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A Weekly Serial
by Olly Omani
1.2 - Rebirth
“Seek out Millie, up the main road, the third path to your right as you go. She has herself a trading post there, you'll be able to resupply there.” Lorna told him.
“Thank you, Lorna.” the Knight responded, his voice still dry and rusty.
“You're welcome, I'm sorry for firing at you, but the demons take many forms...” she trailed off, toying with her thick braid of hair with her fingertips and then said, “Now go get yourself some water, and maybe something to eat.” and with that, she approached the wall beside the gate, offering him a smile over her shoulder that caused her braid to to swing wildly at her back from the movement of her head. She then climbed up a ladder on the wall to reach a platform secured to it and slid a wooden panel to one side, allowing her to gaze through the rectangular murder hole in the wall.
The Grinning Knight watched her go and began to walk along the main road. It, too, was earthen, not cobblestone. The town of Chudd, such as it was, seemed to have been formed around the existing road. Makeshift shacks and buildings were erected, many of them seemed to be only barely standing. It was clear that some of the buildings had not been built in any kind of professional way, and they were a bit twisted or imbalanced, further adding to the unstable appearance they shared.
Millie's Trading Post was not like these, however. It was clear that a practiced hand had erected her building. He recognized her name, carved upon a battered sign and approached it. The Knight found an older woman, beyond middle age but not yet into her elderly years, within the post. Various items were on display, weapons, sundries, armor, trinkets, antiques on the outskirts. The forefront were the more valuable fare: food, bottles of what he assumed were water or clear spirits, and some bottles that were either extremely unclean water, or spirits of a darker sort. The food, such as it was, seemed to be largely preserved, very little of it was fresh. Jerky, salted meats, dry beans and mushrooms floating in some kind of liquid. There were also a few baskets of grayish rolls. When he touched one, he found it extremely hard and likely stale.
“Can I help you, stranger?” the old woman asked after he'd touched her merchandise. She had a no-nonsense air to her and her eyes were hard. The Knight noted she had one hand under the counter and wondered if it might be holding a club, or perhaps a heavy crossbow.
“I need food, water... Lorna, from the gate, directed me here.” the Knight responded and approached the counter. He asked, “Are you Millie?”
“That's the name on the sign.” she responded and seemed to relax incrementally, “How much are you looking to buy?”
The Knight and the trading post keeper began to negotiate and discuss. The 'hard rolls' the Knight had observed were a concentrated patty, consisting of mashed beans, mushrooms, meat and a 'special ingredient'.
“They're light, practically never go bad and taste like shit, you'll want to wash them down with a good deal of water or you won't have a bowel movement for a fortnight.” she told him as she placed a handful into a basket, “But they're filling and very nutritious.” she was quick to add.
They ultimately settled on several flasks of water, half a dozen hard rolls, a large pack of mystery meat jerky and a jar of what he discovered to be 'pickled mushrooms'.
“Where do you get your water?” the Knight asked as they moved to the counter.
“Most of the townfolk have rain-catching devices and systems worked into their homes, it's usually enough for their basic needs. The river's typically dry, but the town itself also has a reservoir of water, underground. It just so happens I own the reservoir. This trading post was here before Chudd, it's been in my family for generations.” Millie replied as she moved the items into a large satchel, “Mostly I trade my water for the things people scavenge... speaking of which.” she closed the satchel and set it down with a heavy thump onto the counter, “What do you have for trade?”
The Knight reached into a pouch at his belt and produced a small handful of ancient gold and silver coins, he placed them on the counter, “This should be more than enough. I don't think I will need this anymore, after I reach the Castle on the Cliffs.”
Millie gazed down at the coins and began to fan them out. She bit into one gold, then one silver coin and shook her head, “I'm sorry, but we don't trade in coins anymore. Though these are some of the most well-preserved coins I've seen in some time. I believe we stopped trading in gold and silver when my grandfather was a boy. You can't eat, drink or hunt with them. What else do you have?”
