Blackhand

by Matt Hiebert

  “Your powers are beyond my understanding, Siyer,” he said. “How could you survive such a beating?”

  “Yes, well... it still hurts,” Siyer said. “Bring me a cup of water and a moist rag. We must prepare for our escape.”

  Quintel responded in haste. Siyer sat up in the bed and drank the water. With the rag, he washed away the sticky blood covering his limbs.

  “It will take me several hours to completely mend my wounds,” he said. “But we cannot spare the time.”

  “What can I do to help?” Quintel asked.

  Siyer shook his head and draped his legs over the side of the cot. His strength was returning.

  “Nothing. Just do as I say. We must...” Siyer stopped. “Silence. Crag returns.”

  At that moment, Quintel felt Crag's broad presence enter his sphere of perception. Although on duty, he was drunk, as were most of the other guards in the fortress. Ru's gift was cause for celebration throughout the ranks and all had taken full advantage of the opportunity. Crag hummed a familiar bawdy drinking song.

  Crag stumbled to his post at the end of the hall and sat down heavily. He loosened his belt and rested back into his chair. A few minutes later, he was asleep.

  Siyer whispered. “I must enter a mental state I have never attained before. It may take a while.”

  Although Quintel was only an apprentice of the mysteries practiced by the Minions, he had learned enough to understand what Siyer was attempting. With the ethereal segments of his being, Siyer was gathering the residual energy Ru had deposited in the seams of existence after he had preserved the world. If he collected enough of this invisible substance, Siyer could bend the laws of nature almost any direction he wished. At least that is how Quintel understood it.

  Siyer siphoned these energies for an hour while Quintel struggled to contain his apprehension. Then Siyer opened his eyes and stood.

  “Come, we must act quickly,” he said.

  Quintel followed him to the cell door. The increase in Siyer's power was evident. Although his physical form remained unchanged, the wells of his inner being brimmed with raw force. Quintel could feel its weight. But he was still not prepared for what Siyer did next.

  Holding his shackles out at arm's length, Siyer made a gesture and the chains slipped from his wrists. Then he knelt and placed his hands flat on the floor. Slowly he worked his fingers under the thin seam at the bottom of the cell door. Quintel thought this strange since the door was a close fit. Next, Siyer's right arm and shoulder went limp, as if they were made of clay. Quintel saw them flatten out and move further outside the cell. After a few seconds, Siyer had forced his entire arm through the passage with his shoulder following easily. Although the act amazed Quintel, he said nothing for fear of waking Crag.

  The pliability spread through Siyer's neck and head. They, too, flattened and wormed under the narrow crack. The sight of Siyer’s flattened head sliding beneath the iron door made Quintel feel queasy.

  With his upper body outside the cell and his pelvis and legs still inside, Siyer pulled himself through the seam with one final effort.

  On the other side of the door, Siyer stood and crossed his lips with a finger, telling Quintel to remain silent. He walked toward Crag who slept outside Quintel's line of sight. Crag awoke with a quizzical grunt. There was the sound of a brief scuffle, then Quintel heard the keys jangle.

  Siyer walked up holding the large ring of keys and unlocked the door. He searched through the assortment, found the key to the shackles and Quintel was suddenly free. He rubbed his wrists. Each bore bracelets of scar tissue from the five years he had worn the chains. Unburdened, his arms seemed light and filled with air.

  “Follow me,” Siyer whispered.

  They exited the cell and entered the corridor to freedom. Crag sat crumpled in his chair.

  “Did you kill him?” Quintel asked.

  “No,” Siyer responded. “Huk’s punishment will be much more severe.”

  They padded down the quiet hallway. Although a few sentries staggered about the fortress, they were too distant or too drunk to detect the escape. The rest of the guests and guards slept soundly.

  Maneuvering through the maze of passages, they kept to the shadows until reaching the kitchen area. The huge room was empty except for the gnawed bones of a steer carcass and stacks of dirty pots and dishes.

  “Now what?” Quintel asked.

