Glyphbinder

by T. Eric Bakutis

  When the short fight ended three gnarls were dead and his arm stung. He had been careless — or perhaps he wasn’t as good as he thought. The light Kara had made for him wobbled at his side, flickering like a dying candle flame. He checked on the others.

  The gnarl in the alley was down, its snout bleeding. It was not dead and neither was anyone else. Aryn stood over it, quarterstaff stained with blood. His chest was heaving and his eyes were wide.

  “Finish it,” Trell ordered.

  Aryn bared his teeth and crushed the Gnarl’s head with his staff.

  Byn was sitting up, but Sera would not let him stand. She wrapped his arm with rapid, quiet efficiency, using gauze she must have carried in her pack. Jair and Kara were both on the ground and neither moved, but it seemed everyone was alive. For the moment.

  Trell rushed to Kara’s side. He recognized the same signs he had seen when the carrow root had first taken her: pale skin, a brow mottled with sweat, and shallow breaths.

  Jair’s eyes popped open and he sat up. “Shifters.”

  Byn groaned. “Where have you been?”

  “What did you say?” Aryn hurried to Jair and helped him up. “You saw Shifters?” He seemed to be handling his first murder well.

  “What are Shifters?” Trell asked, biting back frustration. There was simply too much he still didn’t know.

  “Spirits,” Kara rasped. Her eyes were open now as well. “They change the way things look. Some call them tricksters, others wisps. They have no masters and love deceiving people.”

  “Can their illusions hurt you?”

  “No.” Aryn wiped his staff with a dirty cloth and slung it over his shoulder. “But walking into a ravine you can’t see will.”

  As Aryn spoke, the dark night vanished. Lights rose all around them, green and glimmering, like a hundred tiny candles trapped in emerald jars. The false green light made Trell’s head hurt. The light Kara had made wobbled and vanished.

  The odd green light made the play of the Shifters visible. The sky above their heads filled with glittering stars, all cloud cover obscured or swept away. White masks depicting laughing, screaming, and crying faces floated along both sides of the street.

  “I discovered them as soon as I projected,” Jair said quietly. “They were everywhere, and there were so many. They surrounded me. I managed to disperse some of them and lead the rest on a chase, but eventually they grew bored with me, and then it took me some time to find my body.” He breathed. “We’re not outside town?”

  “Not anymore.” Trell frowned at the large brick wall that had just appeared across the street. It was a taunt. “Kara, can you walk yet? I know nothing about these Shifters.”

  Kara struggled to her feet. Trell supported her until she could support herself, imagining more gnarls closing in on all sides. They could not move until they could see.

  “Byn,” Kara rasped. “Can you move?”

  “It was just my arm,” Byn said. “And Sera’s amazing.”

  Byn seemed unaffected by his attempted murder, and Trell was grateful that none of them had panicked. Solyr training had served them well. “Will these visions confuse the gnarls?”

  “Some of them, maybe.” Kara huffed. “If they’re not working together. Byn, you said a dozen came up on you?”

  “Yeah. This makes ten. That leaves two.”

  “We all know what a dozen are,” Aryn snapped. “Shall we go?”

  Byn had no sooner clenched his fist before Kara shushed Aryn with a raised hand and grabbed Byn’s arm, forcing him to look at her. “Take the dream world. Can you lead us to the horses?”

  Byn straightened and nodded. “Of course I can.”

  “Then you lead.” Kara’s face was still pale. “Link hands. Follow Byn. If we must fight, form a star and don’t leave it. The Shifters can look like anyone we know or any of us, but they can’t make a hand warm. Stay close and keep your eyes closed.”

  Trell appreciated Kara’s level head. He knew he had fought in many battles before, even with most of his memories missing, but he had fought swords and steel. Not magic. Not Shifters. He knew nothing about battles like this.

  Following Kara’s orders, they formed a chain and allowed Byn to lead them. Howls sounded all around as they walked, and when Trell opened his eyes, he immediately regretted it. A giant spider had just dropped into their path, as big as a horse and covered in fur and fangs. As Byn walked through it, it burst into clinging mist.

