by Garry Ocean
A bush was growing from the dead man’s chest. Yes, growing: Nick could see small pinkish roots under the man’s pale skin. Like a spider web, they were growing in rings into the body. The bush was the exact copy of other bushes, multitudes of which now were growing along the road. But it was still small. This looked so wild that Nick rubbed his eyes. Then he extended his arm to touch the bush blossom at the stem, but changed his mind.
Earlier in the battle, one of the flouds had sunk on the lighthouse and turned into a dirty greenish jelly. It almost entirely slid to the ground by now, only sometimes disturbed by the small ripples of movement inside. The stench of mold and rotten eggs was unbearable. Nick spat out in disgust and started to climb the spiral stairs of the lighthouse.
The mechanism of the light signaling system was quite primitive. Nick had figured it out quickly earlier that day. The light concentration was achieved by alignment of the rotating lenses. The source of the light was a large kerosene lamp. Nick did not know what the locals called it. In any case, he knew it was filled with some type of fuel. Lenses were rotated by a gear mechanism that had to be started manually with a specially designed lever.
Nick looked out through the tall window. From the lighthouse top, the pier was seen clearly, like it was in the palm of his hand. All of the people had boarded the ferry. Now, they were hauling in the last most valuable things that were left on the bank by those who had already departed. And there was Whisperer. The old man was standing on a bridge, carefully watching the water line. The huge coupling was guarded by a hunter Nick didn’t know. He was patiently waiting for the signal to take the break off. Once the break was off, the sloths harnessed to the coupling’s shafts would start walking in a circle, spooling the ropes onto the coupling.
Nick went to the window on the other side. As always, Whisperer was right. Nick couldn’t hear the roaring, stomping, and screeching of the approaching beasts yet, but the dust wave that was steadily approaching left no doubts that with the last rays of the Orphius the coming Exodus wave would reach the Tower.
“I have enough time,” Nick thought and stretched his entire body. “It will all be over soon.” He sat down on the wide windowsill, facing the pier and dangling his feet, and waited for the signal.
Soon he noticed Whisperer waving an improvised flag at him. “Must have attached to the spear tip some rag he had found,” Nick thought. This was the signal that the ferry now could be started. Nick got off the window, in no rush adjusted the lamp’s flame, waited for it to become stronger, and rotated the lever three times. Almost immediately, they responded with three long honks from the other side. “Everything is as smooth as butter,” he suddenly remembered a saying, ancient like life itself.
Nick looked out the window. The sloths started to move in circle just as they were supposed to, and the coupling began to rotate. The ferry started, and with a long piercing screech began to slowly depart from the bank. The hunter standing guard at the coupling darted off to the dock. When there was about fifteen feet between the bank and the ferry, he jumped and caught the rope someone threw to him from the deck. In a minute, he was on board. “All right,” Nick said out loud and stated to descend the spiral stairs, “It’s time for me to leave as well.”
He came out to the wide stairs at the lighthouse foot and halted, puzzled. The watchman’s body was gone. Nick felt sweat breaking out on his spine. On the trail leading to the pier, right in front of him, there stood five yellowbellies. Ten empty unblinking eyes were watching him closely. They did not move, just the huge claws were clasping their fatal beat.
How did he not hear them earlier? The screeching of the couplings from the pier must have temporarily muffled them. Nick took Gorr’s sword out, quickly estimating how he could make his way to the river. On both sides of the trail he could hear a slight rustle. In a minute, it turned into louder crackling and then grew into a constant loud roar.
The bushes, or whatever they were in reality, started to move. Nick realized in horror that the stems with the small dark blossoms sticking out from the bushes were nothing but unblinking yellowbellies’ eyes looking at him. There were hundreds of them. Where did they come from? They couldn’t have been hiding there all the time, or could they?
