Enter the Lamb's Head (The Adventures of Ranthos Book 1)

by Jasper B. Hammer

  It was inches from the ledge.

  A fearsome wildness unleashed within Ranthos, and the buck saw him with eyes suddenly wide and fearful. Ranthos rushed towards it. Pushing against its haunches while it tried to slash him with its antlers. While the buck shrieked, immobilized by a new fear that Ranthos could smell in full, Ranthos pushed and shoved as hard as he possibly could for what seemed like minutes.

  Push the beast forward forward; inch by inch; never mind the pain; drag it into the abyss; kill it.

  As the buck fell over the edge, it snagged Ranthos’ leg after him, dragging him down the dark canyon with it.

  Ranthos screamed. The buck landed on the rock floor hard and Ranthos hard atop it.

  He rolled off quickly as he could and found at his feet a broken antler. The fall had shattered one and broken off the other. Ranthos was so weak, so hurt, and so afraid, but he marched toward the pitiful heap of flesh that was the buck’s skeletal face.

  With two hands, Ranthos brought the antler down into the buck’s neck and he began to pull, and push and wrench it deeper, to remove the thing’s head.

  Some antithesis of the buck’s existence must’ve shown in Ranthos then, for Death’s hooked fingers seemed to reach from the void to the buck for the first time, until finally after a series of pops, and then a large squishy rip, vertebrae snapped loose and the antler tore a gaping hole in the buck’s thick neck, quieting its shrieks, as it lost connection to its lungs. The head and body were still attached by some muscles, skin, and sinew, but mostly it was torn apart, and both writhed and squirmed separately for a few moments before it was finally delivered into the hands of Death.

  Ranthos' nose prickled as the gaps in the world were flooded with the smell of rotten wood and fresh blood while the buck lay there finally motionless..

  “Heh,” Ranthos chuckled dryly at the gruesome mountain of meat before him, hardly believing it himself. He then sighed the most well-deserved sigh of his life, and dropped, exhausted, onto his back into the ground, staring up at the sky, a faded blue of early morning.

  It was over.

  13

  Small Dots on a Large Map

  It was a beautiful morning, the sun’s warmth beating down on Ranthos' body, the birds’ chirping filling the trees, and the smell of a pleasant cooking fire wafting through the air alongside the coppery aroma of blood.

  Ranthos heard some people talking around him. Unfamiliar voices with some familiar. He heard Bell’s, Nosgrim’s, and the Stranger’s, but also two others which he did not recognize. They all seemed to be pleasantly talking with each other.

  Ranthos opened his mouth to speak, but it was glued shut with dried blood. He peeled it open and spat out the scab.

  Disgusting.

  “He’s awake!” shouted Bell from beside him.

  Ranthos coughed and winced as dusty daylight blinded his reawakening vision. Grasping at warm blankets, he tried to move his arm, but the pain throbbing in his shoulder convinced him not to.

  “Don’t move!” Bell said and readjusted his covers. She looked away quickly, pointing to the fire, “Nosgrim! Don’t let that burn please!”

  Looking at himself, Ranthos saw that he was at a small camp, lying on a hide mat, which was decorated with several of Bell’s favorite flowers. He was wrapped in a number of bloody bandages, his trampled leg had a makeshift wooden splint and his torso was covered with rags and bandages over the antler wounds on his back and the cleaver slice on his side. He could feel thin linens covering the cuts on his temple and lip. If he remembered right, he had a cut running from his temple to his jaw, and another from his upper lip to his chin.

  “Where’s the buck? How’d I get—”

  “Stop,” Bell shushed him, “Just rest. Everything is fine.”

  Sleeping on a small rock beside him was Remy Cattenpoof, who simply meowed. Bell was sitting cross-legged beside him, wrapped up tight in a quilted blanket. There were bags under her eyes; she obviously didn’t sleep well last night, however, she smelled happy and sad, but not only that; she smelled relieved, stressed, proud, angry, and joyful, though her expression was tired and subdued. Her nose was pink, and her eyes were recovering from a sob or three, “Ranthos…”

  Ranthos lifted himself up from his position, ruffling bandages and disturbing already dumbfoundedly painful wounds; each movement he made agitated a new set of hurts until he embraced her.

