by O. J. Lowe
She didn’t know how or why yet, but deep down inside her, it felt like the future was a little closer with this acquisition.
Chapter Four. Light in the Trees
Stzorn, Stzorn, shining hot in the night
Thunder bringer, storm slayer, avenger.
What we fear, but what we need.
You’re the last of a dying breed.
From the poem, Stzorn: Divine of Thunder by B.M Brent.
The eighth day of Summerdawn.
Long roads made good, if lonely companions, the sort that never changed on you no matter the circumstance. Sometimes walking them offered perspective not found elsewhere, and Theobald Jameson had been walking this road for the best part of a day now. Lonely didn’t cover it. Not a ride in sight. The only one hovering by had seen him and sped up. Clearly, they didn’t like the look of him, that single thought enough to bring a scowl to his face. How dare they! It was just rude. Not that he wasn’t enjoying the long walk, but no novelty lasts forever. Sometimes you have places to be. And Theo’s place was a lot more important than most, a lot more vital that he be there than those who had sped past.
Scrawny youths in their twenties weren’t the most physically threatening, so perhaps it was something about his demeanour that meant they’d ignored him. Life on the road between towns didn’t exactly leave much room for a good impression, given the last two nights, he’d slept rough under a hedge to avoid the rains. It had been considerably longer since his last haircut, his blond mane almost touching his shoulders, he knew it made him look wild but that couldn’t be helped. He wouldn’t be the first spirit caller to wander into town looking unkempt after days in the wilderness, as much as he hated the idea of comparing himself with others.
Soon as he reached Carcaradis Island, he was going to get it sorted. It was that sort of tournament awaiting him in the next few weeks. It went out around the five kingdoms to an audience of literally billions who were going to see him give absolutely everything in his quest to win it. He needed to do it, wanted to rub success in the face of a world that wasn’t going to give him any sort of respect. He wasn’t going to give any back. Respect no man or beast, his dad had taught him. Not much of what that bastard said had stuck, but that lesson had. And the ICCC was no different in this respect. It was there to be won. Plenty of tough callers sure, he had to get past them, but it was doable. Nobody was unbeatable, it was just a matter of finding the way.
You didn’t go if you didn’t intend to win. He’d never gotten the point of people doing that. Some went without the intention to win, some feeble assholes who were all about taking part and enjoying the whole experience. A pointless waste. He had been there before, at the last one. He’d crashed and burned in the early rounds. It was still a sore point. Critics might have pointed out a tough draw; he didn’t want to use an excuse to say he’d not been good enough. All his efforts since then had been built up to this moment.
This time, he hadn’t been a wild card entrant, he’d earned his participation in the whole thing. He’d built up all his strength, he’d qualified with time to spare and he’d been out in the wilds working in private. Sometimes you needed to do what you needed to do. He didn’t enjoy human contact if it was avoidable. Most of the time they were a distraction. The job would be a whole lot better if it didn’t involve dealing with other people. That would suit him down to the ground. Overall, he’d decided humans were a bunch of idiots given half a chance to parade their idiotic brand of idiocy before another bunch of idiots.
The chill of the night nipped at his skin; he tugged his coat around him. It was a good coat, grubby with the stresses of travel but warm, one he’d become almost attached to. Given it had been his bed in recent days, it wasn’t surprising. At least it wasn’t raining. That had been most of his experiences of Canterage in the months he’d been here. He missed the warm nights of Premesoir, although not enough to go back anytime soon though. Maybe he wouldn’t be taking the coat with him. Not to Vazara and Carcaradis Island where it was too damn hot. He’d roast in it, knew it was too big to carry around just on the off chance that he’d end up in colder climes sooner rather than later. Or maybe he’d keep it. Complementary hotels on the island meant that option.
