He held the reigns of his horse with his right hand, and Nuriel could see that his left arm was missing just above the elbow. At first Nuriel thought it was the wind that was causing the horse’s reigns to shake, but on closer inspection she noticed that his right hand trembled violently. His Star-Armor was sharp and angular, with the breastplate that encased his chest creating a V-like shape with the sharp shoulder pauldrons and coming down to a single point just above his waist. The armor upon his whole arm, as well as his legs, was similarly sharp with V-like protrusions upon the joints, giving his armor an almost spikey appearance.
Adonael looked at Nuriel and Hadraniel with some concern and mouthed the words, ‘stand up’ to them. Nuriel was a couple stairs down from them and she turned to directly face Rathaniel. Adonael and Hadraniel both lifted Ovid into a standing position and held him between themselves at the top of the stairs.
Down the road Nuriel could now hear the clomping of horseshoes upon the brick road. They came slowly, steadily, and with a heaviness and weight that seemed too great to be any normal horse. Nuriel could feel her fellow Saints behind her all straighten and she thought she even detected Ovid making a better effort of standing on his own.
Obscured by the tall brick homes at either side of the road came a hulking, black, silhouette. If Nuriel didn’t know better, she would have thought it two or three riders coming side-by-side. But even that wouldn’t account for the sheer height of the horse. It was something titanic and the hooves beat upon the brick road like sledgehammers. The rider too was something enormous; something round and mammoth.
From behind, Nuriel felt her hair ruffled by Adonael’s hot breath as he whispered, “Do not look him in the eyes and speak as little as you can get away with. Address him properly and don’t say anything that might so much as suggest that your shit smells better than his horse’s. In fact, don’t consider yourself anything but a kernel of corn between his fucking teeth. And if he tells you to do something, you fucking do it without question or hesitation. No matter what it is.”
The shadows seemed happy to rid themselves of the thing that came through them, and now the light of day somehow seemed to shy away from the court as Behemoth Kraken upon his steed lumbered into view. Nuriel felt her breath stick in her throat; she felt the air around her give pause. The sun itself blinked with passing cloud. She had beheld the demon Yig, yet what stood in the courtyard was something more terrible and more monstrous. It sat upon a horse that Nuriel was certain could not exist in nature. It dwarfed Rathaniel and made his horse seem no more than a pony. Its fur was blacker than star-metal and it was girded snout to tail in thick, iron plates riveted and bolted together, all of them painted green. The beast looked out from a great helmet sculpted to look like some serpentine skull, and its eyes shown a bloody brown. Its hooves were easily a foot in diameter and Nuriel could almost hear the brick beneath it groan in protest of the thing.
Upon its saddle of green-painted iron was the thing known as Behemoth Kraken. Like the creature he rode, he was something too much to exist in nature. He was head to toe in painted black armor every bit as heavy and substantial as his steed’s. Each of his shoulder pauldrons was sculpted in iron to be a massive, tentacled creature. Some of the tentacles where raised up and stood taller than his head, others were down and hung beneath his elbows. His body was like a giant sphere, his black breastplate sculpted into a kraken that hugged his chest and whose tentacles trailed down and around the armor of his arms and legs. His helmet was crested with a frightening serpent and his face was too large to be contained by it. A long, scraggly black beard hung past his chest and he looked upon them all with dark, scowling eyes.
His gaze turned and Nuriel found herself staring directly into the eyes of the monster. Without hesitation her own eyes fell away, and she found it impossible to put them back upon his form. She swallowed hard and had a strange urge to kneel, though something in her mind told her that she dare not move.
“HA! HA! HA!” he boomed, and Nuriel was certain the very windows of the church were rattled. His voice was an unnatural baritone that was as deep and frightening as the very abyss. “MY SAINTS BEFORE A SEA OF DEATH! BLOOD AND LIMBS! CORPSES!”
Nuriel heard a tremendous, earth-shaking thud and chanced raising her eyes up. Behemoth Kraken had come down from his horse and the very bricks he had landed on had sunk beneath him. He was a titan of a man, and Nuriel thought he stood at least nine-feet, maybe ten. His arms and legs, girded in armor, were like tree limbs; his form round, bulbous, hulking, monstrous. Nuriel wondered if estimating his weight at a full ton was being conservative. Upon his back Nuriel could see the handle of some titanic sword, but her eyes once again fell to her feet of their own accord.
