by K. Panikian
In the evenings, Julian worked on teaching me hand-to-hand combat skills. With my air powers, I’d never paid attention to the other defensive methods taught at the citadel and Julian was very critical of that. What if I exhausted my magic? What if I couldn’t reach my bow?
I’d been a scout, not a soldier at the citadel. I knew he was right. So, for the first time in my life, I agreed to learn to grapple and fight with my knife.
It was more fun than I thought it would be—Julian put his hands all over me, instructing me how to move. The lessons were, ah, vigorous.
MEANDERING along in the afternoon, following the tracks of a large rodent, we stumbled on the ruins.
A collapsed, rotting wooden fence appeared before me and, just beyond, I saw the burned remnants of a farmhouse. I froze, staring. Catapulted to my childhood nightmares, I imagined the bauk troop overrunning my mother’s farm. My breath froze in my chest.
Rubbing my arm, Julian drew my attention back to the present, and I looked more carefully around us.
There were no demons here. These were old ruins, at least a year old, given the state of the garden. We saw cleared fields around the farmhouse and obvious signs that no one had tended them for quite a while.
Walking carefully forward, Julian called out softly, “Hello? Is anyone here?”
There was no answer.
We stepped onto the front porch, its wooden boards creaking eerily in the silence, and peered into the ruined house. The roof was gone, burned away, and the interior walls looked black with soot. On the main level, I saw a hearth area, an iron pot hanging in the empty fireplace, and a wooden table with two chairs knocked to the floor. There was a loft, too, with what looked like a bed box, splintered and blackened.
Spotting three empty cribs in the corner of the main room, my heart skipped a beat. I crossed the room at a run, leaping over the broken floorboards, and looked down onto their barren straw mattresses. There was blood.
My breath started coming in pants. Something horrific had happened to this family. Julian called my name softly but I couldn’t listen over the roaring in my ears. I ran back outside onto the porch. I saw an outbuilding behind the farmhouse and darted to it.
Inside, I saw a giant nest of straw and blankets and broken egg shells. The shells were mottled green and yellow and the size of footballs.
I drew in a harsh gasp of air as Julian came up beside me. I said raggedly, “An azhdaya nest. The demons killed this family; probably they ate them.”
Julian rubbed my back with his warm hand and I tried to calm my breathing. This happened a while ago. There was no one to help now.
Slowly walking into the farmhouse again, I looked around more carefully. The furs on the bed were carefully tanned. There were utensils by the fireplace and a flower vase, empty, on the mantle.
One of the chairs lay broken in the corner of the main room and, wrapped around one of its legs, I saw a medallion necklace.
I picked it up carefully and took it outside, into the brightly lit front yard. About the size of a fist and made out of iron, it showed the image of a bear rearing on its hind legs. The bear had a sword in its teeth. I dropped the necklace in the dirt, my fingers suddenly useless.
Julian went to pick it up and I shouted, “Stop!”
He froze.
Bending, I picked it up again and showed it to Julian.
“Don’t touch it. This necklace belongs to my Uncle Bjorn, the bear berserker. This medallion is his bear trigger.” My fingers traced the bear’s smooth face.
“If you touch it and the bear is not in your bloodline, it will make you mad.” I clutched the necklace, tears closing my throat. “It’s been in my family for generations.”
“This must have been where he ended up,” I choked out. “He traveled here, chasing that azhdaya, and instead he found a partner and started a family. Then they all died.” How could fate be so cruel?
I wanted to fall to my knees, but instead I tucked the medallion into my pocket. “I will carry it and return it to my father.”
We searched the farmhouse for more signs of what happened to my uncle or his family, but didn’t discover anything else.
I remembered my Uncle Bjorn. He was huge, bigger even than Julian, and he had a bushy, wild blond beard and crazy blue eyes. When he would come visit my father at the citadel, he would bring wooden carvings for my brothers and me.
He would roughhouse with us, tackling and tickling, and he would make Rurik laugh so hard, he cried.
