“There’s a road at the foot of this ridge. I see a wagon near the road.” He pointed toward the brown strip, showing here and there through the trees below. “Let’s head that way to see if anyone can help us or if there’s anything we can use.”
Searching the eyes of those who followed him, Brock found nothing but blank stares. Had hope completely deserted them? Finally, Ashland nodded, followed by Tipper, Benny, and Cam. Brock felt relieved that some of them still responded. He hopped off the boulder and started weaving his way down the hillside.
Sapped of energy, they moved at a snail’s pace. Even going downhill took more effort than they could muster without forcing each step. It was almost two hours later when they reached the road.
Even on the flat surface of the road, their pace was lethargic. It was as if their legs moved while their minds slept, lost in the haze of hunger.
They rounded a bend and the scene that Brock had spied from atop the ridge came into view. A covered wagon leaned hard against a tree, missing one wheel. The carcasses of two horses lay beyond the wagon, torn and shredded. The remains of three bloody bodies were strewn upon the road, left in a twisted mess of red, white, and pink.
As Brock neared the site, he was able to identify the bodies as a man, a woman, and a boy. The clothing and size were the indicators, for two of them no longer had a head and the third had no face. Worse yet, their arms and legs had been shredded, chewed to the bone. Flies flitted about the corpses, filling the air with their buzzing. Brock held his hand over his nose against the smell of rotting flesh.
He turned back toward his companions. “I’m going to check the wagon for food and water.”
Puri nodded grimly. “I will help.”
The others remained silent, keeping a distance from the gruesome scene. Brock pulled his extra shirt from his pack and tied it around his head to cover his nose and mouth. Puri found some cloth to do the same. He gave her a nod, and they walked toward the wagon.
As they passed the bodies of the boy and the woman, Brock did his best to remain focused beyond them, having already seen more than he wished. Once past the corpses, he approached the wagon.
Pulling aside the rear flap, he found a number of crates, sacks, and a barrel piled into the lower side of the angled wagon bed. He reached for the nearest crate and slid it toward him. With a grunt, he lifted it from the wagon and set it on the ground. Puri drew her dagger and began to pry the lid. Her fingers slid into the gap she had created, pulling the lid back to reveal the red and green peels of apples.
Through the oppressing hunger and thirst that had gripped him, a fountain of joy bubbled within Brock and he let out an involuntary chuckle. Puri looked at him, nodding.
She turned her head toward the others. “Cameron! Come over!”
Without a word, he ran toward them.
Brock turned back to the wagon and removed a heavy burlap sack. He didn’t need to untie it to know it contained potatoes. Despite the grim scene around him, his spirits began to lift. He turned and handed the sack to Puri as Cam arrived to scoop up the apple crate. The two left to join the others as Brock slid the flap aside and crawled onto the wagon bed. Prying the lid from another crate revealed dried beef wrapped in tight bundles. He replaced the lid on the crate and pushed against the barrel, feeling it heavy with sloshing liquid. Rocking it from side to side, he spun the barrel around to reveal a spigot. Carefully, he worked it loose and clear liquid began to seep from it. He bent and put his mouth to spigot, eagerly slurping the seeping water.
Brock lifted his face from the spigot and pushed it back in place. He began to giggle as a rush of hope and joy overcame him. Although banshees had murdered and eaten this poor family, they left behind a wagon filled with food and water. They would survive because of the Horde’s horrible actions.
CHAPTER 46
With full bellies and water to drink, everyone was feeling a bit better. Glancing westward, Brock found the just enough light remained in the sky to show the dwindling trail of smoke rising from the funeral pyre.
They had somehow found the will to perform the grim task of building the fire, knowing that they couldn’t leave those people’s bodies to scavengers. The poor family had endured enough. At the same time, Puri wouldn’t leave the horses to rot either. With reluctance, Brock and Cam agreed to help her push the damaged wagon onto the fallen horses. They then performed the ugly task of placing the dead family’s corpses into the wagon bed before lighting it ablaze. While the others carried the food and water to their campsite, the three watched the fire grow into a raging inferno. When the wagon collapsed onto the horses, lighting their flesh, Puri finally nodded. Cam put his arm around her shoulder and walked her toward camp as Brock followed along, expecting that Puri’s thoughts were of the horses that they had put to death before the ship sank.