  “I love you too,” she said, lying him back down. Her face became more somber and a worried scent rose on her, “Lie down, you’re not well. You’ve been asleep three days, Ranthos.”

  “What?”

  “We didn’t know if you’d wake up at all,” she said with wide eyes, “But I’ve been awake the whole time, listening to your ribs creak and your throat whistle.”

  “Bell—“

  “They say that they know someone who can heal you,” Bell said.

  “Medicine?” asked Ranthos. He didn’t know much about medicine— he’d only ever seen any that summer that Bell got sick and he had to steal medicine for her— but he was fairly certain that medicine didn’t patch cuts or broken bones.

  “Not medicine,” said Bell, “A magician.”

  “A magician?”

  She nodded, “I don’t know much more than that, but I trust what they say.”

  Ranthos hoped she was right.

  Bell smiled down at him, “You did it, we’re going far away.”

  Ranthos coughed, “I—“

  “Don’t talk,” she said, “You sound terrible.”

  “Not as bad as you look,” he smirked.

  She rolled her eyes, “Alright,” and flicked his leg.

  Ranthos yelped in pain, “Scut! Bellelar, what the scut, lady?!“

  “Bell!” shouted Nosgrim. “Ranthos is healing, you mustn’t disturb the process!” He smelled genuinely frustrated.

  “Sorry,” she crossed her arms, not meaning it.

  Nosgrim walked over, and readjusted the carefully set bandages and looked down at him, “You did a Hell of a job on that thing.” He was wearing the same clothes he was back at the house, but he was smiling, and didn’t smell as worried as he usually did. “I made you something while I was butching up the buck,” he held out a small necklace with a tuft of fur dangling at the end.

  “What’s that?” Ranthos squinted to try to see it better.

  Nosgrim knelt down beside him and showed it to him more closely. “It’s the buck’s scut.”

  “Its what?”

  “Its scut,” he said again.

  “Scut’s a real word?”

  Nosgrim pulled his head back, shocked, “Yes it is… I’m surprised you never learned this being a hunter in a hunting village. It’s the deer’s little tail.”

  “I don’t have many friends,” Ranthos said, before immediately feeling stupid for saying it out loud.

  “I don’t have many friends either,” Nosgrim said with a matter-of-fact shrug.

  “…”

  “…”

  “I need the buck’s heart,” Ranthos said.

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to feed it to Remy.”

  “… Okay?” Nosgrim looked confused, but Ranthos didn’t feel like explaining.

  “I like that Remy is here,” Ranthos said, “is he coming with us?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s fantastic.”

  “He doesn’t like the box we made for him.”

  “I bet.”

  “Well,” Nosgrim cleared his throat, “Here’s the scut. I’m gonna fetch you some breakfast.”

  Ranthos was surprised, “Thanks, Nossy.”

  Nosgrim scowled and marched off, muttering to himself.

  “Hmmm… I wonder if he doesn’t like being called Nossy,” said Bell.

  Ranthos shook his head and asked Bell to help him sit up.

  “Certainly not,” she said.

  “I have no clue where I am right now or what has happened,” he said.

  “Tha
t is your usual state in life, Ranthos.”

  “Just help me up.”

  She begrudgingly did so.

  As Ranthos finally surveyed his surroundings, he saw that there were several other sleeping mats around him. Three tents were pitched around a firepit upon which something or other was cooking. Nosgrim ladled some food out from the pot beside the Stranger. They were laughing with each other about something. The Stranger wore a green vest over simple clothes, no weapons, and had his hair tied up. The sweet scent of oil was still present.

  There were two unfamiliar faces as well: a woman and a man, both about the Stranger’s age.

  The woman was a bit taller than the Stranger and was positively drowning in freckles. She wore traveling clothes, with billowy blue pants, tied at the ankles.

  And the man had a shaved head, a large braided beard, and bushy eyebrows. He was sitting alone and sharpening a long sword with a huge, curved crossbar. It was wrought from shining steel and gleaming brass.

  The woman looked over and smiled at him, “Good morning, cub,” she said. Her voice was deeper than he expected, and slightly scratchy. She smiled at him, looking him over, “Alrys, this is hilarious,” she said.

  The Stranger looked at her with a flat expression, “How so?”

  “Look at him,” she said.

  The bearded man cleared his throat.

