by K M McGuire
The trees framed the violent apparition summoned by the fire. A sense of fear crept at the base of Voden’s skull, knowing the creator of the extensive exhalation of smoke was indifferent to what was caught by its blazing tongues. The scent of smoke abounded, where the perfume of cinder was the first nuance shifting through his nose. Something unpleasant slid amid the homely aroma which curdled the empty void inside Voden’s stomach. His heart hastened, his nerves swelled, and his nose tried to squelch the odor. The light thickened as the knuckled hemlocks gave into the tight clearing hiding the hut.
They were met by the heated cackle of vermillion flames, dancing across the surface of a bonfire. The tiny particles of burning ash flickered from the bloom of a rancorous, morphing flower, like vacant eyes searching for a new victim to consume. They had found favor in the hut that sat behind the conflagration, weeping with shuddering lights, while the flames cracked victoriously within the sodden wood, popping like bones. It lingered on the dingy shingles of bark, weary of the moldy moss cascading down the surface of the hut. It was the last bastion that protected the disheveled home. Yet, the flames brooded along the surface, drawing out and extinguishing whatever it could take, turning the shack into its captive.
It bellowed heat towards Voden and Andar, spirited like a dragon bent on torturing the maiden into becoming no more than a smoldering heap. Voden felt Andar nudge him roughly. Voden turned his gaze from the screaming fire.
“Ma’am!” called Andar through the roar. Voden saw a little old woman, sitting in an old rocking chair, staring emotionlessly into the inferno ready to engulf her house. She made no attempt at moving, as though she didn’t even hear the boys calling to her. Her rocking was the only thing that proved she still lived, eyes glittering with glassy reflections of sweltering fire. Smoke unfurled from the flame, brushing under her nose, and she refused it a wince or a cough.
“Miss! Please, we need to get you to safety!” Andar screamed, throwing his bag on the ground. He glanced at Voden. “Stay back for now,” he insisted, when he noticed Voden mimicking his actions. “It’ll be safer this way.”
Voden nodded quietly, put off by the request, though he understood. Andar rushed towards the woman, covering his face from the smoke. The woman still rocked in silence, her ponytail loose on her head, as vagrant strands swayed across her face. The heat distorted Andar, becoming a wavering form as he began to pass the bonfire. Voden became aware of the putrid smell again, that odor that pervaded the scent of pine. Voden coughed, tasting the deranged fragrance, which still scratched at his throat.
Come on, Andar.
Voden’s eyes began to drift back to the fire, without any semblance of reason. The flames spoke of some terrible secret, lustfully luring him to join its cult. In the looking glass of flickering spirits, he found the revelation of the flames sprout what Voden wished was a shadow, one that could be whisked away by the vermillion serpent. But it was not. The dripping sap crying out of the coniferous trees, falling to the hand that burst through the cluster of brambles, gasping for air. The skin was bubbled in pockets of charred membrane, ready to burst with vaporized plasma.
Voden did not trust his sight, though the longer he unblinkingly stared at the limb, the more he could not resist the reality of it. He had not anticipated being a witness to something that his stomach rejected. The ebonized fingers twitched as the amber tongues twisted around the black, flaking skin. Andar had noticed the hand as well, flashing a glance towards the woman who paid no attention to him. Voden and Andar both bolted for the pyre. Andar began yanking burning lumber from the flames, wincing and grunting at the painfully oppressive heat. He pulled apart the wood to reveal a languid form. Voden approached Andar, who began pulling the person out, branches digging at the tender, burnt flesh. Voden gripped the steaming person, shaking fearfully as he looked at the glossy hair melted to the head. In the most unfortunate way, Voden became aware that it was a man turned to dripping flesh, where the tatters of his clothes were left to wither in the flames. His eyes were glossed over; pale gray from the heat, red glistened along the cracks of black, shimmering like drying egg yolks. He moaned softly.
In the moment they set the man down, Andar was suddenly knocked to the ground by a shrieking and bewilderingly fast old woman. She had left her vigil to assault him. She kicked him to the ground and began clawing at his face. Andar brushed off her advance, finally breaking her attack,
“Miss! We need to help him!” He grabbed her flailing arms. “He’s going to die!”
