This is rough draft excerpt from the beginning of my newest work, a fantasy novel called Bareloth. Here’s the quick synopsis:
This is a tale of three friends – a runaway slave, a female bounty hunter, and a warrior seeking vengeance – their journey together, and the horror and beauty they discover as they find their deepest limits and plunge past them with nothing more than their bond, their courage, and their willingness to face the ultimate evil to save all that they know and love.
Download the whole book here as a PDF! BARELOTH
Chapter 1
The shade of the mine gelled – cool – against his sunburnt skin. He stood a moment, lungs laboring. Sweat clung to his once fair, white skin, which was now a crimson shade, and tic-tac-toed with kiss of the slavemaster’s whip. The sweat was acid, burning into his pores, searing his eyes – but a gentle breeze worked down the tunnel and caressed him. Zac oozed a sigh of relief.
Zac wasn’t particularly muscular, but he moved with a fluid ferocity that told of his strength. He was slight yet wiry, his arms webbed with veins, his face sharp. His body didn’t know how to waste itself – but it also wasn’t wasting away. He also looked mature beyond his age of eighteen. He had presence of someone who taken a beating from life, had suffered through intense hardships – but was thriving. You could see this by looking into his eyes.
“I don’t hear you!” the slavemaster said, his voice echoing from far behind Zac, in the safe part of the tunnel.
“Sorry, sir.”
Zac raised his hammer, and brought it down – clang.
This part of the mineshaft had nearly collapsed earlier, and a rockslide had killed two of the other slaves.
Clang.
Zac had been volunteered to repair the supports because he was the strongest man they had.
Clang.
Zac could feel the rock around him trembling. When your work in mines all your life, you just know. But Zac had already told the slavemaster it was too dangerous. He had already told him that there must be some kind of pressure built up around the walls here.
Clang.
Unfortunately, the mineral vein here, rich with Qurellium, was too valuable to pass up. It was worth the risk. It was worth his life. The slavemaster knew he would probably die today – but he could purchase a handful of slaves for the value Zac would uncover; plus Zac was dangerous. The other slaves loved him, saw him as a leader, would do anything for him. And they couldn’t take that away from him. It didn’t matter how many lashings or hotbox hours they gave him. He was too strong for them to destroy. He had too much spirit.
Clang.
But Zac hadn’t told them something. He hadn’t told them that it might just be water. He hadn’t told them that if it was water, then the whole mine would flood, and they would lose it all. Zac smiled.
Clang.
Ksssshhh.
A leak. Water pooled around Zac’s sandaled feet, eddying around his calluses, cooling the ravaged skin.
Clang.
The leak was a fountain now.
Clang.
The leak was a geyser now.
“Master!” Zac screamed. “Master! Water! There’s water.
Zac sprinted back through the tunnel, the torchlight a-flicker, his gleaming white teeth bared into a smile of vengeance.
Zac erased this smile as he came into the slavemaster’s view. He replaced it with a look of fear.
“What?” the slavemaster said. “Oh…”
“It’s ok, if we move quickly, we can all get out-”
“I don’t think so,” the slavemaster said. “I can see the water already.”
You’ve got to be kidding me, Zac thought as he turned. But no – the mineshaft was already filling, the water rising up to meet them. Zac had underestimated the water pressure.
Without another word they sprinted for higher ground.
***
The main chamber of the mine was filled with machinery, the noise of which roared sharp echoing pangs against the ears of the two-dozen slaves working, and the three slavemasters watching. Mined rock moved through powerful grinding machines that reduced it to powder, the powder moved to a sifter. A lift at the high end of the room was attached to a powerful pair of chains and a pulley system.
The slaves, though fair skinned, were covered in powder and grit. They moved like shadows, their footsteps deafened; their minds were occupied with their work; they seemed not to exist. They seemed to be part of the stone.
Their eyes jumped to life when Zac exploded into the room.
“Water,” Zac gasped. “The mine is flooding…fast…everyone get on the lift.”
The slavemaster caught up to Zac moments later. “No. No one gets on the lift. First we need to get these machines onto the lift.
The other three slavemasters said at once:
“How much water-”
“How long do-”
“I told you not to dig-”
The first slavemaster, the one panting from trying to keep up with Zac, screamed for them to shut up. They did. He then said, “Slaves, get the sifter, the grinder, the cutter, and that load of slag onto this lift, now!” He nodded for the other slavemasters to get on the lift.
Zac was standing, eyes wide – they were blood red from the hours of sweat poured into them, and the floating powder clinging to them. Zac knew that the lift couldn’t hold the machinery and his brothers. So they were to be left here. To drown.
He was still holding his hammer. All the hours swinging it, it had become an extension of his arm. He hadn’t even thought about keeping it with him.
It was so light as he lifted it above his head. It was like he was swinging air. His arms felt the resistance of the slavemaster’s head – he thought of pounding a rail into stone – but it wasn’t like that at all. When you hit a rail, the vibration burst back into your arm, and raked your muscles, burned into your elbow and shoulder joints. When you hit a rail the clang and the shock rock you all the way to the inside of your skull.
Hitting the slavemaster – that was easy. The thump was nice and soft. He crumpled. He slammed the ground, his split skull already spewing gore.
