by Gary Bregar
As they made their way, during what they thought to be morning, they stopped briefly so that they could determine their route through the trees. Pike could see only a short distance before his view was overcome with the trunks of the trees, but it saved them time in the long term. They had learned from experience that taking the wrong path could require backtracking and losing time.
Now Pike stood on top of a protruding tree root and gazed out into the distance. At first, he only looked out through the trees, calculating the best route. But he suddenly jumped down from the root and crouched down to Dorian’s ear.
“Things, Mr. Dorian!” he whispered into Dorian’s ear.
“What?”
“Bad looking creatures—walking toward us,” he said frantically, trying desperately not to raise his voice above a whisper.
Dorian was stunned, because Pike was only to look for routes and had now stepped down with a potential enemy coming at them. He was pulled from his shock when he could hear sounds in the distance. Lizabet immediately looked Dorian in the eye before quickly stepping against the tree behind her.
Dorian grabbed Pike’s hand, leading him, pulling him, to the tree closest to them.
“From what direction?” he whispered to Pike.
Pike pointed in the direction that the creatures were coming from, and Dorian motioned the same for Lizabet to be sure that she understood. She did, and adjusted her position against the tree so as not to be seen.
She could hear them coming, the footsteps were becoming louder, and when she thought that they would be close enough to be seen, she carefully peeked from around the edge of the tree trunk.
She wondered again why she was not frightened, like she would expect. The situation could not be more precarious, yet she still wasn’t shaken by any of it. She likened the feeling to that of being anxious or excited.
****
There were three of them, walking closely together—they were Locks, mutants of the Skite Kingdom, who had survived the last Mantle War. Lizabet had been told some of the story of the Locks, but she wasn’t sure how much of it to believe. Most of the stories she had heard had either been designed to frighten children into doing their chores, or had been created by the children themselves.
She had known what they looked like, at least. A boy that she sometimes tutored with had shown her a drawing of a Lock that he had taken from one of his father’s books. It was meant to frighten her, she knew, but of course that hadn’t worked—not with her.
The drawing had been rough and had no color to it. Being very old, she imagined that it had been drawn from descriptions that had been handed down through the generations. But now she saw the Locks clearly as they really were. They were tall with protruding and muscular chests. And unlike the single horn protruding from the back of a Skite’s head, the Locks had six horns of varying sizes (but all large), protruding in a crooked line down their backs.
It wasn’t these things that Lizabet found the most disturbing about them, though—it was their skin. It appeared dry and flaky in some places and moist in others. The color of it was ominous, almost mesmerizing, and when it combined with the shadows cast by the muscles of the monsters’ arms, it immediately reminded Lizabet of dark storm clouds.
Although the sketch that she had seen in the boy’s book had depicted them in helmets and armor, these three wore none. Instead, they wore tattered clothes, and their heads were bald and of the same disturbing dark blue-gray color as the rest of their bodies.
Lizabet had noticed something else that could not be depicted in the drawing. The skin over their heads seemed to be thinner. Even in the few seconds that she had looked at them, she could clearly see through the skin on their heads, exposing the pulsing black veins beneath. This thinness continued down to their eyes. The eyes, Lizabet thought, were the most evil features of the beasts. They were large, but contained no pupil or white. Instead, they looked like large puddles of dark swirling liquid seemingly held in place by some invisible force.
Once the shock of them left her, she stood hidden against the tree, contemplating what might unfold. The Locks were wearing swords and walking with spears, so Lizabet knew that their best chance at surviving the encounter would be to avoid them altogether. She turned to Dorian and said ‘Locks’ with her lips only, not making a sound. She then put her finger to her lips to call for silence. Dorian nodded in agreement and put his hand in Pike’s to provide comfort. He didn’t need Pike crunching twigs beneath his overgrown feet—not now.
****
It would not be Pike’s feet that would give them away—not that day, at least. It was the returning horses that alerted the Locks of their presence in the forest. Since the horses were unfortunately returning from a direction that would place Dorian, Lizabet, and Pike between the horses and the Locks, Lizabet quickly realized that a confrontation was inevitable.
She raised her sword forward before her and Dorian shot her a look of understanding. Pike, for his part, saw a large boulder at his feet, and would use it as a weapon if necessary. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but his blood was warm now and he felt the anxiety fall away. The situation was inevitable, and this fact seemed only to give him strength and determination.
They didn’t need to look to know they were coming. They could hear them walking in the direction of the horses, which would lead the Locks directly to where they were now hiding. Lizabet summoned all of her courage, which wasn’t as difficult as she would have expected. The sword felt natural in her hands now, as though she were born to use it, and she noticed that it seemed longer and sharper. She was sure that the sword was bigger now.
There was no time to consider the size of her sword any further, however. When she was certain that the first Lock had come to the tree where she stood, she jumped from behind it, already releasing the swing of her sword as she went. She could only hope that her swing was true.
