by Paul Yoder
The speech was not met with pause, as barely had he finished than Sha’oul plunged the bloodied bone spike into the stomach of the nearest stripling, wrenching it down through the young man’s entrails, gutting him before the others, sending the five into a frenzy, thrashing now for their lives to try and escape.
Sha’oul was fast to detain, slow to slaughter. Life after life, he drained with a bloodied shard, every now and then, a dark glimmer of a smile stroking across his lips as he dug deep into each of their bodies, soaking the ivory several times over with different shades of blood.
The blood had soaked deep into the dusty sands, the rippling motions drawing the living liquid inward. All flowed to the center, even the sacrifices’ final screams and smell of death, all collecting in a bead in the center of the tusks, forming a small, perfect glistening sphere that Denloth could not help but to gaze upon in wonderment, even as the bloodbath continued.
A time had passed, Denloth had been too fully transfixed to correctly mark the passage thereof, but a voice came from within the bead of gore—a growing whisper.
Sha’oul stepped up beside Denloth, holding his arms forward, the holes in his forearms filled now with crimson liquid. Denloth followed suit.
A thin trail of blood flitted towards the blood sphere from all twelve of their wounds, the line linking fully from arms to bead now.
The whisper grew ever louder.
Denloth dared not look away at that point, the room darkening around him quickly, a lightheadedness being brought on in heavy waves as the voices grew louder, trancing him into a chaotic haze. The blood bead was the only constant in his focus.
The whispers coalesced, and Denloth witnessed an image imprinted within the blood, consuming his mind with its vision.
He saw in his mind’s eye, a withered giant, hovering before him. The figure’s mortified skin was tattered and thin, ripe enough to split at the softest touch. His gangrenous flesh was black and purple, fading to festering sickly yellow orange around its ribs and arm bones that held little tissue between them.
Its face was a pale yellow, ash seeped deep within the cracks in the skin, and a necrosis lined all around the area just around its closed eyes, mouth, and hole where its nose might have once been.
Denloth looked in wonderment as the giant’s emaciated limbs began to spread out, its long arms hanging outstretched, hovering in the air before him.
“All to ash,” he heard Sha’oul speak out, breaking him from the illusion that he was the only one witnessing the vast expanse of the ash lord’s domain and vision.
“Blood to ash,” came a voice in Denloth’s head—no, not a voice, many voices, all speaking in unison. He felt as though the lord of ash was speaking through millions of mouths, perhaps of past followers or victims, he knew not, but all spoke with one intent—the ash lord’s intent.
“Blood to ash,” they both chanted back.
Sha’oul and Denloth stepped forward, both receiving the urge to come to the feet of the flesh totem that represented their god.
The closer they got, the louder the rippling whispers were, tearing at their thoughts, attempting to gain access to every corner of their minds. Denloth did not know how Sha’oul fared, but he felt fully violated, every sector of his brain being laid open and exposed before the ageless entity. There was no hiding his thoughts from those hollow eyes. His aspirations, desires, hopes, goals, schemes, all lain bare before the all-powerful.
“Ilad Shukal, you have taken upon a new name—a given name from those that suffer under your hand. Sha’oul—Hell Raiser. This is good—it is a worthy title. Though you have seen a thousand years as Ilad, you shall now be known as Sha’oul from henceforth.”
Sha’oul kneeled; even he trembled before the decree and praise of the great ashen one.
“All to blood, and blood to ash, and may the cycle continue, my lord god,” he prayed, voice pale beside the omnipresent being.
“And you, Denloth the Waywalker, Pathfinder, Seamweaver. Many are your titles among man, and you also have lived many lifetimes over your natural allotment, always finding a way, through the weave, to outlast those around you.
“Your ingenuity and draw to power has led you to my servant’s side, and after seeing within your mind, at his side you shall stay until all our purposes have been met.
“For we are all one, and all provide strength and power to the ash. The ash expands as the blood flows in its name.”