Zac looked up. All his brothers stood – wide eyes unblinking. The three slavemaster’s reached for their swords, but before they could unsheath them, Zac screamed – and threw his hammer at the nearest one. The hammer smashed into the slavemaster’s chest. It only stunned him, but Zac’s brothers got it. They knew what they had to do. All the years of being told they were nothing. Well they rose up right then, and if they were nothing – well then nothing can sure swing a hammer. The slavemasters’ corpses could tell you that.
***
They all piled onto the lift as the water reached the chamber. It was coming fast. As the lift struggled upwards, toward the far off circle of light high above, Zac’s mind raced.
There was a lurch and a terrible unspindling noise, which echoed through the cavern.
The cavern would collapse below them, and they would be plunged into it. Currents would toy with them, flowing debris would batter them, and in the end, they would drown, buried under rock, silt, and water.
There were too many people on the lift.
“Zac-” an old, wiry man with faded blue eyes said. Gemin was his name.
Zac stared upwards at the descending sunlight. They would never make it in time. The four strong men to Zac’s right were pulling as hard as they could on the chains but they couldn’t move it any faster.
“Zac, listen to me.”
He snapped to attention.
“We can’t make it up with this many people – and even if we do, we’ll be summarily executed for killing the slavemasters. Unless you make up a story.
“What could possibly explained four dead slavemasters and no dead slaves?” Zac said.
“I love you,” Gemin said. “You are not my blood, but you are my son.”
A memory flashed into Zac’s mind, of when Zac had been a scrawny boy, new to the slave camp, new to the work, the abuse – and far, far from home. Zac had been watching two of the other slave’s boxing. He was scared by it – how could he ever fit in with these roughnecks? Gemin had taken him aside and taught him how to box. Every evening after the work was done, Gemin would teach Zac more, how to jab, how to slip punches, how to put together combinations – and then Zac had started sparring with the men and older boys. Soon he had their respect, and from that he took the confidence that had made him a man, and made him invulnerable to the slavemaster’s whip. All thanks to Gemin.
Zac reached for Gemin, but the man sprung away. He leapt off the platform and dove. Zac tried to jump after him, but hands grabbed him from every direction.
“We need you, Zac,” a voice he knew said – the voice of his best friend, Arrice. “Only the old men will go.”
Zac looked up in time to see four more men – all the older ones – jumping off the platform.
“No,” he said. “No, no, no.”
He forgot why he was screaming, he did it in reflex, like he was breathing the words, like his stomach was spitting them out his throat – acid vomit.
Zac struggled.
“Let me go with them,” he said.
“Zac, please understand-”
“But Gemin-”
“Zac-”
“My Father-”
Zac nearly wriggled free, nearly made it off the platform – but one of his brothers hit him in the chin with a left hook – and his world went black.
Chapter Break
He awoke, blinking hard, to the sunlight. The sunlight was blotted out. Darkness, a mountain of it, was above him, rimmed in fire. His eyes focused slowly.
Lord Arthur Remlin towered above him.
“Wake up,” Remlin said – and then Zac’s ribs imploded.
Zac thought he’d been stabbed, but then realized that it was just Remlin kicking him with his steel-toed boots again and again. Remlin’s steel-toed boots were well known to all the slaves.
“What happened here? Where are my men?”
Zac sat up, and then stumbled back down. He rose to a knee, then finally stood. He looked around. Far behind him, a geyser of water erupted from the ground. A light mist erupted from the geyser. It felt good on Zac’s face.
“They’re all dead sir. Everyone that isn’t here is dead.”
“I know that!”
Remlin kicked Zac in the stomach and knocked him, sliding, to his ass.
“Did you know about the collapse in tunnel four? It killed four slavemasters.”
“Yes sir, I know about it. The masters wanted me to fix the tunnel. I was almost done when I tapped into a pressure spot, and water came up. And then we tried to run. They didn’t make it out of the tunnel.”
“They were all with you?”
Zac didn’t want to hesitate here – this was the important part.
“Yes,” Zac shot in. “I found a rich vein of Qurellium, and they all wanted to see it. They wanted to congratulate Master Richard for his good idea in making me fix-”
“So they were all there?” Remlin said.
“And then you started the flood? How did you get away?”
Zac didn’t know how to explain this part.
He stood up, slowly, stalling for time. He met Remlin’s eyes.
“I got lucky. Part of the shaft collapsed as we ran. I was hit pretty hard,” Zac said as he pointed to the swelling welt the right side of his face. “But I made it before I passed out in the main chamber. They…didn’t make it. They were swallowed in the tunnel.”
“You’ll be put to death.”
“What? I didn’t-”
“You should have tried to save them. You should have sacrificed yourself for them. One master is worth…”
Remlin waited.
Zac spat the answer back, “a million slaves.”
“So you should have gone back for them. You should have died trying to save them.”
“But it all happened quickly, and before-”
“You’ll be tortured tomorrow in the square. Men, take him away.”
Remlin turned away, and stared up at the geyser that had once been his thriving and lucrative mine. Zac wondered if he even thought about the lost lives of his men.
Nah. All he sees is the lost ore. Well there it is, Remlin. Can you smell it? The powder is in the water. It’s gonna be a long winter for you, with no ore to sell.
Zac held back his smile at that. He was grabbed by two slavemasters and pushed toward the town. Zac nodded to his brothers as he passed – and smiled.
He had saved them. Him and the old men had saved them. Arrice reached and clapped him on the shoulder as he passed by. One of the slavemaster’s kicked Arrice in the stomach and sent him staggering back. Arrice never took his eyes off Zac. Zac nodded to him.
