Primeval Origins : Paths of Anguish - Award Winning, New Epic Fantasy / Science Fiction (The Primeval Origins Saga Book 1)

by Brett Vonsik

  “It’s him.” Rogaan heard the uneasiness from somewhere behind. Who had spoken, he did not know.

  “Now what, dark axe?” Kardul called out to the air itself.

  From the shadows of a stand of scrub palms surrounding a dark-hued boulder-shaped mound halfway between them and the far tree line they intended to pass to the east of, stepped out a strongly built baraan who carried himself with what Rogaan saw as great confidence. The intimidating figure, standing at least a half hand taller than himself, was dressed in a charcoal hat of similar style to the sharur, dark pants and a dark short-sleeved jacket, both abundantly adorned with pockets and filled sheaths. Under his jacket, a shirt of deep brown was visible that matched his hide boots. His short-cut hair and trimmed beard was almost as dark as his shirt. The baraan’s arms were bare, except for a pair of dark blue metallic forearm guards with intricate designs that Rogaan knew nothing of. What seemed a natural extension of him, he nimbly held in his right hand: a single-bladed battle-axe, its blade so dark that it seemed to absorb light. Above each shoulder, dark handles to some type of swords peeked. This dark figure walked with a smooth fluid motion that made Rogaan think of the leapers he spied from Brigum’s walls. Danger emanated from him -- or more accurately...death. A chill ran down Rogaan’s back and his skin prickled just looking at him. Worse was not knowing what the dark axe was here for, and what he intended to do to him.

  “I hold no fondness for that name,” Im’Kas answered Kardul with a provocative edge in his tone.

  Kardul looked to be on guard and visibly uneasy as he verbally exchanged with the dark axe. “As I recall, you find little fondness in anything or anyone. These pets you command cannot be here for strolling.”

  Im’Kas stood as stone while taking in everything and everyone. As he surveyed them, another dark figure, a baraan with evendiir features, leaner and not too many years from a youngling, stepped from the same shadows with an air of calm and control, just as his companion. The clean-shaven newcomer wore well-tailored dark-colored hide armor protecting his upper body over a dark undershirt, loose-fitting pants, and calf-high boots that were of a light charcoal hue. A short sword and sling on his belt appeared to be his only weapons, though everything of the leaner half-baraan, half-evendiir looked of fine quality and a bit out of place for the middle of the forest. He, just as the dark axe, did not give a glance at the two heavily breathing ravers standing a stone’s throw to their right.

  “Release him,” Im’Kas simply stated without threat. In fact, it was so matter-of-fact that Rogaan thought Kardul was about to comply without protest.

  “No,” Kardul replied with a hint of a snarl. “He’s under my protection.”

  Im’Kas’ companion sniffed loudly then brought his hands together palm-to-palm at mid chest. The sandy-haired one closed his eyes for a moment as everyone eyed each other, except for Im’Kas, who stood stolid and confident. The ravers stirred, growling low at first, then stomping their feet into a wider stance as they crouched. They looked ready to charge. The hairs all over Rogaan prickled and his heart started pounding hard, fast. Fear swept over him. The ravers bellowed in unison at Kardul and the rest of them, letting out a deafening and painful roar that shook Rogaan and his steed. Rogaan feared his sarig was just as scared as he, and expected to get thrown, so he gripped his saddle as tight as he could muster. Kardul’s sarig started prancing as the Kiuri’Ner did his best to control it. All the sarigs followed suit with Kardul’s. Now fearing being thrown, Rogaan clamped his legs hard to his sarig and closed his eyes, waiting to meet the ground and be made food for the ravers. The world slowed. Rein fasteners clinked, words spoken by others he could no longer make sense of, the thud of his short-toed sarig’s feet on the dirt, and his steed’s breathing all sounded long and drawn-out. Even the pounding of his heart seemed too slow. Rogaan opened his eyes to a world that was growing familiar to him, moving slower than it should. Kardul forced his sarig to stop prancing with a long growl.