For a man so round, so gargantuan and heavy, he moved fluidly and quickly. He strode forward past Rathaniel, ground trembling beneath him. He picked up a man’s severed head from the courtyard near the fountain. With a black, gauntleted hand whose every finger was sculpted to be a tentacle, he held it up by its blood-soaked hair.
“HA! HA! HA!” he clutched the head in both hands and pressed it to his red lips and gave it a kiss. Blood flowed out of its neck, into Kraken’s long, black beard. Then he held it before his face and exploded it to pulp between his hands. “HA! HA! HA!” he boomed, pulling one hand down the length of his beard to wring it out of blood. “HA! HA! HA! LOOK AT THE MEAT! LOOK AT OUR TOYS!”
Nuriel could hear him grabbing limbs or fallen bodies but couldn’t bring herself to look up at him. She turned slightly to the side and could see Hadraniel also had his eyes plastered to his own feet. He was trembling.
“AH, BUT WHERE ARE THE YOUNG ONES! I WANT SOME YOUNG ONES! YOUNG AND FRESH! YOU, SAINT! YOU, WOMAN SAINT! COME HERE AND KNOW ME BETTER! COME AND TELL ME WHERE THE YOUNG ONES LAY!”
Nuriel felt her heart skip a beat. As the only female, she knew he had to be addressing her, yet some part of her mind clung to futile hope that he was addressing somebody else. She bit her lip and kept her eyes plastered on the stair she stood on, stupidly clutching to chance he had not meant her.
She felt a foot tap hers and then Adonael hissed, “Go to him!”
Nuriel inhaled slowly and raised her eyes just enough to walk down the stairs without tripping. At the base of the stairs she stopped. She could feel his looming shadow in the distance but couldn’t bring herself to move any closer.
“HA! HA! HA! A WOMAN SAINT! I HAVEN’T FUCKED YOUR LIKE SINCE SAINT TIA WAS GIVEN TO US! HA! HA! HA! COME! COME HERE SO THAT WE MIGHT KNOW ONE ANOTHER!”
Nuriel couldn’t tell if her heart was palpitating or if it was the monster’s voice rattling her chest. She sucked on her lower lip, looking down at her star-metal boots. Her leg trembled as she got it to move forward a step. And then another. She breathed deep and looked up and walked forward, her eyes locked on the monster’s legs. She stopped within his all-consuming shadow.
“TELL ME, WHAT IS YOUR NAME!”
“N…Nuriel.”
Her face felt small in his hand as he grabbed her chin, his fingers wrapping around her cheeks. He forced her head up, but somehow her eyes still pointed down.
“HA! HA! HA! YOU’RE A PRETTY ONE, NURIEL!” She felt his other hand brush through her hair. “TELL ME, IS YOUR PUSSY AS GOLDEN! HA! HA! HA!”
Nuriel was taken aback and reflexively tried to flinch when she felt a large, warm wetness on the side of her face. Unfortunately, the man’s grip was like a vice and she couldn’t budge. She was forced to endure his enormous tongue as it lapped its way from her chin to her scalp and back down her other cheek.
“YOU TASTE LIKE BATTLE! YOU TASTE LIKE SEX AND BLOOD AND SWEAT! RATHANIEL, LET US REJOICE AMONGST THESE DEAD! COME HITHER AND MEET MY NEW SAINT!”
Behemoth Kraken still held her face firmly in his hand. Her eyes glanced up just enough to see him hulking over her and Rathaniel sliding off his horse. She could smell his putrid breath upon her cheek; smell the sickly sweet saliva as it dried on her chin. She felt nauseo
us and her hands moved up and grabbed his and she tried to pry his fingers away, but even flaring her Caliber she couldn’t get them to move.
“HA! HA! HA! DON’T YOU LIKE TO SUCK COCK AFTER BATTLE?! RATHANIEL, HAVE HER SUCK YOUR COCK AND LET ME KNOW IF IT’S WORTH MY WHILE! HA! HA! HA! IF SO, SHE CAN PRACTICE ON MY HORSE!”
Nuriel’s heart pounded as Rathaniel walked up. His white eyes were blank; his face held no emotion, no expression. He was a walking, living corpse. Like a robot he stopped before Nuriel, and with his single, trembling hand began taking off the armor around his waist.
Nuriel grabbed Behemoth’s arm with both hands. Together they didn’t even wrap around his wrist. She tried to pull away, tried to rip his hand from her face, but the man’s strength was otherworldly. Her Caliber flashed white and she screamed, but his hand wouldn’t budge.