It’s worth it, Zac realized. His whole life, all the struggle, even tomorrow’s torture. It was worth it just to see the look in their eyes right now. The respect. The love. The love of his brothers.
Chapter Break
When you looked into Artem’s eyes, you could see his strength – but also that it was different than Zac’s. It had a more straightforward quality – it was strength forged. It was deliberate strength, not beaten into him and brought out of his soul, but cultivated through years of training. Artem was seventeen, but he was tall and broad-shouldered, and his shoulders held layers of thick muscle. He wasn’t a brute though – every inch of him moved gracefully as he walked across the room. He seemed to walk to the rhythm of the flickering firelight. The way he reached for her so delicately seemed to contradict his massive body, and his powerful arms. He reached forward and grazed her cheek with his knuckles as he pushed a piece of hair away from her face. She smiled, her ivory teeth standing out against he dark skin. Artem smiled back.
He leaned forward – slowly – and kissed her. When they pulled apart she took a step into him. Artem exhaled and forced the words, “If you stand there like that, I might end up breaking the Warrior’s Promise.”
The Warrior’s Promise was taken when a young boy became a protector, which is someone at the learning stage’s of becoming a warrior. One part of the promise is that you can’t have sex with a woman until marriage, and then you can’t have any other besides the one you are married to.
“Stand here like what?” she teased, her hands sliding down his sides.
He laughed – nervously – and stepped back.
“You are too…” He couldn’t find the words so he just shook his head.
They stood close like that for a few moments before her face sobered and she said, “You shouldn’t go tonight,” she said. “Spend some more time training.”
Artem took a half step back and took her hand. He looked at how their hands intertwined for a second. He liked how her warm chocolate skin overlapped with his even darker complexion.
“I want this,” he said slowly. “I don’t know why…I know you’re right…but I qualified, and my Father believes I can do it. He doesn’t think I should, but he said that I probably can, because I am one of the most talented protectors the tribe has ever had.”
“But you might die,” Almera said, squeezing his hand.
“But it’s time. I’m ready. I’m ready to be a warrior.”
“So…you and your Father know it, what’s the point of all this pride?”
“It’s not pride…it’s…I don’t know.”
She hugged him close. “Don’t go.”
“My heart is set.”
She sighed. Whenever Artem said those words, he wasn’t going to change his mind. He could be a stubborn, hardheaded…she held him tight anyway, enjoying the smell of him, and how he enveloped her in his strength.
He was going to leave tonight, so she didn’t let go until he forced her too. Then she said, “See you soon,” because good-bye felt like a jinx. He was going to leave tonight to take the Warrior’s Test, a dangerous and strenuous test that could take up to three weeks to complete. First Artem would have to hike deep into the jungle with the Shaman of the tribe, and then he would have to meditate and fast, only eating one piece of bread a day, for two weeks. And then he would be given some sort of enchantment, or enchanted item, and the rest was a well-kept secret. Only warriors of the tribe knew what happened after the fasting.
Artem was the youngest protector to ever take the warrior’s test, by a few months at that. If he passed the test he would bring great pride to his Father, who was the chief of the tribe. Artem reminded himself of this as he walked out, leaving Almera behind. He turned and caught a last glimpse of her pained smile, and her thin wave.
The cookfires were still going when Artem walked through the village. The village had around three-hundred thatched huts arrayed through a manmade clearing amongst the jungle. The jungle’s trees were all around. They lived in the thick of the wildest land in Ascadell.
“Artem!” a thin man named Rebanu said. “There’s some meat left, take it.”
“No, I’ve had my fill,” Artem said with a laugh. “It feels like everyone in the village gave me food.”
“You’re going to be fasting for two weeks, just take some.”
Artem laughed and took the piece of meat. “I’m gonna be doing a lot of squatting on the way to camp.”
“I’m sure the jungle will never smell the same,” Rebanu said, referring to their old joke, that although Artem was handsome, he smelled so horrible that he could bed a woman once.
Artem laughed and shook his head. “Maybe so, but only because of your terrible cooking.”
“Oh!” Rebanu said. “Not my cooking! Abnale (smelly one), you can insult anything about me, especially that wicked witch of a wife I have, but don’t insult my cooking!”
Artem laughed and continued on his way, devouring the last of the delicious meat.
On his he was accosted by half a dozen chittering young boys. They spoke all at once: “Artem, how did you pass the qualification?”
“What is the test, just tell us what happens.”
“Are you really going to fast for two weeks?”
“Do you know the whole test, did they tell you?”
“I want you to train me to be a protector when you get back!”
“If you can’t tell us the test now, can you tell us when you get back?”
“Whoa!” Artem said with a broad smile. “Hold on and let me answer!”
The boys stilled, their silent eyes looking up.
Artem said, “I don’t know what happens on the last part of the test. I’m sure Gavelas will tell me during the coming weeks as I travel to the campsite, and then meditate. Who said something about protector training?”
“I did,” said the smallest of the boys.
“I will train you,” Artem said.
“What about the rest of us?”
Artem chuckled. “Luven asked first, and I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to train more than him. I’m sure my duties will start piling up when I’m a warrior.”
The other boys moaned and groaned like they’d just been given a week’s extra chores.
“Oh, and if there’s any ribbing and bullying because of Luven’s foresight, than it will be punished accordingly. Also, I’m sure I’ll be able to work with more of you after a while, I’ll just need a few weeks to get used to my new life as a warrior.”
They all nodded at this.