  Suddenly, Rogaan’s sarig stopped prancing and kneeled. He realized he was compressing the animal’s ribs, forcing the creature to submit. Surprised at his own strength, Rogaan eased the pressure on the steed, allowing it to recover and straighten its stance, though it no longer pranced. The others were not so in control of their steeds, except for Ishmu, who was looking back at the trail they had come from. Rogaan looked past the mounted baraan seeking to see what was so much more captivating there than what was in front of them. A black-cloaked figure sitting tall on his large sarig stood at the far side of the fern and flowered field, just over two hundred strides from them where the trail led back to the mountains. Confusion gripped Rogaan. He was confounded by the dark axe standing in front of them, and now as a mounted rider, in equally dark dress, blocking their escape back the way they came. Just as suddenly as the world slowed for Rogaan, so did it speed up back to its normal pace. Rogaan’s breath was taken away by the quick changes. He felt dizzy for a few moments before recovering.

  Ishmu, their rear guard, yelled out from his nervous steed, “He has caught up to us!”

  “What are you talkin’ of?” Ruumoor barked while struggling with his sarig.

  “He’s right behind us,” Ishmu answered. “He’s caught us.”

  “He’s standin’ in front of us,” Ruumoor challenged, then looked behind their column, past Ishmu. “How can this be? There are two of them!”

  Looking in both directions, Rogaan grew more concerned and confused. Two dark figures had them boxed in? In front of them, the dark axe raised his battle-axe to his chest as he gave his counterpart intense scrutiny. The other dark figure sat unmoving on his steed, his cloak engulfing him an arrow shot away.

  Without warning, a stinging wave washed over Rogaan, prickling his skin and hair -- an intensely unpleasant sensation. His steed started prancing in protest of the sensation as everyone in the column let out troubled grunts. Looking back in the direction the wave came from, the black cloaked figure reined in his steed, stopping it from prancing sideways. A deep guttural growl followed by a high-pitched snort drew Rogaan’s attention back in the other direction where the ravers stood. Both were vigorously shaking their heads as if they were trying to shake off an unwanted slumber.

  “Lost them,” Im’Kas’ companion nervously announced a moment before the raver closest stepped at him, bellowing long and angry. The other raver dropped into a crouch; then, without hesitation, it charged the column where Kardul led. Rogaan’s sarig bolted, nearly riding out from under him. He hung on, but just barely, and with much pain in his hands and arms, all the while yelling curses as he fought to better his grip on saddle and netting.

  Glancing back, Rogaan saw Kardul urge his sarig into a run with a horned raver close behind. He and his sarig chased by the raver ran past a stolid Im’Kas, who stood in a stance Rogaan could only describe as strike-ready, shaking his head in disgust. The dark axe held fast, not attacking either Kardul or the raver as they passed just strides away. Rogaan thought that strange -- the raver paid Im’Kas no attention as the baraan gave no sign of being afraid of the beast. What is he? Rogaan asked himself then found his distraction preventing him from regaining solid seating. Another glance showed him the rest of his party in chaos, scattered and trying to regain control of their steeds, and of no help to him. Rogaan pushed his stray thoughts away to focus on his sarig and the saddle under him. A stumble by his sarig caused Rogaan to lurch forward, then slam backwards with arched back against the animal’s heaving rump. The impact forced a grunt from him as pain racked his back. Grabbing forcefully at the saddle, he feared the steed falling hard to the ground and him getting crushed under the big animal. Then, there was getting torn apart by the raver chasing him. He had to get his steed under control and painfully sat up in his saddle.

  Looking forward down the side of his sarig, Rogaan saw a dense wall of forest and guarding thickets fast approaching. The time to gain control over his sarig was now! He leaned forward in the saddle, trying to catch the whippi
ng reins to guide his steed away from the tangle ahead. He stretched his body for the reins, but the reins danced just out of reach. The sarig kept running in full gallop for the tangle of green-covered tree trunks, branches, roots, and vines. Rogaan envisioned disaster allowing the sarig to plunge into the dense thickets. He would be pulled from his steed, and then he would be at the mercy of everything. Rogaan tried yelling at his steed, but it continued on at full speed straight for disaster.

  “What be happenin’?” Rogaan heard the slurred words from the netting low to his left.

