Execution

by Shaun O. McCoy

  It’s eerily peaceful here, walking across the vine bridge to the Storage Tree. Reports of gunfire echo in from the direction of the Prima Tree. Men I cannot see shout, coordinating battle maneuvers over the cries of Icanitzu. Fire crackles in the distance, and the air is thick with the smell of burning plant matter. But for all that, this vine-bridge I walk along is abandoned. It’s as narrow as any of the bridges in Dendra, and I have to put one foot in front of the other as if I’m walking along a balance beam. The support rails do little to make me feel any safer.

  The first of the Storage Tree’s dark shadowy branches emerges from the grey, and for a brief moment, I get a sense of vertigo. With only the outermost branch visible to my eyes, the tree looks like it’s from the old world. Because of the distance, I can’t tell its size, and since the mist obscures its trunk, I can’t tell that it grows downward.

  For some reason I feel terror, sheer and naked, building up inside of me. It’s been collecting in my soul for all these days of anxious imprisonment—collecting for all these years I’ve been in Hell. I’ve been wounded deeply, my lovely, lovely Myla. I’ve lashed out at my friends. I’ve killed men I shouldn’t have. I let this place turn us against each other.

  How many others, facing up against the sublime power of some merciless enemy, have felt this terror in their gut?

  She loves me. She loves me. I am not alone.

  And like some gothic gargoyle springing forth from Notre Dame, an Icanitzu soars through the fog-laden branches, two dezendyitzu in tow. Men are shouting, fireballs sear through the air and arrows answer back through the haze.

  On Earth, a soldier like me could steel his soul with the idea of heaven. With the knowledge that God would make sure the good guy wins. With the raw power of faith. But what of me? I’ve turned my back on God. I have no faith. I’m probably not even the good guy.

  I’m only . . .

  . . .

  a man.

  The silence is overtaken by the howls of devils. The tree ahead shakes in the gentle breeze of the cavern and with the travails of combat. To my left I see darkly clad soldiers, shotguns in hand, moving along another bridge.

  Callodax’s men have come to call.

  Do they see me? Do they care? Do I?

  The trunk emerges from the ashen air as I approach, and I see that quite a few of the treemen are in its branches. The battle is being fought in earnest on the far side, but I can worry about that later. I can see the Wicker Tree back across the gap as I step upon one of the Storage Tree’s landings. The haze must be clearing because I couldn’t see across when I was on the other side.

  There, one green-cloaked man and a cadre of white-cloaked soldiers enter, perhaps heading down to our cells.

  Damn.

  There’s no way I can get back in time. I just have to trust that Cid can save Aiden, or hope that Fabian’s not there to kill my son. It would seem wasteful to kill someone that the attacking force wants. Maybe they’ll think to barter him.

  A pack of dyitzu comes around the trunk and walks full force into a flurry of arrows from a nest of treemen. Two of the devils fall, and the rest head back for cover. An Icanitzu swoops down on a different nest of defenders and comes up with a man in its talons. The devil drops him into the abyss. Arrows follow, but the dezendyitzu cover the Icanitzu with their wings, and the arrows bounce off. They can only defend like that for a second though, because when they use their wings as shields they can’t keep altitude.

  The three swoop down, a slave to their momentum, and plummet away from the nest.

  Away from the nest, and toward . . . me.

  I fire an arrow directly at one of the winged dyitzu, and just as I’d seen before, it shields itself with its wings. The damn narrow notch on my next arrow nearly misses the string, but I get it loaded in time. As soon as the dezendyitzu spreads its wings to fly, I hit it straight in the face.

  It plummets, clawing at the shaft buried into its cheek.

  The Icanitzu screeches, its backward jointed talons reaching toward me. The remaining dezendyitzu flies upward, and I see its twisting balls of blue fire cutting through the air. My third arrow isn’t ready in time. I duck the fireballs and throw the bow at the Icanitzu.

  The pair swoop by, the Icanitzu crushing my bow in its talons. Weaponless, I realize just how helpless I am on this bridge.

  The two devils make an immediate turn behind me as I rush ahead.

  Why the hell did I throw the bow?

