas spun around. “What are you doing all the way back there? Do not tell me the beast frightens you?”
“Be careful! The zin-za has seen us!”
“Us? I doubt even with such a large eye he could see you cowering so far back there in the shadows!” smirked Zarkas turning to face the zin-za. “Come, you vile, ugly brute! If you want me, you are going to have to come and get me!”
The zin-za stood there blinking and frowning. Its head leaned to one side as it studied the small noisy creature. It could not understand why its next meal was just standing there yapping instead of trying to flee. Then with a snarl that revealed a set of jagged yellow teeth it began to advance on Zarkas.
“That is it!” shouted Zarkas bringing the crossbow in to his shoulder. “Just keep glaring at me with that big, soft eye, because behind that eye is your small, soft brain.”
Zarkas was one of the finest archers on the face of Baltrath. His skill with both crossbow and longbow were legendary. He could remove the tailfeathers from a small bird at fifty paces.
The zin-za was a mere twenty paces and closing.
“Now, Zarkas, now!” shouted Groad, his heart racing loudly in his ears.
“Not till I see the white of his eye!”
“I can already see the white of his eye from back here.”
Zarkas smiled. He was going to savour this moment for a very long time. Friend or not, he would enjoy embarrassing Groad on many occasions, repeating the story of how he had killed this asinine animal, whilst Groad was busy voiding his bladder behind a tree. This would also be a lesson to Groad that he should never again question the judgment of the great and learned Shora.
Zarkas’ aim was true, but nature has a marvelous way in its multitudinous designs. Should it give a creature but a single eye, it will no doubt grant it the instinctive knowledge to safeguard that valuable solitary organ of sight at all costs. It will also, most likely, confer the beast with a means to protect it as well.
The reflex action was so fast that Groad had hardly seen the actual movement. The zin-za bent its head forward and the once deadly bolt ricocheted harmlessly off the hard fibrous substance of the horn. In the same movement the beast had closed the gap between itself and the weapons master.
Zarkas’ brain still had not comprehended the gravity of the situation when the zin-za’s left paw closed tightly around his torso and lifted him off the ground.
He was helpless. His arms were pinned at his sides and he felt himself losing consciousness as the brute squeezed the very air out of his lungs.
The spikes on Zarkas’ armour bit into the tough flesh of the creatures paws, but the pain was nothing compared to the pangs which it felt deep inside its belly.
Groad’s fear was quickly replaced with unthinking rage. He rushed from his place of concealment towards the zin-za. He pulled back on his bow almost to the point of breaking before letting the arrow fly straight at the creature’s chest.
The shaft struck the left breast, but did not penetrate deep enough through the tough hide and thick hair that covered most of the beast’s trunk.
Still holding onto Zarkas with one paw, the zin-za brushed the shaft off its chest as one would do to an annoying insect. Content with its catch for the day, it turned and lumbered off between the trees with its prize.
Groad chased after it, sending shaft after shaft into the creature’s hind.
The result was always the same; they had no more influence than the irritating bite of some small insect.
Groad cursed, wishing the zin-za would turn around once more so that he too may try a shot at the beast’s eye.
The zin-za entered another clearing. Groad saw that the opposite side of the clearing did not contain more trees, but a wide ravine.
He hoped that this would force the creature back towards him, but with uncanny ease the beast leapt across the gorge, landing solidly on a wide ledge. Without hesitation and still clutching tightly to its prey, the zin-za trudged off along the ledge, moving parallel with the ravine, its back still towards Groad.
Groad surveyed the length of the ravine. It was too wide and too deep. There was no way he could cross it in time to save his friend.
In the distance the gorge curved inward. If he could reach there in time, and if the zin-za remained on the ledge, he would be able to get a clear shot at its eye as it entered the bend.
Groad’s lungs burned from the crisp air as he sprinted across the clearing. He would have to enter the forest again to reach the bend in the ravine.
In between the trees he would have no visual contact of the zin-za. He would just have to hope and pray that he had guessed the beast’s route correctly.
It seemed to Groad as though it had taken him an eternity to reach the bend in the ravine. He had fallen along the way, losing his quiver and arrows amongst the long grass. There had been no time to search for them. Holding on tightly to the bow and arrow in his hand, he had continued the race.
