“Don’t tell us what is or isn’t possible,” said Rakzar. “Just give us the location of the crystal, and we’ll be on our way.”
“As you wish.” Torbrek lifted himself onto the table and sat on its edge. His feet swung wildly several feet from the floor. “There are a thousand rumors as to the location of əllzíäƨzherd, but I’m certain I know its true location. However, information like this comes with a great price.”
Rakzar stepped forward and got in Torbrek’s face. “You greedy little—”
Urza pulled Rakzar back by his waist. “Calm yourself, brother.” Rakzar pushed her hands away and stormed out of the room.
Urza smiled at Torbrek. “Please forgive him. He’s under a lot of stress right now.” Torbrek nodded and she continued, “We will gladly pay any price you name.”
Any price?
As far as Rayah knew, they had little to no money and only a handful of possessions between the three of them. How would they pay anything at all?
“Yes, of course,” said Torbrek. “I trust that you will. However, you must keep in mind that finding the əllzíäƨzherd will only be the first part of your quest. Once you’ve found it, you must bring it back here so that it can be refined and fashioned as a weapon.” He eyed Rakzar who had just reentered the room. “That is what you want it for, correct?”
“Yes,” said Rayah.
“Good.” Torbrek slid off the table and landed with a soft thud. “I will tell you the location of the əllzíäƨzherd after you’ve agreed to my non-negotiable terms.”
The three of them nodded and Torbrek continued, “First, my brother Normak must accompany you on this quest. He’s what some might call a bit off-kilter, but I assure you that there’s no better warrior among us.”
“No,” growled Rakzar. “He’ll only slow us down, and I will not be responsible for another life.”
“Do you misunderstand the concept of non-negotiable?” scoffed Torbrek. He shook his head. “No, I think you’re smarter than that. Besides, I assure you that you will be the ones slowing Normak down.”
“Us slower than a dwarf? Impossible,” said Urza.
“As you know, nothing is impossible in a world filled with mezhik.” Torbrek’s eyes sparkled, just like his pearly-white teeth. “My brother possesses a pair of winged boots.”
Rayah gasped. “Winged boots?” She’d never heard of such a thing. “Can he fly with them on?”
Torbrek chuckled. “If only that were so. Alas, the boots only provide speed, not flight.”
Urza eyed Rakzar for several moments. “Your brother shall accompany us. And your other terms?”
“Other than əllzíäƨzherd, my brother will retain any spoils you might find during your quest.”
“Agreed,” said Rakzar. “Anything else?”
“There is one last thing, but I’m sure you’ll find it to your liking all the same.” Torbrek motioned them to follow him as he moved deeper into the armory. “I insist on supplying you with better weapons and armor. You’re headed to a very dangerous place, and I’d like to see my brother returned alive.”
Rayah loved her gloves and knives, so she’d keep them. Unless Torbrek offered her something far superior. But she couldn’t imagine what that could possibly be. Rakzar on the other hand desperately needed new weapons after dealing with the zhrimƨzhedō.
An hour later, Rayah, Rakzar, Urza, and Torbrek stood in a wide circle at the first level of Tectus, just beyond the tunnel entrance. They awaited Normak’s arrival. Apparently, he’d gone off to explore a new vein in one of the silver mines. Torbrek assured them that Normak would be along soon enough.
A gust of wind kicked up a cloud of dust and blew Rayah’s hair in her face. She pulled her hair out of her face and spat ground rock and hair from her mouth. When she looked up, a young man stood next to Torbrek. The family resemblance was evident in their chiseled faces, but the two of them were otherwise dissimilar.
Torbrek had striking blue eyes, muscular but thin legs, bulging biceps, narrow shoulders and a thin waist, and thick red hair that covered his head and jaws. He kept both long and woven tightly into two braids.
