Awakenings

by Timothy Manley

  Part of me expected something to jump me. So, I opened it accordingly, hand axe held ready. There was nothing. I walked around looking for water. Nothing. No pump and no – dammit, the freaking river. I checked around the house again and hanging there was a wooden bucket, a rope tied to the handle.

  I took the bucket and walked to the bridge, a beautiful arched stone worked bridge. The arch was impressive, very Roman like. The top of the bridge while rounded a bit was still pretty flat. It spanned the river and stretched about twenty yards across.

  I walked to the center of the bridge. The view was nice. The woods ended at the river and on the other side it was more grassland with patches of woods scattered about. I dropped the bucket, pulled it up, swished my hand around inside it, wiping the sides. I poured the water out then dropped it again. I took a test taste and the water was good. Really good.

  I carried the bucket back to the house and set it on the table. I used some to swish water around the cauldron with my hand. Then I carried it outside and tossed it. I used my seax to chop the potatoes and added them to the cauldron. The next card was carrots. Next was a card with doves on it. The doves weren’t cleaned so I plucked them and then cut them in half, cleaning out their innards and then tossing their bodies in. There was a card with salt pork on it. It was a huge chunk. I cut some off and then added the rest back to the box. I closed the lid and then opened to again and the card was there, with an adjusted size for the missing salted pork.

  I did the same with the garlic and peppercorn, taking only some of it and then adding the rest back. Then I hung the pot and went to the bed.

  The damn thing was only about five feet long. It was strung with ropes and had what at best could be called a futon, at worse a well-worn cushion as the bed. I hadn’t brought anything with me but cigars. I had nothing to do but sit there and smoke as I stared at the fire. I did that for a bit, my mind wandering. I started thinking about all I’ve done, good and bad. The regrets I had. And all of them on how I behaved or reacted. I wasn’t a bad or evil man. I never had been. I could be an asshole. I was too self-absorbed at times, too many times I think. I think I presumed how others felt instead of actually talking to them and finding out. Especially with Raevyn. Not out of not wanting to know, or needing to share, but more that my emotions for her were so strong that talking about some things with her threatened to rip me into tears, a helpless mass of sob ridden blob laying on the floor unable to talk or think. I kept that at bay, I kept that buried.

  I watched my parents die. I was about five when they died. It was a car crash. My mom went through the windshield when my dad hit a power pole. When he staggered out to go help my mom he was electrocuted, cooked as I sat there screaming. I was in a seatbelt, which saved me. This was before car seats were a thing. But even though my mom didn’t use a seatbelt she made sure I was fully strapped into the back seat.

  The rawness of that was always there. The grief, the pain, the terror, the rage, the everything, the hole, the deep dark hole filled with nothing but pain that was just right there, under the surface. You’d think being only five years old, the memory of it would become buried as you grew. But not me, not that memory. The loop was there, etched in the back of my mind, all the horror, terror and grief you could imagine tied to it, and it would rip itself out and play over and over again until the whiskey shut it off and I could sleep.

  I sighed heavily, stood and finished looking through the cards. And there it was, some cards had corn liquor on it. There was half a dozen of the cards with one bottle each listed.

  I put one card in the box and a bottle was there, about a quart or so in size. I went back to the bed where I had been sitting against the corner cross legged, smoking and began sipping the bottle. It was moonshine and it was strong, not well aged, with a burning bite to it. That didn’t deter me, the harshness of the booze suited my mood.

  My cigar was out. A cigar that size generally took me two hours to smoke. I checked the pot and pronounced it done enough. I used my axe handle to move it to the table and sat it down. I blew in the bowl to clear out dust, then wiped it with my shirt and some water. I did the same with the spoon and the tankard. Then I spooned out my makeshift stew.

  It was done enough but could have used another hour. The salt pork gave it the salt it badly needed. The pepper gave it a bite, but not enough. I ate it, filled the bowl the second time, drank a tankard of water with it, and ate until I was done.

  Then I went back to the bed and just lay there, staring at the fire, drinking the moonshine from the bottle, until I wasn’t awake any longer and could hide in a dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER 2

  They had collected everything, every single card, even if it was just the corpse card of the deceased creature. There was some concern about the courtyard, but it seemed oddly calm and felt safe. The remaining group returned to the room with their deck of treasure and locked themselves in.

  Rae moved away a bit. She was waiting to see if this group would turn on each other or not. She didn’t really know any of them. Wendell and Brandon she knew she could take. Erin she’d seen fight and he was too good. She’d have to throw a knife at him first. He was fully armored and if he didn’t remove the key parts, the gorget, the bracers, the heavy cloth coat he wore under his mail, she knew he was waiting for a fight, and she would be very hard pressed to take him.

  “You fight really well for someone new to the Realm,” Erin said, pulling his helm off and smiling at her. He was impressed and gave her an approving look. At least he took his helm off. At this distance she was positive she could hit him in the eye with her stiletto. It didn’t have to spin on the throw, just a straight shot.

  ‘Thank you Urto for your damned hobby in throwing knives and axes that you made all of us do,’ she thought to herself. ‘I hated it but fuck if you weren’t right.’

