Haliden's Fire

by Chris Sendrowski

  “What in the hells happened to him?” Haliden asked.

  “I saw fresh tracks. Not many… snow covered most of ’em. But they were there.”

  “What kind of tracks?”

  Gremin took a breath as he scanned the horizon. When he spoke, his voice trembled. “A bloody verax. And a big fucker at that.”

  Haliden had been hearing stories of the beasts since he was a child. Ruthless, bipedal predators, verax lived on the outskirts of Dracon’s Wound in the charred waste known as the Pile. Rumor had it they were faster than sand cats and near as smart, too. And their sense of smell and hearing were unrivaled by any creature on Alimane. Some even believed they possessed the ability of basic problem solving.

  “Keep your eyes on the rear,” Gremin shouted above the wagon’s rolling clatter. “Those fuckers won’t be waiting out in the open.”

  Haliden scanned the landscape with the Tritan scope. Shadows were everywhere, twisting and flickering as the wind rocked the snow covered trees from side to side.

  Evetner stood opposite Haliden with his father’s sword drawn. He had tucked the boys amongst the crates and gear surrounding the venermin, sealing them inside a protective igloo of wood and steel.

  As for the prisoner, Gremin had taken matters into his own hands.

  “For fuck’s sake, stop!” the now naked man cried as the wagon wheels spewed slush and mud into his face.

  Gremin smiled as the man coughed and wheezed. He had forced him to chew a small piece of adreena weed in order to keep up with the wagons. But the effects were already waning.

  Haliden shook his head. “This is wrong.”

  Gremin glanced over his shoulder. “What’s that artist?”

  “Paying cruelty with cruelty won’t bring back the dead.”

  Evetner nodded. “You may be right, but justice is still served.”

  Gremin patted Evetner on the shoulder. “You know, I like this knightling. Fresh from the coop but he already gets the world. Unlike you, artist.”

  Jonathan and Brandon hid deep inside their little bunker, their palms pressed to their ears as the man sobbed behind them. The sight made Haliden’s heart sink. This must end, and soon, he thought.

  In the distance, the Block’s silhouette loomed against a semi-clear sky, its sheer, mist-shrouded face stretching for leagues in either direction. Haliden watched it in awe. It was almost double the size of the metal city of Tritan, and easily dwarfed the great pyramid of Nesta Woe in Alg.

  “Something is behind us,” Evetner shouted. “There! By those trees.”

  The prisoner glanced over his shoulder. “Oh gods!” he cried.

  Haliden raised the Tritan scope to his eye. A black figure was running toward them, each of its enormous strides covering at least six yards.

  “Shoot it!” the prisoner cried as he ran faster. “By the gods, shoot it!”

  Haliden leveled the scope’s crosshairs over the creature’s chest. It was black with gray-white stripes and its long ears tapered into sharp, hornlike points above a vulpine snout. A demon, he thought as he knocked an arrow and stared down the shaft. His heart lurched into his throat and his hands trembled. Do it! he told himself. Kill it now!

  Exhaling, he released.

  The arrow struck the verax in the center of its chest. But to Haliden’s surprise, it kept coming.

  “It didn’t do anything!” he cried.

  “Well, shoot it again then!” Gremin replied.

  Haliden nocked another arrow and released. This time he hit the verax directly between the eyes. But instead of stopping, the beast threw back its head and emitted a deafening shriek.

  Haliden dropped the bow and clutched his ears. It felt as if nails were being driven deep into his eardrums.

  Brandon and Jonathan did the same, screaming as the verax continued to shriek.

  Gremin reached into his pocket and withdrew a fist-sized cube of wax. “Ball it up and stuff it into their ears! You too, artist!”

  Evetner quickly took care of the brothers and then did the same for himself. When he was through, he handed the rest to Haliden.

  “Help!” the prisoner cried.

  Haliden withdrew his rusty dagger and climbed toward the rear of the wagon.

  “What are you doing?” Gremin shouted.

  “What I should have done leagues ago!” He lifted the taut rope and placed the dagger against it. But before he could cut, Evetner pushed him aside.

  “Get away, artist!”

