by M. C. Elam
“While you breathe hope lives, Hawk.”
And then she stood beside him, his Evangeline, she pressed his fingers around the dagger, and pointed the tip into the ogres soft belly. The strength of her voice charged him. “While you breathe hope lives, Hawk.” The dagger ripped through its outer skin, through layers of muscle and intestine, through the tough stomach sack. Driving high under the ribs, it pierced the heart, and the pig man fell dead at his feet.
Covered in gore, Hawk turned to face the ogre horde. The pain in his chest burned like a hundred blazing suns, but as long as he didn’t move too quickly, he could breathe. One hand, pointed at Terill, and the other flicked the dagger, spraying ogre blood over the female. It understood well enough and removed the rope. He pointed again indicating the captive woman. When the others made no move in her direction, he crossed the camp and cut her free. She fumbled for a heap of dirty fabric a few feet away that turned into a filthy chemise when she pulled it over her head.
Now free, Terill came to stand with them. “They stare,” he said.
“Aye, waiting for us to make a move. I’m done in Terill. I can’t take another down.” Hawk’s pinched face and shallow breathing gave away the severity of his injury.
“My turn, then. Rest easy.”
“They want a challenge.”
Both of them jumped at the sound of the woman’s voice. Hawk looked toward her. What he mistook for fear was gone from her eyes, replaced by the menacing stare she leveled on the ogres.
She glanced at his bewildered expression and laughed. “What? Did you think me dumb?” The sound roused the ogres’ attention and they began to mill about. “I speak as well as either of you.”
“Aye, miss. You do.”
“Then what is it? Thanks you want from me? Well, I do thank you. That brute was no bargain.”
“What do you mean, they want a challenge?” asked Terill.
“Simple. They want your friend to fight again.”
“I haven’t got another fight in me.”
“No, no I don’t suppose you have. Broken ribs?”
He nodded.
“What about me?” said Terill.
Hawks knees buckled, and the woman caught him before he went down. The female ogre didn’t miss the slip. It mumbled to the others and pointed.
“No, Terill. Surprise is the only reason I brought it down. You won’t have that factor.”
“What then, stand here staring until they rush us?”
“Your friend is right. They think too slow in a crisis. It gave him the advantage. I have another idea.”
“Seems to me they had you in a pretty bad spot until we came along,” said Terill.
“Yes, I made some foolish calculations, and they caught me. But I do know what I am talking about.”
“Go on, miss,” said Hawk.
She moved closer to Terill and spoke in a softer tone. “Ogre law gives them one challenge. If you engage your friend, you satisfy it. They won’t ask for another.”
Despite the ogres, Terill’s voice came up in agitation. “What are you talking about? Hawk can’t fight me. He can barely stand.”
“He must fight you. The only way to satisfy them is to challenge a strong opponent. Your friend qualifies.”
“Insane.” Irritated he turned and took a step away from her.
“No, Terill, wait. She has something. If we fight, you can pull your punches. Once pinned, you triumph by killing me.”
“Dragon’s balls, Hawk. Kill you?”
“Aye, with the feign death potion. I drink it, and you claim my body.”
“Makes sense, if the woman’s right,” said Terill.
“My name,” she spat, “is Skylla, and I am right.”
“If you’re not?”
She shrugged. “We die.”
“Judging their previous intent, I doubt you would suffer the same fate.”
She raised her hand to strike him, eyed the watching ogres, and thought better of it. “I warn you, do not provoke me further.”
“Ease off, brother. Skylla’s blameless here,” said Hawk. “Besides, look at the ogres. In a minute, we won’t have a choice.”
“Make your challenge, Hawk,” said Skylla.
“How do I make it a bare fisted match?”
“Toss down the dagger.”
He threw his dagger aside and raised his fists above his head. An ogre stepped out pounding its chest with a clenched fist. Hawk shook his head and pointed at Terill. The ogre roared in anger. Hawk pointed at Terill once more.
“Mimic the ogre. Accept the challenge,” said Skylla.
Terill looked back and forth between them.
“Do it now!”