Since the Lock had passed the tree that Dorian and Pike were behind, Dorian could see the back of the Lock that had come to Lizabet’s tree. He was in a moment of shock at the horrible sight of the Lock, and stood dumbfounded until he saw Lizabet make her move against the beast.
She swung the sword high, hoping to take it at the neck if she could. By count of weapons, they were outnumbered three against two, and they would only have the advantage of surprise once, so she hoped that she could eliminate the first Lock quickly.
Her hope was not lost—the beast stood headless for only an instant before collapsing.
For a moment, before the other two Locks realized what had happened, there was a heavy silence through the forest. To Lizabet, the entire incident seemed to have happened in slow motion, but it had been a mere second. Dorian would tell her later that she had moved at incredible speed, unlike anything he had ever seen.
When the two remaining Locks saw what she had done, they bellowed a deafening, horrible sound that filled the forest. The sound seemed to have no echo to it, though, making it seem even more sinister.
They drew their swords and rushed toward Lizabet, who was standing with her sword up, seemingly waiting for them. Although only a second of time had passed, in her mind she was seeing the events move by slowly. Her thoughts were crisp and clear in her mind.
When the first of the two Locks reached Lizabet, she swung her sword, hitting it in its side. Although she broke the Lock’s skin, her sword did not go deep. She immediately understood that, while their heads might seem to be covered in thin skin, the skin on the rest of their bodies was thicker, and she thought that it might have the consistency of hide that had been cured. The color of the skin was even more disturbing up close, and the blood that flowed from the wound that she had created was black and not unlike sludge.
The Lock screamed out in agony and tumbled in Lizabet’s direction. It reached out and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her down until she was under him. He pulled his sword back with a gnarled hand, clearly meaning to impale her with it, but before he could bring the sword down, Li
zabet reached up with her left hand, meaning to grab onto the thing’s soft head. He pulled back, though, causing Lizabet to miss. Her hand landed on the face of the Lock instead, and even in her struggle, she cringed.
The skin on the Lock’s face was cold and slick with mucus, but immediately following Lizabet’s touch, it began to warm. The Lock began to scream its terrible noises—once again in agony.
Meanwhile, Dorian had jumped from his own hiding place and was now engaged in battle with the other remaining Lock. He was not nearly as quick with the sword as Lizabet, but he had so far managed to strike the Lock once across its arm, which seemed to slow its swing somewhat. He thought now that the many games of Battle that he and the other boys in Terra had played would finally be put to good use.
Pike, who had kept behind the tree and gone unnoticed by the Locks, picked up the boulder, and came from around the tree behind the Lock who was advancing on Dorian. He lifted the rock above his head, and when the Lock saw Dorian look up at the boulder, it turned to find the Loper towering above him—the boulder towering even higher above him.
The Lock opened its gruesome mouth, exposing jagged brown and black teeth. It meant to release another shriek, but wasn’t given the chance. The boulder silenced it immediately.
The Lock who had at first gotten the upper hand over Lizabet was now recoiling. It was screeching and the sound of it was horrible in the forest. Without an echo, the noise seemed to collect in the air.
It was staggering back from Lizabet, holding its face where she had placed her hand only a moment ago. Dorian, sensing his opportunity, lifted his sword above his head and brought it down hard against its neck—silencing the last of them.
****
They stood over the corpses of the Locks in silence. The boulder that Pike had delivered was still resting on its victim, and he stared at the remains with an expression of sadness and anger. It was the first time that he had ever killed—the first time for all of them. They had each delivered blows to the Locks in equal measure, the experience binding them more tightly.
Once they regained their sense of reality, Dorian looked at Lizabet, stared at her, really. Even in the throes of battle, he had seen what she had done to the Lock.
“What happened?” Dorian asked, still looking closely at Lizabet. “What did you do to it?”
“I only touched it on the face. I was moving to rip at its head—I think it’s their weakness, but I missed and touched its face. I only touched it.”
She was holding both of her hands out now, examining them as if they were new to her, as if she had never seen them before.
“Whatever you did, it worked. I suppose being montiff or a sha, or whatever you want to call it, has its advantages,” Dorian said, now examining the remains of the Lock that Lizabet had affected with her touch. The side of the creature’s face that had been touched was now mangled and burnt. The blood that still flowed from the wound was black and thick, and Dorian could now smell the wound as well. It smelled like rotted meat.
Lizabet picked up her sword, which had been stripped from her hand during the struggle. There was no questioning it now; the sword was slightly larger than it had been, and she could clearly see that it was much sharper as well. A light touch of her finger was all the confirmation needed, as blood trickled from the tip of her finger at once.
Dorian and Pike, who were already in awe of the sword when Lizabet had first picked it up, gasped at the sight of the blood on her finger.
“Is that your sword?” Dorian asked.
“Yes,” Lizabet replied. “It seems to have become a greater version of itself.”
“Can you think of what you did?”
