by Aaron Hodges
The burning sun engulfed the horizon, stained only by the dark peaks far to the east. He squinted into the distance, although he knew his quarry was still at least a half day ahead. If only he had not lost his horse. The wolf loped effortlessly alongside him, tongue panting in the boiling air. It was never far from his side now.
They had started out an hour before sunrise, Gabriel’s impatience eventually winning out over caution. The night had been a long one, his sleep racked by nightmares. Faces flew through his mind, the ghosts of people he had once known, spirits demanding revenge. One by one they had faded away, leaving only a burning hatred to fill his heart.
They came across the campsite around midday, but Gabriel could make little sense of what he saw there. Three distinct sets of footsteps were evident in the loose gravel. From the size of the third step, they could only come from by a bare footed child.
What was a child doing here, of all places?
Gabriel pondered the question a moment before casting it aside. There were more important things to consider.
There were also obvious signs the camp had come under attack during the night. Blood splattered the ground and congealed in a pool in one place. Gabriel wondered if anyone could lose so much blood and survive, but there was no sign of a body or grave.
Strangest of all was the bush that stood in the centre of the campsite. Pink flowers were sprinkled amidst the green leaves, glowing in the midday sun. Breathing in the sweet scent, Gabriel felt a fluttering in his chest. For a fleeting second the hate that gripped his heart melted away and he felt the pain of all he had lost seep through.
Beside him, the wolf began to growl. They have already left, hours ago on horseback. We must move if we are to catch them.
The tendrils of hate snapped closed. Gabriel nodded grimly, fingers running across the hilt of his sword.
They set off once more, picking their way through the rocky desert. The path threaded its way among the boulders and petrified trees, often splitting in two or disappearing altogether. The wolf led the way without hesitation, leaving Gabriel no choice but to follow in frustration.
The wolf whispered as they walked, always in his mind. Yes, they came this way. Just a few hours ago now. Keep moving. We’re close.
Yet even Gabriel’s newfound strength was fading beneath the heat of the sun. As the day wore on, he found himself slowing, his sword growing heavy. By mid-afternoon his legs burned and his calves were beginning to cramp, making every step an agony. Still he pushed on, determined to claim a few more miles before the sun set.
In his mind, an image flickered into life. He found himself in a tiny room before a great fire, his arms up to their elbows in a pair of thick leather gloves. In his hands he clutched a heavy pair of tongs, a horseshoe glowing in their iron grip. A man larger than life stood beside him, his giant grin hidden beneath a woolly beard. The roar of the furnace rang in his ears and the smell of burning metal touched his nose. His chest swelled.
The image vanished. Gabriel groaned, finding himself on his knees, the wolf growling at his side.
He closed his eyes, searching for the picture, for whatever he had felt when it had come to life. Was it a memory?
They are escaping.
Gabriel swore, remembering his prey. He leapt to his feet, exhaustion forgotten. He still remembered one thing. He could see their faces with crystal clarity.
Kill the ones who hurt you!
******************
Inken lay on the hard desert ground. The jagged rocks stabbed through her clothes and dug into her skin. The pounding in the back of her head was growing worse, leaving her thoughts jumbled and confused. Her mouth was as dry as the parched desert soil. A groan came rumbling from deep in her throat at the thought of water. Her muscles ached and her skin burned beneath the hot sun. She could no longer muster the strength to stand.
The shortcut across the desert had been a foolish move. No one came this way anymore, and certainly not alone. Yet the reward had been too tempting. Just three nights ago, the messenger pigeons had flown into Chole. Within hours the city’s underground was alive with the news – of the reward offered for the head of the demon boy said to have burned Oaksville to the ground.
At first most had scoffed at the news. The letters must be a hoax; there was no demon, no boy, no attack on Oaksville. But other birds soon followed and the news spread that Oaksville had been attacked; first by magic, then by Baronian raiders. No one could say whether the city still stood, but the bounty stood regardless.
Inken had wasted a day dithering before she finally decided to pursue the bounty. Unfortunately, by then half the bounty hunters in the city were already out to find the ‘demon boy,’ leaving her far behind the pack.
She knew most would not dare the ride through the desert. The short cut would take at least a day off the ride, allowing her to comfortably overtake the other hunters. She scoffed at the superstitious fear which blinded the others, confident that with her longsword and bow she could fend off any trouble.
How arrogant she had been, how foolish. The childhood tales of the monsters that lurked in the desert should have warned her. The people of Chole made no secret of the dangers lurking outside their city walls.
It had not taken long for her to discover the truth behind those tales. She had never even seen the beast. The first she knew of the danger was when her gelding suddenly reared up on its hind legs, its steel-capped hooves flailing. With a terrified scream the horse bolted, leaving her clinging desperately to the saddle horn. Even then, the beast almost had them.
Just a few feet from the path, the beast exploded from the earth. It ran on all fours, short yellow fur bristling over its catlike body. Powerful muscles propelled it after them, its claws digging deep into the hard ground. On four legs, it was almost as large as her horse, with a mouth large enough to crush her skull. Giant teeth glinted as it roared, sending ripples of terror down her spine.