  “Up the chimney,” Siyer answered without pause to his step. Swinging open the black iron door of one of the larger ovens, he crawled into the warm ashes left from the banquet dinner and shimmied up the rectangular shaft with ease. Quintel followed with less ease.

  Once at the top, they crawled out of the chimney and scaled down the mortared wall of the tower. Outside, a thousand enemy troops slept in tents and wagons.

  Red fires flickered here and there around the sprawl of tents, casting just enough light to offer them concealment at the edges of the darkness. Siyer moved swiftly, without sound, aware of any attention thrown towards them. If a watchman's eyes scanned their direction, Siyer sensed it and froze like a deer. Quintel emulated him. When the eyes moved on, they continued through the shadows.

  Despite efforts to control his fear, Quintel was nauseous with excitement. The chill night air carried the rewarding touch of stolen freedom. His heightened senses fueled the rush of liberty that filled his eyes, ears and nostrils. The boldness of their escape made him want to laugh, but he resisted the urge.

  They wound passed the clusters of sleeping soldiers and into the midnight embrace of the forest. After a few miles Siyer stopped and spoke.

  “We are out of danger for the moment. But light is only a few hours away, and they will be able to track us. There is a narrow river about a mile ahead. We will float down stream for a short distance and then cross it. That is what they will expect and we must not disappoint them. Our only advantage is speed. They will be following the trail of a swifter prey than they can imagine. Before light comes we must cover as much distance as possible, much more than any man could on foot. They will not expect that. Are you ready?”

  Quintel nodded. “Of course.”

  “Then let's go,” Siyer said. With that he shot into the darkness between the trees like a sprinting panther. Quintel followed close behind.

  They threaded through the thick forest with agility not found in nature. Gullies, fallen trees and boulders, invisible in the darkness, did not hinder their headlong dash. They reached the river and leaped into the cold water, letting the strong current carry them to the north. After a few minutes Siyer crossed to the far bank and crawled out. He waited for Quintel. When both stood dripping on dry land, he started to run again. They continued through the night, devouring distance without a stumble.

  By the time light seeped into the sky, they had placed more than forty miles between themselves and Huk. In the forested terrain, even a horse would have fallen short of such a distance. Yet Quintel was just beginning to perspire and Siyer was not even winded.

  “Why are we headed north?” Quintel asked as they bolted into a rolling field of grass.

  “Because that is where our destination lies,” Siyer replied.

  “Shouldn't we travel west and warn our people of Huk's new monsters?” Quintel asked.

  Siyer slowed his stride and jogged to a stop. “Why? So they can prepare to be slaughtered?”

  “I just think it would be wise --”

  Siyer interrupted. “Have you learned nothing from the powers the game allowed you?” he said with visible aggravation. “Isn't our next step obvious and without need of explanation?”

  Quintel stood stunned for a moment. Siyer's impatient tone hurt him. He opened his palms and shrugged.

  “No,” he finally said.

  Siyer offered a look of slight exasperation.

  “We are headed for a place beyond the Desert of Salt. A place reserved for the Minions.” He turned and looked at Quintel, his eyes blazing. “We run to join you with the god, Quint
el. Your era has begun.”

  Chapter 11

  They ran for two days before stopping for food and water. Capture did not worry them. Any tracking party had been left far behind. After dining on raw roots and berries, they found a quick stream and drank deeply.

  “We'll need better clothing to finish our journey,” Siyer said as he sat by the stream. “A city lies just to the north. We should stop there and procure supplies.”

  Quintel placed the city in his mind: Argoth, Huk's largest municipality.

  “Are you saying that we must return to Huk's territory?” Quintel asked.

  Siyer stood and dusted himself off.

  “Only if we want to stay alive when we cross the salt. Our abilities are great, but not as great as the desert. We will not survive a week without provisions.”

  When night fell on their third evening of freedom, they turned east and ran back into Huk's domain. After a few hours they encountered their only patrol, a group of nine men hiding among the trees, guarding a nameless road. Avoiding them was easy.

