by Wayne Hill
His joining tools are in a stitched backpack that Talon gave him. Tommy is also wearing the magnificent sea knife and belt that Thankwell had made for him. He feels secure, safe in the knowledge that he has allies nearby.
Seven miles down the coast, and moving at speed, Tommy's concentration is distracted by three dark shapes ambling up the narrow and rocky shore to his left. So intrigued is Tommy by the movement of these mysterious shapes, he does not notice Slash drifting landwards.
On the shore are a family of black bears, two smaller cubs trailing behind their mother. The mother bear stops and sniffs the air, her nose moving up and down like a striking fisherman’s rod. Tommy glides over towards the bears. He drops the sails, gently drifting, so he can observe these amazing creatures.
The cumbersome mother bear suddenly springs into life and bolts into the sea, with surprising agility she plunges into the waves, surfacing with a large crab in her jaws. Repositioning the crab to the rear of her mouth, she chomps down with her carnassials. Even from where he is, Tommy can hear the crack of the crab’s carapace. The mother bear drops the lifeless creature to the sandy shore, where her cubs bounce over to it, happily nipping at each other, excited to feed. It is at that moment that the mother black bear notices Tommy. She meets his curious stare and returns a curious gaze of her own, rising on her back legs and snuffling the air. Realising there is no real threat from this boat and its occupant, she returns her attention to the cubs that are fighting over parts of the crab.
Her own hunger ignored for the sake of her offspring, Tommy thinks. Fascinating.
As he looks upon the great bear, she rears onto her back legs again, and looks around the narrow rocky shore, smelling for hidden signals in the air. Tommy follows her stare down the long thin beach and notices what has attracted the huge black bear’s attention. A solitary lynx slightly further down the beach is trying in vain to drag a large dead seal towards the cliffs, away from the approaching bears. The mother bear briefly looks towards her cubs, and, seeing no immediate threats to them, she chases off the much smaller predator. The lynx quickly releases the seal, grabs a detached flipper in its mouth, and gracefully pounces up onto a low cliff ledge. From this safe vantage point, it watches the fierce bear lumbering up the beach, spraying water behind it as it runs through tidepools. Slowing now it closes on the seal carcass, the bear myopically eyes the ledge-bound lynx and grunts at it.
Tommy laughs at the scene. He compares the bear’s stature to Thankwell, but its attitude is more like fearsome little Daria. Tommy considers the lynx: maybe a little smarter, but wary of the bear’s might. Who is the lynx? Him, perhaps?
Tommy would have loved to spend all day watching the bears make their way down the narrow coast and getting into adventures, but he is aware of something. A feeling more than anything — a feeling that something in the nearby trees is watching him. Watching him like he was watching the bears and the lynx.
His smile wilting, paranoia growing, he raises the mainsails and the dual-hulls of the catamaran cuts through the steady waters once more — bouncing gently over the waves and powering Tommy away. His attention is firmly focused on the cliff tops now. A further feeling of being watched tickles at the back of his brain.
The uneasy feeling remains for two miles, five miles — ten miles. A voice inside his mind whispers to him of hideous seeking eyes and hungry drooling mouths.
The shore widens, from narrow rocky bays to the enticing, golden inlets of sandy beaches. These sun-coloured oases are only interrupted by the dark fang-like rocks protruding seaward from forested cliffs of granite located more inland.
A female voice screams. The shrill noise sends fear jolting through Tommy. The lone scream is joined by more screams and now scared voices are recognisable: men and women calling for help. The voices grow still clearer as Slash shoots onward. The treeline ends and a large clearing is visible. Stone tables and plinths surround its perimeter. Dark shapes move within the trees and things emerge from the woods at every edge of the clearing.
A hooded figure with hooded followers emerges from the tree line, their lethal, spindly-looking arm-claws stretched towards the sky in some form of supplication. Tommy wants to move, but he is frozen with fear. The priestly leader is surrounded by half-naked, twisted figures. They circle him, howling and chanting, spinning wildly. They are dancing mutants —twisted, hellish — real life monsters. Their knees bend backwards, their spines protrude from their backs in a bony shield. The hooded priest figure looks over this congregation with obvious excitement, and the deformed gang of hellish beasts are flagellating one another using long branches, or simple switches.
