The Rokkaia Chronicles

by Rhys Thomas

  Marisa nestled herself deeper inside my cloak and rested. Knowing I was safe in here I inhaled a long and deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

  I could feel my rational mind in the quiet as if it was rebelling against me, telling me how insane my situation was. The encounter with the trapper in the sludge didn’t even feel real yet, but more like a lucid dream. The worst part was I that could easily shake off otherworldly creatures and the death of three-men. I knew I wouldn’t—couldn’t—turn from this now and strangely enough, I was comfortable with that. Eager to fight and live, to be recognised for what I was capable of, only time would tell I suppose.

  My eyes caught the muddy tips of boots on the floor by a wooden door connected to a miniature stable where the hay was stacked.

  Grabbing the boot’s, I fell to my ass and shuck them on. They were tall boots as I discovered, reaching to just about my calf muscles. Tying the laces of the black boots I tucked my breeches within, the size wasn’t perfect with the shape of the boot being narrower than I was used to.

  All properly prepped for further travel; I hid my disappointment at not having found any sign of a tent or a bedroll, but I’d make do without.

  Slinking back into the central house, I made It to the dining room when the rain started to pour. Lightly at first almost hesitant, then a crack of lightning roared through the sky slowly followed by a peel of rumbling thunder, the rain spilled heavier then.

  I was glad for the shelter I had, until I heard the skittering across the ceiling above followed by an ear-splitting screech, the reminder crashing down on me.

  Though not literally thank god, just the general thought, as I’d frankly forgotten about the deadly brood creature upstairs.

  *The thunder is agitating it,* Marisa pointed out. *At least now we know the mothers still here.*

  *Just how big do they get?*

  *Oh, this one is most likely my own size. But a mother if left alone with a sufficient population to harvest on, can grow to the size of a wagon. The queen is supposedly enormous. The brood if left untreated will inevitably pose a far greater threat than the Shi’en ever could,* Marisa answered in response to my question.

  Unsheathing my falchion short sword, I hastily climbed the stairs no longer bothering to hide myself. Then the skittering stopped abruptly as I reached the apex. Though as I moved closer to the door, I could hear soft thump’s along the wall of that room, like cautious and propping sounds.

  *Uh… I probably should’ve asked this before, but how exactly to we destroy the mother and the nest. I’ve had thought to maybe torching the house, but no luck there on the supplies end and what with the rain,* I sent through the bond. My hand’s though steady were awfully sweaty on the grip of my blade.

  *With fire, of course my love. I doubt your sword will do more than keep it at a distance. The same for its nest, fire.* Marisa explained as she nuzzled my neck and jaw with her head affectionately. Her behaviour and inquisitiveness sometimes reminded me of cat’s.

  *So, I’ll keep it at a distance while you what? Breathe fire? Can you breathe fire?* I projected mentally my voice rising slightly at the end.

  Marisa for her part just sent me a huffing laugh that rolled through her and on to me, vibrating my shoulders and chest.

  Taking that as an affirmative, I shrugged, fuck it, and braced kicking the door open.

  Instead of swinging open on Its hinges, the door exploded into a shower of splintering pieces, shattering and flying back across the room from the impact of my completely normal kick.

  Everything that followed slowed to a crawl as we moved within, Marisa arched up on my shoulder and took two halting breath’s, each chomping and erupting with brief gouts of flame. Then she pitched forward and a jet of fire tunnelled from her small mouth bathing a slimy human-sized mass on the floor.

  To my right I caught sight of a blur as it sailed through the air towards me. The sounds of the inferno spewing from Mari and the hundreds of screaming chittering cries from the nest, as well as the angry screech of the airborne mother, locked me into a trance of frenzied certainty.

  My arm reacted without thought and I brought my blade to bare in a quick back handed slash across my body. The brood-mother flew at me like a face-hugger, eight spider-like-legs extended, its barbed scorpion’s tail leading like a spear point thrusting at me. My blade met the motherfucker but didn’t cleave straight through, instead the momentum of my strike connected with the tail forcibly curling it in on itself, puncturing its own underbelly.