  “Hold on, Pax...this is going to hurt,” Rogaan told his groggy friend. Helpless to change the sarig’s path, Rogaan braced himself low into the saddle as the forest and thickets rushed at them. Just before plunging into the tangles, Rogaan closed his eyes tight as he grabbed the saddle with all his strength. The sarig stamped to a stop, leaning low and forward abruptly and unexpectedly, almost throwing Rogaan over the head of the animal. If not for his death grip on the saddle, he would have been thrown forward off the steed. Shocked, Rogaan opened his eyes to a wall of green-leafed vines, branches, and other thick growth. He sighed in relief; the sarig was not as stupid as he had feared. Rogaan relaxed a bit, thankful for his steed’s choice. Then it reared and took off to the right, throwing Rogaan bent rearward over his back of the saddle. The only thing keeping him on the steed was his feet, wedged tightly in the saddle footholds. In this position, he was being painfully stretched awkwardly. Rogaan’s back twisted and bent with great pain as he desperately tried to sit up. He sucked in a breath, readying himself to contract his gut and pull himself properly in the saddle. A foul wind of putrid decay filled his nose. It turned his stomach and forced a gagging cough from him.

  Rogaan looked up to an open maw filled with finger-long knives coming at him. With no other place to go, he painfully pressed himself back onto the rump of the sarig, bending and straining backward even further. Pain shot through him…back and legs burning as if they were on fire. The raver’s jaws snapped shut with a loud clop just above Rogaan’s face, almost raking his left cheek with its horrid knives. The foulness of its breath bathed him, causing Rogaan’s stomach to rush up. The sarig jerked right, tossing him sideways left. Painful agony racked his back and legs, making him forget the stench and his stomach. He frantically grasped for anything to stop from being tossed off. In his flailing, something found his hand -- what, he did not care. It was something solid, something he could get leverage with and right himself in the saddle.

  The bull raver lost a few steps when it made its lunge at him, but recovered and was again closing. Rogaan had to right himself before the raver had a second bite at him. As the sarig’s rump pounded Rogaan’s neck and shoulders, the image of the angry bull raver with its lust for death became seared in his mind. Rogaan feared his sarig was not fast enough to escape the beast…certainly not off-balance and with him lying over the saddle. Rogaan gritted his teeth, then timed the sarig’s motion to launch himself upright just enough to contract his gut muscles and pull on whatever he held in his hand. The move left him with the pain along his back and legs replaced with muscles pulled in his midsection. Rogaan exhaled in relief. Looking back to satisfy his hope that he and his sarig were now holding the gap between them and the angry beast, Rogaan’s heart sank and a chill rippled down his spine. The raver was still faster. It would strike again in moments.

  Something passed to the left of Rogaan, going the opposite direction. He looked behind, finding Im’Kas in a full run at the bull raver. The darkly clad baraan launched himself low at the beast as the raver struck at him in his forward roll under a clopping bite that found only air. Rolling to his feet in a blink, Im’Kas slid on his boots to a stop. As he did, he swung his black battle-axe in an overhead arc then down on the raver’s left leg. The dark arc it made was there and gone so fast that a blink would have missed it. The left foot of the raver was almost severed, bouncing in the dirt and flowers as it was dragged behind the beast. The raver went crashing to the ground, howling in pain, with its head plowing ferns, flowers and dirt, tossing up green, yellows, purples, and reds in a beautiful display before being engulfed in a cloud of dirt and dust. Rogaan’s sarig unexpectedly jerked right, again, but Rogaan held tightly and kept his saddle. Looking forward to understand why the animal behaved so, the second bull raver had abandoned chasing the others and was charging him. Rogaan could not believe his fortune. He muttered, “Why me?”

  The sarig’s turn was not enough to avoid the predator. It too wore an angry snarl, like the first beast, as it rapidly closed on him. It opened its maw wide, showing rows of finger-long teeth. Rogaan feared the end. A whistling blur of black flew by him on his left. It struck the raver’s neck just under its right jaw, deeply cutting through much of its muscle and inner parts. The bull raver collapsed in a fountain of blood spraying high above a black hide-wrapped haft projecting from its neck as Roggan and his sarig ran past the felled beast. They now headed straight for Adul and the rest of the sharur, who looked to have their sarigs under control. Fearing his sarig would not stop, Rogaan looked for the reins to slow his steed. They were on the sarig’s neck more than an arm’s reach away. Rogaan considered leaving his saddle to get them when Kardul riding his sarig pulled up close on the right, allowing the Kiuri’Ner to grab the reins then slow them both to a fast trot then slower.