  They glide forward, and again the dezendyitzu pulls up and looses fire. The balls curve in their flight through the air, twisting as they pass the diving Icanitzu. I turn around so I’m moving backward along the bridge, still heading to the Storage Tree. The Icanitzu flares its wings, slowing its descent as the fireballs roar by. I’m not going to be able to duck low enough to get beneath the Icanitzu.

  I grab one of the rail’s vertical support ropes and swing under the braided-vine bridge.

  The Icanitzu claws at the empty air as I use my momentum, swinging like a monkey, to come back up from the other side.

  It hovers like it’s going to land, but we’ve moved far enough up the bridge that it’s in range of the treeman nest. It darts off through the rain of incoming arrows.

  The dezen tries throwing another pair of fireballs, but I avoid them easily. It hovers in the air, unwilling to leave, but unwilling to come any closer to the nest behind me.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll be back for you.”

  I untie the quiver from around my waist, toss it aside, and run for the Storage Tree.

  A cloud of steam and smoke, billowing forth from a dozen places where frantic treemen pour buckets of water onto their burning nests, does its best to replace the slowly thinning haze left by the initial explosion.

  One man points his arrow at me. I raise my hands, but keep running forward.

  “We were set free to help!” I shout.

  I’m not sure how believable that lie is. If that were true, wouldn’t I have some fucking weapons?

  But the man seems to buy it. Even if he doesn’t believe me, pretending is probably the best thing he can do right now. The last thing Dendra needs is another enemy.

  The fighting is thickest near the bottom of the tree. Dyitzu seem to have overrun parts of the lower canopy, and the occasional stray fireball rises up from the fray. I see a line of their red colored bodies climbing up along the trunk. There’s about a dozen of them.

  Not my problem.

  I spot an entrance to the Storage Tree. A dyitzu is coming out of it.

  You, motherfucker, are my problem.

  It sees me, and as I’m the only human not hiding in a nest on this godforsaken tree, I shouldn’t be surprised that it hurls its fire at me. Infidel training has made these missiles seem slow, almost pointless. I slip it easily. The branch under my feet is thick, and the bark here provides excellent traction. I advance toward the dyitzu. It has no idea what’s coming.

  It tries one more fireball, but it’s off target and I don’t even have to dodge that one. Then it strikes at me, swinging with its claws in wide, circular attacks. I step back, letting the first two blows go by before blocking the third and countering with a short right hook. The punch lands like a blessing, rocking the devil. True to its nature, it strikes again. I duck under its claw, stepping off at one angle with my lead foot before pivoting around it in a textbook display of infidel footwork. It spins quickly, trying to get itself in line with me.

  It succeeds in getting itself in line with my straight right.

  Again, the blow lands solidly.

  It stumbles backward, its claws slicing into the bark of the trunk, before losing its balance. It rises quickly, just in time for me to sidekick the thing off the branch.

  Infidel, whoever the fuck you are, you taught your people well. This shit is amazing. I wheel about and head into the Storage Tree.

  My shadow, cast before me by the dappled light of Dendra, jaggedly descends the tree’s carved steps u
ntil it’s swallowed by the darkness. I follow it.

  The dyitzu I just fought came from down here, so I’m not surprised to hear the sounds of combat echoing up through the chambers. The stairway bottoms out into a large hollow similar to where an old world owl might have lived except much, much larger. The hollow’s opening has been boarded up. Lines of grey illumination pierce through the tiny gaps of the boards and filter through the room, alighting on a series of wine barrels, dried foodstuffs and piles of the dyitzu skin smocks the Dendran people wear. No sign of my shit.

  The room is large, perhaps forty feet wide, and has two exits, not counting the stairs I just descended.

  Hell. Which way to go?

  Firelight brightens the archway of the exit on the left. A dyitzu’s missile speeds into the room. I dart to one side. It bursts on the steps, creating a small conflagration. Three dyitzu enter.

  Okay, this is going to be a problem.

  I charge at them, swinging. The first narrowly dodges the strike while his two friends form fireballs. Too much, I can’t fight three at once.

  I keep running, choosing the right exit, fire on my heels.