  Haliden shook his head. “I’m not leaving him to that thing!”

  The verax was gaining on them, its dead, white eyes widening with feral excitement

  “Move aside!” Evetner shouted.

  Haliden stood his ground. “You’ll have to cut through me!”

  Evetner stared at him, his father’s sword trembling. He took a step closer, but something slammed into the wagon.

  Both he and Haliden fell back into the crates as a shadow climbed aboard the rear wagon.

  Haliden saw it clearly then; a black figure crouched atop the railing, its ten footfall tall body covered in striped, matted fur. Its face was a primitive mix of sand cat and whistle wolf with rotten, black fangs protruding like needles from a scarred, cleft maw. Worst of all, though, were its hornlike ears, for they gave the creature an unholy presence.

  “B-by the gods!” he stammered as the verax rose onto its hind legs. It had two rows of gill-like slits on either side of its chest, which trembled wildly as another shriek blasted forth.

  “Kill it!” Gremin cried.

  Evetner scrambled onto his feet and swung his sword at the beast’s leg. But the blade rebounded off its dense bone with a metallic twang.

  Haliden jumped aside as the verax slashed at his face. One of its footfall-long talons grazed his right cheek and then cleaved a wooden crate in half.

  Gremin dropped the reins and withdrew his bone dagger.

  “Hey!” he shouted at the beast.

  The verax rounded on him, it’s soulless white eyes widening. When it saw the blade, its gills emitted another shriek.

  Gremin inched closer. “Come on, you ugly fucker!”

  With the beast distracted, Haliden turned back to the rope. But the prisoner was gone.

  “Damn it!” he breathed.

  The verax lunged forward, knocking aside the trapper’s dagger and embracing him against its gills.

  “Get this fucker off me!” Gremin cried.

  Evetner jumped over several crates and thrust his sword into one of the beast’s eye sockets.

  The verax dropped the trapper, wailing as black blood flowed down its face.

  Evetner yanked the blade free and cut off its head, splattering blood across Moss Town’s venermin.

  “Gods!” he gasped as the headless body slumped over the side of the wagon, it’s arms and legs spasming wildly.

  Gremin lay motionless atop the toppled crates, blood trickling from his left ear.

  “Is he dead?” Haliden asked.

  Evetner shook his head. “No. But he’s hurt bad.”

  Haliden turned back to the boys. To his relief, both were still safe amongst the crates.

  “Is it gone?” Jonathan asked, his eyes wide and trembling. Brandon crouched behind him, crying uncontrollably.

  Haliden nodded.

  “All of them?”

  “All,” Haliden replied.

  The wagons bucked violently. Without the trapper at the helm, the punchers had begun zigzagging across the snow-covered terrain.

  Evetner quickly knelt beside the trapper and lifted his shirt. Two rows of deep black burns stretched down both sides of his chest.

  “Is it bad?” Haliden asked.

  “As opposed to good?”

  Gremin rolled onto his side, wincing as the burns oozed brown pus. “Piss on it!”

  “What?” Evetner asked.

  “The poison! Piss on it! And be quick!”

  “Is he serious?” Haliden asked.

  Gremin slammed h
is fist down. “Just fucking do it!”

  Evetner turned to Haliden. “You’re up, artist.”

  “What? Me? Now?”

  “It’ll take me twenty turns just to take off this armor,” Evetner said.

  “Fucking piss on it, artist!” Gremin screamed.

  Haliden reluctantly pulled down his breeches. At first nothing happened, but when he closed his eyes a steady stream finally splashed across the trapper’s back.

  Gremin winced as the urine diffused the toxins. When it was done, he crawled to the front of the wagon and shouted in Algian until the dogs finally straightened their course.

  Evetner tossed him a blanket, which he quickly wrapped around himself.

  “Fucking verax,” the trapper groaned. He then looked at Haliden and nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” Haliden replied.

  Evetner stood, his eyes wide. “By the gods!” he whispered, as he pointed north.

