Nameless: Bones of the Earth I-III

by J. C. Hendee

  “Human,” he whispered. “Perhaps female... running.”

  “A'ye, those idiots!” Fiáh'our growled a bit loudly.

  Over the last moon, he had kept what villagers remained from trying the half-league run to the next settlement. Before that, many had been lost in trying, even in daylight, and some without enough left of them to bury. Now someone tried again with the pack off chasing him and his band.

  And at night, of all times!

  “Lead,” he told 'yan, and then to others, “We run, but keep an eye back toward the trees.”

  Fiáh'our glanced once at Gän'gehtin, still bloodthirsty where sluggïn'ân were concerned. How many years had it been since the shirvêsh, then a boy, had lost both his merchant father and his mother, the latter once a shirvêsh of his own temple?

  As yet, there had not been enough killing to kill off Gän'gehtin's hate and anguish. And there was Karras following last, eyes down, and more sullen than ever.

  So what was it now, the usual or something else?

  Fiáh'our had no time for it. With a quick nod to the two humans, Lieutenant Urval and his ex-prisoner, Jackdaw, a bandit, they all scurried off into the plain's tall grass. He was tired of running and in a foul mood, so he had more than enough foul words for any foolhardy villager they caught.

  'yan soon slowed and pointed ahead.

  Fiáh'our thought he heard thrashing in the grass.

  It was dangerous to call out, considering the pack would be up and about. That someone squeaked in fright, perhaps thinking the same, was that much worse. And those steps ahead ran away all the faster.

  Fiáh'our still spotted a familiar flailing cloak for an instant. Worse again, it belonged to the last one he expected to be this stupid.

  “Kaitlin, stop!” he snapped, nearly voiceless but harsh.

  Whirling amid her run, she nearly stumbled into a backward fall. The whites of her wide eyes were the next things Fiáh'our saw clearly.

  Like all humans who lived the hard life out here, Kaitlin the “elder,” who was not truly old, was almost as tan as her cloak, skirt, and wool pullover. So was all the grass in the dark, making it difficult to spot her though not to hear her.

  As she crept closer, her chocolate-colored hair looked black in the dark and was a whipped mess half hanging over her face. Likely she was covered in clinging seeds and broken stalks of wild grass.

  “What do you think you are doing?” he demanded in closing on her. “How many others do the same... because you did?”

  “Fiáh'our,” she exhaled, rushing at him. “Thank the trinity!”

  He rolled his eyes, having no patience for so many Numan religions.

  “Maker, toiler, and dreamer be damned!” he growled at her. “I expect more sense from a retired sage.”

  “Hush,” 'yan warned.

  “Mind your language!” Kaitlin scolded, stepping in on Fiáh'our. “You will be civil if not civilized.”

  She was not tall for a human but still looked down a bit at him. Close up, soft crinkles around her eyes made her appear stern.

  Fiáh'our ground his teeth, grabbed her wrist gently but soundly, and turned.

  “Back to village,” he rumbled. “No more evening strolls... for anyone.”

  Kaitlin heaved on his grip—and her boots slid across the flattened grass.

  “I'm not the one you need to catch!” she almost shouted.

  “Could we please be quieter,” 'yan warned, a little loud himself.

  “Yes,” hissed Lieutenant Urval somewhere behind in the dark.

  Fiáh'our stopped listening to everyone. If the others had any wits left, they would keep quiet as well. It was bad enough dealing with Karras' panic and Gän'gehtin's blind bloodlust. With all of that, how was he supposed to keep villagers from running off to their deaths like sheep catching a whiff of a wolf?

  The tension against his grip relaxed. That was a relief, until someone reached around and snatched his beard.

  Fiáh'our's eyes popped wide. He slammed a boot on the earth and pivoted only to find Kaitlin right in his face again.

  “Shut your mouth and listen!” she warned. “I'm not the one you need to catch.”

  “You are the only one that I—”

  “William was gone when I checked on the children,” Kaitlin hissed at him. “And so were his brother and sister!”

