Andrasta grunted. “Maybe someone tried to chop this place down before, but realized it was pointless.”
“Well, I wish someone would think of something. This place serves no good purpose,” said Jahi.
“Not entirely true,” Rondel said. “Without The Blood Forest, Laughter in Death would have never been written. And that would be our loss.”
“I disagree. The song is only meant to scare the listener, not entertain them.”
“Sometimes people want to be frightened. Didn’t you ever ask your sister to tell you a scary story?”
Jahi scowled. “All right. But you have to at least admit that the name of the song is dumb. I mean what’s so funny about dying? Where did the title even come from?”
A faint cackle sounded to their right, a single voice piercing the quiet of the forest. They all whipped their heads in that direction. A screeching peel of amusement ripped through the air to their left. Hoots of delight permeated from behind them. More voices joined the others until the entire forest resonated with glee.
The horses panicked, and despite their best efforts to hold the reins and even mount the creatures, all three were thrown back as the animals ran back down the path they had come.
The mocking laughter stopped.
“Their merriment will pierce you down to your bones.
In the silence that follows, never has a man felt so alone.”
Rondel’s whispered voice sent a shiver up Jahi’s spine. “Laughter in Death seems pretty fitting to me.”
Jahi swallowed, swiveling his head, looking for the first sign of whatever had created the awful noise. “What do we do?”
“Fire would be good,” came Andrasta’s calm voice.
A ball of flame formed in each of Jahi’s hands.
A small, green blur the size of a cat flew past Jahi’s face on its way to Andrasta. Before he could shout a warning, the woman pivoted. Two small thumps followed. The remains of the blur lay on the forest floor, half at Andrasta’s feet, half at Rondel’s while black ichor poured from the wounds.
Gods, I barely saw her sword come up.
Rondel kicked at the top half of the creature by his foot. “Rackals. Ugly little suckers.”
Jahi agreed. The creature had the skin and color of a tree frog, but the size and shape of a hairless monkey without the tail. With another nudge of the boot, Rondel rolled it over.
The former minstrel cursed. “Does something that small really need a mouth that big? And look at the teeth. . . .”
Andrasta spat. “There’ll be more.”
A sound that reminded Jahi of little feet pounding the earth began. With it came high-pitched snarls, chattering teeth, and renewed laughter.
Jahi realized he still had a ball of fire in his hand. He threw it into the darkness where he heard the loudest of the noises. It struck the earth, burning little of the underbrush, but providing enough light to see the hundreds of pea-green figures closing fast on them. Quickly he sent balls of fire in every direction, looking for a way out. However, he was met with similar results.
Panic washed over him as he struggled to find air.
“Jahi,” yelled Andrasta. He turned to her, expecting some form of berating. “Remember. Think of Dendera.”
As soon as he heard his sister’s name, Jahi’s breathing calmed. Fire reformed in his hands.
Rondel touched his arms. “No. Earth. Bury the things.”
Jahi nodded, the flames dissipated. He focused on the ground just in front of the creatures closing in on them. Down he drove invisible hands, quickly pulling apart the earth before withdrawing and repeating the process over and over.
Dozens of creatures fell headlong into the parting dirt, their maniacal laughter turning into fearful screams. The creatures behind the first wave had enough time to clear the gaping holes with giant leaps. Some chose not to chance the ground any longer and continued toward them through the trees, swinging limb to limb.
A yank of his arm jerked him to the side. “Good. Now, we fight back to back,” said Andrasta.
If time had gone slow to Jahi before, it felt like it lost all meaning with flashes of his young life flying across his vision. An image of Dendera’s kind face rested at the front of his mind. He clenched his jaw and focused.
In one hand Jahi created a ball of flame, in the other his invisible fingers lifted rocks from the ground. He flung both fire and rock forward, immediately readying the next spell. A satisfied smile formed on his face as rocks knocked the creatures backward or zipped right through their small bodies, black ichor gushing out in fountains. Unlike the trees, his fire spells worked on the creatures and their skin crackled from the heat.