The Knight pressed his lips together behind his faceplate and shook his head, “My blades, but I cannot give them up. They still have a service to perform.”
Millie considered that and asked him, “You intend to go to the Castle, the one you call the Castle on the Cliffs? Do you know what lurks there?”
“I do, and I do not know. But I know that is where I am meant to go.” he replied.
“Should you make it there, you are planning to kill the monsters that makes its home there?” she asked, pressing him, her eyes hard.
“If I am able. If the one I pursue is still there...” the Knight agreed. He had not really thought about why he was going or what he would do, he merely felt the pull. Like iron filings to a magnet. He did not question it before that moment, simply accepted it as law.
The older woman nodded and she stepped out from behind the counter. She strode toward a wall, situated with bows and crossbows of various quality and style, “Are you a bowman, or a crossbowman? I have throwing knives as well.”
The Knight grinned behind his faceplate, almost matching the contorted grin upon his helm at the woman's words.
***
When he left the trading post, he left behind the coins, perhaps merely as a keepsake or a token. He bore a small, light crossbow over one shoulder and a quiver full of bolts. Around his torso he'd wrapped a bandolier of throwing knives. She had outfitted him with a few other bits and pieces as well, items she said had been made from the remains of the various beasts that often assailed the town. She'd not brought up payment again.
The Knight looked skyward, and though the time never seemed to pass, and it seemed to be day, he felt weariness, but a desire to press onward. He thus began to trudge through Chudd. His passage earned looks from those he passed and he kept one hand near his knife's hilt. He had no issue with the townspeople, but he would not be stopped in his quest to pursue the Golden Man.
The Raven, as per usual, remained quiet on his shoulder, its black eyes watchful, full of intelligence, seeming to appraise each haggard, weary face that entered its gaze. The town was not large, if its population was over a hundred, it would have surprised the Knight.
He was near the far end of the town and its other gate when a young girl, perhaps just barely a young lady, ran up beside him, “Sir, sir!” she called, blonde ponytail bouncing as she jogged after him.
Turning bodily, the Knight faced this girl, a scrawny youth, her face bearing wrinkles that should not have afflicted someone twice her age, and gazed up at her. She, like many, were taller than he was. She had a small band of leather in her hand, with four small, thick-glassed bottles, “My name is Eutrice, my father runs the apothecary.”
The Knight was silent. His steel faceplate, its wide, almost gruesome grin fixed in place, one amber eye locked on the girl.
She stammered a bit and thrust her hands forward, offering the band, “He heard you are going to kill the Golden Beast of the cliffs and he wanted me to make sure you have these.”
“What are these? I do not mean to be distrustful, but...” he replied, his voice still rusty from lack of use, despite his previous conversation.
“Potions, m'lord.” Eutrice responded and she set the band across one arm, using her other hand to withdraw two potions, the potions to either end of the band, “This one, it will... well, it's a combat drug, m'lord. You'll be faster, stronger, able to fight for longer. It does not last long, and you will be tired after taking it, but if your circumstance is dire... Well. There are two of them, the two here, on the left, the red color is just a bit of berry juice to make it easy to identify.” She tucked the potion away and held up the other, a blue-tinged liquid within, “This is a restorative. It's supposed to be taken orally, but if you should suffer a large wound, it can be applied to the raw flesh and... well... set aflame. It will heal without a flame, but its effects are more immediate when it burns. It will stop bleeding and reduce the likelihood of infection.” She tucked the second potion away as well, then offered the band to him once more.
The Knight accepted it and wrapped the band about his thigh, securing it with metallic clasps. He gazed up at the woman and asked, “These seem extremely valuable, if they do what you say-”
“They work, m'lord, truly. The restorative is painful if burned, but it will preserve your life. I have seen it before.” she interrupted, her tone almost defensive.