“All to blood, and blood to ash, and may the cycle continue, my lord god,” Denloth echoed his dark companion’s reverent prayer, completely overtaken by awe in the face of such endless, ancient power.
“The ash is neither merciful, nor cruel, only exacting. You both have a path before you now. Fail, and you will join with those whom you have sacrificed this day, sooner than later. They are one with the blood collective, soon to be one with the eternal ash within our realm. Fuel for the quickening of the realm’s reach.
“You have gathered a sufficient army to take Tarigannie by force, which will grant you enough dead to wage war upon all of the Southern Sands.
“The flame of a movement is most vulnerable when it’s an ember. Be vigilant. There are those who seek diligently to destroy this movement—a foreigner who carries me within him, and his comrades. They are no small threat, and if you fail to eliminate them, your campaign will end before it even begins.
“Give them no ground, for if we see you overlook their slights and schemes, you shall be rendered to blood and ash. There will be no second chances from here on out. Perform thy duties without flaw.”
Both kneeling, bowed their heads, answering with, “Yes, lord god,” before the vision began to fade, everything seeping out of their heads like a plug had been abruptly pulled, the red leaving their vision as their thoughts delinked from the ash and the communal hallucination.
They both continued kneeling for some time, collecting their wits, focusing on simply keeping balance as their senses began to come back under their control.
Sha’oul was the first to stand, and he in turn helped Denloth to his feet.
“You now truly understand who we serve. I am pleased for you. Rare is it those who join me are found worthy by the lord of ash. Often, they are rendered to blood and ash on the spot. You—he sees something in you, as I have. Welcome, Denloth—to the army of the arisen.”
Though head still awhirl with visions of distant planes of endless corruption and ashfall, he nodded his thanks to his new standing companion.
This had been the endpoint of all his machinations and designs all these years. He devised methods to outrun death for the sole purpose of serving a lord of the Deep Hells in a meaningful position, and now, here he was, the end of his life’s search—and yet, this really was only the first step as to where his future now led.
Sha’oul’s previous words echoed in his head as thoughts of endless possibilities now stretched out before him.
“The potential this youth poses is boundless. Look to the moonless night’s stars and his destiny lies among them. What might such this fine mortal strive to achieve?”
36
Descent Upon the Hapless
A frosted white bottle went flying past Fin and Matt and smashed on the rock face behind them. Yozo cursed as he fell back next to his small fire pit, head whirling as he tried to regain his center.
Once he had righted himself, he grabbed for his longpipe, which had gone out a while ago. Drawing on the stem for a moment, no smoke coming, he turned the bowl over and dug his finger in it, finding the weed spent.
Tossing the pipe in the same direction as the empty bottle, he fell back in the sand once more, giving up as he cursed whatever powers had cut him off from both drink and smoke at once.
Fin patted Matt, signaling it was time to make their move, Yozo still not having noticed them, even though they were close up behind some light bushes with not much cover.
“Hiro!” Yozo yelled, causing Matt t
o halt his advance. “Bastard…” he breathed, head lulling to the side, looking for his waterskin, picking it up, putting the spout to his lips—the skin was bone-dry.
Fin knew of only one man better at stealth than him, and that was his master, Matt. Even well into his sixties, Matt made no mistake as he crept up to Yozo undetected.
Snatching Yozo’s left wrist, going for his other one, Yozo yanked it away from Matt just in time. Though the man was heavily compromised, his reflexes stubbornly went to work at fending off the attack.
He whipped out a belt dagger, slamming it towards Matt quicker than even the old veteran thought the drunk would have been able.
Matt secured the right wrist inches from his chest. Luckily for him, Yozo’s position hadn’t granted him much power in the thrust, or that would have been Matt’s last mistake, but the old man twisted Yozo’s wrists just so that he scooped the knife out and away from the two, the blade getting lost in the sand as the scuffle commenced.