When my mom died, Uncle Bjorn came and stayed with us at the keep for a long time. He would go for long walks with me, or what seemed like long walks to me as a five-year-old, and he would tell me that I was allowed to ask him anything I wanted.
So, of course, I asked him what exactly happened to my mother. And he told me, exactly. She was in the wheat field with her scythe. It was harvest season. The bauks came out of the river valley in a flood of demons and they slaughtered the whole village.
There was nothing anyone could have done. None of the citadel augurs predicted the attack, including my father. That haunted Rurik for a long time, his failure to See and his failure to prevent.
It must have chafed my uncle to give up his berserker ways when his brother and niece and nephews needed him. When the rumors came of the azhdaya taller than the tower, with three heads and wings that actually flew, Uncle Bjorn left us. He told my father it was his destiny to find the azhdaya, he could feel it.
And look what happened. He died in the middle of nowhere, and no one knew to mourn him.
WE slept that night in the ruined, burned farmhouse and I kept my tears locked away. I had baby cousins that I’d never met and never would meet. I vowed another retribution on Abaddon’s head. He would pay for the devastation he wrought on my family, on my mother and my uncle, and on all of the Varangians of Terra Novum.
Chapter 22
When we finally reached the base of the southern-most mountain, my paranoia peaked. I felt exposed on the open plain, even with my rabbit cloak. The relief of stepping into the shadowed boulders and out of sight of the towering, smoky crag was immense. We’d seen multiple groups of besy since we left the abandoned farmhouse—more herds of todorats and several smaller groups of psoglavs.
The psoglavs had been traveling north and west at a fast trot, on a path to intercept ours, their equine legs eating up the distance and their canine faces alert. When we saw them, we crouched under our cloaks for a long while, waiting for them to move out of sight again. Psoglavs preferred human meat.
Julian, standing in the shadows with me, stared at the boulder field and then upward at the smoky peak. “Where are all the demons going? There’s no sign of them climbing the mountain.”
I looked as well and agreed. The slope was exposed rock, and nothing moved. “Maybe we’re in the wrong spot after all. Although, this is definitely the only mountaintop with a smoke ring.”
“We need to stake out this spot and spy on the next group we see. I bet there’s a secret entrance,” Julian said.
We climbed about halfway up the rocky slope and found a large boulder with an overhang to shield us from sight. Then we sat and waited.
I could see down onto the dry plain, the shrubland brown and tan. Nothing approached.
The air felt cool in the shade and I hunched close to Julian. He absently put his arm around me and pulled me into his body heat.
We watched some more. I was tired. We’d been hiking for hours already that day, and my tension compounded my exhaustion. Blinking my heavy eyes, I pinched my arm hard.
Finally, I saw movement. Not from the plains though, but from the gravel slope to the south of us. Walking slowly, dragging its left leg, staggered a balachko. I grabbed Julian’s arm and pointed.
Its gray skin blended supremely well with the dirt and rocks and its three heads peered around nervously as it took careful step after careful step. It looked small for its kind, probably only a little more than seven feet.
“Is it hurt?” I whispered to Julian. “Or deformed?”
“I can’t tell,” Julian whispered back. “It seems a little runty.”
I nodded. We watched it slowly climb the slope and when it was almost to our hiding spot, it turned away and ducked out of sight.
We froze.
Had it seen us? Was it now sneaking up on us?
I silently drew my knife and watched for movement again. I heard a scraping sound from where it disappeared, then nothing.
We waited, straining our ears and eyes, but it was gone.
“Tunnel,” Julian breathed in my ear.
I nodded.
Climbing to our feet, we pulled our cloaks tightly around our packs and slowly crept to where the balachko disappeared. We reached the boulder and looked carefully around for a sign of which way the balachko went.
