by A. R. Wilson
“No.” Kidelar stabbed a stick into the ground.
Jurren looked over at the scholar, feeling both surprised and proud.
“My existence was hidden in the depths of knowledge without wisdom.” Kidelar raised his gaze. “The wisdom I’ve gained far exceeds the price of everything I’ve been through.”
Arkose put a hand on the back of his neck. “Guess we’ll see if you still feel that way after we pass through those gates.”
Kidelar’s eyes narrowed. Not in anger, but with determination. “I stand by my word.” He turned his gaze to Azredan. “I need to speak with you privately before we depart.”
The elf nodded and the two men walked a short distance off.
“What was that all about?” Arkose turned to arranging the contents of his pack.
“I think he’s choosing to surrender to the Ever One.”
Arkose suppressed a laugh. “Maybe you should join them.”
“Maybe you should thank him for saving your life yesterday.”
The man’s hand paused a moment, then returned to its task with increased force. With a shake of the head, Jurren let it go. Arkose was allowed to process life at his own pace. Several minutes later, the two men walked back. As soon as they all had their packs set right and slung into place, they walked through the open gates.
Clang!
The iron doors slammed shut behind them, moving of their own accord.
“That can’t possibly be a good sign.” Arkose craned his neck to see what caused the closure.
“Let’s keep moving.” Azredan took the lead.
The grassy field did not give way to a forest, as so many of these groves had. Instead, it rose into rolling hills. Some of them high enough to see over the labyrinth walls, if they stood on top of them. After their close call with the horsk dragon, Jurren had little desire to see how much closer they were to the castle.
An hour later, Kidelar broke the silence. “Why has Montanya not tried to contact you?”
“I am fearful to consider such a thing.” Azredan adjusted the pack to sit more square on his shoulders. “But most likely, it indicates one of two things. Either she is under too much scrutiny to safely use the croix stones, or her rebellion has been discovered.”
“And if it is the latter rather than the former?”
The elf waited a few moments before answering. “It would not bode well for her.”
Kidelar flashed a glance at Jurren. That girl had saved all their lives by warning them of the spell to poison the ring. She had risked so much to protect Jurren from the secret revenge of the elves of Chlopahn.
By the peak of the noon heat, which had grown as summer neared its end, a horrible smell burned in Jurren’s nose. Something like the stench of a dead animal laying undisturbed for several days. As the odor increased, he could almost seeing the bloating carcass in his mind. Belly extended. Swarms of flies euphoric over their tantalizing find. Then the horrendous pop when a scavenger finally stumbled upon it. The inside of his nose started to burn, trickling into the back of his throat, forcing him to gag. He lifted his head to suggest they deviate from their course, and saw Kidelar holding the side of his head. A vision? Then Jurren sensed it too. They had drawn near to the Living Death. Azredan kept marching.
“We have to turn around.” Arkose coughed twice as he spoke.
“If we do, it’ll track us faster.” Azredan quickened his pace.
“That smell is behind us?” Kidelar adjusted his cloak to wrap a piece over his mouth. “Wait, I sense it. I can feel it lumbering in my mind.”
Arkose copied the gesture of wrapping his cloak over his mouth “This is the most painful smell I’ve ever—” He gagged again.
“We need to find a place to center our attack.” Azredan climbed a hill. Halfway in his ascent, he turned and pointed. “There.”
In the distance they saw a stone wall. The labyrinth. Slimy flopping sounded behind them. Chills worked on the back of Jurren’s neck, and he gritted his teeth. He had to keep his senses focused on options, not fear.
Arkose wrapped his cloak to form a double layer over his nose and mouth. His muffled voice barked with disgust. “What is that?”