Fin was moving towards the two now, but his pace slowed as Matt fell to his side, flinging Yozo around, digging his heels into the inner thigh of the younger man. He forced Yozo to spread his legs, locking his arms over and under Yozo’s, greatly reducing the chance for him to regain his base and scramble out of the iron hold the old man had on him.
Fin stepped up in front of the man as he was trying to collect his wits, Yozo spitting curses at the pair taking advantage of his dehydrated, inebriated daze.
“I thought so,” Yozo spoke, loosening up a bit, noticing the man that stood over him.
“You’re one of his friends. I remember you—wait—is he here? Where’s Hiro?” the drunk man yelled as Matt weaved a hand around Yozo’s neck, locking his arm over the man’s neck to help quiet him from giving away their position in case any arisen were in the area.
“Last time I saw you, you helped us escape the woods, though you openly curse Nomad by his given name. I have not seen Nomad since that day. He’s not with us,” Fin said honestly, gesturing to the three crewmates that were now approaching their position.
Yozo jerked at the old man who held him tight, testing his restraints—there was no exit for Yozo—the old man’s biceps flexed a bit, tightening up the choke until Yozo cooled down.
“I gave you a bit of information, now you give me some. When’s the last you saw of our mutual friend? It’d be in your best interest to answer honestly—your position of power is quite compromised,” Fin threatened, Matt accentuating Fin’s point by squeezing the chokehold tight slightly.
Yozo coughed out hoarsely, “I brought him to Sheaf.” Matt lightened up his hold a bit while Fin considered the information.
Yozo flailed, trying to throw Matt again, yelling, “Get off me! This is my camp!”
“Matt,” was all Fin needed to say, Matt releasing his hold on the man who struggled to stay sitting upright after Matt let go.
“Don’t give us reason to detain you again. Next time, Matt won’t let go of that choke,” Fin threatened, getting a scoffing chuff from Yozo.
Malagar, followed by Hamui, walked into the camp. Yozo looked around Fin to assess his enemy’s strength. What worried him though was not the two that had walked into the camp, but the arisen that stood menacingly behind the two, choosing to remain on the outside of the perimeter.
“The walking dead…” Yozo mumbled, pointing to Dubix, a visible tremble in his flesh.
They all turned to consider their quiet companion, Fin turning back to Yozo with a tired smile on his lips.
“Yes, the dead walk with us—for better or for worse.”
Yozo froze, not paying attention to Fin’s self-reflecting comment, and it was clear that he was no longer focused on Fin, Matt, or the others. They would get nowhere with questioning him as long as Dubix was there.
Fin knew how superstitious Nomad had been around the undead. He had gotten over his fright after some time of being completely immersed by them, but he had been rigid at the start of their journey. Fin guessed that it had to do with his people and their perspective on the dead.
“Mal, Hamui, Dubix, are you three up for continuing the hunt for your friend without me and Matt for a day or so?” Fin asked without letting his eyes off of Yozo.
Malagar turned to Matt at first, but saw that Matt was content with sitting off to the side, allowing for them to make their own decision on the matter.
“We will,” Malagar said firmly, looking to his two other companions for the road ahead. “Though, catch up as soon as you can. You know how powerful our prey is and where he’s headed. The best we’ll most likely be able to do is trail him until you two arrive.”
“Wise man,” Fin said, agreeing with Malagar’s measured assessment. “Good, head out now. It seems our bag of bones back there is frightening Yozo, and I need him talking sooner rather than later,” Fin finished in a mumble as he kicked Yozo’s discarded smoking pipe in the dirt.
Malagar slowly nodded, taking the hint from Fin’s gesture. He knew the combination of being high and drunk often led to regrettable things said, suspecting that Fin wanted to take advantage of Yozo being cross-faded.
The three quietly kept walking, traveling past the camp and back up the rocky cliffs, heading the direction they had been going up until this point.
Yozo watched Dubix for as long as he could before collapsing back in the dirt, staring up in the bright sky.