She spit in his face and pushed Andar away. With the strength that would impress the most seasoned warrior, she hoisted the man, and began to drag his limp form to the hut.
“Miss!” Voden called desperately. She lowered the man to the ground. She turned and glared at him with a leer that seemed to bend time to a halt. She was before him in an instant. How she managed such speed was an utter mystery to Voden. Her eyes twitched across his face, and her wrinkled skin was hardly a hair away from his own. He could see the blankness in her eyes, like empty shells that had once hoped—the sad smell of desolation curdled out of her mouth and into Voden’s nose.
“You think you can tell me what’s best for my ‘usband?” she spat vehemently, the foul breath seeping through her crusty lips. “You think the Great Beyond will bring us peace? We cannot obey anythin’ we’ve been told! Tell me, what ‘ope is there for drunks and murderers?” she tightened her lips together, searching Voden for an answer. Thick heavy snot dripped from her seething nostrils.
Voden could give no response. She nodded her head and turned sharply, never to face the boys again. Andar wiped his bloody lip as the woman went back to the lump of a husband, crumbled on the dusty ground. Voden heard her voice, as she kissed the dying man’s scalp, “Let us die with the ‘ope we still ‘ave left. That damned king can take back—” A sudden whistle and a thick thud interrupted her words. Her eyes widened, rolling to look down at the arrow jutting out of her throat. Chortles bubble through the blood sputtering abruptly from her neck. She touched the shaft and stared at the ruby glaze that dripped off her fingers. She coughed a rumbling gurgle, ejaculating a plume of rosy wax. She quivered, placing her hand on her husband’s cheek, blood painting the carboned skin.
Another bolt rushed into the man’s head, puncturing the brain, as flecks of ivory fell to the ground. Voden ducked low as did Andar, now keenly aware that they were being watched, looking to find the culprit before an arrow found them. The woman collapsed in a puff of dust, the man crumbling on top of her, and their final silence followed as her blood soaked the dust in the patchy grass. It pooled around a hand that reached for something she had never seemed able obtain, creeping just out of reach of their home.
But it was not this moment to contemplate the bitterness of death. Voden felt the numbness growing around his mind, unable to manage any thought. Andar shared the dismay. They scanned the tree line, though nothing seemed out of place. It deepened the anticipation ticking nearer to their demise. The fire became the clock, forcing time onward. Sounds remained naturally lonely, constricting them with paranoia. Nature mourned no man.
Voden heard a branch snap. He turned synchronized with Andar, feeling the hair prickling across his back. It nearly hurt. A misty shadow slid through the trees and out into the clearing. The cloaked figure marched towards them, its head covered by shadow, a longbow gripped firmly in its hand. Voden felt his legs freeze, knowing that this motion would surely notch another arrow in the stranger’s bow. The figure enchanted the boys, like a mystical being from the old fairytales who wished to torture them a bit before devouring them.
The boots were stark against the hum of nature, thudding dully against the dusty earth. The person brushed passed Voden and Andar, and its cloak grazed Voden’s arm. Shivers throbbed in Voden’s bones, while the stranger knelt over the lifeless bodies heaped on the ground. The stranger placed the bow carefully beside its feet and hoisted the dead man onto its shoulder, throwing the limp form on top of t
he fire. It did the same with the woman. Voden and Andar watched in horror, shaking from the thoughts of what their fate was to be. The person picked up the bow and placed it into a carrier, the blackened hood turning towards the two boys. It pulled the hood down, revealing a dark-haired, shaggy-faced man.
He looked at the boys with sullen eyes. “A dead man sins no more.”
Panic rooted in Voden’s eyes, pondering the distance to the woods. The man shot a stern glare at the boys, ostensibly aware of the thoughts rushing in their heads. Escape was as distant as a dream and just as intangible. Fear soaked Voden’s skin and took his lungs in its cold fist. The fire hissed and sneered, whispering like a bed of snakes. Voden noticed the bloody rage flooding Andar’s eyes as the strange polygons mounted to his arm began to uncoil.
The idea to run kept throbbing in Voden’s brain. There was a slight chance he could weave through the trees, at least, if Andar could distract the stranger. No, he thought. How suddenly his mind led to selfish ambitions. He tried to chastise his thoughts though they still urged him to leave. He looked at Andar who now quivered with a flush of anger.