Julian spotted the lighter-colored scrapes on one of the large rocks littering the ground and with his super strength, lifted it. Underneath we saw a hole. I peered down inside and saw the rock hid a large sloping tunnel. It dropped steeply out of sight into the mountain. The air blew out of it cold and dank.
I climbed inside and waited while Julian followed, then pulled the rock back into place behind us. When the sunlight cut off the tunnel turned pitch black. I waited patiently, clutching my hands nervously, for my eyesight to adjust. It didn’t. Was there any light at all?
I heard Julian rummaging through his pack and then he bumped into me, handing me something hard and small. “Hold this for a second,” he murmured.
I heard more rustling and then a click, and then Julian had a red light sprouting from his forehead. “Headlamp,” he whispered. “Use the red setting, so it looks demonic, if we meet any monsters.”
He helped me strap mine to my head and switch it on. The red light illuminated the tunnel walls and the uneven path down into the belly of the mountain.
I squeezed Julian’s hand and we started walking. We went slowly, not wanting to catch up to the balachko ahead of us.
The tunnel walls were slick with moisture. The path occasionally opened into larger caverns, where we paused, watched, and waited before moving on. The tunnel gradually sloped back upward and then we started climbing in earnest.
It felt like we ascended the steep slope for hours. The ceiling dripped, small creatures squeaked and skittered around us, and grime covered us from every accidental brush against the tunnel walls. The air smelled earthy and damp.
Eventually, we reached a cavern with a clear pool of water in its center. The path skirted the pool and continued on, but I tugged Julian’s hand. “Let’s rest.”
Julian nodded wearily.
Walking around the pool to the opposite side of the cave, we found a few shadowy alcoves where the stalagmites created a visual barrier to the path. Crouching in one, we dropped our packs. I drank some water and ate some rabbit meat we’d smoked with the rabbit pelts the other day. Man, I was so sick of rabbits.
“Let’s take turns sleeping for a few hours,” Julian said. “There’s water here, so we can refill our canteens, and we’re out of sight of the tunnel path.”
Agreeing, I stretched out on my cloak, using my pack as a pillow on the hard cave floor. Julian sat beside me, his sword unsheathed on his lap, and watched through the cracks in the stalagmite columns that hid us from sight. He turned off his head lamp. The pool emitted a dim, greenish glow of phosphorescence, lighting the cavern barely enough to see movement.
I closed my eyes and tried to think peaceful thoughts. I was physically exhausted, but my mind whirled with tension and fear. We were sneaking into Abaddon’s stronghold. How could this end in anything other than disaster?
I stood in a warm, moonlit forest. My bare arms carried no weapons. Realizing I dreamed, I felt relief I’d actually fallen asleep. An owl hooted and then dropped out of the tree beside me, turning into a man as it landed on the path. No, not a man; it was Mesyats, the Moon God.
He smiled at me. “You’re doing great!” he enthused. “A little more slowly than I expected, but very resourcefully, so I can’t complain.”
His silver eyes glowed briefly and I shivered, despite the warm air.
“Do you have a message for me?” I asked.
“No.”
We started walking together along the path. Its surface shimmered in the bright moonlight like it was coated with diamonds.
“Not diamonds,” the god said. “Just some kind of sparkly sand.”
“Why am I here?”
“I thought you could use a break. You seem a little tense. There are some big things coming and it’s important to be well-rested.”
I stopped walking, staring at him.
“Don’t worry,” he added. “I’ll do the same for your companion when it’s his turn to sleep.”
“Are my brothers okay, and the others?” I asked.
“You know what, probably best if you stop asking questions. Back to sleep.” Mesyats vanished and I lay down in the middle of the sparkling path.
I shut my eyes and felt someone cover me with a blanket.
WHEN I woke up, Julian was still next to me with his sword at the ready. I told him briefly about my dream and he frowned worriedly. Then we switched spots.
Staring through the bulbous protrusions of the stalagmites, I watched the path. The light from the pool glowed so dimly, the far wall was barely visible. I strained my senses, listening.
