It wasn’t wind.
“Hide!” mouthed Blackfoot. He scurried around me like a little monkey.
Antioc shrugged and looked around for a good place to hide. By then, our little street urchin had vanished, leaving three dumbfounded morons standing on a hunting trail in the middle of the woods to face whatever was coming.
The thumping and rustling grew louder, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of voices. Deep, gruff, and chattering in a language I didn’t know. Twigs snapped and branches bent as they approached. I felt my heart leap into my throat when I realized what we were about to face.
Antioc and I split up at the trail. He vanished into the thick brush almost effortlessly, while I stumbled and clawed my way through some stiff branches and tripping vines. I landed face first on the ground, sucking in the heady scent of ripped foliage and tasting dirt mixed with my own blood. I rolled over and slid under a bush, only to collide with something warm and trembling.
My head snapped to the side to see what manner of creature I’d struck.
“Uller?” I whispered, “What are you—?”
“Hiding, you fool,” he hissed.
“Is it?”
He answered with a nod and held up two fingers. Gluttons. I’d hoped to never see one, let alone have the good fortune to meet two. We lay still as stones as leaves and grass shook with their approach. Seconds later, they stood where we once had, filling the hunting trail with their massive forms. Their bodies stank of old sweat and rotten meat. I had to cover my mouth to keep from retching. I looked at Uller and saw him doing the same thing.
“Bukka nuk gur fung.”
“Cho gur! Sok nov slogga boe.”
The first one’s voice came from higher up, marking him as the taller. The second was closer, in height and distance. Disturbingly close, I could smell his breath on his words.
“Blok blok,” said the first one. The second one let out a frustrated groan and started pawing around the underbrush.
I struggled to reassure myself that we’d be fair. They were dumb things, barely more than animals. They’d search for a bit and move on, and we’d scurry back to Forlorn Colony with a fun story. Just as soon as these two ugly lummoxes gave up and moved on. In fact, it sounded much like they were close to doing that very thing . . .
Until the brush above us split open and Uller and I found a gray-skinned, sickeningly rotund giant staring down at us. A fat, toothy grin split the bottom of a pumpkin-shaped head at the end of a warty stub.
“Garu blug!”
Nothing to lose now, Uller and I screamed. The glutton recoiled as its big, yellow eyes widened like moons. Not for long, though.
“Yo goul!” it promptly retorted, reaching out and wrapping its fat fingers around our necks.
“Gara blug, uop,” said the first one. I got a quick look at him. He was lanky, a full foot or more taller than our captor, with a round belly hanging from his wiry form. They called them giants, so I had expected them to be taller than they were. Still, they were by no means small. The shorter of the pair was at least eight feet. The size disparity between my expectations and the reality didn’t make them much less intimidating, though.
They both laughed as the monster lifted us, shaking and screaming. Uller slapped at his hand, and I struggled to draw my bone knife. No sooner did I have it out then the glutton shook me. I cursed to myself as it slipped from my grasp and vanished into the brush.
The giant held us up at arm’s length, admiring his catch. A scream to my left caught his attention. It wasn’t a scream of fear, like Uller’s and mine, but a war cry. I recognized it well. Antioc erupted from the trees, swinging the cloth-wrapped stone around his head like a flail. He let it fly mid-charge. It soared into our captor’s face, crushing one of his eyes into a shower of goo and blood.
The giant howled in pain and dropped us. They weren’t laughing now, especially when one of Threestep’s arrows hit the taller glutton’s shoulder. He’d taken a defensive position several strides up the trail. He was nocking another arrow when the tall one turned and advanced on him, hefting a club that looked like it’d been made from an uprooted tree.
The fat glutton had a shorter club, which he swung clumsily at Antioc. The fighter rolled under it deftly and let loose another war cry as he brought his white bone knife to bear. He slashed the glutton’s leg open, conjuring another howl of pain and a small splatter of blood.
Threestep put another arrow into the tall one, but it didn’t slow.
“Run!” I cried. Threestep stood defiant, drawing another arrow. He barely had time to get it to the string before the glutton took off his head with a single swipe of his fat club.