They turned to walk away, but Luven stayed behind for a moment. “Be careful Artem,” he said with wide eyes that seemed to big for his little head.
Artem smiled, and knelt, putting a hand on the boy’s frail shoulder. “I will. I’ll see you in three weeks.”
“Promise?”
Artem nodded.
Luven relaxed completely. It’s amazing how trusting he is, like there’s no chance I’d break the promise, like I’m already safe because I said it, Artem thought. Luven leapt up and pecked Artem on the cheek. “Ok. Bye.”
And then the little guy ran away without giving Artem even a chance to say anything.
Artem watched him run, bouncing forward on tiny legs.
“Wait!” Luven yelled, but this only made the rest of the boys run faster.
Artem stood outside his Father’s hut, which for sixteen years had been his as well. He knocked on the door, which was made of thick tree branches tied together with twine.
His father emerged.
“So, you made your decision?” Chief Arkala Remelda said, drawing himself up to his full height. Artem knew though, that he was nervous – he was just hiding it well. Whenever the Chief puffed out his chest like that, he was nervous.
“Yes. I’m ready for the trial.”
The Chief nodded. “Gavelas won’t be happy.” The Chief chuckled. “Let’s go.”
He put an arm around Artem’s shoulders for a couple strides as he said, “I’m proud of you son. You are showing a lot of bravery.”
“Thank-you…” Artem said, unsure of himself as he was buffeted by his Father’s rare moment of affection.
The chief removed his arm and assumed his regally rigid posture as a group of men passed by. The men all nodded respectfully to him…and to Artem. He was surprised at the acknowledgement.
Gavelas came out of his hut scowling. “So your mind is set?”
“And my heart,” Artem said.
Gavelas flicked a glance to the Chief, then refocused on Artem. “Fine. Let’s get moving.”
Artem was surprised that Gavelas was letting him off so easy. I guess he figures that he’s already chastised me enough about taking the test to early, and it’s too late to change my mind now.
Gavelas went back in, grabbed a bag that was already packed, and came back outside.
“Here, you can take my bag strong warrior,” Gavelas said, thrusting the bag into his chest.
Artem looked slightly away and kept his smile hidden.
As they approached the treeline at the edge of the village, Artem’s adrenaline tickled is veins with slivers of ice. The first part of the test was that they had to travel at night, and sleep during the day. A well-trained hunter and protector should be able to navigate, as well as perceive threats and predators – even at night.
The three of them slipped through the treeline and into the moonlit jungle.
***
Two weeks later, Artem’s skin was tight on his bones from the cold. His mind roved through daydreams of the warm sun that had passed over the horizon half the night ago. After navigating the jungle for three nights, they had camped. Since then he had passed his days in thought and meditation. He had been given one piece of bread a day, and beyond that only water. His body was weak.
At least I’ll be light, he thought.
A flurry of sparks rose from the fire that was ten yards from where Artem sat in cross-legged meditation. His Father, and the tribe’s shaman, Gavelas, sat there, talking as they ate venison that had been roasted over the fire. Artem forced his thoughts away from that delicious meal. Staying mentally tough was absolutely essential for him – if his appetite overcame him his body would deteriorate. He had to concentrate on his breath, on the moment, on the power of his soul, so he could keep his body strong.
Artem closed his eyes and imagined the stars above him. He imagined the lush forest all around him, the trees swaying in the wind. He, Gavelas, and his Father had traveled for weeks just to make camp here, and had climbed high, coming over one hill after another. Their camp was near the base of the tallest mountain in the Ajalta – Spiraloo. Ajalta was the biggest rainforest in the Ascadell.
Artem envisioned his tribe as he meditated, his younger sister, his friends. He envisioned the huts, held together by thatch and mud, he imagined the sun beating off those huts, drenching the dust that plumed up when the warrior party moved out to fight one of the rival tribes. He imagined the proud look on their faces, the tattoos, red inked across their biceps, their spears and halberds gleaming.
He would be one of them soon. All he had to do was pass this test, and he would be a warrior.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” his Father said.
Artem jumped up – and he got a little lightheaded from the sudden movement.
“Yes. Body and soul.”
“Good. Gavelas told me it is time. I’m going to leave now, because I can’t witness your test. But good luck son.”
Artem nodded, offered a wan smile, “I won’t need luck sir – you taught me everything.”
They embraced for a few long moments, and when they pulled apart, Artem’s Father turned away quickly – but not quickly enough so that Artem didn’t see the glint of a tear in his eye. His Father was the chief of the tribe, and as such he held a stern visage that rarely cracked; the tear surprised Artem. He filled with the warmth of his Father’s pride.
Artem watched his Father disappear betwixt the trees – with the fold of a few branches he was gone.
“Come,” Gavelas rasped.
Artem walked to the fire, and stood next to the old shaman.
“Now,” Gavalas said, turning to Artem. Artem could see the cataracts in the old man’s eyes, but he still felt trapped by the blind man’s gaze. “This is your last chance to go home. Understand that for those that try, only some pass the test, and some don’t even live through the test.”
Artem thought of the glint in his Father’s tear. “I understand. I’m ready to sacrifice my life for Ajalta, if I must. My path is set.”
“One last thing. Let me try and make this simple for your proud and thick head. You are being stubborn. You are being foolish. Take the test next year.”
Artem smiled. He was the youngest person in the history of the tribe to take the Warrior’s Trial – by an entire year. He was only seventeen.