“...Tell your father he has my gratitude, as do you, Miss Eutrice.” the Knight replied. He did not voice his concerns about where this had come from, or why, but he did go on to ask, “It's not magic, is it?”
“Magic? No, m'lord. Even those of us who had the gift in our blood, well... magic has been gone for a very long time. Other than, of course, the beasts. A byproduct, my father says.” the girl replied, confusion evident on her face, “You didn't know, m'lord?”
The Knight was silent. He was not sure. He couldn't remember specifically any magic, other than the flames at the Keep, but he was certain magic was plentiful and dangerous, corruptive. He exhaled a breath and replied, “I did not. You have my thanks twice over. I will try to destroy the Golden Beast.”
“May fortune favor you, m'lord.” Eutrice said, her oddly wrinkled face seemed to smooth, just slightly, as a full smile touched her face and she dipped into a clumsy curtsey. The Raven gazed on at her, impassively, and she soon turned and began to walk back up the main, earthen road.
“May fortune favor me...” the Knight repeated when she was out of earshot. He turned , his tattered, shorn purple cloak fluttering in the motion as he began to trudge once more down the road. Minutes later, he had gained access through the gate. Within an hour after that, the town of Chudd was no longer visible to him, though the Castle on the Cliffs remained looming before him and he followed the inexorable pull toward it.
***
The silence of the land seemed to settle upon the Knight like a soaked blanket, heavy and oppressive, after the quiet sounds from Chudd faded into the distance. Now and then, the silence would be broken, an inhuman shriek, suddenly cut short, or an odd, monstrously large creature would fly overhead, gliding amongst the clouds, accompanied by a distant sound that was nevertheless powerful and deep. The shadow it cast covered a gigantic swath of the road and surrounding countryside and the Knight would hesitate in his steps to watch the beast continue passed. It did not seem to be tracking him, he was not sure what it was doing, for it never seemed to fly toward the ground to pick up prey. After the third pass, the giant flying creature did not make itself apparent again. The Knight continued on under the gray, constantly overcast sky as silence reigned once more.
Hours, days, weeks... the Knight wasn't certain how much time passed when that silence was broken. At first, he did not believe what he was hearing, and thought perhaps his mind was producing the sound in an effort to entertain or distract him. But as he continued down the road to the Castle, the sound only grew in volume.
Quiet, delighted laughter. A child's laughter, almost certainly a girl. The Knight drew his blade from its sheath with a hiss of steel on leather and turned to step off the road. The Raven, meanwhile, took a single peck at the side of the Knight's helmet the moment his armored boot stepped off the road. He waved his free hand at the bird, a dismissive, shooing gesture and it did not peck again, but it remained clinging to his shoulder. The Knight proceeded.
Thick, skeletal trees gave way to a rise, a hill of brown grass and dark earth. He climbed this hill and his gaze fell upon a boy. Clothed in what might be expected of a peasant, the boy's back was him and he was crouched, playing with something. The Knight began to descend the other side of the hill, approaching the boy. The sounds of his armor were clear, particularly in the otherwise silent world, yet the boy did not turn to look at him.
The raven suddenly let out a shrieking caw and leapt from the Knight's shoulder, taking flight, whirling up into the air. The Knight's faceplated face lifted to gaze after it, then the earth began to shift beneath him. The Knight planted his feet and almost entered into a half-crouch as the ground began to shake. The boy turned, its face free of the features of a human child almost as if they had been erased from his flesh, in their place was a single horizontal slit set below a protrusion of flesh from where its forehead might be.
The sound of the laughter was coming from that appendage, the laughter became more high pitched, manic as the slit opened to reveal a large, eye with a golden-iris that fixed upon the Knight's small form.
Instinct saved him, at the start. He lunged backward, a geyser of rock and dirt erupting before him as a tentacle tipped with a jagged, claw-like appendage burst forth from the earth. He tripped, pebbles scattering off of his faceplate and fell to his ass. Other clawed, tentacle appendages burst from the ground nearby. He felt the earth stir beneath him, a vibration he felt within his armor and rolled over just before another of the tentacles could burst through his back.