Turning from the pyre, Brock glanced about the camp as his thoughts drifted to the remaining crates and sacks of food. While they had made a sizeable dent in the stores, there was more left than they could carry. When morning came, they would have to fill their water skins and load their packs before leaving the rest behind. It was certainly a better problem than the previous alternative.
Brock put his arm around Ashland as she leaned into him. They stared into the flames of their campfire as the others talked. He expected that they wanted to focus on anything but the events of the past few days. He couldn’t blame them.
Benny stood, grunting as he lifted the crate he had been using as a seat. Walking awkwardly as he carried the weight, he shuffled over and set the crate beside Brock. He released a sigh of relief as he sat back onto the makeshift seat.
“Hi, Brock,” Benny said. “How are you feeling?”
Brock glanced toward him, seeing concern reflecting in Benny’s eyes.
“I’m better now that we have food and water.”
Benny glanced back toward the smoldering pyre.
“It’s a grim business, dealing with the dead,” Benny said, his eyes landing back on Brock. “I’m afraid that this is merely the beginning.”
Brock nodded. Of that, he was sure.
“But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” Benny stared into the fire. “I’ve been thinking about what we’ve seen, about what we’ve learned.”
Brock remained silent, letting Benny explain what was bouncing around in that big brain of his.
“As we had guessed, the Horde doesn’t like sunlight. The assumption was confirmed by how they acted back there.”
Brock nodded. “It’s a good thing, too. It was a crucial part of the plan.”
“Yes, but there’s more.” Benny looked him in the eye. “When they make those wailing sounds, fear seems to grip my body and freeze my brain all at the same time. When Cam swings that sword of his, it all just washes away.”
Brock nodded. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I felt, too.”
“That leads me to my next conclusion.” Benny sat upright, ready to reveal his findings. “The Horde can use Chaos.”
Brock realized that the statement was more of a confirmation than a revelation. He hadn’t thought on it much, but he knew that Benny was correct.
Benny continued. “First, that doorway was created by Chaos. In order for it to exist in the first place, I assume that the Horde somehow made it. Second, I think that the fear we feel when they scream is also Chaos-induced. Somehow, Cam’s blade is able to dispel the effect. It protects him as the user and when he swings the sword, it frees the others in the area from this supernatural fear.”
Brock nodded. “Benny, I think you’re right on both accounts.”
Benny smiled. “Thanks, Brock. That leaves me with some questions, though.”
Brock raised an eyebrow. “Only some? I have dozens of them.”
Benny rocked his shoulders as he stared at the fire. “Remember that smaller banshee? The one we saw the first night? He was leading the others, and they responded to him.” Benny turned to look Brock in the eyes. “The others seemed to
be mindless beasts. I wonder what makes him different. I also wonder if there are others like him.”
Brock hadn’t thought of that. Could the smaller one be the key? If so, why?
Benny continued. “I also want to know how it’s possible for Cam’s blade to cancel active Chaos. From what we’ve seen, Chaos spells last for just an hour or two. Chaos hasn’t touched his blade in months or years, perhaps longer. Accordingly, there must be a way to create a permanent effect.”
Brock thought about it, deciding that Benny’s theory made sense. “You’re right, Benny. There must be a way. I wonder if the book we found covered that information. If so, I guess we’ll never know now.”
Looking into the flames of the fire, Benny nodded. “Yeah. I’d sure like to know how it works though. With it, we could do some pretty amazing stuff.”
Brock glanced back over at his friend, wondering what ideas were bouncing around in that big brain of his.
CHAPTER 47
Benny hated feeling scared and useless. In the past week, he had watched his friends save the day again and again while he cowered in fear.