Terill slammed a clenched fist against his chest and stepped forward. Hawk nodded acceptance.
“Skylla, I need the potion from my pack,” said Hawk. “I dropped it near where they held you.”
“If you please, Skylla. My pack is near to it. It holds the revive potion,” said Terill
“Oogak oomiabarah gluktoo,” shouted the ogre woman. It started after Skylla, but she already had both packs and turned back toward Hawk.
“Oogak ogrebarah snark,” she said. The ogre woman retreated.
“You spoke to it?” said Terill.
“Aye, I did. Not hard. They have few words. I know many.”
“What did you say?”
“I told it to piss off.”
Despite the predicament, Hawk laughed. He took the potion from her, tucked it into his mouth next to his cheek.
“Hit me here when the time’s right,” he told Terill and indicated the place where the potion vial rested.
They faced each other and began to circle. Hawk made the first strike. He knew the blows must appear strong. The ogres would recognize a ruse. His fist connected with Terill’s left side, and the wind gushed out of him. Terill tried to regulate his punches, steering away from Hawks broken ribs and concentrating on his head. He opened a cut just above Hawks eye and blood washed down the side of his face.
“Floodagh! Floodagh!” One of the ogres called, and soon the others took up the chant.
“They call for more blood. You must step up the fight.” Skylla called out to them over the rumbling ogre voices.
“Hit me, brother.”
Terill aimed a glancing blow off Hawks shoulder.
“No. Hit me, you must. And then keep hitting me.” He plunged forward swinging with all his might. The weight of his body carried them to the ground, and he pounded blow after blow into Terill’s face and chest. His fists came away slick with blood, and barely breathing, he fell sideways. Terill landed punch after punch. Brutal pain exploded like a million fire tipped arrows inside his chest. He caught a nightmarish glimpse of Terill’s bloody face, saw him raise a fist and swing wide, and felt the blow connect with the soft flesh of his cheek.
Terill took a ragged breath. Hawk's body lay beneath him, one fist still clenched, ready to strike. Breath did not move his chest. Vacant sightless eyes stared up at him from the bloody, bruised face of the man he called brother. Terill rose and stepped away. He saw the ogres watching and gave the body a final kick.
“Morta.” The ogres began to chant.
“What does that mean?” asked Terill.
“It means dead,” said Skylla. “If you can carry him, I will bring the packs and lead you away from here.”
He heaved Hawk over one shoulder and waited for Skylla to retrieve the packs. They started through the ogre camp toward the far side of the cavern. The odor of human blood stirred the horde, but none of the pig men tried to stop them.
“Straight through the center of them,” said Skylla. “As though we own the camp.”
“If they attack?”
“They won’t. Hawk defeated the horde chief, and you defeated Hawk. Just don’t look at them.”
The warning came too late. The female stepped across Terill’s path, and startled, he glanced into its ugly face. He cast his eyes to the ground immediat
ely, but it was too late. Every ogre roared in glee. They ringed Terill, pressing close until the smell of heavy musk gagged him. They backed away, and pointed at Hawk’s body. Closed on him again and repeated the motion. The strange squeeze dance accented by a new chant echoed across the cavern.
“Bontok oomiabarah.”
Terill glimpsed Skylla outside the ogre circle. “What do they want?”
“His body,” Skylla shouted. “They want to wager for his bones.”
“No!”
“You must accept the wager. It is the only chance we have.”
“No!”
“Accept, now. They’ll back off, and we can plan.”
The guttural chant intensified.
“How?”
“Pound your chest and nod.”
As soon as Terill curled his fingers into a fist and slapped it against his chest, the chanting ceased. He made an exaggerated nod. One at a time, each ogre touched Hawk’s body and withdrew. Across the way, Skylla motioned for him to follow. She led him back the way they had come and helped him lower Hawk’s body to the ground.
“We haven’t much time so listen. You have entered into a wager for the body. If you lose, it is theirs. They will devour it and divide the bones to keep as charms.”
“But I am the victor. Hawk lost.”