  The mother was flung back like a ball into the right-hand side of the room and crashed against the wall where it continued to screech outrageously.

  My position had barely broken an inch from where I stood as Marisa continued her unwavering assault. I kept my attention switched between the hastily cremating nest and the shuffling mother as It disentangled.

  I knew any further attack’s wouldn’t work. It was so much faster than me and whatever luck I had in repelling it before wasn’t to be counted on. In an almost mechanical fashion, the mother dislodged it’s barb tail, flipped over exceptionally fast and rotated on eight legs to face us.

  It ran across the short distance of the room, hurriedly moving without breaking stride and climbed the wall up to the ceiling. The loud bounding thumps from its legs as it swiftly approached upside down made me immediately grab firmly onto the back of Marisa as we spun to face the mother.

  Pivoting as I used Marisa like a shoulder mounted flamethrower. Marisa for her part didn’t let up one bit on the torrent of fire streaming across the room, knowing why I’d moved us through our bond. She didn’t protest or hesitate, but breathed and forced the flames out even harder, her feather’s ruffling on her back and sides stood out against her scale’s. She shook and hissed forward every ounce she could at the brood mother, till it was nothing more than splattering inferno on the ceiling.

  *Alar...* she managed to croak mentally at me as her flames sputtered out. before she collapsed forward to where I caught in my left and held her against my chest protectively in a cradle.

  “I got you,” I said softly. Keeping my trusty sword bared I stayed for a moment longer, but the fire began eating through the room’s wooden surfaces and that’s when I noticed that the walls of the room were covered in a gooey milk-black substance. The flames spread coating the substance and instantly igniting further.

  The acrid and fetid stench of death and wrongness was bad enough before, but as an unpleasant pungent smoke I gagged involuntarily.

  Leaving the room behind as the charred flaming mess of the brood mother fell from the ceiling, I got half-way down the stairs and proceeded to vomit over banister.

  Sheathing my blade and wiping my mouth with a sleeve, I rested Marisa up even further.

  I felt her tiredness and hunger and I sat on the stairs for a minute listening and breathing as the house slowly burned above me. I hoped with complete sincerity that they were dead or burning as I rested. The fire eventually reached beyond the room, licking at the walls of the staircase. Moving the dragonling back to my shoulder’s I wasn’t surprised when her tail instinctively curled around my neck and spread herself more comfortably around my shoulder’s.

  I moved to the front door seeing that the downpour of rain hadn’t let up. Pulling the door open and then unnecessarily closed behind me I went outside onto the grass, letting the rain wash away the pass few minutes. But my cleansing was interrupted was an arrogant and cocky voice said, “what the fuck did I say boys? I knew we’d track this cunt down.”

  Chapter Four

  I turned to the voice and hunched my shoulders, while wrapping my cloak more tightly around me in the hope’s I could conceal my sword and Marisa.

  *Marisa?* I asked mentally but received no response.

  There were seven in total, four men and three women.

  The lead-man’s roughly shaven his head had a nasty scar slicing down through his right eye, contorting and squinting his features. He and his crew wore a mismatc
h of armoured leather padding, except the lead man who had a pair of vambraces etch with the design of a scarred eye.

  How original.

  “What’s a matter? Not a talkative one, are you? Shame, I was hoping we could talk about the guns you stole from Gideon rangers,” Scar—as I had just now decided to call him—smirked at me.

  Seriously? Is this a case of mistaken identity?

  “I haven’t any gun’s. Nor do I know this Gideon,” I told the man. I had to squint a bit as rain ran currents down my face. I felt a rush of heat escape the house from behind me, then like a sucking breath, it drew inwards, inhaling.

  I kept my eyes on the group, but the majority of them turned their attention to the burning house. It groaned as the fire increased and expanded rapidly, window’s by the kitchen and on the top floor shattered or melted from the intense heat and pressure.