Following his gaze, Jurren turned to see a river of rotting pieces of dead bodies flowing towards them. Bloody feathers, peeling flesh, broken bones, severed limbs, and ghastly heads slithered along the ground. How was it possible for carnage to flow? And uphill? Living Death... His brain registered the tug of Azredan on his arm. Jurren pulled at Arkose while the elf urged Kidelar forward. The slimy flopping increased. Jurren gave a quick glance back to see the river gathering into a dam. They still had at least an hour of running until they reached the wall. Not that he was certain the Living Death could be contained by the wall. Or that there wouldn’t be a closed gate barring them from an exit. But any direction beat no direction.
Shooting another glance at the flow, he saw the dam of dead bodies and pieces had gathered as tall as the hills and continuing to grow.
“What are we looking for?” Jurren called out his question only as loud as he dared. Could that thing understand their words?
“Open space to move.” Azredan cut to the right.
Three rises later, they came to a wide depression in the ground as though three or four broad hills had been scooped out into a vale.
“Here, spread out.” Azredan cut straight across the open field.
“And do what?” Arkose stumbled, trying to look over his shoulder, and barely regained his balance before falling.
“Fear not!” The conviction of Azredan’s voice sparked awareness in Jurren.
Everything created in the Inner Kingdom elicited fear from those who passed through by design. Fear was Einiko’s ultimate weapon, which is why he used living forms of fear against his opponents. Power over fear would give them what they needed to survive. Fear of his wife’s safety, of Tascana’s safety, of his own life, could no longer be part of the thought process. The Ever One called him to this quest. He was chosen to defeat the ruler of this land, and he would succeed no matter what came out from behind those hills.
A few bodies hovered between two mounds. They rested atop a mass of other rotting pieces. As the form came into the open, Jurren lowered his stance in preparation. A lumpy mass, in the shape of a giant, lumbered forward. Bodies and pieces from goblins, eagle women, minotaurs, chandrins, humans, and others all stacked on top of each other. The wind shifted and Jurren resisted the urge to purge the odor from his lungs. Rotting pieces of flesh dripped along the ground as the mountain of death walked towards them.
“Fear nothing!” Azredan’s voice echoed across the gap.
The Living Death shifted in the elf’s direction and arched out its arms as it walked. Jurren shrugged off his pack, and tossed it aside. Pulling up a corner of his cloak, he secured it in place to protect his gag reflex from a stench so commanding he could feel it coating his throat. Readying his sword, he analyzed the distance between them. He charged forward with blade raised to shoulder height. The glazed eyes of a goblin stared at him from the creature’s ankle. Its mouth flung open in a silent scream. The Living Death stopped and swung its broad shoulders towards him. Jurren slashed through the goblin, and several other beings composing its lower calf. The giant’s stump slammed to the ground. Chunks of flesh crumbled apart as the creature pulled away from its severed foot.
He rushed to the other ankle. Slice! The ground shuddered as the hulking mass crumbled to its knees. Pieces, chunks, and whole corpses slithered around him as the form arranged itself back into a single entity. A black, pointed leg wriggled into the heap of death. Was that a piece of the spider woman? Slashing and slicing, cutting and forging, he ripped through the pile.
Flickering movement to his right showed Kidelar in the middle of the fray, preventing any limbs from forming to reconstruct the Living Death. Then Arkose came from the opposite direction. Skin, meat, bones, fat, eyes, and other indiscernible things gave way under their swords. An ebb
of pieces would crawl up Kidelar, and Jurren would hack them back. Swarms of bodies would pool around Jurren, and Arkose would slash them down while Azredan shifted to protect Kidelar.
“Do we have any oil?” Jurren cut through another goblin face.
Kidelar reeled in his direction “What? Why?”
“We need something flammable!”
“Can you even fathom the quantity required to set this entity ablaze?”
“Got any better ideas?”
The scholar ceased swinging, eyes wide. “Yes. Follow me.”
He clambered out of the melee. After working themselves free, the other men followed. They circled wide to snatch up their packs, then dodged behind the nearest hill. Jurren took up the rear, occasionally glancing back to see the form pulling itself together.
“What’s your plan?” Arkose charged hard after Kidelar.
“Trust me!” He kept running.
