The man looked around as if he were expecting more men to pop out and shoot at him. Silas stepped over Theron’s dead body, and looked at the ground where Marcus lay, knowing it could have been his own corpse lying in a pool of blood. What was happening? Who could this person be? Silas thought his protector would be a little more reassuring. Silas was no more confident in his survival with this man than he was with Marcus or Theron. It made him wonder how much power this medallion really had and if there were others after it. Silas led the way down the fire-lit corridor, not knowing where he was supposed to be walking. The stranger eased his pull on the arrow, but left it fixed in place. He looked around as if searching for something in particular. After a moment he pulled back his black hood revealing his shoulder-length hair and rough, salt and pepper beard. A scar ran from his ear down his neck, but was mostly hidden by the thick facial hair. The man was intimidating, but Silas was too fatigued and weak to fear him. He either wanted to be killed as he had been promised, or let go. He was sick of being a prisoner. After several moments of searching every direction for something, Silas couldn’t figure, the man finally met his eyes.
“You're safe with me,” he said.
Silas doubted this, but it was better than another threat.
“I'm here only to find the medallion and get you to safety.”
“Are you the person my grandfather spoke of?”
The man nodded. “I’m guessing, yes.” He took a deep breath and continued. “Your grandfather and I were friends many years ago, before you were born.” The man finally strapped his bow and placed the arrow in his quiver. Silas winced as the man grabbed his wrists and swiftly cut the rope with a dagger he pulled from his belt, freeing him from the bonds.
“You don't seem that old,” said Silas.
“I wasn’t too much older than you when we became friends. He was a guide and good teacher. I am honored to finally be in your presence, Silas.”
Silas didn't know what to say. So many questions flooded his mind at once, yet he didn't feel as though he had the strength to listen to the answers. He just wanted a warm bed and some food, yet he was greatly interested in one detail.
“How did you know to come here?”
“What do you mean?” the man asked.
“My grandfather told me you were coming. I want to know how he knew that.”
The man sighed and looked away for a brief moment as if to think of the best thing to say. “There isn't much time to get into the specifics, Silas, but for now I will just tell you that it has been the plan for a while. It is a plan I've been a part of since your grandfather trained me and before you were born. The Reckoning.” The man must have noticed the expression on Silas' face. What he had said was not good enough.
“The Reckoning?”
“I promise to explain everything to you when there is time,” the man said. “Right now we have to get off this mountain.”
“What's the hurry?” Silas asked, wishing only for respite.
“The barrier has been lifted,” he said. “There is now nothing to stop the Stühocs from coming here and kidnapping you.”
A sudden cold filled Silas' insides.
“What are you talking about?” Silas asked.
“I swear to you that I will explain everything, but for now, we must get the medallion.”
What was it with this medallion? Everyone seemed to know about it’s importance but Silas, and he was sick of it. “I'm not telling you,” Silas said. “Not until you tell me why you need it.”
He could see the man's face turn red with frustration, maybe anger. “We don't have time for this. They are coming, Silas, and if they get here before we get the medallion it will fall into their hands. You don’t want that to happen, I assure you.”
It wasn't enough. For all he knew this was just a ploy for the man to get his hands on the medallion and kill Silas. What if this was just another possessed person that took a more thought out approach?
“Tell me why you want it so bad, and it's yours.”
The man waited, staring into Silas' eyes, frustrated. He wanted the medallion and he wasn't going to get it because of some seventeen-year-old with an attitude.
“If we don't get the medallion it falls into the hands of the Stühocs. They will comb this mountain to find it. They also won't rest until they have you.”
“Why do they want it? What is it?”
“It comes down to this, Silas,” the man said with ferocity. “There is a war coming and the person with the most medallions wins. I know you don't know me and having my side win may not sound like the most appealing thing to you right now, but I don't care. It would be much better to be in my hands than that of the Stühocs’. If the Stühocs are able to get the medallions then they will destroy us all.”
“Medallions? You mean there's more than one?”
He nodded. “Yours is just one of six.”
The man let his words sink in, then added, “If you don't mind, we must go.” The sword strapped to his back was glinting in the torchlight. He looked as if he were from another world, another time. Silas nodded, accepting the fact that he would not get all of his answers today.
“It's in the truck. We dumped it over the cliff two days ago. I'm not sure how long it will take to get there.”
“You mean it's not in the cave?” The man looked alarmed.
“That's right. My grandfather hid it in the truck so Marcus or Theron couldn't get to it.”
The man simply nodded and continued to think to himself. After a few long breaths he said, “It could be very dangerous out there. I'm not sure if the Stühocs have made it this far yet.”
It was difficult for Silas to guess what the man was planning. He did not feel the great sense of urgency this man felt, though it seemed he should.
“But we have to get the medallion,” the man continued. “Your grandfather was counting on it. It is essential to the plan.”
“What is the plan?” Silas tried once more.
“For now it's to stay alive, and get that medallion before the Stühocs do.”
“Are these others possessed by the Stühocs just like Theron and Marcus?”