  “I was in the military, then a cop, and I taught martial arts,” Rae said.

  “See!” Wendell yelled, grinning. “I told you!” He slapped Erin on the shoulder. “She was the one!” His excitement was incredible. He was like a kid that just saw everything Santa had left. It was hard to be suspicious of him.

  “You seem concerned,” Erin said.

  “Cop,” she said. “Waiting to see how this plays out.”

  “What?” Brandon said, dragging his attention away from the huge stack of cards they had collected. “You think we’re like gangsters?”

  “I don’t know,” Rae said. “I just met you guys two days ago.”

  “Fair enough,” Erin said. He pulled off his armor, his gorget, everything. “Damn shit gets hot.” He grinned at her, trying to seem nonchalant.

  “What about Martin?” Rae asked.

  “We don’t really divvy up until we’re back at the Oasis,” Wendell said. “That’s the plan, that’s the contract. We’re a venture-team, like a business, and we all made an agreement. But, we split it all among us, just in case. And if anything is here that anyone is especially prone to use, like say these,” he tossed a card at Rae, “then we let them take it pre-pick.”

  Rae grabbed the card and looked at it. It was a bandolier of knives.

  “Erin,” he tossed him a card. “I think Martin is made for this one,” he held up a card and wiggled it as he grinned.

  “It’s too big for your box,” Erin said. “Will have to wait.”

  “Here is the plan,” Wendell pulled cards from his pack. “We just hang out here for the day, relaxing. Then before dawn we get up and head back. We may be safe now, but thirty-six hours across the desert can still be death. And that’s why we divide the deck among the four of us after I inventory everything. Then anything that’ll help us make the trek, and can fit in my box, we wake up.”

  “Wake up?” Rae asked.

  “Convert,” Brandon said. “Like with our meals.”

  “It’ll do non-food stuff?” Rae asked.

  “Anything that’s a card that’ll fit in the box, it’ll convert,” Wendell said. With tha
t he sat down with his ledger and began copying the cards, writing everything down. When the time came he asked for the cards back and then ‘woke up’ Rae’s knives and handed them back to her.

  There were four knives, two long and sharp tipped round knives, more like spikes with handles. Each one was in the bandolier, the scabbards such that the handles faced opposite each other, enabling them to be thrown with each hand at the same time. She put the leather on her and had it stretch across her torso. She could feel them. She took one of the spikes from its scabbard and threw it at the door. It flew with force, far greater force than she threw, hit where she looked, and sunk deeply up to the hilt. Then it withdrew and flew back to her. She returned it to its special scabbard.

  Higher up were the other two knives, recurve blades. The handle was made jet black, as if from onyx. She felt the sharpness just by holding them. She replaced it not wanting to cut anything or anyone just at the moment.

  Wendell finished his work then put his book away. He divided up the deck between the four of them and then pulled bottles of booze from the box. He even had the cider that Rae was enjoying the first night she arrived in the oasis. They all began drinking and feasting, laughing, telling stories about back in the world.

  Rae kept her drinking in control. The others didn’t seem to do so. And they began telling their stories. Men like to talk at length when drunk or after sex. And they’ll tell you everything.

  Erin seemed to have the most to regret. He lost his wife, his child, mostly his fault, and he realized that, and it was a huge regret for him. Rae figured it could be part of the reason he’s so good at fighting. She wondered if Urto was having to fight and what drove him, what fueled him.

  Brandon was on a mission to reunite with is his wife and the only thing he wanted was a way out. Wendell had convinced him that after this they could make it to Aken’Bar.

  “That’s where I need to go,” she said, quickly adding to Brandon’s comment.

  “Then,” Wendell said, grandiosely, almost falling over although he was sitting down, “that’s where we will make sure both of you end up.”

  “Why there?” Erin asked. “Where do you need to go?”

  “My husband is in a place called Five Rivers,” Rae said. “I need to get to him and get our kids out.”

  “Oh,” Brandon said. “They’re not woken up yet.”

  “No,” Rae said.

  “It’s okay,” Erin slurred. “They’re sleeping, not really even sleeping, it’s like they’re frozen in time. When they do wake up it’ll be just like they were before they went to sleep. Before the thing happened. And with the regeneration chambers it doesn’t matter how long it takes you, you’ll be the same.”

  “What was the thing?” Rae asked.

  “I don’t think anyone knows,” Wendell said. “I didn’t see it.”

  “I did,” Brandon said. “It was like the sky was ripping itself apart.”

  “Yeah, I did too,” Erin nodded in agreement with Brandon.

  “I’ll get all of you to Aken’Bar,” Wendell said. “Martin too.”

  “Same here,” Erin said. He raised his glass and then finished his whiskey.

  ————

  Twelve hours into a thirty-six hour hike something changed. It was just past dusk. They had been careful, Wendell had traced the path so carefully. But, there it was. The giant boar-man, standing right in front of them. Rae stepped out a bit.

  “Oruk’kai!” the boar-man yelled and then adjusted its cod piece, so it hung free.

  “Oh no fucking way,” Rae said. She grabbed the throwing knife in her bandolier and threw it. It flew straight and true, impacting the monster’s groin.