  A sharp cry made Trell jump. He looked down a nearby alley to see Byn writhing in the grip of some sort of blackish ivy. It wound around his limbs like a dozen snakes.

  “Help me!” Byn cried. “It’s got me!”

  “It’s a trick,” the real Byn grunted. “They’re all tricks. Don’t trust your eyes. Trust me.”

  Trell dared not close his eyes. He couldn’t afford to trip or stumble over a body, not without taking the line down with him. The sky turned purple and bubbles floated across it. Each time one popped, it left a sparkling star. Had the Shifters not been trying to kill them, Trell would have been impressed with the artistry of it all.

  The first gnarl attacked out of a fake building wall. Trell was too far away to stop it, too slow, but the gnarl ran right into the butt of Byn’s quarterstaff. It snout spurted red as it stumbled backward. It righted itself and roared, raising a gleaming axe.

  Kara swept her staff in low, knocking the gnarl’s feet out from under it. By then Trell had reached it and he finished the beastman with a blade through its throat. It gurgled and clawed the blade as Trell kicked, dropping it to the earth. It died there, choking on its own blood, and its wide, desperate eyes seemed almost human.

  “Trell!” Kara shouted. “There’s another gnarl twenty paces ahead, crouched behind a wagon. It has a hand axe.”

  Trell turned but found nothing but waist-high grass. “I can’t see it! How can you?”

  “Dream world.”

  “Any others?”

  “I think it’s the last of them. It’s coming at us right now.”

  “Tell me if it charges.” Trell memorized the location of all nearby bodies and then closed his eyes. He heard the crunch of booted feet on dirt, the distinctive shuffle of torasel robes. He turned what he heard into what he saw.

  The gnarl sounded different. Its bare feet padded against the ground like a dog or wolf. It breathed loud and had a smell to it, wet fur slick with grease. Trell stepped into its path.

  “It’s coming for you!” Kara shouted.

  “Tell me when it swings!”

  “Now!”

  Trell knew how a hand axe worked, and he had already seen several gnarls fight with one. He swung his blade to where it should go, if his eyes were open. The pommel of his sword shook in his hand as metal met metal with a reassuring clang. He kicked as hard as he could and his boot found gut. The gnarl’s breath rushed out.

  Trell stepped forward and drove his sword into the warm mass ahead. The gasp turned to a muted snarl. Trell kicked again and pulled his sword free. He opened his eyes as a heavy, furred body tumbled to the earth. The gnarl gasped and sputtered as it died.

  Trell looked up. Elders Halde, Ine, and Gell all stood before him. As one, they clapped politely.

  “The horses!” Byn shouted. “They’re alive!”

  Green light faded to night. The lamps of the wagon were visible now, casting just enough illumination for Trell to make out the low wall that surrounded Taven’s Hamlet. Their horses were snorting and pawing the ground.

  Trell had never been so grateful for simple night. He knew now he had killed the last gnarl in the raiding party — this was no fun for the Shifters without the gnarls as a threat. He could finally see enough ground to avoid tripping over his own feet.

  They hurried ahead as a group. As they reached the wagon, a storm of dirt and sand erupted all around it. Someone in the chain of hands screamed and Trell dared not swing his sword, blind to all but the dirt. He squinted his eyes and marched through the storm. It ha
d to be a small one. He had to walk out of it.

  Kara screamed again, as did Byn, and Trell tried not to scream back as goosebumps rose on his flesh. They could be out there, dying. He couldn’t help them. Then, almost the moment Trell stepped from the storm, its dirt and sand fell.

  “Sera!” someone shouted. Byn.

  Trell found him at last, caught in the wagon’s light. Byn tore off his veil and charged up the nearby rise.

  “Sera!” Byn screamed again. “Where are you?” His shout was raw, hoarse, terrified.

  Trell’s heart pounded in his ears. Sera was missing, perhaps murdered. What about Kara? Where in the Six Seas was Kara?

  He stumbled over a warm body and cried out, but it was a horse body, not human. It was Spirit. Someone had sliced open the gelding’s stomach, and its entrails littered the bloodstained ground. Why kill the horse? What purpose could that possibly serve?

  “Trell!” Kara shouted.