The chase seemed to last hours, with only inches separating the two beasts. Hungry jaws snapped at her gelding’s tail. She spurred her horse on, although it hardly needed the encouragement.
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the beast vanished.
Her horse ran on. Desperately she tugged at the reins, eager to slow their pace in the treacherous terrain. Here the ground was a perilous tapestry of rocks, scree and petrified trees. The gelding plunged onwards, oblivious to everything but its terror.
Suddenly, the horse collapsed beneath her and Inken was flying from the saddle. The earth rushed up to meet her. She raised her arms to protect herself, and then came the jarring thud of impact. She heard something go crack, followed by searing pain as rocks slashed and stabbed through the flesh of her stomach and chest. She tumbled head over heels, the rocky ground scraping skin from bone.
The horse screamed again, struggling to rise behind her. Inken shuddered with pain, a moan growing in her chest. She glimpsed the terrified animal from the corner of her eye. Its leg bent at a sickening angle.
Inken felt herself slipping away and gladly gave way to the abrupt relief of unconsciousness.
When she woke, the horse’s screaming had ceased. She looked across to see its still body lying next to her, its glassy eyes staring into nothing.
Inken closed her eyes, willing strength into her shattered body. Summoning every ounce of her courage, she struggled to regain her feet. Agony lanced through her right arm and leg and she knew they were broken. The rest of her was a red and purple mess, as though the skin had been flayed from her body. Her nose throbbed and she reached up to twist it back into place. The cartilage gave a sickening crack, but the relief was almost immediate.
Somehow, she had pulled herself to her feet. Somehow, she had hobbled on her left leg back towards the road, evading the beasts for Gods only knew how long. Somehow, she had survived.
But now she was finished. She could no longer muster the strength to stand. The pain was unbearable, her energy long since melted away by the heat of th
e sun.
Her body still found the water for tears. Fool, she cursed herself. How could you have been so arrogant?
Lying helpless in the cooking sun, Inken waited for death. It didn’t seem right for it to end like this. She had yet to reach her twentieth birthday. Of course, life was never fair. She knew that better than most. Fair would have been two loving parents, rather than a mother who abandoned her to an abusive father. The evil old man would be laughing now; he had always said she was nothing without him.
The clatter of hooves on rock came from off to her left. Her eyes shot open. She turned her head and squinted into the painful light. Two horses were riding past not five yards away, their riders talking softly in the dying light.
“Help!” Inken tried to shout, but her throat cracked and the word came out as a whisper. She swore silently to herself.
“Help me!” the call was louder this time. “Please!”
******************
“Alastair, why did my magic only... awaken... when I turned fifteen?” the question had plagued Eric for a while now.
“So late?” Alastair asked. He sat on a rock opposite Eric where they had stopped to rest the horses.
Eric nodded.
“Most develop earlier, but then that is in families with a long lineage of magic,” he closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in thought. “Magic always awakens on the anniversary of our births, but which birthday depends on each individual and the environment they’re exposed too. The more magic you come into contact with in your childhood, the faster your own will develop.”
Eric shook his head, still coming to grasps with the intricacies of the mysterious force. “Okay.”
Alastair stood, brushing crumbs from his cloak. “We’re running short of water and supplies, but there is a spring ahead. If we make good time, we should be able to reach it by nightfall.”
Eric rolled his shoulders and groaned. The riding was slowly growing easier, but his body still ached from the long hours in the saddle. “Alright then, well we’re not getting any closer sitting here I guess.”
They mounted up and rode on, pushing their horses to a fast trot. The rocky miles wore away beneath pounding hooves, as the sun slowly dropped towards the distant horizon. The land around them was silent and still. The burning sun stung their eyes, leaving them squinting into the distance in search of danger.
At last, the sun touched the horizon behind them, and Alastair slowed their pace to a walk. It would be easy in the lengthening shadows to make a mistake on the rough terrain.
“It won’t be far now,” Alastair reassured him.
Eric did not reply, drawing his horse to a stop. He listened to the whisper of the wind through the rocks around them. He thought he had heard a cry. The leather reins scrunched in his hands. His eyes roamed the landscape, searching for movement. The creature’s attack the night before was still fresh in his mind.
“Help me!” the call was so soft Eric would have missed it had he not stopped his horse.
“Help!” it came again.
He turned his head, trying to identify the source. Hairs prickled on the back of his neck as he considered the possibility of a trap. The voice was distinctly human though, and female. Yet he could see nothing amidst the tumbled rocks and petrified wood adjacent to the trail.
Eric shook his head, wondering if his mind was playing tricks. Then one of the rocks seemed to move and he realised he had been looking straight at her. The dull brown of her leather jacket and leggings blended in with the dirt and baked stone, camouflaging her into the desert.
“Alastair, wait!” he pulled on Briar’s reins, sending the horse off the trail.
The young woman’s hazel eyes followed him as he approached. Eric shuddered as he took in her injuries. He could not imagine the pain she must be suffering. Her bright red hair was thick with dirt and dried blood ran down her forehead and neck. Tears in her jacket revealed bloody wounds and purple bruises and her leg was twisted at a horrific angle. The relentless sun had burned the skin of her face bright red. Her eyes were swollen with exhaustion and her whole body shook as though she were outside on a winter’s day.