  The scarred individual turned back to me. “Is this your doing?” He asked me, jabbing his finger. “My equipment better fucking not be in there,” he exclaimed. Further jabbing a finger at me, then the house and I watched as they all suddenly covered their faces with cloth. leaving enough room for their eyes.

  I shook my head, “no. Like I said, I don’t have your gun’s. All that was in there was something called a brood mother, and my boots,” I paused and then added, “…and its nest.” I shrugged nonchalantly, “it’s dead now. And I’ve got my boots.”

  At the mention of the brood mother and it’s nest, Scar stumbled back a step, the other’s doing the same.

  They all looked at each other, then started laughing.

  But I wasn’t joking. I was preparing myself to take the lives of all seven people.

  “Fuck right off with that, as if we’ll fall for that brood-shite, you thieving cunt. Those bastards are far too quick and hard to kill,” he laughed at me.

  “You see the burning house?” I asked him rhetorically.

  I watched as they shifted their faces from me to the fire and back again. “Why ain’t the fire affectin’ ya?” one of scars lackey’s, a weathered face woman holding a rusted and chipped sword that looked to be a kukri with its boomerang-like curve.

  I shrugged. “Haven’t you heard? The madness is gone,” I said seriously yet they all laughed again.

  “Enough of this shit, I want my FUCKING GUNS!” Scar shouted and drew a pistol on me, I noted the foot-long hilt over his shoulder as he moved.

  Pinching the bridge of my nose I sighed with exasperation. “How many time’s will I have to repeat myself, till you get it into that little dipshit brain of yours. I don’t. Have. Your fucking guns,” I seethed. “If I did, I certainly would’ve used them against the brood-mother.”

  Tilting my head back at the burning house to make my point.

  “He does have a point Scar,” said a surprisingly squeaky voiced and slim man. He was wielding a small chopping axe. “We would’ve heard the shots as well,” the man pointed out helpfully and I saw Scars contorted face, contort even further.

  I couldn’t help but breathe a chuckle at his expense. “Then how do you explain the footprints we followed?” a girl asked the skinny man, who shrugged.

  “He’s wearing boots, isn’t he?” The man pointed out and the rest all nodded smartly.

  Scar shook his head, glaring at me like his class of idiots were my fault, “we followed Darrick and Legit’s crew all the way from Bastion to the Barrier, where they seemingly vanished into the sludge. Then we find the only fresh prints were bare ones leading to this farm where we conveniently find you, the brood-slayer,” he said in a mocking tone.

  “Please don’t called me that, makes me sound like I kill kids,” I muttered grimacing. I could see our conversation going nowhere, ending with him accusing me once again.

  “Now, are you going to reveal where you’ve stashed them. Or am I gonna have to cut pieces off of you?” He said in a tight almost giddy tone.

  I shook my head sadly and looked to the showering cloudy sky.

  I loved looking up at the rain, where it seems as if it separates around you like tunnel. I heard Scar’s rugged, annoyed and excited breathing through the downpour, it was that loud. It reminded me of Michael, and I knew I would be killing this man just for that reminder.

  I heard and felt it as his finger incrementally squeeze the trigger.

  How sure of himself, this Scar was. How cock-fucking-sure and arrogant he was. I could see all the women he’d possibly raped, the young boys and girls as they pleaded for death other than the cage.

  I could see Marian hanging from a tree, Thomas’s headless body beneath her as Rosewood burned all around me. The wolves howling in the wind. Taunting me with their laughter. I growled quietly as Scar shuffled a step closer.

  “I’m not gonna ask you again dickhead, so give me the shitting guhha-”

  My left hand shot forward and grip his wrist squeezing it tightly as I applied enough pressure to crush it completely. His wrist snapped and crunched under the brute force. Then upwards his wrist went, and the pistol shot a round skywards.

  Scar inhaled sharply, I imagine to either scream, call his crony or curse me out. But my right hand in the meantime had found and unsheathed my falchion. Drawing it out and free from within my cloak. I saw Scar’s own hand right in the process of frantically reaching for the hilt over his shoulder.