  He lowered his sword and sagged in relief as Kara rushed from the night, eyes wide. She gripped his arms and he felt his stomach turn. She looked as pale as if her mother had just died.

  “They’re gone,” Kara whispered. “And I can’t find Sera or Aryn.”

  KARA WORKED WITH BYN to scribe Rannos as Trell circled the wagon, eyes on their surroundings. Searching for threats. Finally, they managed to ignite the glyph on Byn’s skin. Byn kept retching as Kara helped him up, but he wasn’t stopping. He would fight the carrow root because gnarls had taken the woman they both loved.

  “You all right?” Kara steadied him. It was like the night she had her triptych duel with Aryn, only reversed, and this time the people they cared about could die.

  “Yeah.” Byn coughed. “I’ve got him.”

  “What’s happened?” Trell walked over, open cloak billowing in the cold wind. The moon had returned, little more than a sliver, but it cast enough light to let them see again.

  “We managed to scribe Rannos.” Kara thumped Byn on the back and glanced at Trell. “Byn can track those gnarls.”

  “Won’t the carrow root make him sick?”

  “Not sick enough,” Byn growled. “Time to go.”

  He shook his head as if fighting off flies and stumbled forward. Kara tried not to think about Sera or Aryn, dead. Bloated corpses now food for crows.

  Jair joined them, face calm. He was handling this better than anyone. “Are we riding or hauling the wagon?” He didn’t ask if they were chasing their attackers.

  “We’re taking the wagon,” Kara said. “Someone might be injured. Trell and I will tie the horses to the rail and walk.” She glanced at Byn, already many paces distant. “I don’t think he’s waiting for us.”

  They got the horses hitched and the wagon moving in short order. Kara and Trell walked in front of it, with Jair driving and Byn ranging ahead. Kara felt like her boots were waterlogged. Sera could be dead or dying right now, and it was all her fault.

  “Listen.” Trell’s eyes constantly swept the path ahead and around them, hand resting on the grip of his sheathed sword. “You cannot blame yourself for what happened.”

  Kara frowned and stared at the tall grass. “I’m not.”

  “Of course you are. Your friends came on this journey to protect you, and now they’re in danger. They might even be dead, just like all those people back there.”

  “This is making me feel better?”

  “Nothing will make you feel better. It always feels like this. It twists your gut in knots, sickens you.”

  “Then why are we talking?”

  “Because you need to know what you are feeling is normal. There’s nothing wrong with you or the decisions you’ve made. You’re leading us, and you’re doing it well.”

  Kara kicked a clump of dirt. “I’m just trying not to get anyone killed.” Each word sounded bitter.

  “You would do anything to protect your friends. They would do anything to protect you.”

  “I’ll try and remember that if they all end up dead.”

  Trell took her shoulder, forcing her to stop. She turned and stared at him. He had a grip.

  “Don’t think like that.” Trell’s blue eyes held hers. “You can’t ever think like that.”

  The way he stared at her made her feel warm and worried all at once. Like he truly cared for her. “How do I stop?”

  “You remember the way you saved me. I’m alive today because of you. You saved me, and you’ll save them. It’s just who you are.”

  He meant it. He meant every word. Kara would have hugged him then, but Byn was almost out of sight. Instead, she squeezed Trell’s hand. Then she headed after Byn as Trell fell into step beside her.

  Trell’s faith in her didn’t make her feel better, but it kept her going. It would keep her going. She would not give up until she found her friends and made them safe.

  Chapter 14

  ARYN LOCKE WOKE with a splitting headache. The world spun, swayed, like he was in the hold of a ship caught in a massive summer storm. When he forced his eyes open, the headache only got worse. The world around him was a muddy blur.

  Aryn quested for the dream world, but the pain in his head put it out of reach. He soon discerned a faint light just beyond the blur around his head. Torchlight. At the smell of worn cloth he realized a rough woven sack had been bound over his head.

  Whatever carried him jostled him constantly, and Aryn knew it was not human from the sound of its massive feet crushing grass. His hands were bound, but he did not cry out. Why would he?