Normak, on the other hand, had wild yellow eyes, stocky arms and legs, a barreled chest and broad shoulders, and unkempt, wiry, yellow hair that spread over most of his chest and back. Two small, black hoops pierced each of his bushy, yellow eyebrows on their outer fringe, and a gnarly scar crossed over his left eye, dividing his eyebrow and disfiguring the side of his nose. Dark-green leathers covered most of his body, fashioned to look like scales, and brown boots that looked a size too big covered his feet and rose to the middle of his calves. A pair of white wings protruded from the backs of the boots, just above the ankle. A large war hammer, a sheathed dagger, and a coin purse hung at his waist from a black belt made of steel ringlets.
“Where we be ‘eadin’?” asked Normak, his voice deeper and his accent far thicker than Torbrek’s.
Torbrek clapped Normak on the back and smiled. “Hopefully not to your death.” He stood a good three inches taller than Normak.
“Aye,” said Normak. He gestured with his crotch and grinned. His teeth were surprisingly white. At least the ones that remained. “Still got me some conquestin’ ta do if ya catch me meanin’.” He turned his head and winked at Rayah.
She rolled her eyes. Not in this lifetime.
“Just tell us where we’re headed, and we’ll be on our way,” said Urza.
Torbrek’s expression grew dark and grim. “Have you heard of the Ruins of Nasda?”
Urza nodded. “No one enters that place and ever returns.”
“Yeh know why that be?” asked Normak, his prior amusement erased from his face.
Click-click!
Urza’s blades slid into her hands. “Legends say slithering beasts lurk within its lower regions and lure anything that catches their eye with breathtaking songs.”
“Trust me when I tell ya it ain’t no legend,” Normak replied.
“And what makes you think the crystal is hidden in these ruins?” asked Rayah.
Torbrek leaned into the middle of the group. “A sunken city of sandstone and glass. Need I say more?”
Rayah didn’t understand, but the other three seemed satisfied with Torbrek’s answer, so she kept quiet.
“From what I’ve heard, the ruins are a big place,” growled Rakzar. “Where is the crystal located?”
Torbrek used his hands when he spoke, motioning wildly at times, but it conveyed his words well enough. “Deep beneath the desert, hidden below a temple dedicated to Äfäūm. The place is said to be cursed.”
Rayah sighed. She could’ve lived her entire life without setting foot inside a temple dedicated to some false god. Especially one cursed and buried in the desert. “Perfect.”
“Be careful. You will face brutal trials.” He slapped Normak on the back. “Keep your wits about yourselves and remember that every problem has a solution.”
Normak rubbed his hands together. “Time fer some action!”
Yeah, looking forward to it.
“How about the three of you head on out?” said Torbrek. “I need to speak to my brother about a private matter before he leaves. It won’t take but a few minutes.”
Rayah, Rakzar, and Urza bade Torbrek farewell and headed to the surface. Outside, the day had worn itself down pretty well with more than half of it gone. According to Normak, the ruins lay roughly four hundred miles to the southeast, a good four day’s journey from Tectus. Once they cleared the Procerus Mountains, most of that distance would be easy traveling through the Reis’Duron Grasslands and The Plains. The last fifty or so miles through the Profugus Desert would prove a bit more difficult, but none of it would compare to the trials they’d certainly face once they reached the Ruins of Nasda.
Ten minutes later, Normak appeared out of nowhere. “We be goin’ or just sittin’ ‘ere?”
“Did your brother ask you to do something we sho
uld know about?” growled Rakzar.
Normak winked at Rayah. “Secret ta me grave.”
Urza looked to Rakzar and swept her arm toward the trail. “Lead the way, mighty Rakzar.”
Rakzar led the group through the dense trees, and Rayah fell in behind him. Urza followed her, and Normak brought up the rear. A strange and unlikely band they were, and perhaps the perfect group to accomplish the impossible.
Ƨäʈūr, guide us and keep us safe.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Calen had spent the last five days tracking the horde of infected from Daltura but still hadn’t come across any of them. Either they moved too quick or he moved too slow. Being pudgy and out of shape, he figured it to be the latter.
