Brace For the Wolves

by Nathan Thompson

  I knew. But I still needed to know.

  That's still true. Even if it doesn't make sense.

  "Was he," I swallowed. It was hard to finish sentences today. "Was he John Malcolm?"

  "John..." Her eyes fluttered briefly, then widened. "He never gave his last name. But yes! His name was John!"

  "Was he tall like me, but with more muscle mass?" I added slowly.

  "Yes! That's exactly right! Well, you're a lot more ripped now, but..." She clapped her hands, interrupting herself. “I can't believe you knew John! How is he?"

  "He's my dad," I said slowly, as something inside me sank.

  "I can't believe I never noticed that," Breena chattered, then paused. "But, wait... didn’t you say—"

  "Dead," I said without moving. "John Malcolm is dead."

  Silence.

  "What?" Breena asked after a moment. "What do you mean?"

  I resented that I had to say my words again.

  "I said John Malcolm is dead. He has been dead for over two years. I told you before that my father was dead."

  "But..." And to my surprise her eyes teared. "But he's John! Why would he already be dead?"

  "Dead," I repeated harshly. "Allegedly by his own hand, over his guilt of harming children. Sexually."

  Breena looked as if she had been slapped. It was a horrible way to break the news to her, but I was too busy reliving the experience to soften it for someone else.

  "No," she said after a minute. "That's impossible! That's impossible!" she shouted, and I caught Weylin and Karim glancing our direction, before awkwardly looking away. "He would never do something like that! Ever!"

  "I said that at first too," I said quietly. "My whole family did. But everyone shouted us down. Including the girls he allegedly abused. It wasn't until I escaped yesterday, that I finally learned the truth." I looked at her. "My father was murdered, framed, and shamed."

  "Why?" Breena asked, teary-eyed and shocked. "Who would do that? To John, kind, good, John, of all people?"

  "The same kind of people who would torture and cripple his son just on the off chance it might help them get to Avalon," I growled. "The same kind of people who would threaten and torture little girls into ruining his name, just to help deflect suspicion. The same people who, once they got here, would proceed to desecrate everything, try to squeeze every world dry to help them live forever. The same people we fought yesterday. And that I killed in droves."

  But I didn't kill nearly enough of them, I thought grimly. Warren Rhodes...

  I will build a hell black enough to hold you, if I have to.

  Then I realized that I had dragged Breena into my own personal hell, and I hated myself for it. But a moment later, her tiny body wrapped around my neck in another hug.

  She gave good hugs. I really needed to give her credit for that.

  "Wes," she said with a sob. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't know."

  I shrugged awkwardly, with the shoulder farthest from her.

  "This was a bad time to bring it up," I said numbly. "We've got work to do."

  She hugged me tighter, shrinking and softening her arms somehow, so that I wouldn't choke.

  "There's never a good time for news like this, Wes," she said fiercely. "But the worst time is to always choose 'later'. Don't keep me in the dark about this, okay?"

  "Right," I said, reaching up to carefully pat her with one hand. "Sorry."

  I let the little fairy hug me for a bit, and this time it didn't trigger any of my hangups. A few moments later, I heard Eadric clear his throat carefully a dozen feet away. "I think we should probably go, Breena," I said.

  I started to bottle everything back inside, but a tiny part of me reached out and grabbed the rest of myself by the tail for just one moment.

  "Can I talk to you about all of this tonight, Breena? Like we did this morning?"

  "Yes," she said fiercely, carefully giving me one more squeeze. "Let's do that." She flew off of my shoulder to take point.

  Chapter 8: Rival Pack

  We moved farther ahead into the ruins, looking for more monsters and making sure that the Detrite corpses we passed stayed down for good. They didn't have anything lootable on them, and even their bodies were beginning to fade into dust and mist before our very eyes. Breena said that was normal. These particular Detrite had been existing far longer than they were ever intended to, even with their ability to go into an undead kind of hibernation.

