by Marc Watson
Aryu’s first thought was to make it to the bar. Should he be here, he’d likely follow the plan. Gods knew he needed a good drink himself.
The trip back to here had been quiet and disgustingly uncomfortable. Esgona did nothing but hang his head and hobble along, refusing outright to be carried aloft by Nixon (which was fine by Aryu. Fools walk). That had added unnecessary time to the trip; however, Aryu was pleased to see the limp didn’t hold him up much. He’d clearly had the wound long enough to be comfortable with it, and even though he was so hang-dog, Aryu suspected that a large part of Esgona refused to yield any more perverse satisfaction to Aryu. Bullies never enjoy losing a battle, emotional or otherwise.
Aryu kept his mouth shut for the trip, talking to neither Esgona nor Nix unless the need was urgent. He had nothing more to say to Esgona, but Nixon seemed to be lost into himself. Something within Aryu told him that he was not free from fault in that matter. Nixon had been very quiet ever since the revelation about Esgona in the grove. Something about the whole situation between the two people from Tan Torna Qu-ay wasn’t sitting right with the fire beast, and he did little to hide it.
As they approached the outer boundary of the town, Nixon left their company. He told Aryu when and where to meet him, allowing slightly less time than Aryu would have liked to get the task done, but he knew the man was in a terrible rush and was thankful he got any time away from him at all. He was honest with him, having no intentions to run away from the deal and the creature he made it with, but was still leery of Nixon’s constant judging of him.
Also, the whole business of him not wanting to enter the town was just plain odd. So he’d made a deal with an old man not to return. So what? It wasn’t as if Nixon had anything to fear from him, so why not come and help? Aryu doubted the logic, but he agreed to Nixon’s terms and left with Esgona.
The plan of finding Johan, should he still be alive and at this destination, was revealed to Esgona as they walked. Expecting a fight again, Esgona only nodded in understanding and carried on.
The bar plan went terribly on the first try. Aryu by this point was doing nothing to hide his wings, his pack long since left behind in tatters. This fact, coupled with the edginess of the people in general, only ended up leading to shouts of “Stay out freak!” and “Don’t let him in!” Entry was going to be an issue for him.
After searching the town as best they could, Esgona and Aryu ended back at the bar to give it another try late at night. The crowd was no more hospitable.
Esgona, who up to this point had just tagged along behind Aryu doing little to aid his search, suggested he be the one to enter and see for himself. Aryu was out of places to look and agreed. Esgona likely couldn’t make it too far if he ran, and even if he tried, Aryu was likely to just let him go. Only the agreement with Nixon had him helping Esgona as much as he had. If Esgona made a break for it of his own accord, Aryu had never agreed to get him back.
He did come back, though, and with all the information they needed. Esgona had spoken with Ollie the barman, learned that a young man matching his description had indeed been there and had been bellied-up to the bar for the better part of the day. He told Esgona that Johan had left only a few minutes before their arrival.
Aryu was ecstatic to find out that Johan was still alive. Although he had faith it was true, until this moment he wasn’t one hundred percent. Eager to find him, Aryu had suggested he take to the air to cover more ground. Apparently, he had been pretty drunk and wasn’t likely to get too far in the dark in the middle of a strange town. Esgona regressed yet again, nodding in agreement with the plan that would see him go to one of the inns they’d passed and await Aryu’s return.
After climbing to the top of a nearby store and taking off over the town (an act that nearly caused a riot outside the bar), it only took a few minutes for Aryu’s first lead: the scream of terrible pain from a darker corner of the town. Upon inspection, he made out the shadow of a large man who seemed to be short an arm and who had apparently lost it recently, judging by the shadow of blood at his feet and the amount of profanity spewing from his mouth.
Seconds later came a deep grumble and an ear-splitting explosion from not too far away, down an adjacent street.