Jurren kept pace behind them. Several minutes later, he heard the thudding rhythm of the Living Death’s pursuit. Just what did Kidelar have planned? The battle had bought them some time for a head start, but the creature would catch them eventually. Which it did. Another round of bloody, rotting carnage spilled around them as they reduced the walking hulk to a pile of chunks unfit for a compost heap. Then Kidelar took off again, insisting they follow him.
Though Jurren wanted to slap the man for enacting his fool plan without any information, that inner knowing kept him calm. Kidelar had clearly understood something hidden. His actions weren’t out of fear, but determination. That same fierce resolve during the night when he braved the eagle women as any trained warrior.
After two more exhausting assaults, they made it to the wall.
“This was your big plan? Pen us in?” Arkose threw up his hands.
“Trust me!” Kidelar’s voice purred with a mixture of rage and fatigue. “That thing has no thought process. Only reaction. It repeats the same responses in every battle. This time, we ride that wave of carnage all the way over the wall.”
Arkose paused. “And then what?”
“Not one creature has followed us out of its own realm of imprisonment. Until we can find a way to set that creature ablaze, this is the best hope we have.”
Rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, Arkose nodded. “Let’s hope this works.”
Kidelar gave a curt, nod then turned to wait. Living Death worked its way towards them. Holding position until it was almost upon them, Jurren lunged forward to strike. A long arm reached down and knocked him into the wall. The crack of his skull against stone made his ears ring. Shaking off the double vision, he tried again. An arm swung at him. Since when does this thing fight back? He slashed upward and took off the end of its forearm. As it recoiled, he realized Azredan had managed to take out the ankle. Arkose completed the job on the other one.
Death spilled around them. As the masses pulled together, the men fought to stay on top of the pile. A few times, Jurren had to slash through a mass threatening to form a limb. As the pile morphed upward, it pulled away from the wall.
“We have to keep it flowing that way.” Azredan stabbed his blade down and cut off a collection rising near his feet.
The Living Death had almost risen to its full height, bringing the top of the wall into view. Jurren barked a shout at Arkose, poised to sever another massing limb. As the man pulled up, Jurren ran along the stump and threw himself forward. Leaning into a dive he landed on his chest with his legs hanging off the ledge. He scrambled to a stand atop the wall.
As Jurren pulled out a bundle of rope, Azredan lithely followed him in his leap of faith. The elf grabbed one end and tied it around himself, as though anticipating the plan. Nodding, Jurren tied a loop at the other end and barked another shout at Arkose. The other man steadied himself on the Living Death as it started to sway farther away. With the weight of his full body, Jurren hurled the rope.
“Secure it around the both of you. Now!”
Arkose pulled a slipknot through the loop and hooked Kidelar into it. The moment it tucked under their arms Jurren slammed into Azredan. Launching his feet backwards, Azredan aided in the momentum as they sailed over the other side of the wall. Halfway to the ground, the rope caught firm. Kicking their feet against stone, Jurren and the elf worked to pull the rope to the ground. The tether jerked several times as they inched their way down. Once at the bottom, they pulled in tandem to ensure the other men made it to the top of the wall.
“We’re here!” Kidelar’s shout caused Jurren to forget the burn of the rope in his hands. “We’re heading to the gate.”
“Just jump!”
“And plummet twenty feet onto stone?” Kidelar started jogging along the top of the wall. “I can see the gap from here.”
Arkose waved as he followed behind the scholar. “He’s right. Meet us there.”
Jurren came up to a wall and slapped it. Not only did he need to reach his friends, but now he had to find them, too.
“This way, we’ll get there.” Azredan urged him back into a run.
Dozens of turns later, Jurren heard the same screech of a horsk dragon. Had Kidelar and Arkose made it to the gate yet? He increased his pace. A few more turns, and Jurren slammed into Kidelar coming around a corner. They collapsed into each other and fell to the ground.
“Did the dragon see you?” Azredan put out two hands to help them up.
“It’s quite possible. We heard its cry as we descended onto the gate.” Kidelar brushed off his pants.