He didn’t finish his thought. The creatures jumped at him as if an invisible puppet master started them all at once. Nick stepped back in awe, and acting more like he was on autopilot then knowingly, tumbled back into the lighthouse, slamming the heavy entrance door close. Then, putting all his weight on it, he managed to push the rusty bolt, scratching his fingers. In the rush he dropped the sword that tumbled on the stone floor, clanking and bouncing. The next moment, the door started to jump violently under the strong bangs from the other side. Nick looked at the heavy hinges for several minutes. Will they hold? The plaster on the doorframe started to fall out, but the hinges were still holding.
Nick grabbed the sword from the floor and looked around like a trapped animal. Windows! He counted six two-pane windows in the large room of the ground floor. The wooden shutters of the two of them, as it happens, were wide open. “It’s too high for the beasts!” Nick thought hopefully, and that very moment, as if proving him wrong, a hissing silhouette of a yellowbelly appeared in the nearest window frame. Who knows how, but the beast managed to jump onto the windowsill. It turned out to be too narrow for it, and the beast, clawing through the air, dropped right at Nick’s feet. Instinctively, he tried to push it away with his sword, and the steel easily chopped its head off of its neck. The beast fell on its back, splashing its disgusting green blood all over Nick. The headless body still continued to move its furry legs in convulsions for some time, but Nick didn’t see that. He dashed to the window and pushed his entire weight against the heavy wooden windowpanes to close them. They locked with a large iron hook. Only on the third try he managed to set the hook on a rusty ring locking it.
“Now, one more,” Nick ran to the window on the other side. “How many of them are here?” During the short period of time when he was struggling with a stubborn hook, Nick noticed that the entire space at the lighthouse foothill was filled with the dense, disgustingly crawling carpet of unimaginable creatures.
Having closed the last window, Nick jumped off to the floor, where he was standing before. The blood was pulsating in his head. “Ok, calm down!” he ordered himself. Then he tried to relax his shoulders as much as he could, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. After he repeated this simple exercise several times, Nick started to feel a little better.
It was dark. The Dominia’s rays were hardly breaking through the closely shut window shutters. Sounds of loud chirping, hissing, and unpleasantly piercing scratching came from the outside. The door was not banged at full force anymore; only from time to time it was shaken as if something large was running into it. Nick’s eyes got used to the darkness quickly. The yellowbelly lying on its back in the middle of the room quieted down.
Nick was sitting down, mulling over if he should light the torches placed along the walls. He was not bothered by the absence of lighting. He could see perfectly well in almost complete darkness. But then he decided that the torches would scare away at least some of the creatures going wild behind the lighthouse walls. He got up and went to search for something that could light them up.
He found a flint upstairs, came down to the ground floor and lit all torches one by one. He was pleased with his work: The hall was lit by an uneven twinkling light, and for a second he imagined himself to be a medieval knight. A couple of things were lacking: A fireplace and a pair of hunting dogs lounging on a bearskin sprawling at his feet. Smirking at his own wild imagination, Nick rushed to the top of the lighthouse again.
The lighthouse was about ninety feet high. In addition, the guardians built it on a natural hill. So the large arched windows along the entire perimeter of the top floor opened up a wide view to the entire surroundings: the pier and the defense molts with the dying fire. Nick could even see the part of the Tower’s ce
ntral square with the tripod he had overturned. He noted constant movement everywhere. Something was crawling, jumping, moving chaotically. From the west, the roar of the beasts coming in waves was unstoppable and increasingly loud.
Nick looked down again. In a straight line, the Rapid Waters was within an easy reach, but he would have to break a path in the tall pseudo grass. He did not even want to think about what could be hiding in it. And the grass itself was just as dangerous. He suddenly longed for Whisperer’s and Sith’s help. The old man would have thought of something. “Well, no!” Nick interrupted himself, ashamed of his own weakness. “Let them cross the river on the ferry.” Nick imagined Whisperer standing on the ferry, peering at the abandoned riverbank and silently moving his lips as usual. Nick smiled at the image.
He was not that far off the truth at that moment. Whisperer and Sith were standing on the ferry’s dock. Whisperer was crying. The boy was clinging to him, staring at the riverbank they left. Other whisperers were standing a little away, hesitant to approach Whisperer. They all knew Rebirth had just started. No one expected it so soon. Without waiting for the Exodus to end, the Forest was reclaiming the land.