With a launch off a tall inn, he took off in the direction of the calamity and drew the Shi Kaze for safety’s sake. Only a few paces down the dark road he saw what he wanted to see more than anything in the world: the face of Johan, who appeared to be facing unseen assailants. He had only registered the scene in his mind, overjoyed at finding him, when he saw the closer of two men raise his arm and point what Aryu assumed was a gun at Johan’s face. Aryu folded his wings and dove with all the speed he could muster. Shi Kaze taking the lead, Aryu struck the weapon cleanly as he rocketed past, a perfect hit to the middle of the gun.
Despite all the time he’d spent with Johan, Aryu had taken little interest in his talks about ancient weapons and tactics, enjoying more the stories of battle rather than the weapons that fought them. Had he ever paid close enough attention, he may have recognized the weapon he struck for what it was. An Ark 1 was a weapon famous for its accuracy, ease of use, mass availability at the peak of its popularity and, of course, the uncanny amount of energy it could store during an attack, particularly the moment it was fully charged and ready to fire.
That much energy wasted no time escaping by any means necessary, be it by pulling the trigger, quick-draining the battery to avoid discharge, or perhaps being thrust into the wide-open spaces of the world when the gun that contained it was sliced in two by what was possibly the sharpest weapon ever conceived by man.
Though at full speed when he struck, Aryu was still blindsided by the sudden localized explosion and the deafening pop as it expanded until no more energy was left.
Johan was staring right at it when it exploded and was thrown backward by the many forces at work. Eyes burning, ears ringing, and body jolted like he had been slammed into by a team of wild horses.
Compared to their attackers, though, their current state was nothing to complain about.
Aryu had tumbled through the air in an uncontrolled spin, only to deftly gain his balance and land. Confusion was on his face as his ears rang. He had never expected such an event from his actions, but when his eyes focused in the poor light, he saw Johan on the ground several paces from where he’d been, moaning and looking as if he’d been kicked by a folme. At least he was still alive and conscious.
The two attackers were nowhere near as lucky. The one with the weapon was almost entirely gone above the ankles, which were charred and tossed about in the roadway behind the blast. The other, although still in one piece, was missing all the clothing and skin from the front half of his body. His face stared out at them both in the illumination of one of the street-side houses. It was a black and grotesque visage with no eyelids, nose, or lips. Seared eyeballs glared at the scene like a wide-eyed gawker.
Aryu had no other reaction other than to vomit at his feet until his stomach (which really didn’t have much to hold) was empty. Had he the means, he likely would have done so all night. He had never killed anyone before. Now, although he had zero intention to do so, he had killed two men in an instant, based only on the assumption that his friend was in danger. That triggered another wave of dry heaves as he realized he might have simply misunderstood the situation. Perhaps there was no trouble at all? What if these two men were innocent? He doubted it, but it was still possible, wasn’t it?
No, he thought, that was a gun. There was no good intention here. That was a weapon of the Old.
The calm realization in his own mind blinded him to the fact that the very loud and bright explosion had awoken everyone in this quadrant of the city who wasn’t already awake and milling about. Now the area he occupied with his damaged friend was filling up as people hurried to see what had gone on.
Windows opened above him and doors opened on the streets.
It took little time for him to be brought back to
the here and now as someone screamed at the terrifying image of the corpses down the road. That face was enough to drive nightmares into the most stalwart of souls.
Aryu reacted as fast as he could. “Get up if you can, we need to go!” he shouted to Johan as he ran to him.
“Holy shit man, you had better stop screaming!” Johan said as he came to his knees, face and arms singed and cut, wounds bleeding. His hands went to his ears as he gingerly tried to look around through the flash burn. It was unclear if he recognized his savior in this current state, but he had enough wherewithal to know he may still be in danger.
The crowd grew more brazen and began shouting at Aryu to get away. More than one person looked ready for mob justice that only chaos can create so efficiently.
Recognition dawned across Johan’s face as Aryu pulled him to his feet. “Aryu? You have got to be fucking kidding me! Aryu!”