So many times he’d wanted to turn around and go back home, but he wasn’t even sure where that was anymore. At some point, the horde had changed direction and led him back into the Daltura Hills. He’d missed the transition when it’d happened and had spent several hours sitting on the ground bawling his eyes out thinking they’d just up and disappeared altogether. Once he pulled himself back together and gathered his wits, he’d realized what had actually happened.
Calen had no prior experience tracking anything, and it left him severely disadvantaged. He prayed that Ƨäʈūr would give him a sign and lead him in the right direction, but the sign hadn’t come. With weak legs, an empty stomach, and a setting sun, he found himself somewhere on the fringe of the Daltura Hills where they sloped down to meet The Plains. He leaned against a tall, yellow aspen and took a deep breath.
Never had he seen so far and so little at once. A sea of brown, dead grass stretched from where he stood all the way to eternity. His heart sank in his chest.
You can’t do this, Calen. You’re gonna wind up dead out there.
A strong wind whipped through the trees and stirred the remains of broken branches and stalks of grass. Birds scattered, squawking and protesting the gale. Calen closed his eyes and listened to the sounds around him. Yes, the wind stirred up many things, but underneath its sound he heard something else. Footfall. It sounded almost like a stampede. The low rumble grew until it overtook the sounds of the wind and the birds.
Calen turned toward the Daltura Hills and opened his eyes. A few people marched through the trees. Then more. Many more. Hundreds. All of them looked straight ahead with black eyes, and none of them spoke a word. He gasped and cowered behind the tree as the horde came straight at him, but none of them ran him over. They moved around him and the tree like any other obstacle, all heading toward the northeast.
Based on the drab, colorless attire most of them wore, Calen guessed they must’ve come from the coast. Most likely from Calx Acta. Beachers he’d heard them called before. Sand, grass, and dried mud covered most of them to their knees, their shoes unrecognizable underneath the many layers of debris. How long had they been walking? They must’ve departed from their homes around the same time his aunt and the other people from Daltura had.
Ƨäʈūr, this must be a sign that You’re looking out for me. Thank you.
Despite the fact that the odds of finding his aunt had increased exponentially, Calen allowed himself a small smile. He hadn’t given up, and it would pay off in the end. It just had to.
Calen joined the throng as they marched northeast. Excitement to be on his first real quest tightened his chest, but terror of what or whom he might find at its end lurked in the back of his mind—a demon he’d soon face.
After about an hour of marching across the flat plains of dead grass, the horde stopped for the night. The way they all moved and acted as one cohesive entity couldn’t have been creepier. It reminded him of how he used to play with wooden figures. A question struck him and put cold fear into his bones.
Does something or someone control them?
It did explain some of their strange behavior, but how could something like that be possible? Where had the infection come from? Why didn’t it seem to spread? So many questions raced through his mind.
In some ways, the infected acted just like normal humans. They set up fire pits and cooked food they’d foraged at some point. He supposed everyone needed to eat. Otherwise, they’d die. His heart leapt at the thought, and hope swelled in his chest.
If the infected are eating, then they aren’t dead! I can still save you, Aunt Tahmara.
† † †
Savric stood atop a small outcropping in the middle of The Plains, looking out across the vast horde of infected. He leaned heavily on Qotan’s staff, his legs far more fatigued than he’d ever remembered. Eshtak stood at Savric’s side with his hand firmly attached to Savric’s robes. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. Dread had found a home in both their hearts.
After making an abrupt turn from their initial southeastern heading five days back, the horde’s collective demeanor changed. They transitioned from docile shells of humans when interacted with to violent and deadly adversaries when confronted. Many groups of people had found that out the hard way.
Several such groups bent on exploiting the infected by robbing them of their supplies quickly met their end along the way. Others just trying to corral their loved ones and get them to safety wound up dead or severely injured. Savric did what he could to heal those who survived, but few had. After many events like those, he and Eshtak fell back and trailed the horde. Many others did as well, but their numbers were dwindling. Most had lost hope that their loved ones still remained inside those pale, black-veined bodies and turned back.