Staggering to his feet, the Knight turns and lashed out, cutting the tentacle that had nearly impaled him off, near the ground. The sound coming from the 'boy's' forehead appendage only continued and he staggered a bit, feeling warmth upon his lip as blood began to flow from his nostrils. It made it almost impossible for him to hear anything else.
Most of the tentacles stayed above ground, but a few disappeared back beneath the surface, the holes left in their wake quickly refilled with dirt. Though he couldn't hear it, he could feel the vibrations as the thick limbs worked through the earth. He began to run. He did not run away, but ran straight for the boy and the golden eye.
A tentacle lashed down at him in a whipping motion and he sliced at it with his blade, severing it just beneath its blade-like claw. He didn't pause in his stride and lunged forward, dodging a pair of tentacles that slammed down just behind him, narrowly missing him. He gripped his sword in both hands and drove it downward in an overhead slash at the head of the boy.
The head virtually exploded, gushing blackish blood and a clear, yellowish goop from the giant eye in the boy's skull. The 'boy' collapsed to the ground, his arms flailing and that deafening sound abruptly ceased, though the Knight's ears rang from the violent, aural assault. The boy's feet, however, remained firmly on the ground, which began to shudder and rise, taking with it the Knight.
The earth fell away from the creature that the Knight was standing atop, though clumps remained stuck to its form. The Knight rocked to one side as the creature found its footing, its tentacles writhing all around him. The entire 'floor' of the small valley seemed to be a part of the monster. Patches of earth remained stubbornly place. In others, the creature's rise had caused large sections to fall away in miniature landslides, revealing a tough hide beneath.
He ran again, this time he ran for the 'edge' of the creature. Tentacles once more lashed out and he was unable to catch or dodge them all, though he severed three more as he went, a handful beat down upon him and another curled about his leg and latched on. He fell forward this time, near to the edge, and knew it was too high of a drop. Even if he were to get free, the fall would likely kill him.
Time was not a resource he had in great supply, so he did not ponder this fact for long. He tugged his dagger from its sheath and slammed it once, twice, then a third time, on the fourth stab into the tentacle binding him, he got his leg free. In the meantime, tentacles battered his armor form, knocking him about like a rag doll. The blows were heavy and painful, but the Knight began to fight back, slicing out with sword and dagger to fend away the tentacles.
He couldn't know for certain, but he felt the creature might be toying with him. It only struck with a few tentacles at a time, and though he was able to keep up with them, he was rapidly wearing down. He didn't catch every blow and each strike to his armored torso and skull cost him something.
Abruptly, the world shifted to one side as the creature heaved one side of its circular body upward. The side opposite where the Knight stood. His side plunged at a sharp angle toward the earth and he began to skid on the loose dirt, gravel and earth on the creature's flesh. He stabbed, over and over, at the thick hide, trying to find purchase, but his dagger only glanced off of the tougher hide of the creature's body.
The angle continued to change until the creature was almost a vertical wall and the Knight lunged, filled with a moment of inspiration. Time once more seemed to slow as he ran along the sharp incline of the creature's body and he lashed out with his sword, severing a tentacle nearly to the root, then plunged his dagger into the stump. The creature's body went vertical at that point and the Knight hung by a single arm off of its body, his gaze fell to the true floor of the valley, a few dozen feet below his precarious position.
Searing pain tore through the man as a tentacle plunged itself through his breastplate and into his chest. The force of the tentacle that had just struck him dislodged him from the creature's body. He fell, then and the tentacle embedded in his chest followed until it reached as far as it could go. He let out a cry of pain as he was prevented from falling by the blade-like claw in his chest, his body whipping from the impact. Then the claw, no doubt oiled by his blood, slipped from his flesh and he plunged downward through the air, toward the ground below.
To Be Continued Next Issue
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