  “Well, I am glad you’re up,” the freckled woman said, “I am Sarky. Your friend Alrys’ wife.”

  Ranthos pointed to the Stranger, “Is that Alrys?”

  Sarky smiled, “Yes,” then turned to him, “You didn’t even tell him your name?”

  Alrys stammered, “I—uh, it was a whole complicated—“

  The bearded man cleared his throat again.

  “I killed it, right?”

  Alrys and Sarky walked over and knelt before Ranthos.

  “Yes you did, cub,” said Alrys, “You did wonderfully, and you oughta get some rest before we move on.”

  “Where are we headed?”

  Nosgrim sat a bowl of porridge, a spoon, an apple, and an expertly folded napkin neatly down beside Ranthos and walked away.

  “Thanks, Nosgrim,” Ranthos said, surprised at his hospitality.

  Alrys smiled, “We’re headed to your next hunt.”

  Ranthos bit his apple. He hardly survived this one.

  “Don’t be so down, cub. We’ll teach you a few things before we get there,” Alrys said, patting his leg, and making him wince.

  “What am I hunting?” Ranthos said once he regained composure.

  “Sheep!” Alrys said, “If you can believe it.”

  Ranthos cocked his head, “What happened to ‘horrors unimaginable?’”

  “Cursed sheep,” Alrys said, “And don’t you worry, it’ll be plenty frightening.”

  “Sheep?” Ranthos asked. “Why were the watchmen wearing sheepskins?”

  “A uniform of sorts,” said Alrys, “They were flockers… Which are members of a wicked cult.”

  “A cult?!” asked Ranthos.

  “Yes…” said Alrys with a slow nod of his head, “The immortal beasts and the flockers all worship the same power: the Lamb’s Head, a sorcerer.”

  “Is that who you’re fighting?” Ranthos asked.

  “Who we are fighting.”

  Ranthos’ eyes widened. He had become part of something much larger than he had expected.

  “What happened to Yannick and Wilbur?”

  “We dealt with them,” said Alrys.

  “Like Erhardt?”

  “Yes…” said Alrys pensively, Ranthos assumed he felt some guilt over the situation, but couldn’t smell anything but hair oil, “I am truly sorry for the confusion.”

  “What happened?” Ranthos asked.

  “My companions and I came to Tatzelton hunting down followers of the Lamb’s Head. Most of the Tatzelwatch were such cultists, and so were many other townsfolk. Sarky and Vhurgus had drawn a handful of them out into the wood and I,” he searched for the word. He was obviously uncomfortable explaining it, “dispatched Erhardt. I believe that they thought I was you and blamed you for his death. Yannick got away, headed toward the Oakstop, and so did the others, who rushed back into town and rallied the townsfolk who burned your house.”

  A spark of anger flickered inside Ranthos’ chest, “Why didn’t you stop them?”

  “There were too many,” Alrys said, “and we couldn’t reveal ourselves inside town just yet. Their leaders know who we are.”

  Ranthos was not satisfied, “Bell could have died!”

  Sarky spoke up, “Easy, cub. We sent the priest to get her out. Alrys had a firm word with him to protect her. We did all we could.”

  Ranthos stayed silent.

  “I understand your anger. Truly I do,” Alrys said. “I was like you once.”

  “A person whose sister almost died in a fire?”

  “A person who didn’t fit in, a person whose family was threatened being what they are.”

  Ranthos looked at him and saw that his face was earnest and his heart steady. He nodded.

  “If you want to leave us, I understand. We will care for you until you’re well enough to make a living for yourself. We can even take you to the next town—”

  “I’m staying,” Ranthos said, “I killed the buck to come with you, and I’m going to hunt these sheep.”

  Alrys smiled.

  “What a good cub,” said Sarky to Alrys.

  “And what about us?” asked Bell, “Nosgrim and me?”

  Nosgrim perked up to listen from across the camp.

  “Well,” Alrys said, “You must learn to carry your weight in the caravan, Bell.”

  “A caravan!” said Bell excitedly, “Are you folks caravaners?”

  “That’s right,” said Sarky, “But we do little trading.”

  “Though there are plenty of folks that do, Bellelar,” said Alrys, “You may learn from them if you wish, or you could learn to fight alongside your brother.”

  “I’m going to learn to fight?!” Ranthos asked, stunned.