“No!” shouted Uller, struggling to his feet. He reached into a leather pouch on his belt, and I fumbled through the underbrush for my knife.
Antioc continued rolling and weaving around the fat glutton’s enraged blows. He darted in and out with his knife, leaving shallow little gashes in the giant’s skin. Despite the missing eye, the thing showed no signs of slowing. After seeing how easily his fellow had disposed of Threestep, I knew Antioc didn’t stand a chance. It was only a matter of time before one of those clumsy blows hit home, or his taller friend came back to help.
Unfortunately for us, the tall one seemed more interested in Uller and me than in helping his friend. He fixed us with his yellow eyes and stomped through the brush like a charging bull.
I looked at Uller. “Do something!”
Blood dripped from his club as he raised it above his head. Uller stepped between us and threw a handful of white powder on the taller one, covering his face and chest with it. The giant stopped, giving the mage a stupefied look before bursting into laughter.
“Of course,” I shouted, nodding. “White powder. Well done. Now he looks ridiculous.”
Uller ignored my jest and drew his waterskin. He popped the cork and sprayed the giant with water. Laughs turned to howls as the white powder sizzled and burned. The glutton roared and dropped the bloody club. Trying frantically to wipe the mess from his face only made it worse as the burning goo stuck to his hands and smeared his cheeks.
“Blort snoggle heg! Ger! Ger! Ger!”
“Not laughing now, are we?” shouted Uller.
The tall giant turned and ran, leaving the three of us with his fat friend. Antioc ducked under a sideways club swing, but just barely. The glutton seemed to be learning his lesson. His attacks were tighter, more precise. If we didn’t act soon, our brave friend would be overwhelmed.
I gripped my knife by the blade and brought it behind my head. “Die!” I shouted, throwing it like I’d been trained to do in the King’s Army. It spun through the air impressively before bouncing, blunt handle first, off the side of the things head. I hadn’t been trained very well. It didn’t even distract the behemoth as he brought his knee up into Antioc’s chest. My friend winced and let out a grunt as he rolled away, barely keeping his balance. The glutton took care of that with a slanted swipe from his short club. When Antioc dodged, he lost his footing and crumbled to the ground.
My heard pounded as I felt around on the ground for something I could use as a weapon. Uller drew more powder and stepped toward the giant. He was just about to throw a handful when the giant turned and roared in his face. Uller shook and recoiled as the shrill noise rippled the air. I curled up and rolled away, shaking. I caught a glimpse of Antioc doing the same, only wincing in pain and holding his chest. The sound was worse than hearing Threestep’s head get smacked off; worse than hearing a man crushed under a dying horse. It made me wish for death.
Uller fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his cheeks. The glutton laughed and turned its attention back to Antioc. I got a look at the giant’s face. What remained of one eye was a big, gooey socket with a slimy mess trailing down his pudgy face. The remaining eye was enflamed with red veins. The glutton’s lips rolled back to reveal a mouth full of sharp, filthy teeth, the shortest as long as my fingers. It advanced on Antioc, bringing up i
ts club while I trembled there, huddled in a ball, helpless and pathetic.
My friend was going to die. On his back, in this Daevas forsaken place, and I was going to die next.
A pair of sharp twangs echoed through the trees, follow by wet thumps. The giant groaned. I looked up at him and saw two arrows jutting from him, one in his eye, the other his throat. He stopped and raised his head, confused. I looked back and saw Reiwyn and Ferun, each holding their bows with arrows drawn and nocked.
“Give it to ‘em again!” cried another familiar voice. I looked between them and saw Blackfoot hiding in their shadow. He hadn’t abandoned us at all. He’d gone for help. I could have almost kissed him. I wasn’t going to but . . . almost.
Our archers let two more arrows fly. Ferun’s went low and struck the giant between the ribs. Reiwyn’s went into his eye right next to her first shot. The monster howled and grabbed the arrows. How was it still alive? I’d ponder later that the gluttons don’t use their brains much, so having an arrow in it probably isn’t so fatal to them.
