Both Barrels of Monster Hunter Legends (Legends of the Monster Hunter Book 1)

by Josh Reynolds

  Rogan stood up, towering over Megan. She was wearing a black tank top, showing slim arms knotted with muscle. After high school, Rogan had traded cheerleading for weight training and it had certainly paid off. Her father was a Sergeant in the Northumbria Police and had insisted his daughter take up self-defense at a young age. Rogan was a keen boxer and loved to fight. Right now, she looked like she wanted to punch Megan in the face and then she smiled again. “I was reading that stupid journal, trying to work out if there was anything useful in it. It’s all written in that gay-lick thing.”

  “That’s Gaelic.”

  “Shouldn’t you understand it? Isn’t that like your native language where you’re from or something?”

  “No, in Edinburgh our native language is English.” Megan picked up the journal, went to the stairs.

  “Where are you going with that?”

  “I’m giving it to Big Dave. Maybe he can find something.”

  “It’s only an old journal,” Rogan said, draining the last of her juice.

  They’d found the journal in the desk. And yes, it was mostly written in Gaelic, but there were snippets of it in English. It was a large book, the pages were yellowed and dog-eared and looked like it had been written by a number of people, indicted by the various forms of lettering. Megan rubbed her eyes. “It’s all we’ve got.”

  Rogan shrugged. “Do what you want. But, you’re not going to need it. You’re coming with me and we’re going to track this bastard down.”

  Megan gave the journal to Big Dave, and made sure he was as comfortable as possible. He didn’t want her going outside with Rogan on her own, but Megan assured him that while the sun was up, the gargoyle would still be stone. Dave then pointed out that it wasn’t just the gargoyle she had to watch out for.

  When she returned downstairs, Megan found Rogan sitting at the table again. In front of her there were three penknives, one hunting knife, duct tape, rope, a bottle of medical alcohol and the axe they’d found inside the lodge yesterday. There was a puzzled expression on her face. “Are you on your period?”

  “What’s it got to do with you?”

  “I was sure someone had tampons. Couldn’t find any in Ally’s bag, so that leaves you. I was going to make some Molotov cocktails.”

  Megan stared at her blankly, trying to work out if Rogan was trying to be funny, perhaps in her own bizarre way. “Do you plan on making sense anytime soon?”

  “Molotov cocktails. It’s a glass bottle with a flammable liquid inside. An explosive. I was going to use tampons for wicks. I found bottles of other things in the barn, and a chainsaw.” Rogan’s eyes lit up, “A chainsaw. That could be fun, eh?”

  “Could be fun. Would be messy.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not working.” She put all of the items—except the axe and one hunting knife—into a rucksack, which she swung on her back. She gave the hunting knife to Megan and kept the axe for herself.

  Outside it was warm and dry. Megan and Rogan couldn’t help but gaze at the view round about them; mountains stretched into the distance, as far as the eye could see; green and rocky, beautiful and deadly. The last mountain they’d walked up had been Beinn Eighe, which was peaked with quartzite, and had attracted many walkers and climbers. Now it felt like Megan and Rogan were the only two people left in the world.

  Megan wanted to scream. Wanted to shout until her voice was hoarse, echoing round about her and drowning out the weighty silence, which was threatening to engulf them. But Rogan would only slap her, tell her to get a grip, that they had a job to do and it had to be fulfilled. Otherwise, come nightfall, they’d both be dead.

  There were huge claw marks in the ground, and then a set of smaller ones. Megan suddenly got the image of Kevin being dragged from the lodge, his nails biting into the ground. She shivered.

  They followed the trail until it ended abruptly. The ground was freckled with splotches of blood.

  “I think Kevin injured it,” Rogan said.

  “How can you tell it’s not Kevin’s blood?”

  “We were missing a hunting knife and there’s been a scuffle here.” Rogan closed her eyes, trying to think. “It dragged people away, and then killed them. I don’t think any of this is Kevin’s blood, but I can’t be dead certain. He probably stabbed it in the arm. The idiot should have aimed for an artery.”

  “You think he’s still alive?”