“I passed the hunter’s test when I was only-”
“I know,” Gavelas said. “And you have learned all the drills required to take the test. But you would be wise to wait one more year.”
Artem thought about it. A breeze rustled over his skin, slithering over the leaves of the trees, whispering to him.
“My path is set,” Artem said.
“Fine. Lean forward please.”
Artem did, though he didn’t know why.
“This necklace has been worn by every warrior in the history of our trib.e Now it is yours. It will weigh you soul – and weigh down your body. It will also show you the way if you can listen to it, if you can drown out the pain of the test.”
Artem felt the cool links of a chain on his neck. Besides the necklace he was completely naked, the moonlight shimmering across his dark skin.
When Gavelas let go of the necklace Artem felt it tug him forward. The necklace felt like it weighed maybe twenty pounds. Artem looked down to see a small crystal pendant on the end.
It’s enchanted. God it’s heavy.
Artem looked to Gavelas.
“What do I do now?”
“Run.”
“Where?”
“Just run. Fast. If you don’t move quickly, you will fail the test.”
Artem blinked.
“Go now. I have seen men fail right here in the campground.”
Artem turned and sprinted into the forest, leaves thwacking and slashing at his bare skin.
“Listen!” Gavelas yelled after him. “Never stop listening!”
Listen to what?
But Artem didn’t have time to worry about that at the moment – the weight of the pendant was already starting to sap the strength from his neck, and the sudden sprint was making him dizzy.
Artem’s feet were numb, and sharp pain ran from his ankles to his knees with every footfall. The thwack-thwacking of his feet, sprinting along the leafy ferns was the rhythm that kept him aware of himself. The minutes melded into seconds, which melded into…hours? Artem guessed he’d been running for at least an hour, but it could have been two. Maybe three. Moonlight washing over shades of green was all he could see. Branches slapped his eyes. Thorns ripped bleeding gashes into him. His body was leaking sweat and blood. He was dehydrated. He was hallucinating. Not hallucinating…it was more of not being able to see anything as it was…he could only see a little bit of what was real, the rest his mind desperately tried to fill in – but his body demanded too much for that to happen.
Where am I going?
He was trying to listen, but he didn’t know what to listen for. All he could hear was his pulse in his head, and the vibrations of the ground, and his desperate breaths.
His side was stitching up.
If he stopped running he knew he would fail the test.
How do you know that?
Because Gavelas…no…not just because of Gavelas. Something else is telling me.
The necklace? Artem brought it up to his ear as he ran. No, there was no sound coming from it – he let it drop back to his chest – a shiver went through him.
Listen. Come on, listen.
Listen.
Listen.
The word started to fog and become meaningless.
Listen.
Listen.
It sounded weird in Artem’s mind as he repeated it hundreds of time.
Listen.
Listen.
There was a glint of something between the trees ahead.
Artem ran just a little faster.
The glint was there again.
What is it?
Artem cut left, dipped under a banch, jumped over a stump. He forearmed a tree branch. He slid through the air, his legs no longer part of the ground. The only way he knew he wasn’t floating was the sound of his footfalls – thwack-thwack, thwack-thwack, thwack-thwack – he saw it.
He saw it. A glowing tail. The body of the creature…was it a leopard? Artem thought he’d seen the spotted coat, thought he’d seen the sleek form.
Another glint – Artem dodged a tree, zigged right.
He hadn’t once stopped to consider why he was following this glint. Artem had passed the first part of the test. If he had hesitated, stopped to think, even for a moment, he would have been dead.
Artem kept after the glint, which only showed occasionally. Artem started to wondered if perhaps it was guiding him. Waiting for him, until he caught the slightest glimpse – then darted away again. Artem didn’t know if he was hunting it or was it leading him.
By now, the exhilaration of seeing this clue was wearing off. His body was reminding him now, that he had been running for three or more hours, and that he hadn’t had a real meal in two weeks. Artem’s feet sunk into the muddy bed of a stream, the cool water splashing up his shins and knees. Artem struggled not to slow, his feet getting sucked into the silt.
Artem saw the glint ahead.
His lungs burned. His stomach was cramped; it was so bad he was hunched over slightly as he staggered along. His vision was blurry slits – the sweat had burned into his eyes for too long. Artem’s shoulder hit a tree trunk and he half spun, nearly losing his balance.
He kept going.
Nausea rose; he forced himself to hold down the bile.
His foot scraped along a fallen tree trunk he hadn’t seen, and he stumbled. As he fell, his strength left him. He slid across the ferny ground. He tried to raise himself up – but couldn’t his arms were too weak. Far ahead, between two trees. He saw the glint.
No. No, it’s going away.
Artem crawled after it, his breath coming out in thin gasps. The air was talons raking him from the pit of his lungs to the top of his throat, even to his dried mouth and tongue.
“No,” Artem said, as he reached the spot where he’d last seen the glint. It was all over. Artem, fell from consciousness.
***
Artem woke up with the thought blaring through his head: I am not a warrior. Muddy red sunlight came through the treetops above. It was dusk – Artem had slept through a whole day. His wooden limbs were hollow. He stood anyway. And as he stood, even as he stood, his vision was clearer than it had been, and his vision took in a beautiful sight.
He was at the wood’s edge. Artem took three more steps, and from between two trees, he stepped out into a clearing. A clearing at the base of the mountain.
The sun was behind the mountain, so Artem knew it was dusk: he had slept for a whole day. Artem looked up at the mountain, raking the sky, making the last remnants of the sun bleed.