Technically he was homeless, but he’d never thought of it that way, no more than any other caller probably felt during their careers. He thought of it more as not being tied down to a life he didn’t desire. Transience wasn’t uncommon amongst callers, not until they made it. Then champion positions became available in the big cities and with recognition came a need for stability that he’d never felt in his life. He’d walked out his parents’ house the first chance he could and never looked back, a truth that had never bothered him, if he was being honest. It wasn’t a home without his mother there.
It started to rain, the cool drizzle sweeping across his face. He contorted his lip in disgust, kicked listlessly at a root in his path. He quickened his steps, didn’t want to sleep out here in a downpour. Not tonight and not again. Last thing he wanted to happen was appear at the Quin-C with a cold. That’d mess up his chances. He suffered badly with colds when they struck him, messed him up something awful. No way was he going to let that happen. Prevention was better than the cure. The quick cure for colds wasn’t pleasant, it’d put him out of action for twenty-four hours of sickening nausea. It wasn’t nice but sometimes necessary.
He picked up his pace, almost broke into a jog. All the walking had left him incredibly fit, he recognised. Some callers did find other ways to get around. They rode the mag-rails and hired speeders and bought tickets for the aeroships and sometimes that was what you had to do. Not Theo. He wasn’t going to do that unless he had to. Wasn’t going to waste the credits, he had perfectly good legs and intended to use them. He smirked morosely and continued to pound the path, his summoner bouncing against his chest. Maybe he should bite the bullet and fly to the next town. He could summon a spirit, mount it and ride it. The winds were strong, whipped at his face but he knew he could make it. If he did nothing, it could end in disaster.
He took one look at the dark sky and reconsidered it. Storms were coming, he didn’t want to be caught by a freak lightning strike. It got bad around here sometimes, nature being one of the things you couldn’t fight. At least this wasn’t one of those places where the locals were too superstitious. Sure, everyone had their beliefs in the Divines to some extent, some places were worse than others. He’d heard it was bad in Vazara and Burykia, even some places in Serran and Premesoir with their Divine-bothering and their zent-parading. He didn’t have much time for the zents and what they preached. The impossible as a sop for the gullible. Canterage was probably the best of the five kingdoms for avoiding all that damn fervour, maybe the reason he liked it here. Least you didn’t hear a bit of a thunder and then be told how the Divine of Storms was pissed off and punishing for you for being a bad ‘un from some bug-eyed doomsayer just crying out for attention.
Still Stzorn, the deity of thunder and energy to appear right here and now… That’d be something. Theo couldn’t help but laugh at that thought. He saw that, he’d make a point of going to church every single day. That was his own private promise. Break it and he’d never trust himself ever again. No point committing to a lie, no matter the end. Not that he’d ever felt the need to lie. Go with the truth always and burn the consequences. If he didn’t like someone, he told them. If they argued it, he argued right back, sticking to his original thought no matter how much counter argument was put in front of him.
And if they fought him…
A single lonely howl punctured the air, followed by a crescendo of similar echoes, the sounds eerily haunting in the dark trees flanking both sides of the road. He froze, let loose an angry curse onto the winds. This was all he needed right now. Wherever those burning beasts were, they were stalking him. Chances were they already had his scent. They could run him down without even getting tired, the wolves around here being top of the predator chain. Everything el
se bowed before them. He’d had a run in with one of the packs a few days earlier, they’d come across him while he was eating. Seeing them off had been easy enough. He’d had enough warning to formulate a counter strategy and it had worked. Since then he hadn’t been bothered by them.
Not until now, anyway. It looked like it was going to be one of those nights.
He quickened his pace, not running but walking noticeably faster, one hand in his pocket, one hand on his summoner and a couldn’t-care-less look plastered across his face. Theo was ready. They’d tipped their hand and he was prepared. Let them come, he’d happily educate them in the perils of attacking strangers on the road. Bastard beasts. He’d heard that there’d been a big hoohah about reintroducing wolves into the wild of this part of Canterage and once the deed had been done, it had promptly become a massive problem for the locals. They didn’t fear humans and were notoriously vicious. Alpha predators in a new environment. Not many people lived out here now, he hadn’t seen a house for miles. They could allegedly smell fear. Good thing he wasn’t scared, just wary.