  “Doubtful.” She looked round about them. “So, the gargoyle was found in a barn. A barn is dry, cool and away from the sun. Most sensible place would be a cave—somewhere on the rock face. But, let’s ignore that for a second. The creature’s bleeding; the sun is coming up soon and it needs to hide.” There was a wooded area about a kilometre to their right. Rogan smiled. “Come on.”

  Megan’s specialty in class had been long-distance running. Which meant, what she lacked in strength, she made up for in stamina. In her eyes, especially given the situation she was in, there was a lot that could be said for having sheer determination. Her head was the savage beat of a tribal drum, and as they made their way down the incline, she allowed Rogan to take the lead.

  They encircled the wood, and found a possible entrance point where the branches had been broken. There was blood there, too.

  They entered the woods cautiously. Megan’s hand tightened around the hunting knife, her knuckles bleached white as they moved in deeper. She could hear flies buzzing, and then Rogan chuckled.

  “Ooh! Gargoyle, you sick bastard!”

  She followed Rogan’s gaze. Two bodies were strung up in the trees by their feet. Their clothes had been removed, and they’d also been skinned. Megan could see muscle, and two sets of eyes staring at her lifelessly. She ran into the bushes and was sick.

  “At least we know what happened to ol’ Fletcher and Kev,” Rogan said when Megan emerged.

  “Why did it do that?”

  “I think it’s a warning.”

  “You know, you actually look impressed.”

  “It’s a creature that’s been around for centuries, living in the harshest conditions. Despite how much the world’s changed and how much people think they know and how much they’ve adapted, it’s never been beaten.” She shrugged sheepishly. “To be honest, the thought of coming face-to-face with the sucker is turning me on a little.”

  “That’s great. But I’d feel somewhat reassured if I knew you were going to kill the thing rather than fuck it.”

  They found the gargoyle in some bushes, crouched down upon a bed of moss and leaves. Its eyes were open, glaring at the two young women before him. There was a large crack on its shoulder, the wound that Kevin had made.

  Kevin. Megan thought about her friends who had been killed, and could feel the anger bubbling inside her, the hate for the creature now spreading through her like a toxin. She grabbed the axe off Rogan, and was about to smash it into the gargoyle’s face when she was pushed away.

  “Fuck you doing, Meg?”

  “I’m going to destroy it.”

  “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? This is my challenge. You’re not ploughing an axe into its head while it’s asleep. I’m going to wait until the sun goes down and then I’m going to fight it. You have no idea how boring it gets beating people in the ring all the time. I’ve been waiting my whole life for something like this.”

  Top lip curled into a snarl, Megan took another step forward and brought the axe up. But before she could bring it down something went smashing into the side of her face. She flew backwards and landed on the ground. Her nose was bleeding and her head felt like it was spinning.

  Rogan walked towards her calmly, picking up the axe. “Next time you ignore me I’ll throw this at your fucking head. You don’t get it, Meg. You don’t get any of it. Last night the situation changed, and I had to sit back and revaluate it. I don’t particularly give a shit about your little friends, but hell; at least I’ll avenge them properly. What the fuck could you do? All you’re good at doing is running away. I know how
to kill this bastard. It’s fast and it’s strong, and yeah, its got teeth and claws, but it feels pain just like you and me.”

  Megan shook her head, climbed to her feet slowly. “I’m going to check on Big Dave.” And then she ran. She left the monster and the gargoyle far behind, running until the world became a blur.

  Megan removed one of her socks and pinched her nose. It wasn’t broken, thankfully, but it was still bleeding profusely. Stupid fucking blonde psycho… She knew Rogan was aggressive and unpredictable, but didn’t think she’d ever go this far.

  She looked at her watch. It was now after five o’clock. Just four more hours and the sun would be down. Then the gargoyle would come out to play.

  When she returned to the McGregor Lodge, she went into Mr. Fletcher’s rucksack, and pulled out some slices of cheese and some bread and bottled water. Big Dave was sleeping, so she prodded him. “Hey, Dave. I brought us some food.”