  “Let me out of dis!” Pax growled from his blood-soaked netting. “I be bounced enough. And I be covered in blood. What be happenin’? Why I be tied up?”

  “Pax, calm yourself,” Rogaan cautioned his friend between gasping breaths. “And do not do anything....”

  Thud.

  “…dumb.” Rogaan completed his words with an expected disappointment. “Hold up, Kardul. Pax has fallen out.”

  “The youngling is of no matter to me,” Kardul spat while making no attempt to comply with Rogaan’s request.

  Shock rippled through Rogaan at Kardul’s words. Then, shock immediately replaced with anger. Rogaan snatched the reins of his sarig out of Kardul’s hand with a muffled growl. Kardul looked at Rogaan with a mix of surprise and anger. Rogaan met Kardul’s gaze, directly, eye to eye. The Kiuri’Ner stared back, not giving away his thoughts by facial expression. Then, he broke out in a grin as his sarig continued toward their companions without pause.

  “Of no matter to you?” Rogaan growled loudly. “He is my friend.”

  Rogaan halted his sarig, then awkwardly steered it in the other direction after some coaxing. Turning his back on Kardul, Rogaan found a confused Pax standing with knives in hand in the midst of ferns and flowers, his clothes spattered in blood across his left side. The almost squared pattern of the netting showed where no blood stained him. Rogaan coaxed his sarig to stop next to Pax as his knife-wielding friend looked up at him dazed and bewildered.

  “I miss somethin’...huh?” Pax asked Rogaan.

  “You did,” Rogaan answered with a chuckle, then looked up to survey the carnage. Both ravers were down: one lightless, the other growling in pain as it tried to stand, only to fall repeatedly. Im’Kas put a merciful end to the beast’s misery with a stab to the back of its head with a black sword. A shiver struck Rogaan. He did not know if it was that dark weapon or the ease with which Im’Kas killed with it that sent his spine rattling. Looking away, Rogaan found Kardul and his sharur gathering around him and Pax. An odd sense of comfort warmed Rogaan as they formed a shield between him and the dark axe. Rogaan and Pax immediately looked at Trundiir’s steed to see if Suhd was without harm. She had not awakened in her netted bed despite all their troubles and bouncing about. Relief filled Rogaan, and it seemed Pax felt the same as they scrutinized her predicament. The sight of Suhd brought a smile to Rogaan’s face; then his frown came back as jealousy rippled through him. Not liking himself for what he felt, Rogaan forced his petty feelings down with an effort. Trundiir had kept her safe. It was more than he could have done for her, he realized with a growing sense of being overwhelmed by all that had happened t
o them. Wanting none of this dark feeling, Rogaan looked about hoping for a distraction…something else good to find. Instead, he found Im’Kas’ companion standing where he remembered, opposite them and the fallen ravers. A chill ran through Rogaan as he worried that Im’Kas was behind him about to haul him off to the Ebon Circle. Where is Im’Kas?

  “Hand the tellen to me, Kardul,” Im’Kas demanded.

  Rogaan froze as another chill rippled through him, head to boots. The dark axe did stand behind him. Unnerved, Rogaan tuned to see exactly where. He found the chiseled features of the darkly clothed baraan less than eight strides away. The legend he heard spoke of by his father and the townsfolk all throughout his youngling years had Rogaan expecting a baraan in his elder years, far older than the individual he saw standing near. Im’Kas appeared to be on the high side of the prime of his life. Rogaan understood some baraan were longer-lived than most, aging more like a tellen, but Im’Kas still looked younger than he expected. Blood smattered the dark axe’s charcoal clothing, as some still dripped crimson from the blades of his sword and battle-axe he carried in his hands. That image of Im’Kas burned itself into Rogaan’s mind and was fitting of the tales told of him. But the way Im’Kas carried himself, Rogaan found it difficult to think anything of the baraan other than that this was normal for him. Death swirled around him and embraced the dark axe. Normal? Another chilling shiver ripped through Rogaan. He wanted to be gone from this place…away from the dark axe, away from Kardul, and the bunch of them. He started to regret his decision to ask for Kardul’s help. This was not anything like he envisioned. This was not glorious or victorious for a righteous intent. This was rough, grungy, chaotic, and filled with uncertainties. Nothing like the stories told of hero journeys.