  Fiáh'our was struck mute.

  “Quiet, both of you!” 'yan ordered.

  The edge in his voice was most unusual, and Fiáh'our glanced aside. When 'yan lost his temper, it was time to listen.

  “Do you smell it?” the tall Lhoin'na whispered, peering all around.

  Everything—everyone—was silent but for the growing breeze in the grass. Fiáh'our faced into that breeze and sniffed it.

  “The wind is in from the northwest,” Urval added, half crouched a dozen paces off that way. “Out of the trees... but closer.”

  Fiáh'our did not smell anything, but if 'yan did, then how many of them were out here?

  “Come... now!” Kaitlin added, heaving on his arm instead of his beard.

  “Not you,” and he jerked her back.

  Even the ex-sage had panicked at hearing pursuit. The last thing they needed was small children and a boy doing the same and running right into sluggïn'ân. Whoever went after them had to be someone they would trust on sight—if seen—or at least not panic them.

  A soldier—and officer—of Malourné seemed best.

  “Urval,” Fiáh'our whispered. “West by southwest toward Fieldhaven, as that is where they would run. Three terrified children will make an easy path to spot in the grass, but for the pack as well. When you have them, hasten for Irin's. Do not come looking for us.”

  The lieutenant grunted and rose with the soft click of his crossbow being cocked. As he pulled a quarrel from his hip case, Fiáh'our knew this choice was not enough. No one should be out here alone.

  He eyed grungy, hairy Jackdaw and then, “Karras, go with the lieutenant.”

  Urval's silhouette froze. Three strides to the lieutenant's right, Karras' shape rose up, much shorter but much wider, and just stood there.

  Whoever went with Urval had to be the least intimidating to frightened children in the dark, and not someone looking for a fight. That eliminated both Jackdaw and Gän'gehtin. Fiáh'our also needed to keep 'yan for what came next.

  As he was about to snap at the young one to get moving, Karras stepped off after the lieutenant.

  Fiáh'our still began to worry as the pair broke into a trot and vanished. He disliked having his apprentice beyond his watchful eyes, but there were too few present for what had to be done.

  “Gän'gehtin, Jackdaw, straight west,” he ordered. “'yan and I west by northwest. We fan out in pairs between the tree line and the children's path. If any of us find something else, the rest come running.”

  Without waiting for acknowledgment, Fiáh'our turned on Kaitlin.

  “And you... keep quiet, keep up, and do what I say.” At her sharp-eyed scowl, he looked over her long cloak, wondering one last thing. “Do you have your healer's satchel with you?”

  Kaitlin shook her head. “When I found them gone, I didn't turn back for anything.”

  Fiáh'our grumbled again. For what they faced, if the worst happened, a healer's skills might not amount to much anyway. And he still could not smell anything but himself.

  3. The Other Monster

  Karras trotted along behind the lieutenant, still confused as to why Fiáh'our had sent him instead of one of the others. If the lieutenant stumbled upon any of the pack, Gän'gehtin would have been the better choice. Karras hated admitting that the old boar was right.

  So scared all of the time, more than once he had had to be saved.

  Whenever Urval slowed to listen and peer ahead, the pause was brief but unnerving. And then the lieutenant halted too quickly, swept an arm back, and hit Karras in the chest before he could stop. The lieutenant raised the crossbow with his other hand and aime
d ahead.

  Karras stopped breathing.

  Urval simply stood facing along the matted swath through the grass. The lieutenant did that for so long that Karras finally had to breathe again.

  He heard nothing but his own pants, the wind, and the hiss of swaying grass. When he peered all around, for as far as he could see in the dark, there was only grass rolling like tan-tainted ocean swells before a storm. He glanced down but was not certain if the path in the grass had been made by children or something else... or both in the latter stalking the former.

  Something slapped him in the chest, gripped his hauberk, and he shuddered at the lieutenant's harsh whisper.

  “What's the boy's name again?”

  His mind blanked, though he had heard Kaitlin say it. It took two breaths before he remembered.

  “Wil... William.”