  Before the next morning, Argoth sat on the horizon before them. A tower exactly like Huk's glowered over the center of the city. From it, a dozen major avenues radiated outward like the spokes of a gigantic wheel. Buildings of various sizes clung to the streets between the spokes. Smoke rose from chimneys and hung low in the chill morning sky.

  They crouched at the top of a hill in a tangle of bushes and looked down upon Argoth. Insects sang around them.

  “We will wait here for the city to awaken and street traffic to increase,” Siyer said. “It will be easier to hide within a crowd.”

  As the air grew warm and bright, the streets thickened with people. Argoth was a trading and merchant town, a town that pulsed with commerce. Wagon caravans crawled upon the highways entering it while lone traders on horseback trickled in from all directions with furs and minerals filling their saddlebags.

  Quintel observed the city, but his mind was on other matters.

  “Siyer, may I ask you a question?”

  “Why not? You have interrogated me constantly for the last five years.”

  “It's about the creature... the Thog,” Quintel said. “When Huk displayed it at the banquet, I did not feel a life force coming from it. Rather it seemed to be animated by some... strange energy.”

  Siyer settle back on his elbows and chewed upon a stalk of grass.

  “You perceived correctly, as far as I can tell,” he said. “But such a monster is beyond my experience, I have never seen anything like it. A creature not born, but created.”

  “Do you think that Huk was telling the truth? Do you think Ru has thousands of those things?” Quintel asked.

  Siyer stood and tossed the stalk of grass aside.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Now let's go procure supplies. Our long journey has yet to begin.”

  They bounded down the hillside until they reached the dirt road which snaked into the city from the south. Once on the road, they had no reason to hide. They were merely travelers, passing through town. No one was looking for them here. Word of their escape had not reached this far north.

  Quintel remarked that their ragged clothing and lack of traveling gear might draw the attention of city guards, so Siyer fabricated a tale of highway bandits attacking them in the night that was detailed enough to sound plausible. However, they did not receive the opportunity to recite the story. Although they crossed paths with several constables patrolling the dusty streets, none questioned them, or even offered a lingering glance. They were safe inside the throngs of pedestrians.

  Quintel had never visited a city as large as Argoth. It reminded him very much of his trip to Vaer with Aran. Although Argoth lacked the beauty and magnificence of the Vaerian capital, its size and population were far greater. The people crowding the streets, who had only been crawling specks from the hillside, now formed a roaring parade of cultures, races and sects. The air crackled with the excitement of trade and barter. Chanting peddlers enticed buyers to sample their wares from every corner. Rickety stalls, placed in the center of traffic, diverted the flow of humanity like stones in a brook.

  For several minutes, the two fugitives followed the surge of buyers and sellers without choice, being carried by the current. Then Siyer turned into a side alley, away from the crowd.

  “This way,” he said, darting into the cool shadows between the buildings. As he moved down the side street, Siyer kept talking. “Don't get carried away with the excitement, we cannot stay here for long. We must find clothing, horses and food.”

  “Are we to steal all of them or do you have something to trade?” Quintel asked.

  “Nothing to trade,” Siyer said, removing two leather purses, heavy with gold, from his tunic. “But I believe gold still spends well in these lands.”

  “Ha! I should have known your talents included thievery,” Quintel said.

  “My skills are numerous.”

  They first found an outfitter who sold them the necessary traveling garments. For a generous tip, the outfitter recommended a horse dealer of good reputation and a store to purchase other supplies. Within two hours they were saddled, loaded and ready to ride.

  “Say farewell to the city of Argoth,” Siyer said as they rode past the outer dwellings. “You will not see it again with such favorable aspect.”

  Quintel struggled to adjust the colorful, but scratchy, robes Siyer had purchased for them. Neither the fabric nor the design of the garments appealed to him, but under such constraints, they had little room for taste.