“Hawk defeated the clan chief. It was stronger than the rest of them. The body is a valuable prize. They called for a wager. You accepted and have an advantage.”
“What advantage?”
Skylla leaned close and touched his shoulder. “Your advantage is to choose the method to satisfy the wager. Fail to choose and you forfeit.”
“I have dice in my pack. I choose them.”
“They’ll come in a minute. When they do, you produce the dice, and they must accept or forfeit.”
Terill drew a breath and held it. A bitter taste came into the back of his throat and he gagged. Skylla used her body to block him from view and wiped thick saliva from his mouth with the back of her hand.
“I’m scared,” he said.
“I know, but you must not let them see. Now, did you notice how each ogre touched Hawk’s body?”
“I saw.”
“That means each of them will have a turn before you.”
“Twelve chances to win against my one. I thought you said I had the advantage.”
“You do. You chose the weapon.” She held out the packs. “Hurry, they’re coming.”
Terill lifted the bone dice from his pack. They weighed heavy in his hand as he turned to the waiting horde. The female came forward, scratched a crude circle on the stone floor, and reached for the dice. He gave them up and joined the rest to watch. She took her time planning the roll, measuring the shape of each cube and turning it to count the dimples on each side. Content, with the shape, both cubes disappeared into her mouth. Terill heard them clicking around as the ogre passed them from one cheek to the other and moved her thick green tongue along the surface checking for flaws. Finally, satisfied that the dice were not rigged, she spit them into her palm, puckered her fat lips, blew them dry, and rolled. One at a time, each ogre followed the same series of steps. By the time the dice came back to Terill, two of the ogres had cast outside the circle and stood down. The other rolls were good and the highest score was ten. He rolled the dice between his fingers, weighed them in his palm, and concentrated on the center of the circle. He took a deep breath, held it, and threw. The dice clicked across the stone. One of them stopped on five. The other bounced against an uneven place flipped showing four dimples and seemed to hover, turning on a single corner. Terill’s heart sank to his knees. The lone cube fell on its side with four dimples showing, wobbled, and rolled again. When it came to rest, six dimples gleamed in the firelight. Eleven, he had rolled eleven.
“We leave now,” said Skylla. “Hurry.” She carried both packs and waited for him beside Hawk’s body.
He heard no rueful clamor from the horde, no threat, no chant. Instead, he welcomed blessed silence, broken only by the sizzle of the roasting venison for which he had lost his appetite. Terill followed Skylla away from the ogre camp and into the darkness beyond the fire’s glow. They crossed another rock ridge and descended the shear path to the flat. Every part of him screamed for rest, but Skylla pressed on putting distance between them and the ogre camp. Hawk’s body hung lifeless over his shoulder. Already the flesh was cold and waxy. What could bring him back? He doubted the restore potion’s power. Full of bleak thoughts and nearly exhausted by the weight of Hawk’s body, he followed the women and tried to ignore the voice in his head that screamed of futility. The potion must work. Hawk was not dead only influenced by the feign death potion. Lost in thought, Terill did not see the opening to the next cavern until Skylla called it to his attention. He followed her though the rock arch.
***
The first thing he noticed was the salty smell of the sea. The cavern held an eerie greenish glow that he remembered from the first day of the quest when they climbed to the wide shelf above Shadall’s rushing waves. He bent to ease Hawk’s body from his shoulder onto stone ledge. Straining to see, his eyes traveled around the cavern to a place on the opposite wall, a wide place high above the last watermark.
“We rested there the first night.” He pointed his finger across the chasm. “We are almost home.”
“Yes,” said Skylla.
He grabbed his pack from Skylla, tore into it, and began to search for the potion.
“It’s not there, Terill.”
“What do you mean? It has to be there. I put it inside myself.” He kept searching.
“And I took it out.” She held up the vial with the little red heart on the outside.
For a minute, he didn’t fathom what she was saying, and then the force of her words sank into his tired brain. He dropped the pack and stared at her. “Give it to me. I need it to bring back Hawk.”
“The potion won’t bring him back.”
“Of course it will.” He took a step toward her. “Give it here.”