  I sheathed my sword for now and readied my shield. Then I summoned out my footman's mace. It really irritated me that my longest sword was soon doomed for the scrap heap. I hadn't used it much, and it had been the best weapon for hacking large groups of creatures apart. I'd need to come up with something heavier, maybe a halberd, or, best-case scenario, a two-handed greatsword.

  I decided then and there that I really wanted a greatsword. But it also affirmed my previous strategy of being good with multiple weapons. No one weapon was good for every single job (though a historically accurate greatsword came surprisingly close, I remember researching).

  While I was thinking all of that, I kept my attention on my surroundings. No new Detrite jumped up to attack us, but the hairs on the back of my neck didn't believe me every time I told them that. The marble buildings grew even more crumbled, and even more blackened, as if by fire. Some stones even looked partially melted.

  That was a bad sign.

  The trees, oddly enough, remained mostly whole, in spite of looking withered locally and perfectly fine far above our heads. I could still hear a bit of birdsong trickling down from their highest limbs.

  "Avalon," I asked quietly. "Can you examine the trees? Do you know what is keeping this place in this strange state of decay?"

  "Data not found," the formerly helpful supercomputer said in my mind. "No matching cause found for the current phenomenon."

  "Fantastic," I grumbled under my breath.

  "Negative. Unidentified changes to environment should be noted as causes for concern."

  I looked up at that statement, opened my mouth to ask if the planetary intelligence had just zinged me, then thought better about trying to learn things I didn't think I'd be better off knowing.

  We passed farther into the rotten woods. Then I heard her.

  "Hello?" She was shy, tentative, scared.

  "Welcome back," I replied calmly.

  "You're still here," the feminine voice said.

  "That's right," I nodded.

  "I told you to turn back," she said, in disbelief. "Why are you still here?"

  "Why did you leave?" I asked instead of answering her question.

  "Not... safe," she replied hesitantly, as if it were something she didn't wish to admit.

  "Do you mean those things could have hurt you as well?" I asked patiently. Getting answers was like pulling teeth right now, but it was a feeling I've had several opportunities to get used to.

  "You weren't supposed to see," the invisible girl said. "You saw what happened to us."

  "Partly," I replied. "At least I have an idea."

  "Then why are you still here?" she demanded.

  "Because I didn't like what I saw," I answered, stepping around a thorny, leafless bush.

  "Then you should have run," the invisible girl replied. "You're supposed to run when bad things come."

  She paused, and then she continued. "Everyone runs when the bad things come."

  I shrugged.

  "If I ran every time something bad came my way, I'd be running all my life."

  "But you'd be alive," the ghost replied.

  She was being stubborn with me, arguing.

  I decided that was a good sign.

  "No, I'd be dead," I retorted. "Running doesn't always work. Some nightmares are faster than me." I dared to ask her another question. "Did running work for you?"

  A pause. I wondered if I had pushed too hard.

  "No," she answered. "They were wrong. It didn't work."

  "I'm sorry," I said in rep
ly. I glanced back at the others, but they all seemed perfectly willing to let me handle this conversation. The three Testifiers were just watching and listening intently. But Breena bobbed at me and gave me a tiny thumbs up. "Do you have a name?" I asked.

  "Not anymore," the girl mumbled.

  "What do you mean?" I asked. "What happened to your name?"

  "No one was left to speak it anymore," the girl added miserably. "So they were able to take it. And they won't let me have a new one."

  Who were they? I wanted to ask. But I didn't dare to. I got the feeling that if I moved the conversation away from her directly, she'd get scared and bolt again.

  I tried another subject.

  "Why are you only talking to me?" I asked. "Why didn't you talk this much to the others? To the little fairy? Or to the women who used to live outside these ruins?"

  "Why would I trust them?" the spirit complained. "I don't know them. They might hurt me."

  I turned to look at Breena. The little fairy nodded sadly.

  "She scares easily. I never could get her to be my friend."

  "We can't have friends," the spirit muttered. "No one left. No one can talk to us. They might be bad too."