  Shouts of human agony come from ahead. I leap over a wounded treeman, casting a look over one shoulder. There’s desperation in the fallen man’s eyes. I duck, and fire explodes on the wall in front of me, droplets of the burning liquid landing on my Icanitzu hide armor. It seems to be fire resistant, which is nice. The corridor takes a left turn, and so do I. Behind me the fallen man screams as the dyitzu get to him.

  Sorry, my friend.

  Two more of Dendra’s soldiers come in from the corridors ahead. One has a pistol, the other a bow.

  “My things!” I shout. “The Tree Lord sent me here. Where are my things?”

  The man with a pistol has lost his wicker helmet. His bushy eyebrows furrow.

  “Don’t know!” says his friend, pointing behind him. “Imps down there. Run with us.”

  Fuckers.

  I pass them by.

  There’s a row of doors in the next hallway. Hopefully one has my shit, but this corridor opens into another which also has some doors. Treemen flee along the other hallway, and I see a three foot golden pigmaditz pass by after them, climbing along the ceiling.

  I take a look at the first door. It’s got a lock. I’m fucking sure Amirani made it. I try the knob, but no luck.

  Not good.

  Here’s to hoping Amirani didn’t make the door too.

  I step back and try to kick through it, aiming right beside the lock. The door bursts open. Heaps of the processed, sticky spider silk they use for their temporary bridges are packed in here, some of them creatively stuck to the ceiling. No luck at all.

  The next door takes two kicks.

  Processed lumber and other building materials.

  Next door—a dozen pigmaditz are coming right for me, two climbing along one wall. Their black dyitzu-like eyes reflect the dim light of the hallway. Those eyes are narrow, closer set over their tiny beaks than would seem natural.

  I race into the room with the building materials, slamming the door on the first pigmaditz that tries to make it through, crushing it against the door frame. I’m not sure if it’s alive or just twitching, so I slam the door on it again. Another of the imps, one crawling on the wall, takes the opportunity to attack me, leaping and spreading its wings.

  I step to the side and pick up a two by four. At first, I’m dismayed when the board breaks over the pigmaditz’s head, but then I think better of it and jam the splintered end into its ugly, golden, beak-face. The little fuckers pour into the room. I punch, kick, bite, and scream my way out, picking one of them up by its tiny, clawed foot, using it to bludgeon the next imp in my path. They follow me out of the room cautiously. Their attempted bites and clawing hadn’t done much to my Icanitzu armor, and they were understandably cautious, particularly the one with a splinter in its eye.

  I toss my pigmaditz-cum-club into the room with the spider silk. The pigmaditz sticks to the back wall.

  One gets brave, climbs the side of the corridor, and launches itself at me. I step off at an angle and level a Muay Thai kick into it. The crack of my shin crushing its beak resonates through the hallway. They’re on me again, just like the half-rotten kids in Maylay Beighlay, two of them climbing my leg. I wrench one free and toss it into the room, kick at the group to keep them at bay, and then bludgeon the shit out of the remaining hanger-on with my fists.

  Again, the armor is protecting me. I can see where their claws broke through the polished outermost shell of the leather, but none has drawn blood yet.

  I hear the shouts of people behind me, and the pigmaditz break and run. Time for door number three. Wicker.

  Four. Meat.

  Five—last room. Dried sinfruit and brineberries.

  That was the whole hallway.

  I start on the door closest to me in the next corridor.

  Jackpot.

  My pack, so familiar and worn, sits there in one corner like the Holy Grail. My M-16 leans against it like a Lost Treasure of Atlantis. My Old Lady protrudes from its side holster like the Hand of God. My friend’s packs are there too, so as I sling mine on, I raid Q’s stash of infidel fire.

  Another crew of imps passes down the hallway. One turns, notices me and hisses.

  I pull out my Old Lady. She’s a Smith & Wesson Model 916A pump action 12 gauge shotgun with a 28 inch barrel.

  Are there shells in there? I can’t remember, so I test it at the imp.

  I blow a fist sized hole through its torso.

  Yup, it’s loaded, and apparently with slugs.

  Here, here, little piggies, I’ve got something for you.

  Pigmaditz blood and brains scatter to the tune of the booms of my Old Lady as I come into the hallway. When my shells have been spent, I grab the shotgun by its smoking hot barrel and Babe Ruth the next two on my way through the corridor.