Why hadn’t he realized the obvious? His path had been to the mountain. That’s why they were making camp near the mountain. Artem fingered the heavy pendant around his neck; he could hear it now, and it was yearning for the mountain, calling for it. For the peak.
Artem started up the rocky incline, his bare feet chapped and bleeding.
A few hours of scaling steep hilly inclines, and he had to take a break. He looked out as he sat atop a small boulder. Night had fallen again, and below him the forest was a star-glazed carpet of treetops. They fanned out forever, matched only by the stars. Artem took another breath of the thinning air, and then stood. He said a silent prayer to the Moon above, which was full, a deathly gaze giving life to the night sky. Then he was climbing again.
The final part of the climb was a steep, sheer, rock wall. Artem didn’t hesitate – his mind was far past that now. He didn’t break stride. He walked right up to the wall and took his first handhold – and then his feet left the ground.
His toes found the cracks in the mountain, his fingers found the bumps, formed by the rivulets of melted ice that came down the mountainside each summer. His body was light, so light, he was vapors, he was a rising wind, he was nothing but a shadow in the starlight. He flew up the mountain.
Until the pendant started to get heavier and heavier. There was a glow somewhere in the sky above, and Artem looked up at it as he pulled.
He climbed under the starlight for an eternity, but it felt like nothing. His mind was too far gone, to entrenched in the pain – he was numb. He rose above the lip of the peak, and crawled over. He tried to stand. He was on a small plateau. In the center of it was perfect sphere of rock, hewn from what had once been the peek. Impressive, but not why Artem’s eyes were wide. No. The sphere was glowing. It was pulsing. Artem staggered another step. The necklace got heavier. Another step – Artem’s neck couldn’t take it. He bowed under the pressure. To the ground he fell, the energy in his limbs gone. His heart beat hard, but he was helpless for a moment. He wanted to take off the necklace, it was choking him.
He crawled toward the light anyway. He knew what he had to do.
A bead of sweat somehow erupted from his brow. It felt icy as it wended its way down Artem’s face, and fell from his chin. Artem dug his hands, like claws, into the rock – and pulled.
And pulled.
And pulled.
The warmth from the glow was powerful now.
Artem’s eyes stared unblinking at it. It was here, he just had to throw the necklace into it. He struggled with the chain, finally got it off – his arms strained as he lifted it – and dropped it into the glowing sphere.
The sphere pulsed blinding light, and Artem cried out.
Artem opened his eyes, and the sphere was transforming, elongating, curving.
There was another blinding pulse, and Artem shut his eyes tight.
He opened them. The sphere was gone, and only a halberd remained, with a teal blade and a dark blue handle. Artem picked it up. He could feel the energy within it. But when the energy raced through him, and it ravaged him. It wasn’t something he could control. It was bursting out of his pores, it was exploding in his head. His heart burned, his lungs pulsed for air. His eyes widened until tears crept out of the corners of his eyes.
He screamed into the night sky, a long, desperate, scream.
He was going to die. Right here. Torn apart by the energy in the weapon he was holding, the weapon he couldn’t let go off.
Listen.
Listen.
Artem tried to distance himself from the pain. He tried to listen to the voices, one in his soul talking to the one in the night sky above and the rain forest far below. He stepped toward the distant rhythm calling to him. He approached the lip of the cliff and looked off. Far away, he saw a flash in the forest. He took a few steps back. He wiped the tears from his eyes – not tears – blood. The blood was dark on his forearm.
I’m crying blood.
Artem pushed this away. He had to stay calm now. He had to go after that glimmer. After the thing that had led him here.
Artem took a few steps back. Then he sprinted – and leapt off the mountain. He should have fallen to his death but he didn’t. Instead he flew.
The halberd lifted his light body, the energy racing through it, into the heavens. He soared over the treetops, through the milk of the starlight. The forest rushed underneath him and up at him simultaneously.
The upper canopy overtook him, and leaves whipped across his face. He crashed to the ferns, and rolled, coming to his feet. The pain was gone. He had passed another test.
He saw the glint ahead of him though, and didn’t have time to think about what he’d just done; he’d flown, descending miles in less than a minute.
There – he’d seen the spots, it was a leopard. Artem sliced through the vines as he ran. He darted between trees, he leapt over shrubs, he emerged into a clearing. He was back at the campsite. The dead ashes of the fire were long cooled. Artem cleared his throat. He stood very still.
There was a low growl, and Artem whirled toward it. From the forest he could see a pair of glowing eyes. Big glowing eyes.
Artem took a deep breath.
The leopard ambled out of the trees. It was bigger than any Artem had ever seen – or heard of. It stood as tall as Artem, but it’s body – muscular and graceful – uncoiled for maybe a dozen feet. He couldn’t tell whether it was the moonlight reflecting off of its coat or whether it really was glowing, but his gut told him it was the latter. The slight glow of the leopard made everything about this seem even more surreal. He raised his halberd – and felt like he was holding up a toothpick. Artem’s throat was tight with fear.
The leopard roared, crouched – and then sprung into a jump, long claws reaching for Artem’s face.
Artem rolled to the right.
The leopard landed nimbly, turned, leapt again. Artem rolled to the left this time.
The leopard growled – appreciatively? Yes. He thought it was pleased that he was proving to be elusive prey. He was going to have fun.