Standing on the edg
e of the chasm, his view blocked in both directions by thick foliage, he could not tell if the zin-za had already passed or if it was yet to come around the curve on the opposite cliff-face. Now he could only wait anxiously, hoping for the beast to appear.
He studied the ledge on the far side of the gorge. It was narrower at that point than where the creature had leapt across. This would probably slow the zin-za down, making the shot less difficult. It also meant that if he managed to fatally wound the beast, it would most likely tumble into the ravine, taking Zarkas with it.
These thoughts were still rushing through Groad’s head when the zin-za began to round the bend. Groad went down on one knee, resting one end of the bow on the ground. He had always found this position most suitable for a difficult shot that needed steadiness. Taking a deep breath, he pulled back hard on the bowstring.
A trickle of blood ran down out of Zarkas’ nose and formed a pool in the corner of his mouth. His eyes flickered open.
Even across the distance, Groad could see the intense anguish that filled those bloodshot orbs.
A wave of nausea passed over Groad, and in that same instant it became clear to him what had to be done. Adjusting his aim, he slowly exhaled until there was no more air left in his lungs. Then with one last prayer he released the arrow.
* * *
To read more you can find the book now available in trade paperback and ebook versions at:
amazon.com
amazon.co.uk
smashwords.com
About the author:
Gary Kuyper began his professional literary career writing self-help and general interest articles for Daan Retief Publishers who produced a monthly book for their woman’s club called Woman’s Forum. These articles would sometimes require research and had titles as diverse as The Human Brain and Body Painting!
Being a professional photographer on a part-time basis Gary has also managed to have his articles on photography (With accompanying photographs) published in books and magazines.
Over the past four years he has constantly managed to be one of the top finalists in the Nova Short Story Competition (A competition for budding writers of science fiction and/or fantasy).
Last year (2009) Gary had the pleasure of seeing The Devil’s Little Tadpoles grace the pages of the local SF & Fantasy Fanzine Probe.
He is an avid film buff and amateur film maker. A few years ago he managed to take first prize in the SA Ten Best Film Makers Competition with a short film entitled The Crimson Cobra.
He is a qualified prosthetics make-up artist and has used this talent on both amateur and professional productions. He has also appeared on television in a youth program especially made for enlightening people in the art of special effects make-up.
In 2008 he entered the SF / Fantasy Mini Radio Play Competition and took first prize with his The Adventures of Captain Max Power of the Intergalactic Police - an obvious homage to the early Flash Gordon radio series’.
All his literary and photojournalistic accomplishments have been done on a part-time basis due to the fact that his full time career is lecturing mathematics as well as engineering science at a Technical College. Although this is a most fulfilling profession, it has long been Gary’s ideal to become a full-time writer.
Gary is currently working on an anthology of short stories as well as Book 2 of The Chronicles of Baltrath.
* * *
Also by Lazlo Ferran:
Ordo Lupus II: The Devil's Own Dice
Lazlo Ferran
Copyright © 2011 by Lazlo Ferran
All Rights Reserved
Author’s note: The following transcript is taken from a journal. This journal was handed to me by the wife of the author of the tapes which make up the first book in this series – Ordo Lupus and the Temple Gate. In it, you will finally learn his name but I don’t want to reveal it just yet.
Chapter One
Have you ever had an out-of-body-experience. Have you felt your spirit, freed from your body, flying through the night air towards somebody your love, or hate, or perhaps some unknown destination? Then you have been in the animal state. It’s God’s way. But the Devil uses it to tempt spirits. People who commit evils while in the animal state are lost forever. God will not forgive them. They have taken the first step on a journey to Hell. If you have been in the animal state you know what is like to be a werewolf.
Trapped! In an oubliette! I knew what an oubliette was, but now I was in one – with no way out!
‘Oubliette’ is French for a ‘place to be forgotten’. An oubliette is a place of extreme darkness and despair: a dungeon where a victim is left to die. The only way in was through a small, locked, iron grate, far above the floor of the dungeon. Of course it took me a little while to work this out. It was pitch black.