Regaining some semblance of my composure, I looked for Antioc, but he was gone. I heard another war cry, this time from behind the glutton, and my friend returned. He jumped in the air and wrapped his legs around the monster’s thick, stubby neck. The glutton grunted and shook, but couldn’t get him off. Antioc raised his big, smooth rock above his head and brought it down hard. A crack followed and the glutton’s struggle ceased. Thick, black blood ran down his face and neck. He slumped and fell. Antioc leapt off as he hit the ground. He landed well, but lost his balance and grabbed his side before falling.
“Are you fair?” I ran to his side. “I’m sorry I made fun of your rock!”
Antioc grinned.
Ferun and Reiwyn approached, arrows poised at the downed giant as though a split skull might not be the end of him. When sufficient time passed without his reanimation, they lowered their bows and proceeded to extract their arrows from his corpse.
Blackfoot aided Uller while I helped Antioc get to his feet. Once we were all together, we looked beyond to the headless corpse of Threestep slumped against a tree. Reiwyn let out a sad sigh as Uller and Blackfoot looked away. I studied Ferun, he seemed curiously taciturn in the face of a comrade’s death; his one good eye unflinching and cool. I’d seen that look before, and I could tell from Antioc’s reaction he’d seen it before, too. It was the look of an officer who bought glory with the lives of his men. I don’t know why I was naïve enough to think I’d get away from men like him in this place. They were everywhere.
“You two,” Ferun pointed at Uller and me. “Collect Threestep. Blackfoot, get his gear and let’s leave.”
“Antioc’s wounded,” I said, straining to hold up my friend.
“I am fair—”
“You are certainly far from fair.” I looked at the big, red and purple bruise on his side. “You’ve mostly likely cracked a rib or two.”
“He was fair enough to kill this thing,” Ferun said with a sneer. “He’s fair enough to walk back.” He put a boot on the dead glutton’s chest. “Well done, by the by.”
“Yes, well done.” Reiwyn was practically glowing. Suddenly, I didn’t mind so much if Antioc had to walk.
“It was a group effort,” he replied, looking at Uller. The mage’s apprentice was paler than usual, still in some kind of shock. He’d taken the brunt of the giant’s scream, something none of us had been prepared for. I didn’t belittle him a bit for being shaken still. “You were very brave.” Antioc looked at me. “Both of you.”
“I . . . thank you.”
Uller and I gathered Threestep by his arms and legs and hoisted him up while Blackfoot gathered his bow, arrows, and the short sharpened stick he used as a little spear. Ferun collected what was left of his head, apparently unbothered by such a grizzly task. When we returned to the others, Antioc was holding the dead gluttons club. It was short for a giant but rather long and thick even for a man Antioc’s size. The sides were rubbed smooth and glossy, as if it’d been enameled. The end was concave, likely from years of being pounded into skulls and backbones.
“What about him?” I asked, looking at the bloated corpse as we gathered to leave.
“Leave him,” replied Ferun, coldly.
“What about the stink?” asked Blackfoot. “When he rots, won’t it drive away the game?”
“They’ll be no stinking or rotting,” Ferun said as he shouldered his bow. “His brothers will come for him. They eat their dead.”
6.
Antioc’s ribs weren’t broken, just bruised to the bone. That’s what Nol the healer said after he ran his pink Umbrish eyes over them and poked them a couple of times with his pale, bony finger. He was the only exile from Umberton, a vassal city of Morment built entirely underground near rich mineral deposits. I hadn’t met many of them before, but the Umbrish were mostly albino, with pasty white-yellow skin and pale hair that made them look unnatural in sunlight. It was surprising to find one here, where all the homes and buildings were above ground. I suppose as long as he stayed inside during the day, it wouldn’t be too much of a problem.
“A firm wrapping with some leaves soaked in healing unguents will lower the swelling,” he said after making his diagnosis. He didn’t bother himself with the details, leaving that instead to his Volteri apprentice, Gargath. He did a hurried job of it before dismissing himself to tend to sending Threestep to the ashes. He’d apparently become the colony’s mortician as well. It was a sensible choice.