“No, Terill. You doubted it yourself. Hawk is dead, and the potion won’t bring him back.”
“Give it to me, now.” He grabbed her arm and snatched the vial from her fingers. He dropped to his knees beside Hawk and pulled the cork.
“Stop! Please, before it is too late. You must not give him the potion. Hear me out. Can a few minutes more make any difference?” She was beside him. Her hand rested on his arm, but she did not attempt to wrestle away the vial.
A deep sigh escaped him, and he relaxed his hand. “Have your say, but I warn you, attempt to take the vial from me, and I will kill you. Make no doubt about it.”
“I shan’t take it away. You must offer it to me.”
“Insane.”
“Please, listen. The vial is not for Hawk. The potion will not revive him. It will finish him for good. Look at the heart etched into the glass. Not a human heart, Terill, it’s nothing like a human heart.”
“I don’t know what a human heart looks like, so your reasoning is lost.”
“Then you must take my word on faith. The potion is meant for me.”
“For you? Get away from me.” He threw her hand from his arm and turned back to Hawk.
A chill hovered between them. It caught the breath that came from Terill’s open mouth and hung in the air, clouding his vision. Skylla moved away from him, close to the rim of the ledge.
“Look, Terill. The water recedes. Almost time to go back. Your last task is ahead, and it is so simple. You must give me the potion.”
“No!”
“Terill, if you fail now, the quest dies here, with Hawk. The potion is for me.”
“No!” he shouted at her, but the hand clutching the vial stayed where it was.
“Trust is the most difficult of all the lessons. Hawk trusted you, and you must trust me.”
“Tell me why you need the potion. Make me believe you.”
“I cannot tell you that or force you to b
elieve. You must decide.”
Terill lowered his head and searched Hawk’s still face. The long days and nights they had spent inside the caverns played over again in his head. Each task a lesson and each triumph had forged the bond between them. A mistake now meant death for Hawk. He wished the choice were not his, so much easier if he could be the one lying cold on the rocky surface with Hawk bending over him. “What would you do, brother?” he whispered, but Hawk’s cold face held no answer.
He closed his eyes and thrust the arm holding the vial toward Skylla. He did so based on faith alone. Something inside guided his hand. An ancient memory, an instinct, the look in her clear, blue eyes transformed him in the seconds before he gave the potion to her.
She opened the vial and drank, clutched her throat and staggered. Open mouthed and gasping for air, tendrils of smoke issued from her throat and nostrils. Her legs stretched and bent at odd angles, then folded under her, while massive, heavy muscled thighs throbbed and bulged beneath her skin. All over her body the skin stretched and cracked opening seeping fissures that revealed iridescent scales, some a rich deep amethyst, others teal blue like the depths of Shadall. Skylla fell to her massive knees. Her head was changing. Too heavy to support, it dropped against a chest that swelled and heaved outward. From the center of her forehead, a boney ridge emerged and ran along the back of her neck joining the spine. Muscle tissue on either side thickened and stretched her once slender neck until the transformed head rose from her chest. Hair disappeared from the top of her head, and two curved horns appeared on either side of the ridge. Gold scales grew from the tip of each and extended to the base where, even in the weak light, they glistened. As her chin receded, Skylla’s nose and mouth narrowed, pushing out from her lovely face. Scales now covered the majority of her body, and she had sprouted a long tail that tapered into a tight curl at her side. Her feet had pushed out of the old sandals she wore and gold gilded claws protruded from the ends of her webbed toes. Terill wanted to look away, but fascination with Skylla’s transformation held him spellbound. Her body grew and stretched until no resemblance to a human woman remained. Her arms curled tight against her upper body, the hands ended in the same golden claws. Magnificent, triple-segmented wings, tipped with still more gold, grew from her back. Iridescent scales covered the translucent membrane between each curved segment. Still moist from the transformation, Skylla spread them open to dry. She towered above Terill and looked down at him through clear blue eyes that brimmed with golden tears. They ran down her cheeks and dripped onto the rock ledge forming a small pool.