“No, I did nothing. When I looked at them from around the tree, I only thought to myself that they might have a weapons advantage over us. Nothing more,” she said.
“Amazing,” Dorian said, now turning to Pike.
“And…our true hero, Pike,” he said, now smiling up at the Loper. “I was sure to be killed if it weren’t for you. Thank you.”
Pike looked down at Dorian and forced a smile. Lopers are not violent by nature, and the events had been traumatic to him.
“I was only doing my duty, Mr. Dorian,” he responded.
“It is not your duty to serve me, Pike—or Lizabet, for that matter,” Dorian said. “We are in this together now, equally. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, Mr. Dorian, I understand. We are friends,” Pike replied, now more relaxed.
“Yes, we are friends.”
****
The Kingdom of Forris had the greatest length of border with the Outlands, by far. The three allied kings knew that, in the end, a battle would take shape in Forris, hopefully being contained at the border with the Outlands.
The Outlands, although overlapping into all three kingdoms, were widely considered to be part of Skite. It was a barren wasteland of dust and sand that grew nothing but Dark Weed, mutants, and misery. And as King Zander and his army of men went farther east toward the main guard post on the Outland border, they found that not only had the weather shifted to near unbearable heat (even during the night hours), but also the terrain. They saw that many of the trees had died and the animals had become scarce. They had walked miles without encountering so much as a rabbit.
The snakes, however, were plenty. Snakes had already bitten nearly two dozen men, and those men were deemed unlikely to survive. It was yet another risk of traveling by night, so it seemed, but traveling in the heat of the day was simply impossible by this point.
Zander was in frequent communication with Kings Cergio and Ekkill by Eagle. Cergio of Bore, traveling with nearly one hundred thousand men, was on track to meet them at the Outland Post. At this pace, they would likely reach the post two days after Zander and his army arrived.
Meanwhile, King Ekkill of Tongar had dispatched all of his promised ships to the Lost Waters and the Red Islands. They could arrive there at any time, given the speed at which they sailed. The Tongars crafted ships that could move at incredible speeds, and the wind seemed always at their call.
Along with their reports from the other kingdoms, the Eagles had also reported that the figures of Balki and Bella, including their phantom decoys, had come to a stop in the Outlands, about five miles beyond the border. They appeared to be surrounded by Dark Weed.
Zander felt as though they would arrive at the Outland Post within days, but the terrain had shifted so much since the mapmakers had last surveyed the area that he really couldn’t be sure. Land markers that were drawn onto the maps, either no longer existed or had changed so significantly that they were not recognizable. Meadows had turned brown and dusty, and the stream along the road had all but dried up. As if not enough, pools of black tar had been found bubbling up from the ground in several places, and the men found themselves watching the ground closely for the pools of tar in addition to the deadly snakes.
Zander himself had traveled with his father to the Outland Post as a boy. In fact, he had fond memories of that trip—memories of a beautifully green landscape that had now been decimated, turned to waste.
****
Balki had begun allowing Queen Bella to ride without the burlap sack over her head or gag in her mouth. He had already spotted scouts from Obengaard and had decided then to create an illusion of duplicate riders. But what he had also learned from the discovery of the scouts was that any armies that might be following him would be days behind—at least four by his measure. Any cry for help from the queen would be defeated by distance.
The trees became fewer as they rode, until finally, they stopped growing altogether. The ground that they rode over had changed to a dusty sand and rock terrain. The tar pools that had begun to appear days earlier were now larger and more frequent. Bella saw the remains of creatures that had been unfortunate enough to wander too closely to the pools. Other creatures along the road (which was really not a road at all any longer) seemed to have died from the dry heat and lack of water. Bella couldn�
�t be sure, but she thought that the animals had not wandered into the Outlands, but instead the Outlands had crept into the home of the animals. Their environment had been changed under them slowly, so instead of fleeing, they had stayed.
Why would they stay? Bella thought. Loyalty to their land—their home?
It would occur to her later that the animals would have been in battle against an unknown enemy that was both brutal and relentless. She would see that the good folk of Mantle were locked in that very same predicament.
They came upon a clearing, free of bur bushes and tar pools. There were a few large rocks and tall dead trees scattered about. However, Bella realized as they got closer that what she mistook for trees were actually deposits of iron that had crept up from the ground. The iron had climbed to an impressive height, with other strains breaking off in various directions from the main trunk of the iron. It had an orange color to it that Bella took for rust. She thought that the iron display might actually be a beautiful thing had it not been set in such horrid surroundings.
They came to a stop in the clearing and Balki dismounted. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Bella saw that what she had mistaken for large patches of sand in a darker shade of brown had actually been grass. It surrounded the clearing, and it looked so much like sand and soil of simply a different shade that she had not put much thought to it. Now, though, it was standing up in the air more than a foot in some places, leaning its blades in toward them. She looked around and saw that they were surrounded by it.
Dark Weed?