*****
Nick was suspicious of a hill that grew right next to the lighthouse. It was definitely not there during the day. Now it was reaching the window frames of the lower level. Not to waste time waiting, Nick walked around all rooms of the lighthouse again, inspecting it for the weak spots where the creatures could break through.
The building, made of massive tightly fit boulders, had the shape of a hexagon and was designed to sustain a heavy siege well, albeit not a lengthy one. Nick found some boards inside and used them to prop the entrance door. He also piled all sorts of debris and junk, abundant in the lighthouse, against each window. Judging by the looks of it, the late lighthouse watchman was a hoarder who knew nothing of order. Nick used everything he saw to fortify the windows: empty barrels, parts of thick chains, and large stones that had fallen off the walls ages ago and were still lying around.
“If the beasts manage to break through here,” Nick thought, “I’ll have to go up on the spiral staircase. I need to think of what I can use to block the stairs while backing up.” Earlier upstairs he noticed a table with three legs. The broken fourth was replaced with a heavy chest that also served as a bed. Nick vaguely remembered seeing a barrel with fuel for lamps and torches there as well.
The lighthouse shook violently. Fine stone crumbs poured down from the ceiling. Immediately, the door started to creak and shake under the banging from the outside. The window shutters started to shake violently. Unbearable piercing screeches came through the walls. Suddenly, all torches went out at once. The shutters, creaking and cracking, started to bend inside as if someone was pushing them in hard from the outside. One window’s shutters gave in splitting into two and barely hanging on rusty hinges. Nick took his sword out, backing up toward the staircase. Something large and dark was slowly crawling over the windowsill into the hall.
Next, the open window was filled with creatures Nick hadn’t seen before. They were pushing in hard, as if trying to race and shove each other. They fell off the high windowsill inside, immediately jumped to their legs and spread around the hall, giving way to beasts following them. The air was filled with the sounds of clasping claws and clanking of clawed paws. The beasts were shoving each other, getting their teeth into each other, making loud pained roaring, moaning, and slurping sounds. Literally in a minute the entire hall was filled with the creatures aimlessly running around. Nick ran up one flight of stairs, helplessly watching this wild kaleidoscope. This did not last long. At first, one creature dashed at him, hissing wildly, followed by another one. Very soon, they had no space in the narrow spiral staircase to move.
At first, Nick was just chopping and cutting the beasts jumping up at him from the stairs. Then he had to resort to the blank fan guard. Gorr’s sword was quickly drawing the infinity sign, easily chopping off claws, paws and heads of the advancing beasts. From time to time, Nick had to kick off the chopped bodies down the stairs, to keep the stair landing clear and to hold his position. This gave him a short break as the beasts immediately devoured their unlucky brethren, tearing them apart. Thus they created a clog in the passage, narrow as it was. The back rows of creatures were trying to move forward, pushing the front. The latter were resisting, taking threatening poses. Then this hissing and clasping mass turned to Nick again.
Nick worked his both hands equally well. To save his strength, he was holding the sword in one hand or the other in turns. For some time, this succeeded. His spirit was elevated at first, but then he started to feel the tension in his back. Most of the creatures were low, the size of a large dog, and attacked from below. This is why he had to lean forward and squat to deflect the clasping claws and retracting stings.
Unexpectedly, his left leg slipped on something gooey, and immediately a beast already split into two managed to cut his hip with one of its eight furry legs ending with a sharp hooked claw. His leg felt a sharp pain. Limping, Nick backed up one more flight of stairs.
“I will not be able to hold them for much longer,” Nick was thinking fast, frantically drawing infinity signs with his sword. “I will soon either simply exhaust myself or bleed out.” His legs were already covered with multiple cuts, with the pants cut across and along sticking to his body in bloody patches. “I could use a large Alvar shield right now. I need to back up upstairs. There’s a round table there that I could use as a shield. But how can I stop the advancing beasts?”