Where the hell am I?
I groped around me on the damp floor, and then felt the wall I was slumped against.
Rough stone.
I squinted, and peered into the blackness. After a while I could just make out a source of light, high above me.
I stood up unsteadily, and began walking, following the wall with my hands. The wall streamed with cold water, and in places it was slimy. Occasionally my feet would bump into something soft. I soon realised I was walking in a big circle. I kicked around on the floor for something I could put against the wall as a marker and after a few uncertain steps my foot met with something soft but quite large. Curious, I bent down to touch it and then recoiled in horror, as if hit by an electric shock.
A body!
What was worse was, it stank. I have never smelled such rancorous fetidness, not even during the war. It was an indescribable distillation of decay. I pulled back against the wall and tried to breathe evenly. It began to dawn on me, if you will forgive the ironic pun, that I was not somewhere that was good for my health. At all! However, I needed to know exactly what I was up against. I pulled off my jumper and laid it against the wall. Much safer.
Then I continued on. I counted the paces as I walked. When I reached my jumper again with my foot, I had counted twenty five paces.
A quick calculation told me that the circular chamber was approximately eight yards in diameter.
I sat down and looked up to where the ceiling might be. My head was thumping, but considering my predicament, I wasn’t surprised.
I will see what is up there!
I willed myself to see, and after straining for perhaps ten minutes, I thought I could make out something like a grate, who knew how far, above me.
That’s when it dawned on me, if you will excuse the ironic pun again, where I was.
God! What have I done to deserve this? Now my luck has really run out! I can’t be here! How did I get here?
The question had no answer, and my mind swerved between indignant denial and a blind terror that welled up in waves, until I had to scream, “No!” silently, to stop the voices.
I am not going to die!
“Help!” I shouted instinctively. The single word was followed by confused echoes.
I waited for a reply.
Nothing!
I cupped my hands around my mouth, and shouted as loud as I could. “Help!” The single word was followed by two faint echoes. Then nothing. For an hour I carried on calling until my voice was hoarse, and the calls seemed like only abbreviations of the despair.
I have to do something!
I could still hear my instructor in the Secret Service telling us, “During a disaster or emergency, whatever you can do that might be useful, do it. Think while you work. Later you can form a proper plan. Even seconds can count when it seems you have a lifetime.”
I certainly seem to have a lifetime – just a very short one.
I guessed the grate would be man-sized – say three or four feet across. Judging by its nebulous glow far above me, it was probably thirty feet above me. Perhaps more. The only possible way out was going to be through it, either by subterfuge, or – and I had to take a deep breath here,
by ingenuity. The first was out for now.
I had to know what else might be on the floor. Walking in straight lines, I paced out every square foot of the floor. My feet hit something soft, just like the first, twice more and a quick exploration with my feet revealed two more corpses. Grim as it was, this was something in my favour.
I began stripping off what remaining clothes I had. It was then that I started to wonder about the heavy hoop in the back of strange belt I was wearing. I had noticed the hoop when first groping for the wall, but put it to the back of my mind while I urgently explored my tomb. It was roughly made – probably iron, and was stitched into the back of the leather belt. As I tore my clothes into strips, I began to ponder more deeply how I had come to be here. I knew who I was, but I had no memory of getting here, and only vague memories of my life before. I seemed to be suffering some kind of amnesia. I did know that I lived in the 20th Century and that oubliettes – at least fully operational ones, were not a thing of my time. And yet here I was.
My shirt had plastic buttons – too neatly made to be be wood or bone, and the trouser material felt like denim. That all appeared normal. I had some difficulty removing the belt as it was made from very thick, stiff leather, and the buckle was behind my left hip. I had to suck my breath in to rotate it before I could work at it with my fingers. Even then I broke a few nails and tore my fingers.
The tongue in the buckle will be very useful.
I took off my boots and removed the laces, which I put in the boots. After checking my trouser pockets, and finding them empty, I used the buckle-tongue to pierce the denim so that I could tear that into strips.
I only had my underpants and socks on then. I was cold, but I would die of thirst before I would die of exposure. I guessed it was late spring or early autumn outside, if I was somewhere in Europe.