The Volteri girl, Hratoe, followed him everywhere he went, like a pale, black-feathered shadow. Daevas knew how the vultures could stand wearing those long feather robes in this heat, but I’d never seen them wear anything else. Gargath seemed to deal with it by not wearing a shirt and walking around with the robe open, showing off his scrawny chest and pronounced ribs. Hratoe did the same, though she kept the robe fastened over her chest, concealing what I was sure were quite lovely little breasts. Still it was nice to see her tummy, and she never seemed aware that anyone noticed how pretty she was, despite being bald and spooky.
My friends and I were done, so we followed them out. Along the way, Gargath kept us occupied with chatter about his duties. “Plainsfolk custom holds that the body be elevated on a ritual wooden tower and attended by his closest family members and friends for a three day vigil.”
“Why three days?” asked Uller.
“Why on a tower?” I asked. I liked towers. I’d built quite a few of them myself. “So they won’t get eaten by wild animals? I suppose the fellow standing vigil could aid in that.”
“I’m sure that’s part of it, but the spiritual purpose of the tower is much more complex.” Gargath seemed quite eager discussing cultural rituals regarding death. “It takes three days for the soul to reach the afterlife. Sending it to ashes too soon traps the spirit in this world. The Plainsfolk believe evil spirits live in the earth. The tower makes it harder to get to the body. It only slows them down, though. The vigil keeps them completely safe, because the spirits won’t cross the living. It also gives them a chance to make sure they don’t send to ashes someone who wasn’t actually dead, just taking a long sleep.” Gargath sighed. “Unfortunately, Threestep has no relatives in the colony, and really didn’t have any friends. There’s a Plainsfolk woman he was seeing, but she’s inconsolable and wouldn’t be much good for a three-day vigil.”
“Can’t one of the others do it?” asked Blackfoot. He must have meant one of the other Plainsfolk.
“It’s a sacred duty,” explained Gargath, “There has to be some kind of bond between the fallen and the stander. Something more than just skin color. They value warriors particularly, and for a fallen one they prefer it be someone who has fought beside them in battle.”
“I’ll do it.” We all stopped at once and looked at Uller. He was still pale and shaken, but looked quite resolute.
“Did you know him?” asked Gargath. Uller shook his head. “Then why would you . . . oh, I understand.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Uller.” Reiwyn touched his arm. I wasn’t going to get jealous of that. She was just being a good friend.
“If I hadn’t gone up the trail . . .” He looked up to the mountains, avoiding our eyes.
“You heard Arn,” said Antioc, referring to the shocked exchange between our fearless leader and Ferun upon our return. “The gluttons have never come this close to the colony. There was no way you could have known they’d be hunting there.”
“Threestep died in battle,” I added, looking at Gargath. “That gets him into someplace fair in the next life, by their beliefs?” He nodded. “See? Even if it was your fault, you kind of did him a favor getting him killed like that.” Everyone but Uller looked at me with varying degrees of wide eyes and agape mouths. “I’m sorry; I’m bad at this.”
“He deserves this,” Uller softly replied.
“It shouldn’t matter,” said Reiwyn. “The whole point of the ritual is to make sure he’s really dead. He’s missing his head so the ritual is a little redundant. The Plainsfolk must make allowances for these kinds of things, especially for those who die in battle. Don’t they?” She looked at Gargath.
“Not that I am aware of.” He scratched the back of his head and wrinkled his face at Uller. “I could ask the other Plainsfolk, but I’m pretty sure if he dies without the vigil, there’s no way to know if he’s reached the afterlife.”
That didn’t help Uller much. I hadn’t seen him like this before. It was a bit of a surprise. He’d always been so cool to everyone. This was the first time I’d seen him express an emotion other than annoyance or amusement toward someone outside our little clique.
“Then it must be me,” he resolved with a nod.
“You’re going to sit under a dead person you barely know for three solid days?” I asked, incredulous. “You can barely function without twelve hours of sleep a night, how are you going to stay awake all that time?”
“He won’t have to,” said Antioc before Uller could answer. “I’ll take half of it. He died saving my life, too.”
Exiles of Forlorn Page 6