Nick started to attack, working his sword even faster. His sword’s blade turned into a roaring merciless wall. He chose the largest beast and pierced its shell with two short powerful strikes. Nick didn’t grab it with his hand; afraid he’d cut himself with the small but sharp spikes densely covering its furry limbs. He just gave it a powerful kick to the belly, which threw the beast into the very middle of the advancing creatures. Then he made several more strikes without looking, quickly running up the stairs. Several beasts followed him, while the others piled up on the dead creature, devouring it.
Nick entered the room and quickly looked around. He saw the fuel barrel standing next to the signal lamp. He immediately had a plan. Turning around, Nick finished several of his pursuers with sharp strikes and dashed to the fuel barrel. Listening to the sounds coming from below and looking around, he carefully, trying not to spill the fuel, rolled the barrel closer to the stair landing.
Numerous clawed paws clattered on the stone stairs again. Without waiting for the first beasts to show up on the lower landing, Nick pulled his strength and poured half of the barrel’s contents onto the stairs. The thick fluid, bubbling merrily, streamed down the stairs. Nick looked into the barrel and saw that it was still about one-quarter full of the flammable hell-blazing mixture. Smirking with an effort, he kicked the barrel down and it started to roll downstairs, rocking and hitting the walls and jumping on the stone. Nick tore the nearest torch off the wall and sent it down as well. The fire started to roar and quickly caught on the fluid, running down the stone stairs. Then it exploded below. Nick could hear screeching, loud noise, and something hooting. Nick’s face felt the backlash of hot stench.
*****
The night was cold. For a hundredth time, Gunn-Terr cleared his throat politely, reminding Cleo that she needed to go inside Archie’s warm fireplace chambers. In response, the girl only tightened her hood over her head. They were standing at the pier. For more than an hour now, Cleo was peering into the greenish haze of the other bank.
Immediately upon the ferry’s arrival, Archie dispatched several squads to patrol the Rapid Waters downstream. Every one of them had a spare horse to deliver Nick of the Westgayer clan to the pier. But good news still had not arrive. Cleo had a feeling that something bad had happened. Whisperer did not want to even talk to her. He mumbled something into this beard and stepped away. She could not be mad at him. Everyone understood that the old man was losing his mind
because of the uncertainty. There he was, sitting together with the boy, waiting for something. “Perhaps, Archie needs to be told to give several signals from the pier? If Nick lost his direction in the dark, perhaps this would help him?” the girl thought. “Yes, of course, we’ll do just that!” To Gunn-Terr’s great relief, the girl rushed toward the headquarters.
*****
Nick was sitting, leaning against the rough stonewall, completely exhausted, and blankly stared at the staircase all covered with the dead bodies of creatures. Their furry legs and severed claws still continued to move convulsively and it seemed that all this moving pile was alive and would attack Nick again at any moment.
He deflected another attack. By now, he didn’t even remember how many of them he had fought back successfully. Nick looked out the arched signal window longingly. The green haze wouldn’t go away. Perhaps, it was his subconscious wishing, but Nick thought that as soon as the dawn comes the beasts would disappear by themselves. He lost the sense of time and couldn’t estimate for how long this nightmare was going on. An hour? Two? Or was the dawn about to break?
Nick forced himself to get up. His legs were weak and didn’t want to obey, but he still made it to the window, limping. He couldn’t see what was going on down there because of the greenish vapors covering the ground. It seemed that a restless sea was breathing there, but he couldn’t see any details no matter how hard he tried to focus. Nick scooped drinking water from an old barrel and gulped it greedily. He had no strength to wash his bleeding wounds. He sat down at the wall again, facing the spiral staircase and set Gorr’s sword on the floor next to him. Then he felt the black haze of restless sleep enveloping him. A treacherous thought wouldn’t go away, “Just close your eyes! Have some sleep! And when you wake up, everything will be over.” Nick shook his head, tightly closed his eyes and then rubbed them vigorously. “I cannot fall asleep right now!”