  Hundreds of creatures, both big and small, were running across the snow covered plain: coons, vinneren foxes, gray mares, cows, brown and black squirrels, minks, rabbits. There was even a pride of field striders silently bounding into the distance, their enormous legs covering at least twenty footfalls with every step.

  Haliden marveled at the sight; never had he seen so many creatures at once. Flocks of every imaginable bird filled the sky: darters, cockled sparrows, brush pickers, spear wingers. And all were moving north in one giant, undulating flock.

  “What now?” Haliden asked.

  Gremin plopped down atop a crate, groaning as the blanket chafed against his burns. “We join ’em, that’s what.”

  “That?” Evetner spat, pointing at the exodus. “Are you mad?”

  “They’re running. Just like us. Do you think they care who’s beside them?”

  Jonathan and Brandon crawled out from their hiding spot, staring wide eyed at the exodus.

  “Look, Bran!” Jonathan said, pointing to the left side of the valley. “Vine cats!”

  Brandon sat up, wonderment glistening in his wide eyes.

  “There’s at least a hundred of ’em, too!” Jonathan shouted.

  Gremin picked up the bow and followed them with the scope. Yellow spikes made of compacted hair and bone protruded just above their narrow, feline eyes. “Males,” he grumbled. “That’s bad luck for us. Them fuckers are carnivores of the worst kind.”

  “Wonderful,” Haliden said. “And what if they decide to have some lunch while we’re out here?”

  Gremin stood. “You ever hear of the barrow hunters?”

  Haliden shook his head.

  “They’re a tribe in the Culver. Cannibals mostly. They hunt scrappers. Do you know how they do it?”

  “Inform me.”

  “They dress up ambush sites with dummies. Mask their numbers with war drums and cries. Basically make themselves out to be so big that even a Circle patrol would be smart enough to avoid them.”

  “I think we left our dummies back in Marigel,” Evetner commented.

  “Piss off, boy. I’m talkin’ the idea, not the execution. We take down one of them felltowers, skin the fucker, and dress these wagons up like one. We’ll make ourselves look so big, not even a verax will try for us.”

  Evetner turned to Haliden. “Sounds ripe for failure.”

  “I agree,” Haliden replied. “What about the dogs? Won’t it look weird if a felltower is being pulled by a pack of punchers?”

  Gremin laughed. “You give them beasties too much credit. They’ll hunt you down in cold blood, sure enough. But they don’t know a cock from a sausage.”

  Haliden watched as one of the felltowers lumbered along. The beast was the smallest in the herd, yet it still dwarfed anything he’d ever seen.

  “So how do we do this?” Haliden asked.

  Gremin raised the Tritan bow. “Simple. Put one between the lamest beast’s eyes and hope the others keep moving along.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  Gremin laughed. “Just pray you’re damn good with that bow. And quick. Else there won’t be much left of you for the Breath to burn.”

  “The one on the right, artist?” Evetner whispered as he peered through a hollow, blackened log.

  Haliden lay beside him in the ashy snow, the Tritan scope pressed to his eye. The herd was no more than three hundred footfalls to the north, lumbering silently across the snow-covered landscape. From his count, there were seventeen in all, including five elderly males and two injured females limping at the rear.

  “Godsdamn things are as big as hunting cabins,” Haliden whispered.

  “We’ve got no choice here, artist. Lets just get it done.”

  Jonathan and Brandon watched anxiously as the two men crept back toward the wagons.

  “What are you going to do?” Jonathan asked as Haliden shook snow from his pants.

  “We need one of those felltowers,” Haliden replied. “Just listen to Gremin and stay silent until we get back.”

  Both boys reluctantly nodded.

  The trapper sat up in the rear wagon, wincing. “Just watch your backs out there. And for the sake of the gods, stay downwind. If verax are still about, they’ll be stalking them felltowers same as you. So no farting or chatter, got it? And chew ice to hide your breath.”

  Evetner drew his father’s sword and wiped the blade with a rag. “I’m no stranger to a hunt, trapper.”

  “This ain’t no deer hunt, boy. I’ve seen seasoned woodsmen taken by surprise by verax. Mark my word, you’ll be the hunted today if they catch wind of you.”

  Haliden nodded. “We’ll be careful.”