The stench of the burning rackals caused him to gag.
Behind him, grunts, curses, and wet hacks mixed with the continuing laughter and snarls of the creatures. He wanted to turn to see how Rondel and Andrasta fared, but he knew the second he did, it would be a mistake.
I’ll know they failed when I feel the teeth anyway.
Another wave of the creatures approached. Jahi decided to hold off on another attack in order to draw them in, canting the spell he used against Andrasta when creating a barrier of fire.
Before he finished the spell, the rackals came to a stumbling halt, wheeled, and ran, eyes wide with terror.
Jahi blinked and surveyed the area behind him. He sighed in relief as Andrasta and Rondel stood among dozens of mutilated green bodies, covered in black gore.
I guess it pays to attack from a distance in more than one way.
“What happened?” he asked.
“They looked scared,” said Andrasta, confused.
“Of course,” said Rondel, huffing. “They realized they were no match for us. You know, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
Andrasta gestured. “You’re bleeding.”
Rondel swore, turning his arm and exposing a line of red near his elbow. “Little freaks. I don’t think it’s too bad.”
A low, faint rumble sounded, like a distant thunder that reverberated through the air.
“Crap,” said Rondel, face going slack.
“What?” asked Andrasta.
“I just remembered the next line of the song. I don’t think we scared the rackals.” He repeated the verse.
“After the rackals have their fun,
Ammit will see that all is done.”
“What are you thinking?” asked Andrasta.
“Probably that we were wrong last night when we thought about that verse,” said Jahi. “Ammit is symbolic of death so we assumed that line meant the rackals would have their fun and then kill their prey. But he is also called “the destroyer.” What if it really meant the rackals will have their turn with whatever they’re hunting and then something will come afterward to destroy anything left over.”
The low thunder returned, this time louder. Then another.
Jahi continued. “Ammit is often described as having a hide and body like that of a hippopotamus. That sort of sounds like a giant one running toward us to me. Oh, he also has a head like a crocodile.”
“Wulfrons. Rackals. Ammit. Why can’t we fight something like a bear? Even a really big bear. Just something remotely normal.” said Rondel.
A deep roar shook the forest. Instinctively, Jahi raised his hands to his ears.
Andrasta started edging herself down the path. “We should probably run now.”
* * *
A branch of red leaves whipped Rondel in the face. He would have cursed if breathing wasn’t already so difficult. But he barely had enough air not to pass out. He looked over to Andrasta who dragged Jahi as they stumbled forward.
They were supposed to be running. Injuries, soreness, hunger, and dehydration weighed them down to a sort of stumble and drag.
They had managed to lose Ammit on three occasions. During those lulls, they did their best to rest and examine wounds. However, some other hazard of the forest would hamper them, placing them back in peril. Gia
nt lizards, spitting beetles, and shrieking birds amongst other things all tried killing them. They might have succeeded if not for the low thunder that always returned. Then, as quickly as a battle would begin, it would end. Every creature regardless of size or type recognized Ammit as king. None dared face him.
At least the king isn’t light on his feet, Rondel thought as the pounding footsteps rose in volume. We get more than enough warning.
“Forget the sorcery. Just worry about moving your legs,” said Andrasta.
Jahi had been craning his neck to see behind them, a ball of fire in his hands. The flames had weakened with each round of battle. Rondel knew from his travels with sorcerers that they cannot cast spells endlessly. Even the most powerful would eventually tire.
Rondel was glad Jahi had finally come into his own. He doubted they would have made it so deep into The Blood Forest without him.
A deafening roar sounded. The weight of the cry, which started low and ascended into a shrill caused Rondel to stumble. He caught himself before he fell. He was sure that if he hit the ground, there would be no amount of coaxing that could get him back up. His legs screamed at him with each step to stop, just as his lungs begged him to slow down.