“Kind of feels like that thing is tracking us.” Arkose flicked away a clump of grey flesh from his leg.
“The horsk dragon is always seeking for runners.” Azredan adjusted his pack and held out his hand for Jurren to take the lead. “It is capable of great speed when motivated.”
“There is a chance the horsk dragon is seeking us out on Einiko’s orders.” Jurren started walking.
Kidelar gasped.
“Slim chance.” Azredan shot Jurren a hot glance. “Einiko also produces mass quantities of minions to keep the dragon fed and trained to hunt. We’re not far from the feasting he enjoyed upon the eagle women.”
“But we need to consider the possibility.”
Azredan stopped, turning to face Jurren. “I expect you to know better by now. Anything the horsk dragon seeks it finds, and returns to its master. If you were on the list, you wouldn’t be standing here.”
Kidelar held up a hand. “Yes, but we are occasionally fighting for our lives. That tends to slow one down quite a bit. So, perhaps we should get going.”
“What lies ahead for us fearless leader?” The sarcasm in Arkose’s tone made Kidelar grin.
Jurren shrugged and hooked his thumbs in the straps of his pack. “A desert full of scorpions and other stinging creatures.”
“Oh good, I was hoping for something nice and easy.”
CHAPTER 24
Tascana sat in the library waiting for Jerricoh to bring her another book. Why did her hand continue to meander its way to rubbing her belly? Almost as if it had a mind of its own. When Jerricoh came around the bookcase, she noticed his eyes lowering to her stomach. She clasped both hands together on the table.
“Here is your next round of studies.”
Opening the cover, she invited him to sit with her. For some strange reason, he accepted the offer without word or hesitation. She almost asked him why. But because of the many claims she had spoken to Einiko, she dared not voice her confusion. They had to keep up the appearance of being motivated by love. Well, she did at least.
Reading the first passage felt so benign, she had to read it again to be sure she had taken the spell in. Where was the sinking feeling? Being overwhelmed by the overflow of her soul? She picked at her lip, wondering if there was something wrong with this book. Or with her. What had changed between today and yesterday? She dropped her eyes to her lap. The potential beauty of her unborn son filled her heart. Was it possible that love had driven out fear?
She pus
hed through her morning lessons. Each page easier to read than the one before. When Rothar brought her afternoon meal, she wolfed it down and returned to reading.
Sometime afterward Jerricoh, wandered off to find a book. When he returned, he moved his chair a little closer so it rested up against hers. Tascana fought the urge to give him a look of ‘since when do you want to be around me?’ But it was nice though, having him act so comfortable around her. She put her elbow up on the armrest, and accidentally bumped into his wrist. Before she could pull away, he laced his fingers into hers. He pulled her hand up to his face and rested his cheek against it.
Ok, now I know you’re losing your mind.
Einiko wasn’t even watching them. Not a single unseen eye pressed in the room. Why would Jerricoh put on the pretense of being close to her if they didn’t need to act the part at the moment?
As that thought sunk in, a lump formed in her stomach. Did she dare allow this risk? If either of them gave into the temptation for this to become real, it put them both in danger. Einiko could use one of them to hurt the other. But if she pulled away and offended him, she might lose him as an ally. Which was the greater consequence?
His face felt smooth against her hand. Much softer than she thought it would. The warmth of his skin surprised her. Was he getting flush?
Stop it! Just stop it!
They were both doing what they needed to do to survive in this place. Einiko’s belief in her attachment to Jerricoh kept him unpunished. That, and her new ability to study at a faster pace. Maybe this hand holding was nothing more than brotherly affection, or an act of gratitude for not having any new scars.
That has to be it.
When he announced the time to go to the gardens, he didn’t release his grip. She was grateful for a pregnancy bladder that demanded her immediate attention. Sitting in the privy, she relished those few moments to herself. Her thoughts drifted to that day he and Einiko stared into the Seeing Pool. Were they really watching Daddy come for her?