  He had years of practice in enduring pain, pinches and cuffs from his dear older brothers. Tears and cries had only spurred them on and Aryn had learned to endure pain with quiet, even a smile. He wondered where Tamen and Loras were now. He wondered if his brothers would care when they learned he was dead.

  Aryn breathed and kept himself still through every jostle from his captor, every shoulder jammed into his gut. He had to stay awake now. If his captors thought him sleeping, he might be able to escape when they stopped. At the least, he could get in one good swing.

  They moved downhill. Aryn could feel the change. As they walked one of their captors grunted, followed by a low moan. Aryn recognized it as human. He recognized it as Sera.

  He bit back a scream, his heart pounding. What did these monsters want with her? Had they hurt her? Would they?

  A history of quiet meetings came rushing back. He and Sera as children, playing with Sera’s kind old nanny. Aryn remembered Sera performing the tune she had composed for his tenth birthday on her recorder. He remembered long summers of swimming, playing, and laughing in their younger years. Happy times.

  These last few summers, he and Sera had barely seen each other at all outside of Solyr. Sera tutored him, but that was all they had time for, and Aryn had resented that while at Solyr. Byn monopolized her, and Aryn hated him for that.

  It was only now, being carried to his death, that Aryn acknowledged how foolish he had been. Sera had never been his. Even if he had won the post of royal apprentice she would never have left Byn, and why would she? What did he have to offer her?

  Aryn’s captor tossed him off. Air spun about him and then he hit hard ground, smelled grass. The landing knocked the breath out of him, but that pain was nothing against Sera’s loud cry as she landed beside him. He wanted to kick knees and smash heads.

  Someone ripped the sack from Aryn’s head before he could get his breath back. A cuff across his jaw set the moonless sky spinning before his eyes. When he could see again, he dangled in the arms of two massive gnarls.

  Oily brown fur covered their bodies and their arms and legs ended in long, sharp claws. A dog-like snout turned to him and bared long rows of stained teeth. Aryn winced.

  “Prey blinks,” the gnarl said with an exaggerated growl. “Shall we feed it to the mistress?”

  Aryn stared at the brown-furred beastman as it ripped another bag from Sera’s head. Her changed orange eyes were wide. He had come on this journey to protect her, and now was the
time.

  He hoped it didn’t end up getting him killed.

  “Unhand me…” Aryn started, but his throat stung and he fell into a fit of coughing.

  The gnarls held him steady. Torches held by two other gnarls gave just enough light to reveal their black eyes. They stood in the middle of a small, flattened clearing in a sea of high grass. A sliver of moon hung in the now clear sky.

  “Unhand me.” Aryn summoned what he could of his mangled pride. “You hold in your arms Aryn Locke, third born of—”

  A beastman punched him in the gut. They released him. Aryn fell to all fours, gasping and spitting. Far from diplomatic.

  A boot heel dug into his back. It pushed him flat and then kicked him in the side. Grunting and shielding himself, Aryn rolled over and raised his hands. His ribs screamed with pain.

  “Be silent, butcher, and listen.” A young woman with straight red hair glared down at him. She was no beast.

  Her face was tan, slim, and marked by freckles. Almost boyish. Her narrow nose sat between two gray eyes. She wore a dark leather tunic under a jacket of fur-covered hides and rawhide pants tucked into brown boots. She glared at him like he had glared at Kara, the night she had beaten him in their triptych duel.

  “My name is Jyllith Malconen. I was born in Talos. I had a mother, three sisters. Your legionnaires slaughtered them when I was eight years old. I survived. You most likely won’t.”

  Talos was a town in Rain. Aryn remembered. One of many sacked and burned by unknown parties before the Rain Rebellion. Before he could remind Jyllith about that, she moved on to Sera.

  “And you?” Jyllith clenched Sera’s chin in one hand. “You’re smaller than I expected.” Jyllith forced Sera’s head left, then right, as if checking the teeth on a dog.

  “Wait.” Aryn rolled onto his stomach. “Mynt didn’t murder your family.” The Rain Rebellion finally made sense. Whoever slaughtered the people of Taven’s Hamlet had burned Talos as well, more than a decade ago. “You were tricked. Someone’s inciting war against us.”