Sharp cracks of branches snapping and tree trunks breaking before collapsing to the forest floor rang out.
Dear gods. How big is this thing?
Every ounce of his being told him not to look back, that if he did he would regret it. However, Rondel had always been a curious man. Asking questions to travelers was how he obtained his knowledge. Even his choice in profession had been in part the result of his curiosity to see the world.
I could have just stayed home. Played my lute and sung my songs at dances each new moon without a care in the world.
He peered over his shoulder, wincing as he stretched the slashes in his neck obtained from a bird as large as a small dog. A massive hoof the size of a stump from an ancient oak appeared through the veil of darkness behind him, slamming into the earth. He gasped, looking quickly for the head of the creature, but all he caught was shadow as the foliage from the trees hid most of it.
He spun, somehow finding the strength to increase his stride. He pulled ahead of Andrasta. His panic must have sparked something in them, because they quickened their pace as well.
“Look!” Jahi shouted.
A faint ray of sunlight pierced the gloom of The Blood Forest some hundred feet away, near the floor.
Andrasta mouthed something, but it was lost in Ammit’s next roar. Rondel put his head down, pumping his legs with everything he had. Andrasta and Jahi did the same. All three honed in on that small fleck of yellow as if they were starving and searching for the last crumb in the world.
A loud snap sounded beside Rondel. A smell that reminded him of dirty river water tickled his nostrils. He recalled what Jahi said about the head of Ammit being like a crocodile. His stomach jumped into his throat.
Leaves rustled, branches broke, and trees fell all around them as they reached their goal and left the forest. It was like pushing aside a curtain from a dark room. Sunlight blinded Rondel to the point that he had to shut his eyes from the stabbing rays. Yet, still he ran.
“Stop! Stop Rondel!”
Andrasta’s voice cut through the fog of exhaustion. Trying to stop, he tripped and careened to the ground in front of a solid rock face, skinning his knee and jarring his shoulder.
He found the strength to roll over, gasping. Jahi lay on the ground thirty feet away in the small, empty patch of land between the forest and the mountainside. Trees surrounded them on three sides, rock on the other. Andrasta did her best to stand over him, sword in hand. She swayed on her feet, staring back into the forest.
Ammit’s cry rang out once more, bouncing off the rock behind Rondel. He saw the briefest glimpse of the snout of a giant crocodile with eyes as dark as onyx.
“Why did it stop?” she asked.
“In the song, it said the creatures inside could not leave the forest,” answered Jahi. “Right Rondel?”
He nodded, too tired to repeat the verse.
“Did it say how to get out of this?” she asked, gesturing around at the trees butted against the rock face except in the area where they rested.
He swallowed but barely had enough spit to wet his dry throat. “Don’t need to. We’re here,” he managed in a hoarse whisper while thinking of the song’s lyrics.
Going back the way you’ve come
is a task suited for the deaf, blind, or dumb.
Unless despair has gripped you tight,
escape will take hands of might.
He pointed up to the side of the mountain. His hand rose with the rock face. There were far too few handholds or places to stand. Only a master climber and someone possessing a great deal of strength could scale the thing.
He realized the hand he held in the air was his damaged one. He looked at the shortened fingers and then the climb ahead of them.
The gods truly are cruel.
Chapter 16
For a few fleeting moments, Dendera had lost hope. It wasn’t completely surprising given her situation, but in her mind that was no excuse for such behavior.
She had reached the end of the last tunnel, practically beaming with excitement after rounding a turn and coming upon light shining from above. However, her excitement faded when she looked up. A narrow shaft of smooth walls rose countless feet in the air to the outside.
The task of climbing the chute seemed daunting at best. Bracing her arms and legs against the sides, she tried to shuffle herself upward but only made it a few feet off the tunnel’s floor before falling, limbs shaky.
She would never make the climb and chances were neither would any of the other girls in the chamber.