First, he had shut down when they were locked in the citadel dungeon. While he had hoped that they might find a way out, he had played no part in it and had simply followed along.
As they had fled the city, his companions secured their path out of the citadel and to the ship, herding Benny along like a scared lamb. Aboard Star Dancer, it became even worse. When the huge storm began to toss the ship about, he huddled in his safe, dry cabin and prayed that they wouldn’t sink while Parker, Cam, and Brock helped the crew to keep them alive.
Once safe ashore, he had contributed nothing as others found food and water, started fires, and made the key decisions that kept the group alive. When attacking the banshees, his part had been nothing more than throwing a single burning branch into the cave before running.
Fear was the problem. He felt trapped by it. It felt as if a cocoon of fear had wrapped around him, threatening to smother him from existence. Fear had gripped Benny for days, coming to a deafening crescendo with the wails from those horrible banshees. Since, the echoes of those wails had filled his dreams. The memory of the fear set him on edge even during the day. He hated it.
Despite attempts to focus on anything else, his uselessness in the face of fear kept bubbling back to the surface. Deciding that he had enough, he focused on being strong and brave. It was time to put his fears to bed.
While Benny struggled with his own inadequacies, the others seemed to be in better spirits. With food in their stomachs, water to quench their thirst, and the low winter sun lighting their way, the dark days since leaving Sol Polis appeared to be behind them. Now traveling down the open roadway, the miles passed more rapidly. The sun was still above the horizon when the worn ivy-covered walls of Sol Limar came into view.
Brock spoke as they approached the ruins. “That must be Sol Limar. We can camp here and search the city tomorrow.”
Sinclair responded. “Hold on a minute.” Everyone stopped as he stepped closer to Brock. “I realize that we sailors have some fanciful tales, but it’s fairly well-known that this city is haunted.”
Brock stared at Sinclair with one brow raised. “Haunted? Are you referring to ghosts? I find it ironic that you did not believe in banshees but now you tell me that you believe in ghosts?”
Tenzi stepped next to Sinclair, looking up at Brock. “What the captain is saying is true. At least, it’s what all the sailors say. Nobody who enters the dead city returns. It’s why they never rebuilt.” She paused and looked down. “They say it’s possessed by restless spirits; those of who died here at the hands of the Horde.”
Benny felt a chill run up his spine, causing an involuntary shiver. He shook his head to clear it. Fear was not going to own him.
Brock looked at them both as he considered their words. “Is there anything to back these stories? Has anyone seen one of these evil spirits?”
Sinclair glanced at Tenzi, then back to Brock. “Well, other than stories of people entering the city and never being seen again, I guess not.”
Brock nodded. “Okay. Would you agree that there are other possible explanations for people entering and not returning?”
Sinclair turned to Tenzi again, who shrugged. “Well, of course.”
Brock patted Sinclair’s shoulder. “While I don’t completely dismiss the possibility of evil spirits, we should assume that something else is the cause for these disappearances.”
Benny looked at Sinclair’s face, sensing the man’s doubt though he nodded in agreement. Seeming satisfied, Brock turned to address the others.
“We know that the Horde is out there somewhere.” He pointed off to the northwest. “Thus, I think it best if we set up camp just inside the walls to hide us from view. Does anyone object?”
After receiving no response, Brock spoke again. “Okay. Let’s find a suitable spot to camp so we can build a fire. While we eat, I’ll explain what we need to do tomorrow and why.”
Benny knew what and why. Somewhere in those ruins is a secret, hidden for centuries, or so he hoped.
. . .
The fire had almost burned itself out, now barely more than orange coals. Upon nightfall, the temperature had dropped to leave a damp chill in the evening air. Wrapped within the warmth of his travel cloak, Benny rested comfortably with his head on his pack.
However, sleep was not coming easily. Thoughts of evil spirits kept creeping into his head, causing him to open his eyes and stare at the glow of the coals to ground himself. After a minute, he closed them to try again.