From that initial turn, the horde’s numbers began to grow, picking up several more here and there as they migrated east. Savric’s concern grew with the group’s numbers and exploded into an all-out panic about an hour ago when his horde merged with another significantly-sized horde, nearly doubling their size.
A scream shattered the night a hundred yards south of where Savric stood, giving rise to the hairs on his arms and his nape. Eshtak huddled closer. He took Eshtak’s hand and led them toward the commotion.
Up ahead, a body lay on the ground, gutted and sliced beyond recognition. A young girl knelt next to it.
Savric let go of Eshtak’s hand and bent down next to the little girl. “My name is Savric. Did you know this young man?”
“He’s my stepbrother, Jonas.” The little girl trembled but didn’t cry. “He tried to grab my stepmother’s arm and take her back home, but she became violent and killed him.” She rose to her feet and pulled her brown cloak back over her shoulders.
Savric eyed her but didn’t try to give her comfort. He didn’t want to scare her away. “I know it might be difficult to understand, but your mother is not in control of herself. None of the infected people are. Try not to blame your mother or your stepbrother for what happened.”
The girl nodded. “I do understand. Something evil controls them. I warned Jonas, but he just wanted to go home.”
Eshtak hugged the girl. “Eshtak sorry.”
The girl wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. “Thank you. My name’s Pear. Well, it’s not actually Pear, but that’s what everyone calls me because my real name is Pearllina. Plus, I love pears.”
“Eshtak loves pears!”
Savric smiled. Eshtak had a way of quickly bonding with people and comforting them. He’d relied on Eshtak’s companionship several times already and feared he would’ve been lost without it.
Ƨäʈūr’s little helper.
Savric rose. His knees cracked like whips, and pain radiated down his legs and into his shins. How much farther could he go before his old bones finally gave up? Sustenance and rest would do him some good. It’d do them all some good. Some distance from Jonas’s dismembered body would do Pear well, too. He’d find a way to bury the kid later.
“Eshtak. Pear. How about the two of you come with me?” Savric swept his arm back toward the outcropping they’d come down from. “We can make a small fire and get some food in our stomachs?”
Eshtak
broke from Pear’s embrace and danced in a circle. “Eshtak hungry!”
Eshtak’s love of food rivaled his own. He’d never thought he’d find another like himself, let alone two.
“We ran out of food yesterday,” said Pear. “That’s why my brother tried to take my mother away.”
Savric smiled even though his heart ached for the girl. “You need not worry about that, my dear Pear. We have some food to spare. Perhaps not pears though.”
“It’s okay. I’m not picky. I can eat anything.” Her yellow eyes spoke of wisdom far beyond her years, yet they also contained a rare innocence.
“Hmm.” Savric pulled on his beard. “Even pickled socks?”
Eshtak’s face turned a shade of green, or at least Savric imagined it did. He stuck his tongue out and wiped it with his fingers. “Yuck! Yuck! Yuck! Eshtak not eat pickled socks!”
Pear giggled. “I think I could eat pickled socks as long as the socks were clean. Dirty pickled socks are definitely out.”
Eshtak gagged and dry heaved. “Eshtak not hungry.”
Savric and Pear both laughed as they made their way over to the outcropping. For a moment, everything seemed almost normal. He took a deep breath and exhaled the day’s trouble with it. With Eshtak and Pear’s help, he cleared a six-foot circle of ground where they could have a small fire and then pushed up his sleeves.
But then the night sky lit with mezhik.
† † †
A green ball of fire formed over Zerenity’s open palm. It crackled and popped, and its undulating light pushed back both the shadows and the group of men who were rounding up some of her fellow servants. The Dark One would not stand for it, so neither would she.
She targeted one of the men. A scroungy fellow with hate in his eyes. He held up a hand toward her but swung a lasso in his other. She snarled and hurled the fireball. It hit him square in the chest and engulfed him in flames before he had a chance to react. He screamed with agony as the fire melted his skin and burrowed into the center of his chest. She readied another fireball and hurled it at another man before the first man had hit the ground.
Rended Souls Page 29