  They traveled west for almost an hour. When they were sure no other travelers observed them, they altered their course to the north, toward the Desert of Salt. The loping gait of the horses was slow compared to their former pace, but they needed the animals to carry the supplies they required, at least until they reached the rim of the desert.

  For a long time, they traveled in silence, absorbing the sounds and sights of the open wilderness. It left Quintel alone with his thoughts.

  As the reality of their destination took hold, Quintel began to feel anxious. His mental, physical and spiritual preparation were coming to the test. Was he ready to join the god? A glint of doubt flashed through his mind and found a hold. Had the game accomplished its task? What if the union killed him? What if Siyer had erred in his choice? His Abanshi heritage grappled with his instinct for survival.

  Sensing Quintel's doubt, Siyer drew his horse to a stop.

  “I feel your spirit stagger,” Siyer said. “What troubles you?”

  Quintel halted. He did not want to tell Siyer the truth — that he was afraid, that he feared death — but lying was pointless.

  “Now that my joining with the god draws near... I am afraid,” he said with his eyes lowered, locked on the leatherwork patterns of the saddle. “I fear we ride to my death.”

  Siyer leaned forward on his mount and stroked its muscular neck. Quintel noticed a strange flicker in his emotions.

  “I wish I could tell you there was nothing to fear,” Siyer began. “But that is not the case. You walk into the unknown, Quintel. You travel to an experience never recorded in the history of Man. Countless numbers of humans have lived and died throughout the eons. All of them were mere steppingstones to the approaching moment that is singularly yours. You alone, over all others, were selected to merge with Yuul. It is not the weight of a single life you carry, but the weight of all human lives; living, dead and yet to be born.”

  The strange emotion flashed in Siyer again and that time Quintel recognized it. The clutch of want, the emptiness of impossible desire. Envy.

  “You wish it were you?” Quintel said.

  A smile tugged at the corner of Siyer's lips, but it was not a smile of happiness.

  “Yes, my friend, I admit my guilt. I wish it were me.” Siyer stared at the horizon. “I have served Yuul my entire life and will continue to do so until my life ends. I would risk death simply to touch the god. Uniting with it to create a new life... a n
ew kind of being... to me, that is an honor beyond any imaginable. And it is yours.”

  Siyer broke his gaze and looked back at Quintel who was absorbing his words.

  “I cannot ask you to be fearless,” Siyer said. “But I can ask you to weigh your fear against the lives of every human being who has ever lived.”

  Quintel sat on the horse in silence for several seconds. “And that's supposed to make me feel better?”

  Siyer spurred his ride and resumed their journey.

  “I am only giving you a different perspective.”

  Siyer had actually eased his fear. It helped to think of himself as an instrument of divine fate -- a tool locked upon a single course, striving for a greater cause.

  They traveled north for several days. At times, they would divert their route to avoid a village, but for the longest leg of the journey, they moved in a straight line up the map.

  The forest thinned to bushy scrub. Bare patches of sandy earth replaced the low grasses. A close heat surrounded them and they cast off their heavier robes. The Desert of Salt grew near.

  One night, as they sat before a modest campfire, Siyer explained that the desert had once been the floor of a great ocean. But when the Pastworld died, the ocean disappeared, leaving a vast expanse of white crystals as its corpse. No life could survive upon its flat open surface. All moisture was sucked from the air without a trace.

  “It doesn't sound like a hospitable place,” Quintel said. “Why does Yuul choose to live there?”

  Siyer stirred the fire with a narrow stick.

  “Oh, the god does not live there. That is where it enters the world for brief periods of time. You see, when the god is summoned to this realm, it is vulnerable to physical attack -- Yuul is actually quite a delicate being. The isolation of the desert provides it with a degree of safety. Of course, it has other measures of defense.”

  “Such as?”

  Siyer thought for a moment. “Let's say they are structural in nature. I want you to see for yourself.”

  They came to the edge of the desert early afternoon on the thirty-second day of travel. Its appearance was sudden, with a sharp boundary. There was a line of rugged vegetation, then the world turned white. The air tasted of brine and stung their eyes.