“No,” he answered. “These are not the possessed, these are the possessors.”
Silas’ face drained of blood and his skin grew cold.
The man then moved abruptly. “Come,” he said.
“Where are we going?”
“To get the medallion. You have to lead me to the truck.”
The man walked toward the cave’s opening, picked up Theron’s sword from the ground and tossed it to Silas. Catching the sword at his chest, Silas followed the stranger who made his way in the direction of the woods behind the cave.
“You know how to use that thing?”
“Of course,” Silas answered.
“Good. Don't use it unless you have to. Leave the fighting to me unless you have no choice.”
Silas stopped for a moment and the man waited.
“A friend of my grandfather's must have a name, I'm sure.”
The man paused and respectfully gave a short bow. “Silas Ainsley, my name is Kaden Osric. I am your guide and your protector.”
Chapter Four
“That's not good enough,” Garland said pressing the cold steel of his sword to Silas' neck. “If you keep trying to go for the killing move every time, you will slip up and die.”
Silas shook his head as the sweat dripped from his brow. A trickle of blood ran from his nose, a trophy he earned from being too cocky with his maneuvering. Training with his grandfather was always fierce, but that day had been much more difficult. He had never beaten Garland in combat of any sort whether it was hand-to-hand, sword, staff, none of it. His grandfather was a master at fighting and Silas would never do as well.
He was fifteen and had been training since he could remember. In the end, the goal was for him to learn how to survive. He never believed there was any practical use to it, but he loved it. When his grandfather had
thrown the stick at his feet all those years before and said to pick it up, he never knew he would become the warrior that he was today. The combat exercises didn't help him in school or anywhere away from home. In fact, sparring with his grandfather probably landed him in more trouble than he would have ever found on his own. In school he would catch himself daydreaming of the power he was gaining and his ability to use it in a grand battle. He often fantasized about using his abilities against the jerks in school that deserved a good beating. He had been taught, however, never to use his abilities on anyone that was weaker than him unless they posed a true threat to his safety or that of others.
Archery was involved too, but much less so than the sword. He had gone shooting many times and became very skilled with a bow and arrow, but Garland was convinced that swordplay was what was most important to learn. He said it was good for the reflexes and it kept his mind sharp.
Training, in and of itself, was never really questioned by Silas. While other students were playing games or some sport, Silas was going home and getting a walloping from his grandfather. He often wished there was someone within his own skill range to fight, but fighting the master was the best way to become better.
“Pick up your sword,” Garland said. “Let's try it again. This time, focus on disarming me instead of using all of your energy for a killing strike.”
“I'm done,” said Silas. “I can't beat you. Never once have I even come close to beating you.”
“That's because you are not confident. That's because you are thinking in your mind that you have never beaten me. And that's why I win every time.”
Silas just stared at Garland and grabbed his sword. I can do this, he thought. Just beat him. Just beat him.
With the first swing, Garland parried his blow. Silas went for the feet, then the head, then made a quick jab toward the stomach, and each attack was blocked by his grandfather. Then the thought came to Silas: Go on defense. He became vulnerable because he never let Garland attack first. He immediately stopped his slashing and stepped back in ready position, waiting for Garland to strike. For several long moments it didn't come, but Silas waited patiently anyway. The tension grew and both stood silently until Garland finally charged at Silas. When the swords clashed, the weight behind his attack almost knocked Silas to the dirt, but he held his ground. With each strike he focused on nothing but blocking while he searched for any opening to weaken his grandfather's attack. Then it happened. The opening manifested itself when Garland swung and missed wide. Silas instantly rolled to the ground, shifting to Garland's side. In a backward, chopping motion, Silas slammed his blade against the hilt of Garland's sword sending it to the ground with a crash. In the same motion, Silas reached his right leg behind Garland, tripping him and throwing him to the dirt on his back. Silas stood up and placed the blade against his grandfather's neck. He had won. There was a moment of stunned silence and then to Silas’ surprise, Garland began laughing hysterically. It was a deep laugh, straight from the belly. He held up an arm and Silas pulled him to his feet.
“And that's how you do it, my boy!” he said as he patted Silas on the back of the neck.
“You let me win, didn't you?”
Garland shook his head. “You may never believe me, but I was trying harder this time than I ever have.” He paused and laughed again. “Perhaps that was my folly.”
That was two years before and there had been no sparring since. For some reason, unknown to Silas, Garland began making excuses to delay further training and soon, they stopped picking up their weapons altogether. At that time, Garland started dropping hints to Silas about some sort of possessed beings that roamed the Earth searching for the two of them. He became consumed with worry and stayed in his room many nights, pouring over some manuscripts that he never allowed Silas to see. When Silas would ask, Garland would just tell him that it was nothing, just a hobby. But Silas knew better.
As time went by, Garland began to appear older and gaunt. It was striking to see how much he had aged in only two years. The fear of him growing older and dying was not ever a prominent thought in Silas’ mind. But then Theron and Marcus had visited them and they were forced to travel further west, and Garland had ultimately died. Silas' night was not over. Death was still a possibility for him as well.