  "You mean they might have been like the things we fought," I clarified.

  "The drifting walkers," the little spirit affirmed. "The hungry castoffs. They didn't look like that before. How would I know you weren't new ones?"

  "But you're talking to us now," I said. "Me, at least. Why? Was it because I fought them?"

  "No," she muttered. "You won. Don't understand that... but... know you now."

  "How do you know me now?" I asked.

  "Because you cried," the spirit said simply.

  I stumbled over a loose rock.

  "No I didn't," I said a little faster than I meant to. "That was my friend. She cried for me." I glanced over at Breena. "She cried because she's nice and she cares about me."

  The pink-haired sprite glanced over at me very quickly. But she nodded firmly.

  "Liar," the invisible girl said. "I saw you. You tried to hide it. But I still saw it. That's how I know you're one of us."

  "What do you mean?" I asked. Her last statement was startling, untrue, and extremely creepy.

  "We all cry," the spirit said bitterly. "We all try to hide it. They'll catch and eat us if we don't."

  "You're one of us," the woman-girl continued. "You just still have your skin. Why else would you need to hide it if you cried?"

  "Who's hunting us?" I asked. "Is it the Detrite? The drifting walkers?"

  "No." I thought I felt her shake her head. "Those are just cleaners. They eat dead trash. They'd take us to the other ones if they found us."

  "Who are the other ones?" I asked. "Who hunts you? Who hunts us?"

  "No."

  She suddenly pulled away from us.

  "No names. Names are bad. They catch us if they hear names..."

  Another pause.

  "Then they eat us again. And take our names."

  "What are they?" I demanded. "Where are they?" In the back of my throat a growl inexplicably started to form, and I clamped down on it. My teeth started itching again. "And if they are so strong, why were they afraid of the ones that brought me here?"

  "Don't know," the ghost whispered. Her voice was getting quiet again. "But please don't look. We don't want you to see. They'll find us again if you see us. And they'll find you too."

  "Who are they?" I roared. "Tell me who is here, on my world, and without my permission!"

  "Hostile movement detected. Heading toward your position."

  I swore.

  "Might want to keep your voice down," Eadric muttered helpfully.

  "If they were detected now, then they noticed us a long time ago," I retorted. "I'm not buying the fact that something old enough to be carbon-dated is still using the same senses I use to figure out if the TV's still on."

  "The hell is TV, or carbon-dating?" the dwarf asked me. I ignored him.

  "I'm sorry," the ghost whispered. "I tried to warn you. I have to go."

  "Fine," I growled. "We'll talk more after I finish this round of next ass-kicking."

  "But you can't beat them," the ghost said, surprised. "No one could beat them."

  A heaviness settled over me as I heard her say that. Something in me answered back, said for me to correct that statement.

  Said that answering cries like that was my job.

  My purpose.

  "Avalon," I said out loud. "Numbers. Positions. Natures."

  "Assessing," the computer replied. "Numbers are several dozen, but more hostiles are arriving slowly in small groups. Final number is suspected to be less than that of the previous final group of Detrite. Positions are coming from the following locations." Several yellow arrows appeared in my mind-screen, displaying the cardinal directions my new enemies would be arriving from. "No life systems detected on the incoming hostiles. No data found for similar constructs or organisms. Animate magic detected. Magic closely resembles that of non-sentients who have undergone at least one Descent.

  "Hostiles appear to be humanoid in form, tool-using in habit. Further abilities unknown."

  "Got it," I said out loud. "Sounds like undead warrior-types." I turned and looked at the rest of my companions. "Let's get ready. Any advice on how to handle this?”

  "Always start with controlling the terrain," Karim said firmly, as his hands waved script to reactivate magic shields over us. "But we'll know more when we see exactly what we're up against."

  "Do you need to be able to see the creatures to create another one of your fireballs?" I asked, trying to see if several ideas I had for magical artillery would work.

  Karim unfortunately nodded.