“Why?” he said, his voice wavering nearly out of control. Though his voice shook, he stood as though very sure of himself. Voden noticed the glinting steel as it pulsed blue, inching quietly along Andar’s arm. He was doing all he could to hold confusion at bay. “Why did…why would you…do that?”
The stranger’s face was like an unlit wick, unchanging and cold. He contemplated the question, and then his proud shoulders rolled back as if to justify his actions. “A better question for you, boy: should I have let them suffer if they had wished to die?” His voice was as rugged as the scruff on his face and deep like the black in his eyes. His arms folded across his chest. His bracers were leathery and a dull brown, matching the rest of his clothes, and it did not hide the thick arms beneath them. He may have been inconspicuous among crowds, but he was immensely intimidating standing there alone. His face was riddled with crooked scars. Voden did not want to learn of their origins. The man’s expression was loose, driving his dark eyes against the glare Andar seared into him.
“Who are you to hold the scale of life and death?” Andar spat venomously. “The soul weighs heavy against the flesh!” Voden noticed the polygons sliding down Andar’s palm, pumping a blue glow that spilled along the geometric lines etched in the mystical steel.
The man lowered his arms, eyes glittering at the shifting alloy, before glance back at the burning carcasses, “I took that as my own. Their soul is no longer heavy. I am strong enough to carry more.”
“So, you justify yourself by casting the despondent into silence where only weeping brings comfort?”
“You’re amusing, kid,” he smirked. “If the world were so black and white, we would never have the variation of shades. Stark lines are just like swords. They divide what was meant to be whole. Besides, I only hastened their wishes. No good deed is without price. It’s a pity I can’t be rewarded for my kindness.”
The peach-yellow complexion in Andar’s face sprung into a swirl of red, eyes becoming like the flames that had engulfed the hut. He shuddered, trying to hide his tears while the polygons began to clink fervently together, rushing to form a sword that slid into his hand. The tip smashed into the ground, thudding stiffly into the matted earth. The blade, in all its majesty, hummed with a thirsty blue light. The silver metal bore no sign of the helix that was once around Andar’s arm. Now, only a sword, the faint lines of the shapes rippled a cyan light. The sword revealed strange letters running on diagonals, lit brighter with each pulse, as though the weapon had its own heart pumping the light through the steel. Andar took hardly a second to marvel at the sword before he pulled it from the dirt and darted towards the man.
But the man was much too quick to be caught off guard. The stranger coolly slid his hand beneath his cloak, drawing a curved dagger from his side, shifting as Andar swung, snatching his wrist. The stranger slid like liquid, positioning himself behind Andar, and pulled Andar’s arm over his own shoulder. He tightened his grip as the flush vanished from Andar’s face, turning to a wincing nervousness. The man took the knife and touched it gently to Andar’s neck.
“You’ve got balls,” he whispered in Andar’s ear. “You hardly know what you have entered into. The fact is, I should be the least of your worries.”
“Wait!” Voden stammered, watching the fear tighten in Andar’s chest. “Please, let’s not do anything rash!” He felt his plea was useless, but the attempt was better than nothing—anything to save his friend. The hut started to creak as part of the roof collapsed, billowing fairy-like sparks that scurried through the air, spiraling wildly towards the unknown above.
“Let’s talk, then,” the stranger agreed. He nudged Andar in the back, pressing the blade a bit harder against Andar’s throat. “I think we can be gentlemen about this, but not here.” He looked around intensely. “We need to get somewhere safe.”
“What makes you think we would leave with you?” Andar seethed, eyeing the blade that pricked his skin.
“First,” said the stranger, carefully turning the steel against Andar’s neck. “You are at my whim. It’s easy enough to rub the sharp edge against your skin. I’d rather not. You obviously don’t belong here. Those people you have ignorantly befriended,” he said, looking grimly at the boys, “have no good intentions for you.”
Andar and Voden shared the silence of shock. Yet, something the man said made sense to Voden. He remembered how uncomfortable he had felt in the village when he found the pile of bones. Even the old woman confessing murder gave him the idea that she had wished to stop her cravings. All she had left was the choice to die. His heart became heavy. This was what the villagers did to survive.