  He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Meg, what happened to you, girl?”

  She told him everything—from finding the bodies, and Rogan hunting down the gargoyle.

  “That girl’s not right in the head.”

  “Yeah, I know that now.” She smiled, wincing at the fresh wave of pain the gesture brought.

  “I found something in that journal.” He opened the book, and handed it to her. “These pages are in English.”

  Megan’s eyes scanned the words, absorbing it all. According to the journal, the McGregor family had been an old, very wealthy Scottish family. They’d owned vast amounts of land and property. But despite their good fortune, they were greedy and cruel. One night, in the middle of winter, a band of travelers came by, seeking refuge. The McGregor family turned them away, and the travelers perished in the cold—all but one. A curse was then placed on the McGregors, and then the gargoyle appeared that would chase them from the mountains.

  “And this is the most important part,” Big Dave whispered. “The most important part of all. And you can’t breathe a word of it to Rogan.”

  The sun was setting behind the mountains and Megan was flying through sheathes of grass, scrambling over boulders. She’d already fallen twice and her hands and knees were stinging. Whatever was going to happen now, she wouldn’t let Rogan face on her own. Big Dave had yelled at her when she said she was leaving, and had started to cry—something she hadn’t expected. You’ll get yourself killed, Megan!

  She reached the woods, held back against the trees and whispered, “Rogan, it’s me. Where are you?”

  The wind hissed through the grass.

  Her heart was pumping in her ears, and her entire body was trembling. She had to relax, try and focus. “Rogan?”

  And then the atmosphere in the woods shifted, seemed to tighten—like a noose around Megan’s neck. She stifled a scream as the gargoyle rose out of the bushes and into the clearing. It looked half-starved; Megan could see its ribs protruding from under the leathery veil of skin. But, she wasn’t fooled. The creature was tough-as-nails.

  Its tail thrashed and large wings unfolded, beating the air. Its hands were the size of shovels, and each knobbly finger ended with a claw, curved like a scythe.

  “Shitballs,” Megan whispered, and then clamped her hands over her mouth. But it was too late. The gargoyle whipped round. Its eyes glowed like hot coals as it approached the tree Megan was hiding behind.

  There was a scream. Rogan dropped down from the trees, covered head-to-toe in mud. She threw something at the gargoyle, and Megan dived out of the way. It let out a cry, the shrill wail of a cat as flames engulfed it. And then it dropped to the floor, rolling around in the leaves and the mud. But this was all the time Rogan needed. She ran towards the gargoyle with the axe, and stuck it deep into its side. The creature’s tail came up, knocking her to the ground hard.

  Skin burnt and sizzling, it staggered to its feet, hissing. Its claws clanked together, sounding like a set of steel traps. It’s going to kill her, Megan realised. She grabbed stones, and threw them. ‘Hey you, you big ugly bastard, leave her alone!’

  The gargoyle turned round.

  “Shit.” Megan tried to scramble away and tripped. The gargoyle grabbed her by the leg, dragging her over the rough ground. And then there was a dull thunk. The gargoyle stopped. Its ugly head flapped about on its partially severed neck, blood spurting out everywhere and then it fell.

  “I did it. Didn’t I tell you I’d fucking do it?” Rogan appeared by Megan’s side. Her head was bloodied from her fall. She walked towards the corpse with the axe, and then after two vicious strokes, severed the head completely.

  Megan rose to her feet, nothing but pity on her face.

  “What’s wrong with you, Meg? Why aren’t you celebrating? We’re alive and it’s dead. Your friends have been avenged, and the hunter’s got her prize. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  They collapsed in the woods, finally overcome with tiredness, huddled together. It wasn’t until the sun was about to rise when Megan woke Rogan up. They were about to emerge from the woods and Megan decided she couldn’t take it anymore.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “I know what the McGregor curse is, and it’s not what we thought. Big Dave discovered it in the journal.”

  Rogan dropped the gargoyle’s head. “You better start making sense.” She shook Megan violently, panic set in her voice. And then sunlight brushed against her face, like a mother’s caress.