Tommy stares in shock, in disgust, breathing heavily.
Leave, Tommy thinks. Keep away from them. Continue down the coast, one mile from the shore. This is not your fight.
The leader’s arms raise, calming this group of freaks. There is an eerie silence — waves seem to freeze, birds seem to hang in the sky, their chattering silenced. The cool sea breeze buffeting Tommy starts to turn warm and takes on a sulphurous smell.
The demons on the clifftop silence everything with their presence — all natural order, all harmony, is corrupted by their unnatural nature. The birds circling overhead are the only witnesses to the clifftop speech from a cloaked figure.
Tommy is still too far away — or, perhaps, not far enough away — his curiosity is now fuelling his boldness to get closer and, in doing so, break his promise to Talon.
“Stay a mile from the coast, let the breeze take you down the coast to the Lanes, to your own kind,” whispers Tommy mockingly to himself, remembering Talon’s advice.
Closer to the cliff face now. Four more hooded figures appear, dragging people out from the woods.
Tommy recognises the clothing as the grey and green uniforms of cadets. He had helped bundle many prisoners, like these, into holding cells to await their banishment. As the cries of the cadets reach him, on the choking air around the cliffs, all he wants to do is sail away; to just turn around and imagine this is just another disturbing NTB illusion.
Tommy wants to call out to them — to help — but no noise issues from his pale, bloodless lips. Tommy just stares, wordlessly mouthing words, as screams start to come once more from the terrified cadets. Something deep inside Tommy’s soul screams. Adrenaline surges and, finally spurred into action, he shifts the boom and directs the boat landwards, trying to reach the cliffs as fast as possible. Up on the clifftop, the cadets are one by one being thrown to the beasts.
Tommy releases a scream of his own now — a scream of pure horror. Plumes of blood fountain, screams turn to bloody gurgles, monster's teeth and claws rend them limb from limb.
It is a scene of mass butchery the likes of which Tommy has never experienced. Tommy’s face is drawn into a mask of rage and something shudderingly powerful stirs within him. Within range now, he attaches the joining tools to his right arm, attaches the MechVision to his left eye. Snaking vein-like implants flash angrily under his skin. The excruciating pain from attaching the tool to both his eye socket and arm simultaneously knocks Tommy to his knees for a moment. Clutching his head, he feels the swarming of a thousand wasps, stinging, trying to burst from the top of his skull. Tommy’s eyes flash as a luminous violet energy shoots across his pupils. The power of the EPC is surging through him, now, and he gains control of the energy, reacquainting himself with its thrumming energies. Pointing the lethal device at the carnage unfolding on the summit of the cliff, he finds his voice.
“Seeker arrows: FIRE!”
Five bolts of golden technology blast towards the horrors on the clifftop as they bite, rip, and tear screams (and more) from the cadets. A golden ribbon flows from the joining rods to the streaking golden arrows, which slam into five different beasts. The monsters yelp with shock, but the arrows have yet to deliver their full payment. To the mutants’ mounting horror, the arrows begin to change shape inside of them. The former arrows are now golden claws, moving inside the fo
ul beast’s bodies, clutching what they can ...a tibia... a rib... an ankle bone... a skull.
One hand clutches a monster’s spinal column, instantly paralysing it. The four hooded figures, at the back of the massacre, mimic their leader’s surprise at seeing their kin attacked.
Confused, the cloaked figures lower their hoods to reveal their grotesque faces: translucent jelly-like flesh, disjointed jaws which open like flower petals and, inside their drooling mouths, hundreds of needle-sharp teeth — useless for tearing flesh but perfect for latching onto a severed limb. The black, spider-like eyes of these beasts show no emotion as they pull long blades from their sleeves. Below the cliff, Tommy’s arm is still pointing at the cliff face — at the murderers.
“Cowards!” yells Tommy, ripping back his modified arm, and, with it, the five attached monsters. The leader attempts to grab his brethren, but claws at only fresh air.