“I wish to not linger here,” the man said, interrupting Voden’s thoughts, staring over his shoulder towards the path, as if haunted by a ghost. In that instant, the woods filled with the sound of branches shifting and snapping, steadily getting louder with a blistering chatter Voden could not discern. The man’s eyes jittered urgently. “Shit! We need to go!” he hissed, grabbing one of the bags and shoving it into Andar’s arms.
“Oy! Mum! Dad!”
Rastz burst into the clearing. Andar, Voden, and the stranger froze. Time had run out for their escape. Voden felt the squirm of fear tighten in his stomach, knowing they had failed to save Rastz’s parents, but the thoughts the man had spawned in Voden’s head rung out against his guilt. Voden looked at the stranger, his face oddly grim with confidence.
“This won’t end well,” he whispered to the boys, though he didn’t seem concerned.
“Oh, Great Beyond!” Rastz screamed, slapping his hands against his dingy hair. His eyes pooled with streams of sooty tears. He paced in a cycle, moaning as his brain tried to cope with what he saw. He snapped his attention suddenly towards the trio, his eyes scrunching in a vivid bloodlust of anger. “You!” his dusty digit jabbed accusations towards them, pointing at Voden’s heart. “You mangy shits! Yous- yous killed ‘um!” sputtered Rastz vehemently.
“No,” said the stranger, stepping in front of the boys. “Your mother is at fault. Not them. You’ll do best to leave them out of this.”
“You expect us to believe yous?” Rastz bellowed. It was then that the rest of the tribesmen scurried from out of the woods. They examined the flames and then turned to Rastz’s saddened eyes. “They killed mum,” Rastz said. It suddenly dawned on Voden that the woman wasn’t just Rastz’s mother- she was the mother to all of them. “They killed them! We…we’s was going to be kind to you!”
“Don’t blame these boys,” the stranger said. “Just go home. We don’t need to make this day worse.” Voden could not help but admire how calm the stranger acted. His voice hadn’t waver. There was a small comfort in that, even though he was keenly aware of the blunt objects carried by several tribesmen.
“No,” chortled Rastz, violently shaking his head as he rubbed his face. His hand fell, and his face
twisted into a malicious smile. The air filled with the hungry laughter of the men, eager for vengeance. “It’s not going to work that way.” The group moved to encircle the trio, tongues flickering from their mouths. “We’ll kill yous first, I think,” Rastz announced, pointing at the stranger. His neck convulsed, circling like a wolf. His voice became distant, as though something had taken root in his mouth and his eyes turned to a dull black. “We’ll crack open your skull and pull out your brains! Start with a tease. We’ll rip that face off that white skull of yours.” His eyes now were bottomless, sucking hope and compassion from the air. “I’ll make a nice ‘elmet from your broken bones and ten’ins!”
The stranger straightened, though he said nothing. Voden felt a lump in his throat, hoping the stranger had a plan. He made no effort to convey that was the case. Voden saw the sword still trembling in Andar’s hand. Black blotches of crows circled above them, gossiping as they waited to taste the spoils sure to come.
“But yous two,” screeched Rastz, snatching Voden’s attention. Rastz stepped closer, pacing with thoughtful hunger. “Oy, I’s feeling less kind towards yous.”
Voden shuddered at the thought of Rastz’s teeth carving into his skin.
“I think I want to eat you alive. Yeah, that would suit ‘ow I feel about you Sons of Thunder,” he said, laughing manically, and his brothers nodded in agreement. “It would be beautiful to see the white of your eyes roll to the back of your ‘ead; feel the fountain of your blood.” He shuddered as though he were aroused.
The stranger had had enough. Before Rastz realized what happened, the stranger rushed towards him and flicked his heavy elbow under Rastz’s jaw. The few remaining stained squares of ivory bounced like broken beads against the earth, and the stranger slid his dagger out from his cloak. Voden, horrified, could not turn his eyes from the teeth clattering against the dirt. Rastz dropped to his knees, hand pressed against his lips, moaning pitifully as blood squirted between his fingers. His hand quiver beneath the pulse of blood, and Voden queasily understood that Rastz’s jaw was very broken. He struggled to rise.