  “I guess the beauty of the McGregor curse is that the gargoyle will always live on. It’s something you yourself will appreciate, Rogan. And it’s only a matter of time before another challenger discovers the lodge.”

  “You bitch.” But Rogan’s voice sounded different, almost husky, like it was coming from some deep dark place in her soul. There was a sharp snap as her bones broke, elongated and then corrected themselves. Her eyes swelled up like blisters, threatening to pop, and when she tossed her head back to scream, her mouth opened to reveal rows and rows of sharp teeth. Bloody stumps sprouted from her back, forming wings.

  The gargoyle took a step forward, hands outstretched for Megan’s neck, and then its skin shifted to gray as it turned to stone in the sun.

  Godspore

  Marc Sorondo

  It was late at night when the light exploded in the north sky and shot across the heavens, leaving a luminous green trail behind. It seemed almost to growl as it passed overhead and to roar when it hit the Earth over the southern horizon.

  The small band of Aurignacian hunter-gatherers watched it with their mouths open and their hearts full of fear and confusion. They knew the sky and the stars; Comets and meteors were nothing new to them, but this was something else.

  They went to the elder.

  The old man stayed deep in the cave, where it was warmest, lit by a small fire and surrounded by images of animals rubbed onto the walls with colored clay and ground-up beetles.

  His long hair was white as the freshly fallen snow, and his face was brown and weathered, lined with wrinkles and crevasses like the side of an ancient mountain.

  By the dim light of the fire his eyes seemed to glow with wisdom. The old man was revered. The tribe knew his immense importance: though the body deteriorates, the mind grows more powerful.

  They went to him and asked him about the roaring light in the sky.

  The elder shook his head. He closed his eyes for a moment. “I have a memory,” the old man started. “I was a young boy, too small to be a part of it, but old enough to remember.” He opened his eyes and scanned the people gathered around him: brave hunters who wore their scars like ornaments, mothers with bellies curved like that of the first goddess, little children destined to keep this memory for their descendents the way the old man had.

  “I was old enough to remember the stories and the bodies of dead brothers that returned. I was old enough to know that the hunters had saved us all that day, even you who were not yet born.”

  “L
ight flashed across the sky like a star fallen to earth, but the light roared like the cave lion and growled like the wolf pack. The light hides the pod. It is the godspore, sent from above to seed this world with new deities, dark deities.”

  The mothers gasped, the hunters grunted, and the children watched the old man in awe.

  “The hunters went to face the newborn god, to kill it while it was still weak. Many died at the hands of the dark one, but the hunters fought bravely, pleasing the first goddess, and she smiled upon them and gave them strength.”

  There was a moment of complete silence in the cave.

  “Now the godspore falls again, and hunters must be sent. The new god cannot be allowed to grow into power or it will be the end of us all.”

  The elder paused and considered the darkness at the mouth of the cave.

  “Four must be sent, one for each of the four winds. Some of you will die, but your death will be that of the Great Bear in winter, destined to wake at some distant thaw.”

  All of the tribe’s hunters stepped forward. Ten men stood before the elder, and he looked each one over. “He of the hair like hot embers…” A young man, his hair a brilliant shade of red, stepped forward, separating himself from the other hunters. “He of the bear claw…” Another man, this one older and marked by long, thick scars across his chest, stepped forward. “He of the stone ax…” Another man, the youngest of all the hunters, stepped forward.

  The old man examined the remaining choices by the dancing light of the fire. “He of the eyes like water…” The final hunter stepped forward, his blue eyes shining in the firelight.

  “Journey south and find the seed. The infant god must die. You hunt now to protect your families, your people, and even the first goddess. Fight for her and she will smile upon you.”

  The chosen four looked at each other. The elder had not chosen the most experienced or the biggest, nor had he chosen he of the hair like night, the best hunter in the tribe.

  Red Hair and Bear Claw went armed with wooden spears and antler daggers. Blue Eyes had a bone dagger and a wooden club. Stone Ax carried his namesake weapon, a hand ax made of chipped stone that was strong and sharp.