“Yea, yea, it’s Aryu, now get to your feet and help me.”
“How…?”
“Later, Johan, I promise, now let’s go.”
Johan could barely see and his ears rang even at low volumes, but the situation steeled him against these ailments. He started walking, instinct driving his feet forward.
The crowd was lost in the horror and no one had the moxie to follow them as they faded into a dark alley down the road. Rumors of army attacks and demon creatures invading the town grew at a speed only a hysterical crowd can propel.
When he was as confident as he could be that they were no longer followed, Aryu asked the drunk and shocked Johan where they could go to hide out.
“No problem, I think I own an inn now,” he replied with a smirk.
Aryu thought he was kidding.
Chapter 11
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The Shortest Night
Although there was nothing left of the Ark 1 after the blast, the connection between huge southern explosions, armies of ancient making, and a mysterious mutant with a sword that spoke of power and death if you looked at it the right way was a simple step to take.
The fact that this was all erroneous was trivial in the mind of a bloodthirsty crowd.
Aryu had since sheathed the mysterious weapon to aid in their escape. It was obvious that Johan had been stunned thoroughly and needed a place to rest.
They emerged from the dark alleys to what could pass for a major thoroughfare, the street well-lit even at this late hour. People and carts bustled everywhere. A modicum of recognition hit Johan’s face and he told Aryu the place he was looking for was only a few blocks away.
“Do you like it? It’s all mine, now,” Johan said with great drunken pride as they entered the inn. Johan started tending to the cuts and bruises he could see with shaking hands and unsteady washing practices. Eventually, Aryu helped as he told Johan the basics of what had happened when he had made it to Tan Torna Qu-ay. Johan likely wouldn’t remember it all, so Aryu kept it as brief-yet-detailed as possible.
By the time he reached the part about being saved by Nixon, along with Esgona, Johan seemed to show little effects of the booze, his anger burning off the spirits as Aryu spoke.
“They were just using the village to bait you home? For what? Why you?”
Aryu didn’t know, explaining all he could still left him feeling as if great and important chunks were missing. It must be how Nix felt all the time right now.
“Could it be the sword?” Johan asked. Aryu had left out most of the major details of the history and power of the Shi Kaze, alluding to it in the recap of his meeting with Nixon. He had also taken great care to paint Nixon as more of a savior to keep his friend from worrying.
“No, it’s not the sword,” Aryu answered. “They arrived in the village weeks before I had found it.”
“And what about you working with them? What kind of lie is that? Where’s Esgona, anyway? If he has to be here, he may as well answer some of these questions.”
Aryu was content to let Esgona just wait it out for a while. He wasn’t far away, a block or two if he recalled correctly. He described to Johan the place he’d been left and asked him to go. It dawned on Johan that there was still a fair chunk of the town in a bloodthirsty rage searching for a winged man. He agreed and went in search of the boy.
Aryu cautiously looked about Johan’s room, now lit with lanterns and candles casting a harsh dancing light on everything it touched. The room was barren except for the bed, a desk with no chair, a washbasin, and a cracked-but-serviceable mirror.
Aryu walked over to the mirror, anxious to see himself again. It had been some time since he’d last seen a mirror. He was much more ragged now. His clothes were ripped in too many places to count. His face and hands were cut and bruised. His dark brown hair was scruffy and tussled, not to mention longer than he’d have liked, but personal grooming had fallen off to the wayside lately with the excitement of returning home. His bright green eyes and now more than a few days’ growth of patchy facial hair made him look that much more foreign. Another constant reminder for Aryu that he was not a native of this land and never would be.
He stepped away from the mirror and waited by the window, careful to shield his wings from anyone who might look up his way. Not much fear in that, though. It seemed most of the town had other matters on their mind.