“HA! HA! HA!” Nuriel felt his fat, armored finger violate her mouth and she choked. “YOU’RE A FEISTY ONE! RATHANIEL, SHALL I PLUCK HER TEETH FOR YOU?”
“No need, glorious and exalted Behemoth Kraken.” intoned Rathaniel.
Nuriel struggled, her face held firmly in the beast’s hand. Her eyes glanced sideways and she could see Rathaniel standing with his disfigured penis exposed and erect. He looked out upon the world with eyes that seemed to see nothing. His hand was down at his side, trembling. His crotch was shaved and his genitals bore many scars, both new and old. Most notably, Nuriel noticed with equal parts of fear and disgust, his legs were covered in bite wounds so large they could only have come from one mouth. Nuriel screamed and tried again, without success, to pull free.
Suddenly Nuriel was released and she fell backward onto the road. She looked up and saw Kraken slap a meaty hand upon Rathaniel’s back. “HA! HA! HA! SHE’D TAKE YOUR COCK OFF AND THEN WHAT WOULD I HAVE? HA! HA! HA! HERE,” he said, picking up one of the bodies in the court. He plucked the head from the neck as one might pluck a flower from the earth. He jammed a finger into the mouth, and with a flick sent the teeth flying out. He placed the head into Rathaniel’s arms. “HERE, TRY THIS MOUTH! HA! HA! HA!”
“Yes, glorious and exalted Behemoth Kraken.” said Rathaniel. He put the head to his crotch and began pumping his waist.
Nuriel stood up to her feet, looking on in horror and disgust. Her arm began to slowly raise up to grab her sword when Kraken boomed out, “WHERE ARE THE YOUNG ONES? WHERE ARE THE REST! CERTAINLY THERE IS MORE FUN TO BE HAD HERE! ADONAEL! OVID! HADRANIEL! COME FORTH AND REPORT!”
Nuriel watched as the three came down the stairs, Adonael and Hadraniel keeping their eyes to the ground. Ovid, despite his terrible wounds, somehow willed himself to walk on his own, though Nuriel could see he was not steady on his feet. Of the three, he was the only one who didn’t seem to mind (or fear) keeping his eyes on Kraken.
The three stopped just short of Kraken. With his eyes looking down, Adonael said in a quavering voice, “Glorious and exalted Behemoth Kraken, the city has been cleared. We just need to do clean up.”
“JUST CLEAN UP? WHERE ARE THE YOUNG ONES? WHERE ARE THE BABES?” Kraken’s voice began to take on something of a terrifying edge.
“G-Glorious and e-e-exalted Behemoth K-K-Kraken,” said Hadraniel with his chin locked to his chest. “Th-Th-There w-w-were some d-d-down there in o-o-one of those h-h-houses.” He pointed feebly down the road, his finger trembling. “Th-th-they’re a-a-all d-d-dead.”
“DEAD!” boomed Kraken. He stomped his foot and Nuriel thought she could feel the ground quake. “SOME SHOULD BE SAVED FOR ME! ALWAYS!”
“Ovid,” said Adonael, still looking at the ground and struggling to keep his voice clear. “You said there were some in the church that got away and are yet to be rounded up?”
Nuriel could see Ovid scowl. She could see that the black-haired Saint didn’t want Kraken to know this. He pursed his lips and then said quite coolly, “Glorious and exalted Behemoth Kraken, there were some women and children hiding in the church. We were about to go after them when your exaltedness came.”
“HA! HA! HA! THERE WE ARE! ONE OF YOU, BRING THEM TO ME!” Kraken slapped Rathaniel on the back. “STOP FUCKING THAT AND SAVE YOUR ENERGY! WE’LL ALL HAVE SOME BOYS! HA! HA! HA! RATHANIEL LIKES THE YOUNG ASSES, DON’T YOU!”
“Yes, glorious and exalted Behemoth Kraken.” said Rathaniel blankly as he dropped the head and began dressing himself again.
“I’ll go after them.” said Ovid.
“No,” said Adonael, looking at him. Then he said more quietly, “You need to rest.” He turned to Nuriel and said with an unspoken ‘you owe me one’ in his ruby eyes, “Nuriel, hunt them down and bring them here.”
Nuriel nodded once and began to turn and walk away when Adonael held up a finger to her, motioning for her to wait.
“Glorious and exalted Behemoth Kraken, I ask permission to finish our sweep of the city.” said Adonael.