Eric watched her struggle to sit up as he approached. He was shocked by the courage the feat must have taken. It was not enough though, and as Eric leapt from his horse she slid back to the ground. Her eyes closed as she slipped into unconsciousness.
Alastair dismounted behind him and the two crouched beside her. Alastair pulled his water skin from his belt and held it to her lips. Cradling her head, he trickled a small amount into her mouth.
After a few swallows she started to cough and Alastair pulled the skin back. “Don’t speak, girl. Save your strength.”
Eric pulled a blanket from his saddle and covered her, hoping it might help protect her from the sun. He wondered what horrific accident had befallen her. She carried no food or water and her only weapon was a knife strapped to her side.
Alastair gave her another gulp of water before capping the water skin. “That’s enough for now. Anymore and you’ll be sick.”
“Thank you,” somehow she managed a smile, her dried lips cracked and bleeding. “I’m Inken.” Her eyes closed again.
“Eric, help me with her. We will have to be very careful, who knows what injuries she may have. I’ll ride with her on my horse. We need to get her to the spring. She needs water and broth to replace the salts she’s lost in the sun.”
“Will she make it?”
“I don’t know. Her best chance is if we can get her to the spring. It’s not far now,” they knelt either side of her and placed her arms over their shoulders. “Careful, this arm is broken. We’ll need to do this very gently.”
“What do you think happened to her?”
“We’ll have to ask her when she wakes again. Now help me get her to Elcano.”
Eric carefully took her weight on his shoulder. For a small woman she was heavy. He wondered again who she was, what she had been doing in the desert alone.
Together they managed to get her slung over Alastair’s saddle. Alastair climbed up behind her, while Eric helped rearrange the limp woman so she would not fall. She did not stir throughout the ordeal.
Alastair took up his reins while Eric mounted Briar. He patted the horse’s mane before they set off, knowing the horses needed the water as much as they did. They rode into the night, the horizon behind them stained red with the dying sun.
Twelve
Eric poked restlessly at the fire with a stray piece of wood. Dust and sand had worked its way into every seam of his clothing and the rocky ground dug into his backside whichever way he sat. He was relieved to be free of Briar’s bouncing saddle, but now he found himself on edge, his eyes constantly searching the darkness around them. He could only imagine what dread beasts might be staring back.
At least they had found the spring. A trickle of water ran down a nearby rock face and slowly gathered in a bowl of loose soil at its base. They had almost emptied the pool filling their water skins, and now Briar and Elcano stood patiently waiting for their turn to drink.
A rocky escarpment hemmed them in on three sides, hiding their campfire from prying eyes. The sun had set long ago, stealing away the world beyond the firelight. An eerie silence settled on the campsite, disturbed only by the crunching of their footsteps on the rocky ground. Eric’s dread grew with each passing minute.
At least Alastair said they would arrive in Chole by noon the next day. He would not be sorry to see the last of the arid wasteland. Although the thought of entering the city was worrying in an entirely different way. Alastair had taught him the basics of magic, but he still knew nothing about controlling it.
The girl, Inken, lay opposite him, shivering by the fire. They had covered her with blankets and managed to feed her more water, but she had not stirred since they arrived. Her hair blazed red in the firelight, its glow intoxicating. The hard lines in her young face had softened with sleep.
They had cleaned the sand from th
e worst of her wounds and bound her broken limbs to branches they had scavenged from the long dead trees which scattered the desert. There was little more they could do until they reached Chole and found a healer.
Alastair sat stirring the pot of stew he had just taken from the fire. Earlier he had added the last of their food, a sprinkling of hard vegetables and salted pork. If Inken woke, she would need whatever they could get into her to restore what had been lost to the unforgiving sun.
Alastair placed the pot back over the fire. “It still needs some more time. I’m going to check our fire is properly hidden. I don’t want any surprises this time; we might not get so lucky twice.”
Eric chuckled softly. “Okay, I’ll keep an eye on her. Be careful.”
He watched Alastair disappear into the night and then returned his gaze to the young woman beside the fire. A thousand questions were bouncing around in his mind.
What was she doing out here?
While a few inches taller than him, she could not be much older than his own seventeen years. He looked closely at the burns marking her skin and shuddered. The only part of her left untouched was the fiery red hair, and even that was tangled and filthy.
With luck though, they would find a healer among Antonia’s priests in Chole. The temples of the Earth were renowned for their healers; although whether the temple in Chole still survived was another matter. The Earth element held little sway in the Wasteland.
Eric added their last stick to the fire. Alastair had hacked the branches from one of the fallen trees. The heat and dust of the desert had turned the ancient logs the colour of rock, but beneath they were still wood, desiccated by time and heat into the perfect firewood.
“Who are you?”
Eric jumped, his reaction prompting a giggle from the pile of blankets. The laugh was rich and good-natured, but ended with a groan of pain. “Oh, I shouldn’t have done that!”