In the few minutes he spent looking out at the town from his perch, Aryu watched three rather obvious thefts of goods, two raucous fights, and one of what he could only assume was the most public and obvious business transactions being executed between a ‘professional’ lady and customer he’d ever seen. Aryu found the latter act sicker and sadder than anything else. Something about the way they seemed to throw decorum out the window reminded him more than anything else how far one could sink with nothing left to lose.
Soon he spied Johan returning with Esgona in tow. “Anything interesting?” Johan asked when they entered the room, seeing Aryu’s attention drawn to the scenes out the window. Aryu looked at him and then back out to the scenes below.
“No. Only the world caving in on itself.”
Johan smirked. “Then everything’s normal. Good to hear.” He wandered over to the desk and hopped up, feet dangling like a child on a chair that was too big. Aryu could see by the look on his face that his mission to find Esgona and return was one he enjoyed greatly. Alcohol still showed on his face, but perverse pleasure was muddled in with it.
By this point Aryu was numb to the plight of Esgona. His moral and social victory over his rival was a lock, and now he only felt sad and ashamed for him. Pity was still a long way off, but it was somewhere in distant sight. That realization was enough to leave the matter alone. He had no further need to demoralize Esgona. His satisfaction at Esgona’s failure was enough. For now.
“So now what?” Johan asked. “Hitch a ride with a northbound caravan? I’m open to ideas.” A casual glance to the crippled boy now sitting across the room hinted that these ideas were only to come from Aryu lest they be ridiculed and shot down.
“East,” was Aryu’s reply.
He had told Johan of his deal to help the fire beast, but it was obvious Johan either thought him a liar or just didn’t remember. The smirk left his face. “East? That’s as much trouble as south.”
“I told you. I made a deal to bring Esgona to safety, find you and go east with Nixon. I’ll be back when it’s over.”
Johan still didn’t believe him. “Why? Because you promised? Forget that. I thought you were dead. Now you’re alive, but you have to go with some crazy demon-thing to the forbidden lands? Let him hang. You’re coming with us.” Aryu hadn’t told him about the power of the man named Nixon or the mission he was sworn to uphold.
“I’ll be back quickly, Johan. It won’t take long. A week or two at best.” A complete lie; Aryu had no idea how long it would take, but he needed some leverage.
Johan was like a rock. “No. This isn’t a debate. Napponia is forbidden for a reason, Aryu. People who go there die.” A rumor, but a rumor
so rampant it was generally agreed upon to be true.
“Look, I made a deal. A promise on my honor. I can’t take it back, Johan. He saved my life. I owe him this.”
At that statement, Johan faltered. It was a fact he’d not considered, and a deal like that was hard if not impossible to break. Johan, being a man of honor as much as a smart ass, knew that just as well if not better than anyone else, even in his inebriated state. No matter what came out next, Aryu knew he’d won.
“It sounds like a pretty stupid deal.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
Johan agreed that north was the safest course of travel. He found a scrap of worn-out paper and a charcoal pencil and sketched a rough drawing of the route he planned on taking from memory of the maps they’d studied for their quest.
“Two weeks travel north from here is a branching valley that leads into the Hymleah Mountains. If you go west it follows the Paieleh River to the Blood Sea.”
The Paieleh River was famous for its eddies and whirlpools. Boating on it was unsafe and possibly lethal. There was a road that followed it down the mountain valley. Aryu explained that revenge was foremost in his mind and that this route took them away from the advancing army, not to it.
“I have every intention of joining you on that mission, Aryu, but now is not the time. Most people here are going north. Look at this place,” he quickly glanced to the window, the hubbub below clearly audible, “these people are running scared and in a state of total disarray. We need to find a place where the threat of the Old can be addressed strategically. Remember what Stroan said? He was with a band heading north. The Inja Army doesn’t just march off into the depths of the mountains without a plan, and I certainly can’t see that plan having any use where we’ve been or farther north. The Blood Sea seems as good a place as any to start looking.”