  The beast screamed an unholy scream. It clasped itself and fell to its knees. She held her hand out the blade flew back, ripping on its way out, and returned to her hand. She threw again, and it sunk deep into the forehead of the beast. She recalled it again and stood ready, one in each hand.

  They swarmed. There was about two dozen of them, charging from all sides. Rae threw her blades and hit foreheads. She kept her eyes unfocused and threw both to the left and the right. Her throws were always true, each blade would hit a boar-man, she’d recall the blade, throw again, hitting another center forehead. She had most of them down when the rest turned and fled.

  “Holy fuck Rae,” Erin said, a smile of admiration on his face.

  “Jesus Christ,” Brandon said, looking at her with both fear and awe.

  “I knew it,” Wendell grinned at her.

  “I hate those fucking things,” she said.

  ————

  “And then she threw it right into its dick!” Brandon exclaimed and began laughing so hard Rae thought he was going to pee himself. Martin laughed too. He held his part of the prize in his lap, an oddly shaped crossbow with a lever and a box magazine on top. Wendell had called it a dokyu, but he said it probably worked far better than how they really worked back in Earth’s history.

  Rae looked down at her cut of the prize, silken robes, a chest with coins, some jewels, an ornate jambiya that she was sure was used for ceremonies and not fighting. There was also light armor that felt tougher than it looked. Rae felt it was hers and held it with light reverence.

  “Will she come back?” Rae asked.

  “Who?” Wendell asked, pouring everyone more brandy.

  “That woman,” Rae said, her throat catching. “The one…”

  “Oh,” Wendell said. “Probably. I don’t think we really kill them but I’m not sure how that works.”

  “How does any of this work?” Martin asked, his voice carrying more of an edge than he meant. He had died, under a pile of bodies. He remembered. He remembered it all, being eaten alive, not being in control, shambling, needing to eat his friends. He tried to shake the memory, but it was already giving him nightmares.

  “No one knows,” Erin said. “I’ve met a lot of folks, from here and back home. Some that were wandering into the wasteland. I’m pretty sure this is not the only starting place.”

  “There’s more?” Rae asked, knowing the real answer before she finished the question.

  “There are a few,” Brandon said. “Stormgard is one. From that I hear it’s one of the major ones.”

  “Yeah,” Wendell said again, taking a drink. “We know of a few, Mayberry, Resort Village, and now we know of Five Rivers.”

  “How long to get out of here?” Martin asked.

  “It’s a good forty days just to get to Aken’Bar,” Wendell said.

  “No, it’s not,” Erin said, looking at Wendell. “You know as well as I do it takes at least sixty. At least. Most likely over a hundred.”

  “Not how I’m planning this time,” Wendell said, grinning.

  “Spill it old man,” Erin said. “What are you cooking?”

  “We have to head back to Yar’s Camp. And then keep going past that for two more days.”

  “Those are the mountains,” Erin said. “What’s there?”

  “Chariots.”

  “What the hell?” Brandon exclaimed. He started laughing. “You need horses for them to work you know.”

  “These people use something different,” Wendell grinned.

  ————

  Twenty miles over terrain you already know, more prepared, and a better travelled path, went a lot easier. They passed people making their way to the oasis. They would talk and help with water and food as best they could.

  The people that left, some with near nothing, told of a group that took over the camp. They controlled the food and water as well as access to the shrine. She immediately thought of the ruffians she had to deal with, but the tales were of someone different. Someone organizing, creating a military style group.

  It was midafternoon when they saw the camp. There were more tents, more semi-permanent structures. There were guards around the food and water. And a gate had been built in front of the shrine.

  “I don’t like this,” Martin said. H
e pulled his crossbow off his back and held it ready.

  “Me either,” Wendell said. Erin put on his heavy cloth hauberk and his helm. Brandon made his crossbow ready.

  They began to walk slowly to the camp. Quickly two men rushed them, both with spears, the poor-quality beginning spear so many come out of the training yurts with.

  “Hold!” One yelled. “State your business.”

  “Get the fuck out of my way,” Rae said and kept walking. One of them stood to stand before her and she glared at him. He quickly backed up.

  “Have you boys been to the shrine?” Wendell asked.

  “Yes,” one of them began to answer.

  “Shut it!” the other yelled. “Don’t tell them anything!”

  “Good,” Erin said and swung his spear twice. The men fell to their knees, his long sharp spear point had sliced open their throats. They quickly vanished replaced with cards. Erin picked them up.

  “Might want to use your pretty new sword, Erin,” Rae said. “This might get messy.” And they all walked into camp.

  “Hold,” an older man yelled. A group of men ran to stand in front of him, their spears held at the ready. “Do not enter!”

  “What have you done?” Wendell asked, his voice loud and booming.

  “Leave our camp!” the older man yelled.

  “Answer me!” Wendell demanded.

  The group of men before them were afraid. Martin noticed a smaller group moving on either side outside the yurts.

  “They’re trying to flank us,” Martin said. “Left and right, around the outskirts of camp.”

  Rae looked at them. She only saw the armed men. She didn’t see anyone else. When she left there were men and women, folks that had combined into groups and were making family units.