  “All right, watch the grass but stay behind me.”

  Urval released his grip and moved on at a trot with the crossbow aimed ahead. Even so, it seemed long before Karras heard something like panting—or was that just him? Faint thrashing ahead could be only wind-whipped grass. He could not see clearly with the lieutenant in front of him, but then he heard panicked whispers and small footfalls.

  “William, stop,” Urval called out in a hard whisper. “This is Lieutenant Urval.”

  In another dozen strides, the lieutenant halted.

  “You're coming back with me,” Urval ordered.

  “No!” answered a quavering voice pitched too loud.

  “Yes, you are,” and the lieutenant advanced.

  “We lost our...” and he choked off. “We lost everything back there!”

  The boy's angry shriek sharpened Karras' fright. He quickly looked around, though he kept hidden from sight a few steps behind the lieutenant.

  He had glimpsed William Alder a few in the village, though most children only appeared outside around noon. They climbed out of cold-cellars dug under cottages and blinked and squinted, even on overcast days. It was not a way for any child to live, but at least they did live—most of them.

  “There's no one—nothing—left for us there!” the boy added.

  The lieutenant stalled and fell silent for two breaths.

  “I know,” Urval answered softly, “but you're putting others in danger, including your siblings. No one can make a night run to Fieldhaven. It's not safe even in daylight, now please, come with me.”

  Karras knew what William had almost said.

  We lost our parents—we lost everything back there.

  Their mother and father had stayed up every night in the rotations to help guard gaps in the stockade made by the pack trying to break in. Gretchen Adler had screamed once eleven nights ago. All they found when they came running was silence and an empty gap in the stockade.

  None of them had heard or seen what had happened to her husband, Walter. No one noticed the claw-torn earth stained in spatters around a dark wet patch—not until dawn.

  Karras grew anxious, crept in, and peeked around the lieutenant.

  William was nothing more than a thin, dim form in the dark, perhaps as tall as Karras himself. In facing the lieutenant, the boy held something up and swung back at the ready to strike. Karras never had a chance to make out that makeshift weapon.

  A child's shriek pierced his ears.

  A tiny form in white bolted into the tall grass from behind William.

  Smaller Jeron, on William's other side, turned screamed out.

  “Kaity!”

  “Damn you!” Urval snarled at Karras before he rushed the boys. “Get the girl, fast!”

  Karras heard a metallic clank as the lieutenant charged ahead. He had not seen Kaitlin the “younger” until too late, but he knew fear and could guess hers.

  Little Kaity had seen a shadow—another monster—appear behind the lieutenant. Something out in the dark had moved like one of her nightmares.

  That scream was the only thing Karras had ever heard her utter.

  The lieutenant's curses tangled with William's and little Jeron's shouts. The three tore up grass in their struggle, and a like sound of tearing grass carried on the wind ahead and to the left.

  Karras veered toward that at a run, but the more the struggle faded behind him, the more he clearly heard and tracked that other sound ahead... and then to the left.

  Karras halted as his own fear took hold.

  One sound of grass tearing far behind him, another ahead, and...

  Another ahead but more to the left.

  Not two but three sounds in the dark.

  Karras peered blindly in listening. That third sound seemed to close on the second. He charged toward the second, but he already knew he would not reach it before the third could.

  “Kaitlin—Kaity—come back, run to me!”

  4. Hide and Seek

  Fiáh'our crouched in the grass with 'yan and Kaitlin as they listened for any movements nearby. They heard only the cold breeze in the grass.

  “We have gone too far,” 'yan whispered.

  “Then we turn south to find the others,” Kaitlin urged.

  Fiáh'our scowled.

  'yan might be right, but turning toward Gän'gehtin and Jackdaw or trying to reach Urval and Karras could leave the other pair exposed and out of reach. Then again, he had not heard either pair in a long while amid the sound of swaying grass, and something was very wrong about all of this. He had that uncomfortable itch in the seat of his pants.

  With 'yan so close and quiet in waiting, Fiáh'our relented with a sigh.