  Wasting no further time, I used the hold I’d maintain of his left wrist to pulled Scar bodily to me; and yanked his arm passed and behind only for my blade to thrust into his armpit and out his shoulder blade. In a quick neat fashion, I freed my sword and punctured through his squishy neck, pissing blood out the end like a fountain as I sawed my blades way free, almost decapitating Scar in the process.

  Withdrawing my sword, I turned my cold eyes on the stunned group. Scar for his part crumpled lifelessly to the rain slick and muddy ground.

  A piece of me prayed that he had found some sort of rightful place for the karma of his life. As I scanned critically, I noted that they’d split into two groups. Those who were either delusional, mad and loyal to Scar. Then those who weren’t.

  Two of the three women bolted for it, leaving the Kukri one behind. The man with the chopping axe looked at me, shook his head and walked away.

  I felt morally within my rights now having given them a choice. The four remaining Scar lackeys, all turned to me having watched their fellow groupies leave. The three men of the group proceeded to try and encircled me, but only best managed to space themselves into a triangle.

  I bent down and withdrew the longsword from the sheath on Scars back. Feeling it’s minor weight in my hand made me thankful for my abnormal strength. Switching hands so that my right now lead with the longsword. My left hand clutching the falchion in a low guard. I positioned myself side on, so that my stance concealed my shorter blade.

  The kukri woman paced behind the three men, watching and waiting for the opportunity to strike me down. Directly in front of me was a tall man, just smaller than me by a few inches. Noticing my inspection, he gave me gap-tooth grin and humorously spat a glob of phlegm on the ground between us.

  He wielded a crudely spiked hammer in two-hands. The front side to the T of his hammer was a wide and thick blunt plate, the opposite end was narrower and held a multitude of crude spikes, all different lengths. To my immediate left was a shorter man wearing dirt-grey suspenders on his bare-chest, he wielded… A digging fork? Maybe he thought it to be a trident.

  On my right side was a pudgy fellow with a thick ginger moustache. I wasn’t sure if he was nervous or had dried lips because he kept licking and smacking them together and glancing between us all, but mostly to the fork wielder. He carried a meat cleaver in his left, the top portion of the chopping knife having broken off long ago leaving it disproportion.

  I exhaled as I assessed them, feeling my nerves on the frits on whacking out. But as they moved around me and enclosed the formation further, I realised I wasn’t alone, but was also at a disadvantage.

  *Marisa
?* I tested thoughtfully but received nothing. I knew whatever reserves she’d held, where now depleted after our fight with the brood mother.

  She was practically deadweight now, and one I’d have to protect. Which meant I couldn’t set her down either. The very thought of someone snatching or injuring her made my blood run cold. I was completely alone in this fight.

  I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, I’d have to fight smart, quick and cautiously.

  Digging fork let out a shrill unintelligible shout and charged me, taking the distraction for what it, I moved to fully meet him.

  But spread my awareness out in a wave, listening for meat-cleavers shuffling step’s as he swung down and across my back to split me diagonally from shoulder to hip.

  Unfortunately for him, digging fork was too quick on the charge and I spun to my left at the last second narrowly avoiding all three fork points aimed at my gut by mere inches and the cleave at my back. At the climax of my spin I kicked out and planted my foot against the shoulder of the fork and nudge it further along to where it impaled itself in cleaver’s gut.

  I, however, wasn’t fast enough to avoid gap-tooth’s overhead swing with his hammer, just managing to cross my blade’s overhead.

  The force of the blow fell me to a knee, as my blade’s rested beneath the hammer’s head bounced against my shoulder.

  Gap tooth applied more pressure, the swiftness of the exchange was enough to jar me and seeing this he used the opportunity to kick out at my standing knee. I fell back from the force and staggered, using the momentum to my advantage and dropping my falchion I reached up and held firmly to Marisa as I rolled backward and came up onto my feet in a spring.

  Giving myself a congratulatory shake, I rested both hand on the longswords grip, it felt utterly weightless now. Having given myself some room from Gap-tooth’s hammer, I spotted cleaver as he tested at the fork that had most definitely punctured his intestines.