Tommy finds a strange pleasure in the confusion displayed on this monster’s face, as the carnivorous congregation soar off the cliff to their doom. The disgust on the leader’s face is obvious as he climbs over the dead and dying cadets to see his clan dead — their broken bodies strewn on the seaweed-covered boulders below.
Tommy winces at the horrific sight of mangled limbs and spilled innards on the shore. The misshapen head of the leader looks down from the clifftop and screams something unintelligible. Tommy is now thirty feet from the cliff face, he strains to hear what the rasping voice of this beast is saying, but he is still too distant.
“You carry on ranting, I’ll be with you in a minute, you ugly bastard!” Tommy shouts back.
He shines a violet light over the now returned Seeker Arrows, tainted, though they are, with bits of the yellowing monster flesh and dark red blood. Tommy bangs the back of his blast boots against the mast of the catamaran, freeing his serrated boot blades, then changes the arrows of his right arm into a large, circular cannon. Two golden cables unravel, from the side of the newly formed air cannon, and two silver foot braces appear. Standing in the braces he aims the air cannon towards the water and fires. A blast of continuous air shoots him up, over the water, and slams him into the cliff face. In Tommy’s haste, he has misread the trajectory.
Tommy clings to the cliff, face lacerated and left shoulder damaged on the jagged cliff rocks. Blood flowing freely, heart pounding, the smell from the disembowelled monsters below wafts up towards him. The rancid smell of the monster’s hidden rot mixed with half-decayed seaweed fills his nostrils. Looking down, disgusted, his stomach contents are expelled with vigour, finishing off this revolting masterpiece.
The young cadets above him are no longer screaming. They are no longer moaning. They are dead and the only sound from above is the alien ranting of a monster — a monster that he must now kill.
“What am I doing?” he whispers. Blood drips down his arm and, in his mouth, he can taste more. “Sorry Talon.”
Driving the blades of his boots into the cliff face, freeing his hands, he changes his air cannon into a grappling hook. Knowing the leader to be directly above him, Tommy fires the hook over to the left of the clifftop. The leader, up above, can be heard issuing orders to his remaining followers.
“Send word to the Dehas. Tell them what has happened. Tell them the ritual to the north was interrupted. Go! I will personally take care of this human flea.”
The cloaked monsters hesitate briefly. One of the beasts clicks its mandibles together in a short series. The others look at him and then look at the woods. The clicks could be roughly translated as: I’m sure the woods just smiled at me.
There is a swooshing sound, and a blur behind them. The Barrenites freeze, their mandibles clicking frantically. Then — with blood gushing from their neck stumps almost as high again as their bodies — their heads topple off and roll towards their leader. The leader stumbles backwards. Laughter floats down from high in the trees. A deep laughter paired with a grinding sound — like bone sliding on bone. From near the top of a pine tree, red eyes burn — like twin hell pits of death.
Tommy reaches the summit, scrambles over the top, and freezes. His eyes take in an unsettling diorama: limbs are scattered everywhere, cadets are twitching in the final stages of blood loss, and bodies of all types are woven together in a grotesque tapestry of meat. Unidentifiable organs are laid bare for the hungry birds to peck at — it is a veritable banquet for scavengers. The metallic reek of blood taints the air near the bodies.
The leader of the Barrenites is standing in a nest of guts, limbs and heads. He turns his malformed head from the forest towards Tommy. At that moment, Tommy fires the grappling hook at the creature’s midsection — not having time to change the projectile into something more suitable. The leader simply sidesteps and charges. Moving in unnaturally large bounds, he is upon Tommy in an instant, hitting Tommy in the ribs. Tommy is blasted backwards with the awesome power of the impact, regaining his balance barely before plummeting off the edge of the cliff. Lightning fast, the Leader follows up with a destructive blow to the face. Tommy’s nose explodes. Blood flows. Tommy’s vision blurs with tears and he fights to keep conscious. The monster’s hand grips Tommy’s neck and — extending his arm, as if Tommy were as light as a doll — it holds him out over the hundred-foot drop.