Artem leapt forward this time with a stab of his halberd. His glowing blade missed – the leopard had moved its head the slightest bit to the right. Artem followed this with a second stabbed – also slipped – and a swipe of the axe-blade. The cat leapt back to avoid the swipe.
Artem sprinted after it, trying to take advantage of the momentum. The leopard struck out – razor-fast – with it claws. Artem turned away and slightly changed course – but still got a swipe across his chest that left bloody gashes.
Artem yelled out, but not in pain, in anger. This was the last test, he knew it, and this beast was toying with him, and it meant to kill him – to keep him from being a warrior. It meant to shame him to his Father. It meant to rip him apart, to take this halberd from him, the one he’d run through the forest for, the one he’d climb Spiraloo for. He thought of his Father’s single tear.
Anger coursed through him, and his Halberd flared, teal and blue emanating from it.
He leapt forward – but it was a feint. The leopard took the feint, swiped at where his head would have been.
Artem was in a sidelong roll – hit stood up, spun, and cut into the leopard’s flank with a sidelong slash. The leopard roared in pain, turned, and attacked. This time it didn’t leap, it just stepped into range and let out a combination of vicious slashes and bites. He ducked, sidestepped, and parried the attacks. Artem countered with a stab that caught the leopard’s chest. Blood poured, from the wound. The leopard wasn’t badly hurt. But he also wasn’t amused anymore.
The leopard knocked Artem down with a bull rush. He staggered to his feet.
The leopard charged again, fangs bared, mouth wide. It snapped at Artem, but he got his halberd up and crossfaced the beast, the halberd’s shaft braced on the inside of the beast’s open mouth. Artem used his free hand to jab into one of its eyes.
He dove out of range, got to his feet – he could hear the leopard behind him. This would be it. The beast wouldn’t back down this time. Artem, with all his strength – smashed the pole of the halberd into the ground – and vaulted high into the trees. Through the boughs he flew, his body suddenly light again. He closed his eyes, and pictures the glowing eyes of the leopard. The halberd became hot to his touch – and then he plummeted the blade of the halberd thrust down at the earth. Artem became a human spear. He divebombed straight at the leopoard, the ethereal power of his halberd speeding his descent.
A shower of blood splattered into Artem’s eyes. He could see nothing for a few moments. Then he heard a low growl.
When Artem wiped his eyes, the beast was dead. The blade of the halberd was plunged deep, through its spine, all the way to its heart. He pulled the hot blade out like he was pulling it out of butter; he could smell the leopard’s burning flesh. Artem knew it in that moment. The test was over. He was a warrior.
Chapter Break
The next morning Artem prepared for his journey home. He had eaten well on the meat of the leopard, which he had roasted over the fire. Artem took a look at the warm pink-orange of the morning sun, and smiled. He looked down at his halberd and gasped.
The color, which last night had been teal and blue, was now the color of the morning sun. Artem looked closely at it and saw that the colors were merging together, slowly changing.
“Like a chameleon,” Artem muttered.
That morning Artem left in good spirits, and those spirits stayed with them for the entire week it took to get back home. They left immediately when he saw smoke in the sky.
Artem quickened his pace when he looked up, through the tree branches, and saw the smoke blotting out the sun.
When Artem got to the treeline his skin broiled with fear and anger. His village, the hundreds of huts, the church, and even the Chief’s expansive home, were all burned to the ground. There were a couple hundred men wearing full plate, black armor. Their black armor gleamed like it was wet. On their chestplates and shields was the red hourglass of a black widow. Their swords were mired in gore, and Artem felt a surge of anger – a good warrior always cleans their blade. Who were these people?
A tall man with a mane of blond hair down to his shoulders was talking to Artem’s Father, whose wrists were bound. The man towered over his Father. He was easily six and a half feet tall – and every inch of him was powerfully built. It was almost freakish how his muscles of his arms and neck bulged against his chainmail, making it cling tight like a leotard.
Artem’s nose wrinkled as he smelled something…indefinable. Although he didn’t recognize it, it clawed at Artem’s heart, something heavy and ravenous. It tore into him even as he tried to keep his calm. What was it? It was mixture, and mostly it was the smell of burning huts; but no, he could also slightly smell – just a hint – the bodies. The charring flesh. He watched the blaze rising and knew what the smell was blood-soaked flames.
He watched his sister and his Father as they stood in the center of the village, surrounded by the soldiers in their fearsome black armor.
He wasn’t sick though. Or sad. He was shocked and scared, and because of that he was ashamed – he was a warrior. He was supposed to be devoid of fear. But I don’t fear battle. This isn’t a battle, the battle is over.
And Artem knew he could do nothing, because if this force had defeated all of the villages warriors, how could Artem make dent.
But I should try! Move legs! Take me into battle.
But he stood paralyzed, just watching.
There were between two and three dozen villagers left, and they were digging a massive trench.
Artem picked out Luven, Almera, and his sister, digging. But where was Rebanu? He had to know, even if it was a risk. So he climbed the nearest tree, taking care not to scrape his feet along the bark, not to step on any weak branches and snap them.
From his vantage point he could see the faces of the corpses. He scanned them until he found Rebanu’s. Rebanu held the hole in his chest like maybe he could stop it with his bare hands – but the puddle of blood soaked into the dirt around him seemed to be mocking that feeble gesture.
Artem’s attention was jerked away from his dead friend – the blonde-haired man grabbed his Father under the armpits like a child and lifted him up to eye level, yelling something at him and then spitting in his face.