A howl sounded in the night, and his eyes flashed open. Another sounded, closer this time. He sat upright, his eyes searching the darkness surrounding the camp. Others sat up; some rose to their feet.
“What was that?” Parker whispered.
“I’ve heard that sound before.” Tipper said, looking at Brock.
Brock nodded. “Bacabra.”
Chills shook Benny’s spine again. He felt the tentacles of fear wrapping around him, beginning to squeeze the air from his lungs.
Brock spoke louder. “Everyone up. Arm yourself if you can. Gather around the fire and keep your back to it.”
Tenzi climbed to her feet, knives in both hands. “What’s a bacabra?”
Tipper responded. “It’s another creature from your nightmares.”
Brock nudged Tipper with his staff. “Hush, Tipper. You’re not helping.” He turned toward Tenzi. “It’s like a big dog, but three or four times larger. It has strong jaws and sharp claws. Don’t let it get close to you.”
“Um…thanks.” Tenzi said.
Benny’s eyes darted about, searching the night for signs of the beast. The remains of the city wall stood just twenty feet beyond the orange coals of the fire. They had opted to camp about a hundred feet from a break in the wall, where it had collapsed over the years. He glanced backward into the dark ruins and saw the silhouette of a tall mound not far from where they were camped.
A howl sounded, coming from near the break in the wall. Staring hard into the dark opening, Benny’s eyes strained to see if anything lurked in the darkness.
Then, something moved, something big. It blasted a howl, far louder than the previous ones. The sound caused the cold fear to resurface from within Benny.
Not waiting for it to attack, Cam and Puri began to stalk the beast. It held its ground, its massive head tilting toward Cam, to Puri, then back to Cam. Evil red eyes reflected in the dim light of the coals, sending another chill down Benny’s spine. A low growl rumbled and Benny’s hair stood on end.
With incredible speed, the beast leapt toward Puri. She dove low as Cam’s blade sliced toward the bacabra. The whirling sound of the blade loosened fear’s grip from Benny’s heart. The beast landed hard, rolling awkwardly as its severed front leg tumbled to the ground beside Puri.
Oddly, a whimper sounded from the bacabra as it tried to stand on its remaining three legs. As it rose to its
feet, a shape appeared from the darkness. Leaping onto the bacabra’s back, Tenzi landed with a knife in each hand. Both blades sank deep into the beast’s neck, causing it to lurch and collapse as she rolled off into the long grass.
Cam and Puri approached the downed bacabra, but it did not move.
Another howl sounded in the distance, followed by others in the opposite direction. More bacabra stalked the night, coming toward them.
Brock shouted. “We need a more defensible location. Everyone to the mound in the center of the ruins. Go!”
Benny didn’t even remember turning to run. It just happened. Driven by fear, he weaved his way through the rubble. Past large stone blocks and fallen brick walls, he ran. Up crumbled stairs and through fallen arches, he ran. He focused on the mound ahead, seeking it as a symbol of hope and safety.
He hit the hillside at a run as more howls sounded from behind. They were drawing closer.
Reaching the top of the hill, he scrambled over a broken wall, trying to reach safety. Somewhere ahead, there had to be safety.
Benny spun about, his eyes searching the darkness. He could vaguely see the others approaching as they navigated the ruins below. Howls sounded near the wall, redirecting his focus back to their camp. There, he could see the lurking shapes of twenty or more bacabra on the hunt. Fear twisted Benny’s gut and tightened his throat. He stepped backward, and the ground dropped beneath him.
Air blasted from his lungs as he landed hard on his stomach. Sliding feet-first on his belly, he desperately tried to grab ahold of something to stop his rapid descent. The surface he was sliding down suddenly ended. His arms flailed in the darkness, legs kicking in the air as he fell. Fear seized his faculties, fear of falling some incredible distance to an unspeakable death.
At impact, everything went black.
CHAPTER 48
The Emblem Throne (The Runes of Issalia Book 2) Page 23