“Foul sorcery and warlocks. You people walk with tethered spirits. You are cursed and those you visit are doomed. What evil have you brought upon me!” Yozo blathered out.
Fin stepped up and struck the gibbering man before he spiraled into a full-on breakdown.
“I’m going to give you information about Hiro, and you’re going to give me information about him, alright?” Fin calmly said, beginning negotiations after Yozo had calmed somewhat after the smack across the face that had brought him back to the moment and out of his crazed hallucinations of walking bones.
“Matt,” Fin said, getting the old man’s attention who had appeared uninterested in the irrelevant diversion to their main mission. “Get some rope,” Fin mumbled under his breath.
“You’re that scared of this guy?” Matt chuckled, patting the jittery man on the head, Yozo grabbing the old man’s hand, twisting it and using it as leverage to hop to a squat, flipping Matt in the process.
Matt went with the throw, landing on his feet, snatching Yozo just before he was able to reach for his dagger in the dirt once more. This time Matt latched Yozo’s limbs tight straightaway, straining Yozo’s body’s limits, evoking painful grunts from the man.
“Yeah, I am,” Fin said, shuffling through his pack for a steel cable to tie the man up with. “If Arie says this guy is no joke, I tend to believe her.”
Matt gave no further flippant remarks and instead allowed Fin to wrap the man’s wrists and arms up tight around his torso.
In Yozo’s eyes, Fin was like a spider wrapping up his caught prey in an unbreakable, thin thread, and so he writhed more out of fear than in defiance, but Matt controlled each part of his body to allow Fin to do his work while he restrained the limbs that needed controlling, the two working uncannily in sync with each other.
Yozo was beyond impressed with the two. He was genuinely scared out of his mind by the strange duo that had mysteriously descended upon his camp in the middle of nowhere with walking bones at their command.
“Devils! Spin your web, consume me, but I will not grant you the pleasure of breaking my spirit! Too many years have I been preparing for death. I fear it not!” Yozo shouted as Fin finished securing the wire tightly around the man’s torso.
“We are not devils,” Fin calmly said, sitting the man down on the ground, propped up by the boulder he had been sitting on when they first came across him. “We are…a diverse group of friends, but not devils in any way—well, aside from Dubix. I personally don’t trust that one, but he has proven himself thus far as to trek with us.”
&
nbsp; Fin’s voice seemed to calm the dazed Yozo slightly, and Matt sat beside the man as he was still having a difficult time sitting up without falling to either side.
“We’re not on some demonic mission, in fact, we’re the ones fighting the demons. Our friend was taken by a powerful agent of the arisen, a follower of Telenth. We are fighting for a just cause! Tell me, do you see us as demons now?” Fin questioned, overacting slightly to sell Yozo on their story as he could clearly see the man seemed to get swept up in Fin’s tale.
“You bind me, and tell me you mean no ill?” Yozo spat, drawing himself out of Fin’s convincing spell.
“We only bound you because you kept attacking us,” Fin said, a fake hint of sympathetic regret on his tongue.
“I only attacked you because you invaded my camp by force!” Yozo continued.
Fin readily nodded his concession to the point.
“Well, we could try one more time. Will you not attack us that we may share your camp with you to exchange information like civil guests?”
Yozo closed his eyes for a moment, thinking hard. His mind had rarely been so compromised. Every flinch, every facial tell, every syllable seemed loaded with ten or so different hidden meanings that led all different directions. He wanted them gone from his camp, from his life, but he also could not pass up the chance to garner information about Hiro. This he knew. He’d much rather them at least think him compliant and be unbound than otherwise.
He nodded his head and agreed to behave.
“Good,” Fin said soothingly, moving to start to undo the wire from around the still dizzy man.
“You know, young man, you’re quick,” Matt paid compliments as Fin undid the binding. “With the right training, perhaps you could amount to something. Your grappling game is rubbish, but that can be developed. Your speed though, I could help you leverage that gift.”
Yozo looked over for the first time at Matt, considering the old man, eyes clouded over.