  “Very well, but we swing in ahead, so we do not startle Jackdaw and Gän'gehtin by coming up behind.”

  He rose, offering a hand to assist Kaitlin, but before she took it...

  A distant scream twisted Fiáh'our away.

  'yan rose and lunged two steps toward that sound before glancing back.

  Fiáh'our barely got out “run” when the lhoin'na took off.

  Splitting up was dangerous, but at a child's scream, Urval and Karras were in trouble. Immediate threats came first, and 'yan could move faster on his own.

  Fiáh'our grabbed Kaitlin's hand to follow, but she reached around the front of his broad belt. He lost his grip as he turned, and she yanked one of his large, triangular war daggers from its sheath. She stood gripping the stout hilt for a rughìr hand with both of her narrow ones.

  “Now we go,” Kaitlin said, though she sounded uncertain.

  There was no time to be certain.

  Fiáh'our headed after 'yan, knowing something worse was coming. From what he had learned in a long life, sluggïn'ân lived by clan and tribe, much like his own people. Of course, saying that to a rughìr could get your head cracked, but sluggïn never acted alone unless necessary.

  There was more than one out here.

  Fiáh'our was in no mood for a blood-game of hide-and-seek, and Karras was in trouble again. Knowing 'yan could strike from afar with a bow did not temper Fiáh'our's worry. There was also Gän'gehtin and Jackdaw; the young shirvêsh would have run toward that scream.

  Fiáh'our felt something he could not hear over grass lashing his pants. He halted in looking everywhere, reached up, snatched his axe's haft, and pulled Burskâp at the ready.

  “What?” Kaitlin whispered.

  He needed to find it before he could put her behind himself. Ahead to his right, tall grass rippled against the wind in a line toward the scream. At least he could get behind it, but he took only threes strides before halting again—at an itch in his pants.

  Fiáh'our looked about.

  A second line of spreading grass tops rushed toward him, and he quickly shoved off Kaitlin the opposite way.

  “Stay back four strides!”

  For the first time, he cursed his people's—his beloved—eternal Bäynæ.

  Oh, two-faced ancestors, you are a pain in my itching ass!

  5. Tagged

  Sweat felt as if it would freeze as Karras ran, and dwarves were not built for this much running in o
ne day and night. The ku'ê'bunst's cold metal haft grew slick in his grip as he watched two paths of rippling grass converge ahead of him.

  Another small scream, and his breath caught.

  The smaller ripple veered away from the other. The wider one in pursuit closed even faster. Every thought in Karras' head died; he screamed out... something.

  That larger ripple slowed.

  Without thinking, he threw the ku'ê'bunst at it.

  Karras groped blindly at his lower back as the weapon spun end over end through the dark. His thick fingers closed on the handle of a tanner's knife scavenged in the village three nights ago.

  The ku'ê'bunst fell from sight into the grass.

  A clank and a yelp came instantly.

  The larger ripple vanished.

  Karras was so stunned that he had hit something that he did not yell out for Kaity. Grass stalks spread suddenly.

  That larger swath reappeared and raced at him.

  He froze up in realizing his mistake. There was nowhere to run out here—if he could have outrun it.

  Karras set himself, small blade in hand, as he watched the spread of lashing stalk-tops close on him. Grass tore around snarls, louder and louder, until they seemed to echo in his left ear.

  That strange doubling noise was wrong.

  His eyes widened just before open jaws of teeth and fangs filled his sight. Something slammed the side of his helmet. Claws raked iron banding, and he lost sight of everything. A thrashing, snarling bulk slammed his whole body, but he did not go down this time—until it latched hold of him with all fours.

  Its weight and speed drove him off balance. Growls and snaps were all he heard as he toppled to his right into the tall grass—and almost landed on his own knife. A paw-hand raked along his helmet's edge.

  Searing pain rose behind his left temple.

  Karras rolled away in slashing out with the knife.

  It was on him again quickly. If he did not get up, he was dead. If he did, he would be dead soon after. The other one—the first one—that had turned from Kaity would reach him any breath now.