It might have been the wind, might have been his imagination. Either way, he thought he could hear something rustling the fauna. Theo glanced left, he glanced right, blinked. Had he just… Couldn’t be. Shadows in the trees. Trick of the light. Flash on the eye. Had to be his mind playing games with him. He gulped, swallowed and stopped. He really didn’t want to meet beasts that moved like they did.
“Okay come on then,” he muttered. His voice sounded rougher than pine bark. “If we’re going to do this, let’s get on with it.” He glanced back and forth, hoping that they’d hear him and take him up on it. He wasn’t expecting them it though. People said wolves were intelligent, probably more so than bloody dogs, but he doubted they were going to take him up on his challenge. “I haven’t got all night. Stop wasting my time.”
He took another step. Another swallow. His mouth had gone dry, despite the damp on his skin. He pulled his coat around him tighter, cursed the broken zip. All around him, the forest was still. Even the wind had died down, he couldn’t hear anything.
That was worrying, right?
Back and forth. Maybe he was being paranoid, took another step forward and removed his hand from his pocket. He had a crystal in his summoner. He had two loaded in spare. They attack, they’d be in for a nasty surprise. One he was looking immensely forward to dispensing. Work a little perspective training into his spirits, always work on keeping awareness from all sides. He stopped, heard the rustle up ahead of him. No point marching on. He held his face neutral. No fear. They could smell it.
The first wolf wandered out in front of him, fangs bared and eyes glowing in the half dark. Breath hammered out of its muzzle. He tried to keep his breathing level. His heart was hammering in his chest. Couldn’t help that. Not fear, adrenaline.
“I’m not afraid of you,” he said. “And I know you can’t understand me.” He shifted, glanced around. He could see the eyes all around him, luminous orbs amid leaves and trees and wind and darkness. “But I will put you down if you don’t let me be. Last chance.”
Nothing. He hadn’t expected there to be. Reason wasn’t going to work. And if that fails, use force. Extreme force. Get retaliation in early. He counted fourteen, sixteen, eighteen eyes… Wait, nineteen. Really? Nineteen eyes. He reached into his pocket, pushed the button on his summoner, held it down hard.
One charged, he didn’t flinch. Not as something large and bulky, covered in ugly black hair dropped down in front of him, an eerie hiss followed by a snap and a sound too sickening to identify. One dead wolf bled out on the ground, puncture wounds torn into its spine. Its blood… He forced himself to look. Theo felt his stomach churn at the sight and he mentally rebuked himself for it. Weakness. Pah!
He couldn’t show it at this point, needed to be strong, impassable. The man without fear. No emotion. They could sense it, he’d heard, and he wasn’t giving them the satisfaction. He wouldn’t bend before these bastards. Even if they killed him, he’d make sure they choked on him. Die the way he wanted to live his life. Fighting hard. Making himself the most awkward customer he could ever be. Choke on that, wolfie.
Either way, Eight Eyes had done the job well. Even if, being honest, he was a little disappointed the presence of his spirit hadn’t done more to cow a reaction out of the wolves. When an eight-foot spider drops down into the middle of a crowd, you expect something a lot more than what he’d gotten. Blood stained the giant fanged mandibles, those eight eyes trying to look in every direction at once. The spider looked hungry. Each leg was the thickness of a street light, covered in thick armour that had a certain malleability to it. He should know, he’d come up with the design, had enacted it through the result of feeding an abundance of artificial growth hormone to a larger than normal Burykian mountain spider. Normally they grew to the size of a house cat on their own, they were disturbing enough when that size. He’d created something that he’d thought had a uniqueness about it, something he’d meant to make downright unsettling. Add in the armour…
One wolf skipped in, snapped at the two closest legs, a testing of the water. Barely a second later, liquid hit it square in the face, fur already dissolving, skin bubbling hideously, all before it even had the chance to realise Eight Eyes had counter-attacked.