After a while I started to hear sounds. Plinks of water dripped somewhere. Julian breathed deeply beside me. And then scraping footsteps approached.
I silently crept closer to the largest limestone column and dropped to my stomach, peering around it.
I watched a psoglav walk out of the tunnel, its lone canine eye glowing red. It carried a club in its right hand and the combination of its human torso and arms on top of the horse-like legs made my skin crawl like always. It barely looked around the cavern, staying on the main path and heading up the tunnel on the far side.
I settled back into my spot beside Julian and continued to keep watch.
Julian slept for a couple of hours and then we hiked again. The path continued to climb—I didn’t how far into the mountain we’d traveled.
We stopped two more times over the next interminable hours as handfuls of small earthquakes shook the tunnel. The gravel and sand on the path danced and the walls trembled. During each rumble we ducked and covered our heads until the shuddering stopped. I wondered if the todorats were stomping or if the mountain was unstable.
We passed numerous side tunnels as we traveled up and down, but always stayed on the main one.
After another small earthquake, we started to hear strange noises from up ahead.
Chapter 23
We stopped. The sound of roars and growls echoed down the tunnel toward us. Drawing our knives, we crept closer. The tunnel opened into another cavern—a huge one. It dropped into a bowl and littering the bottom stood hundreds and hundreds of besy. They snarled, stamped, and howled as they thronged around a gigantic fire pit. On the other side of the pit, a huge stone dais loomed, stained red.
The ceiling towered high above and numerous other tunnels branched into the large, open space.
The air stank of carrion and scales and a haze of smoke rose to the bumpy, stalactite-covered ceiling. I saw a chimney-like tunnel at the peak of the cave’s roof and wondered if that was the source of the mountain’s smoke ring.
The besy seemed disorganized, milling here and there. Some fought each other and confusion reigned. The fire blazing in the center lit their monstrous faces and demonic forms. I saw one of the psoglavs pick up another and toss it, howling, into the fire pit.
In another dark corner, two todorats menaced each other, waving their clubs and trying to kick.
A pair of balachko shoved each other nearby. The injured one we’d been following earlier stood close to them, watching.
We inched into the cavern but stayed by the wall, pulling the rabbit furs to cover our bodies
and turning off our headlamps. Julian found a chunk of rock, probably fallen from the ceiling, and we hunkered behind it, out of sight.
The besy started bellowing louder and then a cloaked figure stepped onto the dais. It raised its hugely muscled, red arms and threw back its hood, revealing tall, smooth horns and the face of a bull. Its snout leaked fire. It was the minotaur, Abaddon, the ruler of the besy and chosen of Chernobog, the Black God.
I flinched and dropped lower behind the rock.
He roared and the monsters roared back.
He shouted in a deep, echoing voice, “You have heard my summons!”
The besy roared again.
“You have come to be blessed by the Black God! To increase your powers and your strength!”
The response was deafening. The ground shook with it and small rocks rained from the ceiling.
“The Black God wants you to be strong! To fight and destroy the humans! The Black God wants you to feast!”
More bellowing from the demonic crowd echoed in the large space.
“Who wants to be first today!?!”
The besy fell silent. Smoke poured from Abaddon’s nostrils again. Two psoglav guards suddenly launched spears into the crowd—I heard two thuds and then two howls.
“I said,” Abaddon repeated, “who wants to be first?”
“Me,” bellowed the injured balachko we’d followed into the cave. It limped forward through the crowd of hissing besy. Ignoring the others of its kind, it walked around the fire pit to the dais.
The two other balachko that had been standing nearby spit on the ground and jostled forward. The taller one called out, “My lord, you don’t want that one! It is weak and slow. Take me instead!”
Its companion bellowed, “Me too!”
“And yet,” Abaddon hissed, “it volunteered first, and you did not.”
The two unlucky balachko shrank back.
Abaddon turned to the limping, short balachko kneeling before him and shouted, “Rise! Rise and receive your god’s blessing!”