  "Not only that, but I have to know either their exact number or the exact location I want to burn— preferably both, or everything gets destroyed and I risk a backlash on myself. I also have to be reasonably sure of their body's composition, any defensive magics they might employ as well as a reasonable estimate for the amount of time I need to have them burn. I also need to be healthy, operating on a good night's sleep and have plenty of leftover energy. Even if I have all that, if I had already performed the spell several times in a day my mind will have difficulty keeping the necessary phrases in my mind. I wouldn't risk making the same attack more than one, maybe two times until I've had another good night’s sleep.”

  "Wow," I said. Because that was like, all of the restrictions I've ever seen in all of my video games and books for wizards, all rolled into one.

  The sorcerer-scribe nodded.

  "Script magic is very powerful, but only if all of its proper restrictions are obeyed. We should talk more about it when we are no longer fighting for our lives."

  "Fair enough," I said. "Let's do what we can to get everything set up. Breena—" I turned to my tiny friend—"can I have new spells?"

  Her eyes lit up, as she remembered I had grown in magical capability. And because her nature allowed her to teach me several spells in a matter of moments.

  Our enemies took over a minute to reach us.

  The first shape pulled its way toward us out of the dark haze of dead trees and deader ruins. I noticed it when I heard it rattle and clank, and so I saw a bony foot fall, leading the way for the rest of its skeletal body to come into view.

  Alright then, I thought. Skeletons.

  I was dealing with a level-one dungeon from one of my sister's games.

  "Morning," I called out. "Lovely day for a stroll outside of Hell, isn't it?"

  The monster clanked several more steps forward, then turned and looked at me. I saw his eyeless skull tilt slightly as he considered me. His helmet, some bronze-ish metal loosely resembling that of a Greek or Corinthian hoplite, slid loosely around his skinless head.

  "Flesh-men..." the thing rasped at me, his voice surprisingly deep. "There should be no flesh-men here."

  "Sorry," I replied. "We were looking for the new theater that was supposed
to have just opened around here and got lost. Where did we wind up instead?"

  The thing cocked his head even further at me. To my surprise, he chuckled. Then he reached his shield arm up to tighten the strap around his helmet.

  The rest of his armor appeared to be made of bronze, and extremely well kept. A skirted bronze cuirass that I swore I had seen in a history book adorned his muscle-less chest, and bracers and shin guards helped hide his bony appearance, along with the large round shield over one arm.

  "This is the realm of the dead, flesh-man," the creature said, and some of the raspiness in his voice left. It was more like listening to someone that hadn’t had to use their voice in a while, instead of someone who was, well, a corpse. "You warm ones are the first kind to have walked here in ages. But you trespass in doing so."

  "What about the Steward?" I asked, remembering Stell. "Did you have the nerve to tell her that this place was off-limits to her?"

  "Of course not," the dead hoplite chuckled. "Our contract never included a battle with Starsown. We hid deep below, with everything else. The little one outside, and her own nightmares, must have kept her away."

  An odd hesitance there, in his speech. It could have been caused by almost anything, but

  I picked up on it anyway.

  "Why are you here?" I asked. "What do you do in this place?"

  "The dead stay here. So we guard them," the monster replied.

  And monster he was, for I just realized that the skull had too many teeth, and the fingers too many joints, for this thing to have once been human.

  "Why would you need to guard what is already dead?" I queried. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Eadric shift his grip slightly on his hammer.

  "Because we are paid to," the monster said simply. "Make the living dead, and then keep them. Such is our contract."

  "Contract?" I asked, baffled. "What the hell?"

  "No," the skull-man corrected. "Hell is actually a competitor. Not part of the contract."

  "What?" I asked again, baffled. "How? How do you have a contract as a walking skeleton? What could you possibly need money for?"

  "Well that's an ironic question," the skeleton replied casually. "A warm-flesh-man asks why someone would need money?"

  "Yeah," I retorted. "Room and board. The living can't get enough of either."