He was shaken from his memories when Kaden’s voice told him they needed to hurry. Kaden Osric had not been completely thoughtless. Before their trek through the possibly dangerous Stühoc-ridden terrain they had searched the cave for food and water. They were able to find enough water to quench his thirst, but they found no food. He could feel his body absorbing the energy as the water of the small pool reached his lips. He still felt as though he could sleep for the next week, but the small boost would have to do for now.
He wondered, as he lifted his head above the pool, if all the training he had endured had been leading up to this night. He wondered if it had all been part of ‘the plan’ or ‘The Reckoning’ that Kaden had spoken of. Perhaps it was. It would make sense, although it hadn't really helped much yet. Being good with a sword could help in a handful of situations, but it was never a match for a gun, thus it hadn't been a big help for Garland. Things were falling into place and questions were being answered, but it was all happening so quickly. He hadn’t known whether to believe Garland when he was told about his rescuer, but it was difficult to dispute his existence now. And a Stühoc horde? What was he to think of it? Sure, there had been instances or perhaps references to Stühocs in his childhood, but only in the last two years had it started to become more serious.
The two of them left the mouth of the cave and plodded through the tree-covered darkness. Silas tried to remember the way to the road where they let the truck roll off the mountain. He still had no idea where the truck landed, but it couldn't have been too far. He carried his sword on his back with a sling over his shoulder and Kaden kept an arrow fixed on his bow, ready to pull and release at any moment. He had said there was no evidence of the Stühocs yet, but often times they did not leave a trace of their passing.
“How difficult is it to fight a Stühoc?” Silas asked as they walked through the woods toward the road.
“That depends on how well you can take care of yourself in a fight,” Kaden said a little more than a whisper. “One or two don't take too much effort, if you possess decent combat skills. But they can soon overrun you. That's how they fight. They overwhelm their victims until they are powerless. If you ever come across one then you should run. One is probably a lookout for twenty or more.”
Silas still wasn’t completely convinced about all this talk of Stühocs, but he played along anyway. “Are they spiritual, or physical?”
“They are physical beings,” replied Kaden.
Silas nodded to himself, keeping his eyes wide open on the path ahead of them.
“How much farther?” Kaden asked.
“I'm not sure,” said Silas. “We came through quickly, it was almost dark then and it's dark now. We'd be lucky to be on the right side of the mountain.”
Kaden threw up a hand to hush Silas, seeing movement in the distance. “Get down!” he said.
Silas dropped to the ground; a new fear gripped his insides. He held firm to the sword in his hands, ready to take on any enemy. Kaden was bent to one knee and had his arm cocked and ready.
“What is it?” said Silas.
“Something's moving.”
“What's moving?”
“Shhh.”
Kaden pulled back his arrow and closed an eye. The target was far away and Silas could not see anything from his position on the ground. For several long breaths Kaden kept a steady aim then released. There was nothing but a whistle through the air and a thud as an arrow landed in its victim. A brief, but loud shriek flew through the wind.
Kaden swore under his breath. He had hoped the arrow would silence the victim, but it instead pinpointed their position to any Stühoc that may be listening.
“Come on,” he said as h
e took off in a sprint.
Silas almost protested, but didn't have time. He had to keep up with Kaden. They ran through the forest with the fear that every step would bring them closer to being surrounded by Stühocs. Silas gripped his sword as Kaden fixed another arrow. They finally came up to the creature that Kaden had shot, an arrow buried deep in its chest. It had died only seconds after the shot.
“Is this one of them?”
“Yeah,” Kaden said. “It’s a Leaper.” He looked in every direction. “They’re close.”
Silas nodded, not knowing what to say. He looked down at the grotesque figure, unable to distinguish many of its features in the night. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to see what it looked like up close anyway.
“Well, Mr. Ainsley, if you aren't sure of the way from here then I suggest we keep heading north to try and find the path.”
Silas agreed. They traveled silently for several long minutes and finally found the path with the tire tracks in the dirt road that led off the cliff. This was the spot. They both looked over the edge and could see a dark mass of metal on the main road far below. Kaden looked at Silas. No direction was needed. They had to get down to the truck.
“We don't have time to walk the path around the mountain,” Kaden said.
Silas raised an eyebrow fearing he knew what Kaden was about to suggest.
“I know you've been through a lot already,” Kaden said, “but the quickest way to get to the truck is if we climb.”
Silas looked over the edge again. The thought of descending the steep jagged rock nearly a hundred feet to the next level made him dizzy.
“I'll go first,” Kaden said. “I'll guide you down.”
“I don't need you to guide me down,” he said defiantly. “I've climbed steeper.” It was a lie.
Kaden could sense his apprehension and he waited a moment then shrugged. “Sure.” He said.
They both began to make their way down the steep cliff side. Inch by inch Silas felt his way down. Several times he nearly lost his footing to loose rocks. Kaden seemed to feel at ease, climbing without any struggle. He called out to Silas from time to time to see if he was all right, but was only met with grunts and swears.
The Marenon Chronicles Collection Page 4