  “What do you think he was talking about this entire time, you idiot?” said Nosgrim.

  Ranthos repeated what he said in a stupid voice.

  Vhurgus laughed—he was the burly, bearded man.

  “Well, I’ll be learning to fight, that’s for certain,” said Nosgrim, crossing his arms.

  The three caravaners looked surprised.

  Nosgrim’s voice dimmed down bashfully, “If that’s al-alright.”

  Vhurgus stood up and pointed to a rock down the canyon, “Run there and back ten times.”

  Nosgrim tried to protest, but the bearded man didn’t budge.

  Bell chuckled.

  “Are you going to teach him?” Ranthos asked.

  “Obviously,” said Alrys, “He’s just got to get in shape…” he lifted Ranthos’ scrawny arm, “And so do you, cub.”

  “You’re lucky you’re so wounded, or Vhurgus would have you running like Nosgrim,” said Sarky.

  Bell stood up as tall as she could and closed her eyes with her chin up, “I!” she proclaimed hand to her heart, “Wish to learn to fight as well.”

  Sarky crossed her arms.

  “Woah, Bell, that’s dangerous,” said Ranthos. “Look at me.”

  “Ranthos, my dear brother,” she spoke with a slightly theatrical air as she looked down at him and placed a hand on his shoulder, “I will fight these evil sheep with you.”

  “Run there and back fifteen times,” said Vhurgus.

  “Fifteen?!” Bell sighed.

  “Get to it,” said Vhurgus.

  Bell hiked up her skirts and scampered away.

  Sarky touched Alrys’ back and jogged to meet Bell. She started teaching her how to tie her skirts up around her legs so she could run easier.

  And Ranthos was left alone with the Stranger as Vhurgus and Sarky counted off Nosgrim and Bell’s laps. This was the first day in a brand new life, a life of adventure, a life where h
e could see the mountaintops.

  “Are we headed to the mountains anytime soon, Alrys?” Ranthos asked.

  Alrys smiled, “Yes,” he held up one finger and left to fetch a map. He sat back down beside Ranthos and unfurled it. It was marked with small notes and circles and arrows and all sorts of scribbles denoting many Winters of travel.

  Ranthos had never seen a map before, “Woah… Where are we?”

  Alrys pointed to a large orange canyon, “About here,” he said, “Oh, and here’s Tatzelton,” he pointed to a tiny dot inside a green forest.

  “It’s so small…” Ranthos compared it to the whole of the lands on the map. It was amazing… Ranthos looked in awe at all the lines and marks Alrys had made on this map, they must have traveled the entire land over dozens of times.

  “It truly is, cub. And this is only Eisenland. Look at this,” he said, revealing a second map much larger than the first, “This is the entire known world.”

  Ranthos’ eyes widened, “Where is Tatzelton?”

  “You can’t see it. It’s too small.”

  “Where’s Eisenland?”

  “Here,” Alrys pointed to a small kingdom in the West. “A real pathetic vestige of a country. All royalty was wiped out during the Hacking. Your towns are small and isolated, little trade passes through, and little stories are told in what’s left of this kingdom… but not so in the other lands. There are wonders there you can scarce imagine, in the cities or in the wilds. There’s a marble city that is swallowed by the ocean at high tide, a fortress that hangs from chains, a city built from gold.”

  Alrys could obviously tell how enraptured Ranthos was, so he gladly continued, “I’ve seen where the dragons roost, and where they learn to fly. I’ve met men as tall as trees, alfar of all colors, ogres who turn folk into wolves, and mer who can breathe water. I’ve seen a forest of trees that glowed like starlight, I’ve seen the lake where the clouds are made, and I’ve seen a mountaintop that touches Heaven.”

  “Where is that?” Ranthos asked.

  “Here.” he pointed to a range of four mountains in the North of Eisenland. He looked at Ranthos closely, “We are small people in a massive world, Ranthos. We are but tiny creatures on the precipice of something Eternal.”

  Ranthos needed to see that mountaintop more than anything. He killed the buck to see it. He wanted to climb to the peak and see what was Eternal. He perhaps couldn’t put words to it yet, but there was something lost inside of him that could be found at the top of that mountain. He could feel it in his bones. Ranthos’ brows knit, and he said the first words of his new life, “Take me there. I want to see.”