  Gremin reached into his furs and withdrew his white bone dagger. “Know what this is?”

  Haliden shook his head.

  “Nagra bone. Hardest and sharpest blade there is. If one of them fuckers gets too close, go for the throat. Verax have no softer spot.”

  Haliden took it and nodded. “Thanks. Hopefully it won’t be necessary.”

  Gremin laughed. “I hate to tell you this, artist, but it most likely will.”

  The pair kept low behind the snow-covered bramble, watching as the felltowers lumbered northward.

  “Look,” Evetner said, pointing to a bloody patch of snow several footfalls to their left. Fur and pieces of rent flesh lay scattered amongst a tangle of steaming innards. “That’s a fresh kill.”

  Haliden swallowed. “How long ago do you think?”

  “Can’t be sure. But it has to be close.”

  Haliden turned back to the herd. An injured female limped along at the rear, her left side scorched and raw. That’s our mark, he thought as he followed its clumsy movements. But even at fifteen footfalls tall, the felltower was still the single largest creature he had ever seen.

  Evetner pointed to a line of snow-covered evergreens on their western flank. “Look… just beneath those trees!”

  Haliden raised the Tritan scope to his eye. Two shadows were milling about beneath the undergrowth, sniffing at the exposed soil. “Just deer,” he whispered.

  A twig snapped several footfalls to their right.

  Both deer froze, their ears perked to attention. They were poised to bolt when a striped form lunged from the brush, tackling the smallest deer to the ground.

  “By the gods!” Haliden breathed.

  The verax’s now familiar black and white form slashed and tore at the struggling deer, splattering blood several footfalls across the snow. As the deer gasped its final breaths, the verax straddled its body and discharged a strange, yellow liquid from the gill slits lining its underbelly.

  “What in the hells is it doing?” Haliden whispered.

  “Just watch.”

  The viscous fluid coated the entire carcass, steaming and popping as it dissolved flesh and bone.

  Haliden knocked an arrow and drew back.

  “Be quick, artist!” Evetner hissed. “While it’s feeding!”

  The verax tore into the steaming corpse, it’s back arched high as it lappe
d at the steaming remains.

  Haliden took aim and slowly exhaled.

  Hold… breathe… release!

  The arrow whipped through the air, puncturing the creature’s spine with a gentle smack.

  Haliden grinned as the verax slumped over dead. But to his shock, the arrow had passed clean through its body, skipping off into the distance where it pierced the leg of an adult felltower.

  “What the fuck, artist!”

  The enormous beast reared into the sky, its wretched wails filling the air.

  Haliden glanced into the quiver. “Oh shit!” One of the silver Tritan arrows was missing. “I must have grabbed it by mistake.”

  Three of the largest felltowers broke away from the herd and approached the injured male.

  “Go!” Evetner cried. “Get to the wagons! Go!”

  Haliden slung the bow over his shoulder and took off down the rise.

  The felltowers quickly followed, bellowing and snorting as their centipede-like legs thundered atop the snow.

  “Faster!” Evetner shouted. The boy was almost at the top of a small rise, when his right foot slipped on a hidden rock and he fell backward.

  Haliden tried to grab him, but the felltower closed the distance between them and tossed him into the air with one of its legs.

  For an instant, Haliden hung weightless, the ashy wind roaring in his ears. But then he hit the ground with a violent thud.

  The felltower reared up, its dozens of spiky legs flicking blood across his face.

  Evetner scrambled onto his feet. “Shoot it!”

  Gasping, Haliden rolled over and unslung the bow.

  The felltower lunged forward.

  “Do it!” Evetner screamed.

  Haliden grabbed an arrow, drew back, and fired.

  The felltower twisted sideways, gurgling as blood poured from its mouth.

  Haliden tossed the bow aside and tried to roll away. But the beast fell directly on top of him.

  After that all was black.

  Something stirred in the darkness.

  A memory.

  A presence.

  Haliden opened his eyes. A blue sky stretched before him, arching over a mountain range far off in the distance. He stared at it for some time. How long, he couldn’t say. A turn? A decade? A millennium?