… and the ability to spit that lethal acid and he had created one cornerstone of his power base as a spirit caller. Usually he led with it in professional bouts, at least in the early stages. Nobody expected it. If his opponent was a woman, he went with it for sure. Seeing them cringe gave him a little surge of amusement. If they were cringing, they weren’t on their game and he had the advantage. Always a little disappointing when it didn’t get the reaction he was hoping for.
Even as his attention went back to the surrounding wolves, he heard the sizzle and pop as the stricken wolf’s eyes melted in their sockets, bubbling white sludge dribbling down its furs as pained howls and whimpers faded into silence. It had been dead the minute it had attacked, just hadn’t realised it until too late.
Of course, nothing was unbeatable. If they all attacked at the same time, Eight Eyes would be at a disadvantage. Even with all those legs, each a formidable weapon, given their hidden hooked claws laced with fast-acting poison, it would be a struggle.
That’s why you left nothing to chance. Another push of the button on his summoner and in came his second trump card, one second silence except for the clicking of Eight Eyes’ mouthpiece and the breathing of the wolves, the next the roar of a challenge, bloodthirsty and ready for the fight ahead. Giant footsteps crashed to the ground as Griz went onto all fours and bared his teeth, each of them the size of Theo’s little finger. It took a lot to draw attention away from the big spider, yet Griz had that presence. The bulk that made up that body was practically all muscle, barely covered by the thick pelt. The best part of a ton of perpetually angry bear stood flanking the spider, claws digging into the dirt, ears pricked and another bellow shaking the forest.
That did it. Some of the eyes were already fading away, melting back into the undergrowth, slinking away with their tails between their legs. That gave him a gentle surge of something weirdly unusual, a tickling sensation deep in the pit of his stomach, alien in its unfamiliarity. Perhaps it could be called pleasurable. It never had been something he’d made into a regular companion. That led to complacency which got you nowhere. Yet this was as close to a sure win as it was likely to get, right now. Whatever they might think about preying on a lone traveller, fighting a giant toxic spider and a ferocious looking bear wasn’t something they’d to do. He’d psyched them out. Two dead. Nine left, if he’d counted right. Possibly eight. He needed to keep his head in the game, not drop his guard. All it too was one to sneak up on him and he was dead.
One final driving act? Why not?
“Griz, send them off,” he said, pointing into the woods, right where he guessed most of their number had gathered. “Light it up!”
Griz rose on
to his hind legs, even taller than Eight Eyes in that position, energy foaming about his jaws, silvery blue and glittery gold all at the same time before he let loose the blast of light into the dark of the forest, a magnificently brilliant beam of multi-coloured light that bathed everything in its glow, searing its way through the bushes and trees, scorching everything it touched black. He heard at least one howl of pain, thought he smelled burning flesh and fur. That was the smell of success if nothing else. Burnt lupine in the morning.
He allowed himself a smile. That was when the attack came.
It hit him from behind, a great weight crashing hard into him and he went down, part instinct, part because his legs could no longer support him and wolf both. He didn’t even have the chance to curse himself, curse his stupidity, instead he wriggled underneath the beast, felt teeth tearing at his back, his coat tearing, and pain flushing through him. It was a thick coat, had undoubtedly kept it from his spine on that first attacking judging by the way he could still move.
Griz… By the time he turns, moves, fires, does anything, it’ll be too late… Eight Eyes… Worse. In close, precision isn’t that strong. Brute force, sheer power. If I get slashed, I’m as good as dead. No guarantee the wolf’s gonna die in time.
He brought back an elbow, felt something catch behind, something hard, flung out again and again; trying to distract it, drive it away, anything. Pain shot through his elbows, the crushing jaws finding a new target. Any second now, his arm would break. If that went, he’d be in real trouble.
Unless…
It wasn’t an ideal situation. Doing this was dangerous enough under normal circumstances. And yet, was it really any worse than the alternative? Those thoughts went razor fast through his mind, hesitation would kill him for sure.