Artem’s Father shook his head and said something. The blonde-haired man threw Artem’s Father to the ground, then put a knife to his father’s throat – Artem gasped.
Gotohere (is this too far from the last scene with Artem? Make sure it reads smooth and doesn’t take too long to go from “put a knife to his father’s throat” to here.
Artem registered the corpses, and the burnt huts, and even the knife to his Father’s throat – but he wasn’t scared or angry. He wanted to be angry, because if he was angry maybe he could do the thing that needed to be done – run up on these bastards and kill a couple before they overwhelmed him. If he could get angry he could have an honorable death. Come on, come on, rush them. Surprise them. You have the halberd, you are a warrior. Kill a few of them. Defend a few of your family, of your village.
But he couldn’t. He could only stare. He could only be numb. He was underwater, the sounds of the world far away, the sun filtering into cold.
“Tell us where it is!” the leader of the murderers screamed at Artem’s Father.
Artem’s Father said, “I don’t know where it is. It is a legend – possibly not even real.”
“Well then they die,” Roen said. “In front of your eyes, chief.”
“Better that they die than be your slaves.”
Roen shrugged. “I don’t have time for slaves right now, but not a bad idea for the next tribe we find out here.”
Roen turned to the last survivors and yelled, “Drop your shovels!”
They did as they were told. The soldiers backed away.
Roen yelled out and lifted both his arms, palms out. A pulse of purple energy leapt from his hands and burst into the villagers. Their skin peeled away as they fell into the trench.
No, not a trench. A grave. And I just watched it happen.
“With or without your help, I’m going to find that halberd.”
Halberd? Artem realized.
Artem broke from the trees and sprinted.
The sword flashed against the sun and then it dove into his father’s throat.
“I have it!” Artem yelled, holding the halberd out.
The soldiers heard it, but Roen didn’t, and he sliced the dagger across his Father’s throat – there was only a gurgle as the man fell. He died honorably, a brave face on.
Artem’s eyes were wide and he stood. He felt the pain right then, but it wasn’t in his face, it didn’t make his eyes tear. It clenched against the base of his throat. It pulled his lungs tight.
The soldiers were all turned to him and they could see the halberd he was holding high with both hands.
They moved as one, a wave of black metal gleamed and bobbed as they came for him.
Artem turned and staggered back into the trees. The branches whipped him, and he stumbled, banging into tree-trunks as he scrambled through the forest. The clank of metal was all around him, disturbing the beautiful shafts of sunlight that peeked down through the canopy.
Water, Artem thought. They’re all wearing heavy armor – I need to cross some deep water.
Artem changed directions and sped up.
Artem couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, if he had been quicker, they would have seen the halberd, and they wouldn’t have killed the villagers. Or his Father. Or Almera.
They probably would have killed them anyway, Artem argued with himself.
Another voice in him said nothing; it didn’t have to.
The next minutes would never really appear in Artem’s memory. His mind couldn’t process his father’s death, let alone the dozens of soldiers coming after him. He would only remember a blur: boots thudding, green leaves glowing as he sprinted by them, blinding moments of sunlight descending from the canopy into his eyes. And killing someone with his halberd.
The soldier had almost caught him. The soldier swiped at Artem’s back, and he turned. The halberd felt warm in his hands. That’s what Artem remembered the most. The halberd had been warm as he had slashed it across the soldier’s neck. He ripped the neck open. It was just like his Father’s neck now.
Artem came to the river and sprinted into the water. Artem’s legs powered him forward until he fell and plunged into the current. Then Artem swam hard, until his arms burned, veins spitting scorched acid into his muscles. He swam until his knees sunk into the muck of the shore. Then he pulled himself to the bank and turned to see dozens of black-armored soldiers frantically trying to take off their armor. Some of them were already swimming, but they weren’t still far from him.
He got to his feet and jogged then, ignoring the pain in his body; that was easy – he was a warrior. The pain in his mind was a different though. He couldn’t fight it – and he couldn’t outrun it either. It just followed him, no matter how fast he ran.
Part of him hoped that he’d get caught – then at least he’d die an honorable death, instead of running like a scared animal. He willed himself to stop and go back, possibly sneak a few kills amongst the trees before a last stand. But his legs, the same legs that had frozen as he watched his loved ones dig a grave wouldn’t stop moving now.
***
Back at the smoldering village, Roen walking amongst the corpses his men had killed for him. Surely they would find the savage with the halberd and bring him back. Roen let that thought fill him with elation. Bareloth would be pleased.
There was a gentle moan, and Roen snapped to alertness.
He walked to the corpse filled trench and looked down. Almera stared up at him, blinking like she’d just woken from a sleep.
“How did you live?” Roen said.
Almera said nothing, just looked up at him with confused eyes.
She has no idea. Somehow she deflected my spell…unintentionally? Her willpower must be enormous. Yes, she must be a talented one indeed.
Roen looked down at her and a slow smile formed. Two treasures for Bareloth today. The halberd, and this beautiful little diamond in the rough. Bareloth was going to be very pleased.
Chapter Break
The dried blood in Zac’s nose is what woke him up – he couldn’t breath. He spluttered to consciousness and remembered why his nose was clogged and swollen. One of the guards had punched him before they’d put him in the cell. Zac sat up and saw the guard looking at him from behind the bars. The guard had stringy grey hair, and a lined, skinny face.
“You ok big guy?”
Zac laughed. “Like you care.”
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