“HA! HA! HA! SWEEP THE CITY AND TAKE RATHANIEL WITH YOU! ANY LEFT LIVING, BRING THEM TO ME ALIVE!”
Adonael nodded. “Thank you, glorious and exalted Behemoth Kraken.” He looked at the others. “Ovid, you come with me. Hadraniel, you and Rathaniel take the east side.” Then he strode up to Nuriel and grabbed her firmly around the arm. He hissed angrily into her ear as he walked her away. “Count yourself incredibly lucky. Now, you go find them quickly and get back here with them all alive. And don’t even think about running, or I can assure you far worse will await. If he comes for you again, just do what Tia—what the rest of us do—and pretend to enjoy it. Otherwise, you’re going to end up like that thing.” He motioned his head at Rathaniel. He turned her around and stared right into her eyes and whispered, “He hates when you enjoy it. He loses interest if you enjoy it.” He released her arm with a harsh push. “Go. And for the sake of the rest of us, get back here quickly.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Rook shivered as he held Ursula to his bare chest. All he had on was an oversized vest of thin fabric that one of the older boys had given him. Ursula was bundled in his shirt, but there was no way he was going to take her out of it. His pants were soaked and stank of wine and pickled vegetables, and the cool spring air that floated through the shadowy forest was getting to be too much. Unfortunately, there was nothing he, nor any of the other escapees, could do about it right now. As it stood, he was lucky enough that the boy had worn the vest over his own shirt. Not a single other person had any spare clothing to provide.
There were about four dozen of them, mostly women and children. There were the women from the church basement and the rest of the young children and babies who survived Ovid’s rampage. They had slipped out the church and quickly made their way north through the narrow alleys to a small, rarely used gate that exited almost directly into the forest. There they had met up with the other escapees, some more women and children, as well as about six men and ten older, teenaged boys, all armed with swords and bolt-throwers.
Caer Gatima was a small enough city that Rook knew most of the people in the group, if not by name then by face. And those faces were grim. They had not a scrap of food or a canteen of water amongst them; there were no bottles of milk for the babies; they had no bows or arrows, fishing poles or traps to hunt with; they had nothing but the clothes on their backs. The one saving grace was that they were not completely emaciated, and the days of endless food they had been enjoying had built up their strength, spirits and wills. Most of them were already filling out their clothes nicely. Unfortunately, even Rook knew tough times were ahead. Even if they managed to evade pursuit, they had nowhere to go. There was no city they could run to; no place of refuge for them. King Gatima kept close tabs on the populace of each of his cities, and the Oracles and city officials would certainly take notice of nearly fifty new faces. The men who led their group had been silently bickering about what to do as they wove through the forest.
“We have to go west,” whispered Buckthorn, the eldest of the men. Rook’s father had known him well, and Rook remembered a couple occasions
where Buckthorn and his family had come to their house. He was a dark-haired man with a thick coating of beard. He had quickly emerged as the group’s primary leader over the last forty minutes since they had escaped the city. He had a pair of bolt-throwers strapped around his back. He looked up through the budding canopy of maples and oaks that surrounded them. He pointed up at the sun and turned to address the entire group. “We follow the sun west and when the forest opens to plains, we move north. We head for Narbereth.” he said in a loud whisper.
“I told you, Narbereth is a fool’s mission.” hissed Forest, a lighter-haired man who had seemed to make it his mission to disagree with Buckthorn on just about every decision thus far. He carried a bolt-thrower in his hand and a sword upon his back. “Narbereth is five-thousand miles away, across treacherous swamps and deserts. And past that are impassable mountains, hunted by beasts. And if we survive all that, the Narberethans hate outsiders and guard their lands with man-eating wolves.”
Buckthorn shook his head. “That’s not true. That’s just what they want us to believe. I saw a map once, long ago, when my father was arrested for poaching. It was on a desk in the jailor’s dungeon. Narbereth is west across sparse woods and connected by a narrow land bridge in the northwest. There are no swamps or deserts. No mountains.”
“You saw a map once, when you were twelve. We’ve all heard your story.” Forest rolled his eyes. “You don’t even recall how many miles Narbereth lays. How do we even know your memory is true? You lead us on a fool’s errand!”
“I have to agree with Forest on this.” said another of the men who Rook had come to learn was named Thatcher. “Even if your memory serves you right, we have no way to know how many miles it is. We’re not Saints. We can’t run with the winds or bound over rivers and walls. And I too have heard that Narbereth does not welcome outsiders.”
The Record of the Saints Caliber Page 50