It is too tall and too smooth. I failed.
She sat there in the taunting sunlight for several minutes, debating whether she should even bother returning to the chamber.
A death of dehydration is slower, but it has to be a better option than the Heka. She thought of all the other women who would have to suffer the ritual and pushed her selfish thoughts aside. It was a silly thing to think, barely knowing any of them except for Oni, but Dendera felt obligated to brave the horrors with them.
She traveled back down the tunnel, pausing only when a brief reflection of sunlight struck her eyes near the tunnel’s floor. She squinted and groped with her hands, pulling out a chisel and hammer. The tools were old and worn, metal rusted, wooden handle rotting.
Still, Dendera’s hope returned in droves. Escape might not be an option, but retribution was a possibility.
* * *
Once everyone caught their breaths enough to hold an actual conversation, they began planning their next move. Jahi mostly listened as Andrasta and Rondel talked over the best course of action. He had been out of his element the second he decided to rescue them from his father’s dungeons. Every moment since then had been a learning experience, each more valuable than the dozens of tutors his father had provided him.
Rondel has actually seen the places I’ve only read about. Gods, he’s met those authors. And the way Andrasta fights. . . . I don’t think any of my father’s men could defeat her. And these lessons aren’t just boring theory, but real in application. Granted, some are a bit too real, he thought when considering the horrors of The Blood Forest. I can’t believe I not only fought the fairy tales, but I survived.
Jahi wasn’t sure what his father would say when he learned what they had gone through to find Dendera, but he decided he would not hide any of it. He would tell his father about his talent. There was no telling how much he could help his father if he and Menetnashte came to war.
Think on that later. One step at a time.
“What was the verse again?” asked Andrasta
“Going back the way you’ve come
is a task suited for the deaf, blind, and dumb.
Unless despair has gripped you tight,
escape will take hand
s of might.”
Rondel paused, voice changing back to normal before speaking again.
Jahi wondered if the former minstrel realized each time he spoke a verse, the pitch went higher, the cadence slower.
“Pretty obvious what we need to do,” Rondel said.
Andrasta stared at the rock face. “Tough climb.”
“If you think so that doesn’t say much for me or Jahi.”
He looked at the woman’s muscular arms. No kidding.
“Not necessarily. We’ll rest first.”
“It won’t matter,” said Rondel. “You’re the only one with the strength, endurance, and two hands.”
Andrasta pulled out one of her daggers. “Relian steel. Nothing can break it. I could use it like a chisel and make hand and footholds.”
“That might work if we had several weeks, but we don’t have the time or supplies for that.” He lifted his head and pointed. “We just need to reach that ridge. From there, the climb looks like something Jahi and I could manage.”
“Maybe I can sneak back into The Blood Forest and pull loose some of the vines to make a rope. I can climb up, tie it off, and lower the other end to help you up.”
“Not an option.”
“Why?”
Rondel bent down and picked up a rock. He wheeled and threw it into the trees. There was a small thud. The head-pounding cry of Ammit sounded. Jahi covered his ears until the cry ended.
“That’s why,” said Rondel.
“I swear I heard it leave,” said Jahi.
“It was a ruse and a fairly clever one. But the echo of the footfall wasn’t right. They didn’t match what we heard when it closed on us inside the forest,” said Rondel.
“You have a strong ear,” said Andrasta.
“Any good musician should.”
“Now what?” asked Jahi.
Rondel shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m too hungry to think straight.”
They decided they would finish the last of their food. Andrasta had been the only one to grab a pack before their horses had bolted.
Their meal consisted of a half loaf of hard bread, some dried beef, a small wedge of cheese, and two apples. The meager offerings seemed like a feast to Jahi’s empty gut. Though the food didn’t fill his belly to satisfaction, he immediately felt better from the sustenance. Thankfully, they found a small seepage near the base of the mountain which allowed them to drink more than their fill of water.
The Cult of Sutek Page 21