  I reload as I pass the spider silk room. The caught pigmaditz stares down at me from where its stuck on the ceiling. I toss in a canister of infidel fire and close the door.

  I run along the hallway to the hollow as the whistle comes to a climax.

  The hollow room is thick with battle. Men hide behind barrels of bloodwater on the left while dyitzu take cover behind similar barrels on the right. The infidel fire goes off behind me.

  Walking in with measured steps, I loose shotgun blasts at the dyitzu’s position. More dyitzu are streaming in, coming down the stairs, fireballs forming.

  I don’t have time for this.

  With a quick twist I open another canister of infidel fire and lob it into the midst of the bloodwater barrels. It whistles for a moment before flooding the dark room with smoke and fire, turning the chamber into a tenebristic baroque nightmare.

  The alcohol of the bloodwater catches in fits, sending short-lived waves of flame flashing across the room. A dyitzu, missing one arm, comes at me through the firelight. I blast its knee with a round of buckshot, and it falls into the puddles of intermittently burning bloodwater.

  I walk over its twitching body, my eyes stinging. The bloodwater sloshes under my boots and the heat makes my skin tingle. Then I’m free of the chamber. I take the stairs three at a time leaving behind me the cries of men and dyitzu.

  I load the Old Lady and holster her in my pack as I top the stairs. The booms of other shotguns echo back and forth across Dendra as I step into the light. Everything is clearer now, and the haze which had previously been so thick remains only as lingering wisps. Finally, I get a feel for the scope of the battle.

  The cliff wall on the west by the Prima Tree shows the blasted out hollow of a new cave. Long bridges of newly built scaffolding cross over to the branches. That must be how the Carrion born breached the chamber and crossed over into the trees. I think, even at this distance, I can see the Tree Lord in his green robe, hiding in the back of a nest. The fighting seems thick over there, as the Tree Lord’s men have access to the armory and ammunition
. I’m surprised he hasn’t dropped the tree yet. He must not have been able to fight his way back to the safe room.

  And I’m pretty sure I see Keith. Damn. That’s got to be him. He’s half a mile or so away, but yeah, that’s him.

  The trees and nests immediately surrounding the Prima Tree are occupied by devils and Carrion born. Arrows arc back and forth from tree to tree and from nest to nest as the defenders of Dendra, bolstered by their citizens, loose their quaint barrages toward the devils and Carrion born. Their enemies, better armed, but perhaps held back by their lack of familiarity with this insane environment, return fire with buckshot and fireballs. Where once psychopomps crossed the vast expanses of air between branches, pigmaditz glide this way and that, raiding nests which are otherwise unreachable to the enemy.

  Dezendyitzu and Icanitzu, less daring, but far more dangerous, hover here and there behind their troops, sometimes darting in their V formations toward a nest.

  To my left, in the row of trees connected to the Wicker Tree, I see the devils have made little progress. Here and there dyitzu fireballs sizzle through the air, but the wicker-helmed men and their civilian allies seem to have them mostly pinned.

  I see Fabian now, his white-cloaked men flanking him, exiting the Wicker Tree. He’s got Aiden with him.

  You motherfucker.

  I watch his progress as I unsling my M-16.

  Should I shoot them down?

  What are you doing, Fabian? What do you want with my boy? Does the Tree Lord want you to try to trade him like in the original deal? Or are you guys so stubborn you’re attempting to keep him safe out of spite?

  I’m guessing it’s the latter.

  The Safe Tree, that’s where they’ll be taking Aiden. I’m near the center of Dendra, and the Safe Tree is about a dozen bridges away in the back corner of the complex. I see no devils climbing on the polished stone walls in that corner. The Safe Tree isn’t even under attack.

  If I’m quick, I bet I can beat Fabian there.

  I step out onto a branch and immediately see a problem. I have enemies everywhere. I kneel, thus far unnoticed by friend or foe, taking careful aim at a nested Carrion born whose unfortunate luck it was to be along my route. He’s out of range of the Dendran short bows, but he’s easy pickings for my assault rifle. I switch to single shot, take aim, and loose a round.