“Who are you? Who sent you? How many are in the trees?” The Barrenite asks, spittle flying.
Tommy is trying to retract the golden cable of the grappling hooks, but his CerebroTech does not react well to the confused thoughts of those who are concussed. So, as Tommy struggles ineffectually to loosen the vice-like grip from around his neck, the gold cable and the silver grappling hooks spasm around, far below him, like an eel pegged to the shore.
“Who sent you?” the thing repeats. “Who’s in the trees?”
Hearing no response from Tommy, the creature’s round, onyx eyes search the gory clearing. Mouldy heaps of bones — easily mistaken for grass mounds — mark the edge of the sacrificial clearing. The old dead fence in the new, silent witnesses to the recent, if brief, suffering. The leader's eyes could not see into the dark, evergreen barrier of the firs. His eyes narrow, never leaving the treeline, and he tightens his grip on Tommy’s neck. Tommy’s eyes bulge, his tongue lolls and he starts to thrash about.
“Ah, Ah, Ahh,” says a voice from the evergreens. “Leave him be, Reznor.”
“What is the meaning of this attack? You have invaded Barrenite territory! You have broken the oath!” Reznor spits.
“Broken the oath? I wrote that oath, Reznor, as you well know. Now let Astilla go — or die like the rest. I have no desire to end you, but I know who you are and the horrors of which you are capable. I command you, as one of the seven ancients, let the human go!”
Talon drops from the tree and lands on a pile of mossy skulls. He selects one and walks towards Reznor, stroking the skull with the blade of his index finger as he walks — green mould is cleared with each swipe, revealing the shining, white bone beneath.
“The Horned One? The Lost Dehas? Secretas?” Reznor says with surprise.
“Really? Only three of my titles? Have you not read the chapters of the sacred book? I’m sure I have more, yes?” says Talon. His smile is very wide now, bone-plates grinding back and forth.
“The Lost Secret, Spinning Blade, Forest Demon,” Reznor says, looking from Tommy to the approaching Talon.
“Stay calm, Astilla,” Talon says to Tommy. “Stay still and try to control all that powerful magic.” He turns his attention back to the Barrenite. “He could destroy this entire island with his magic, Reznor. Let him go.”
Reznor’s jet eyes narrow at Talon and then his grip on Tommy’s throat loosens slightly. Eyes like stab wounds flick down to look at the glowing device attached to the human.
Reznor’s grasp tightens again. Comprehension of this level of technology is beyond his intellect. Tommy starts to lose consciousness and he weakly claws at the monster’s arm.
“Reznor, what other names of mine do you know?” w
hispers Talon as he rolls the skull over to Reznor’s feet, trying to distract the Barrenite.
“You killed my clan!” Reznor screams as he savagely shakes Tommy, blood spatters from Tommy’s mangled nose.
“Evil,” Tommy manages to croak.
“Evil?” Reznor repeats incredulously, pulling Tommy’s face close to his own.
“I’ve devoured many innocent lives, Reznor,” says Talon. “So have you. But we were deceived. Deceived, Reznor! These are children, not food. Not mindless animals. They are not like us, but they are not our enemy. We have been wronged. Tricked by evil ones. We have been brainwashed into unspeakable acts of violence and debauchery — but there is another path. Please, release Astilla. He is my kin. He’s important to me.”
“These flesh sacks are responsible for the deaths of all our ancestors! How can you turn on your own kind for these pathetic, these worthless ...? These creatures are nothing more than meat for the table! This is a declaration of war, Secretas, you pathetic traitor! I promise you a war that will make up for the last ninety years of peace. I promise that the heads of your clan will burst on rocks — as mine have this day — and this monstrosity will be first!”
Reznor spits in Tommy’s face, blinding his eyes with green phlegm, before dropping him off the cliff.
Before he falls two feet, Talon’s arm grabs his chest. Reznor backs away in surprise before lunging for the pair. Talon throws a spluttering Tommy on to the blood-soaked grass, near a dead cadet, then he smiles his terrible, serrated, plate-bone smile.