Of Mortal Dreams: Chapter XIII [Part 2]

Revon

[WARNING: Scary images to come!]

Up in the shoddy ravensward, Nightwing was less miserable than she had been when they were escaping Tareth, but not much less. Since they’d arrived in Orrendale, no one had been able to approach her, and it seemed that the presence of Sya’s raven, Hela, only highlighted her poor mood. She let out a frustrated screech when they reached the landing, snapping as an unfortunate servant leapt back from the pile of meat and bones he’d brought for her. Revon didn’t recognize the disheveled, wide-eyed mortal as he scurried away. He turned to Sani.

“Where is Kol?”

Sani looked sheepish. “Kol took your message to Esset. He’s faster than a rider.”

Revon wanted to say that he was surprised at her faith in a koza, but clearly his message had reached its intended recipient. So he merely noted the fact, wondering whether speed was the only reason she had chosen Kol. Besides, more important matters were at hand. Beneth had drawn close to Nightwing, who remembered him well from her first rendering, and had begun inspecting her weave-points. The maker’s growing indignation and shock were evident in his movements, as he looked over one of his greatest creations to date.

“What did this to her?”

“Will knowing change the solution?”

Beneth shook his head with a deep frown. “The damage is great, one way or another, but—”

“Then fix her,” Revon said. “And be done.”

The maker’s brow cleared and he bowed. He hadn’t lasted this long in Dabdagan by demanding answers. Sya moved towards Hela, clicking her tongue and cooing the way many riders did with their ravens. The way mortals did with their pets.

“The days are long but I’d rather get on with this,” Sya said, coaxing Hela downwards to make mounting easier. “The caves—you said they were southeast of here, in the hills?”

Sani nodded. “Northeast, actually. From the air, you won’t miss the pyre. The caves are a short walk further.”

Sya was already mounted and now Revon followed, listening as Hela’s distrusting warbles shook her sides and into his hands where he gripped her fur. Whereas Nightwing had the finishes of a hawk, Sya’s raven had those of an owl. And, like an owl, Hela was intensely loyal, broader in the body, and with sleeker feathers. Thanks to Beneth, she was accustomed to bearing a second rider and wore a dual mount, with the all-essential hasp on its pommel. As Hela lurched to her feet, the wooden platform creaking beneath them with every step, Revon lashed the leather fastener around his waist and hooked it in, gripping the pommel knobs. The drop was less extreme and the leveling off was smoother than what Revon was used to. When they began to soar, he leaned back.

“The Fleshseekers,” he said loudly, but not in a shout. There was no need, with Hela’s quiet wings. “Accident or planted?”

“Both,” Sya admitted absently, peering down at the terrain. “As you may know, the occasional ‘escape’ affords the Counsel a reason to visit more independent and influential region-leaders, if one hasn’t arisen in due course. But this case was not by design.”

He was not aware. But it was gratifying to know that some of his past suggestions had been taken seriously and codified. At last.

The air began to stink faintly of death and Hela began to circle downwards at a steady decline. Her broad wings prevented Revon from seeing whatever Sya was aiming for, but he imagined that the pyre Sani had mentioned was not far—given the smell. The landing was as easy as the flight. All around them were rocky, rolling hills, the small part of Orrendale’s territory that was useless in comparison to its fertile farmland.

“There,” Sya said, pointing. “Still smoking.”

The men of Orrendale had built the pyre on one of the larger hills, an impressive construction, a couple days old, but still smoldering. Blackened and even more deformed than it had been in life, the Fleshseeker’s corpse was nestled amongst the charred wood, its clawed and unevenly-fingered hands curled into grotesque shapes, its limbs as thin and bizarre as those of a desiccated spider. A wide mouth of monstrous, dark teeth gaped in an eyeless face, forever cast into a final scream. Revon noted that its longest teeth had been pulled from its mouth, as a trophy.

It would have been unnecessary for the men to light the wood—with the Fleshseeker chained to it, the fire from its reaction to sunlight would have set the pyre ablaze in moments. Even now, an inexplicable heat pulsed from the grim scene. Hela let out a quavering, discomfited sound and, even with the sun high overhead, Revon felt a shiver of concern. The fact that two others might be roaming freely was no small matter.

“Vile creature,” Sya murmured. “I wonder who its mother was.”

Revon examined the bizarre, overlong feet. “A fool for allowing it.”

“Perhaps she didn’t allow it. Even the most experienced matchmaker can err,” she said, anger seeping into her voice. “And they do.”

Yes, and the woman’s mistake was trusting a matchmaker with her life. All for a child.

“You said something about caves,” Revon recalled, uninterested in discussing the creature’s origins further. “East?”

Sya glanced up at the sun on instinct, checking its position in the sky. Revon, too, was keenly aware that, with Fleshseekers nearby, darkness was their greatest enemy this far beyond the keep walls. But the afternoon was yet young. She pulled out a crudely drawn map that Revon suspected belonged to Sani. Following the unimpressive but accurate depiction, they reached a series of narrow crevasses and rockier hills a short walk from the pyre itself. Hela kept at a close distance, watchful, her footsteps slow and methodical. A sigh of putrid air slithered between the hills.

The tracks of the hunting party that had apprehended the first Fleshseeker were particularly dense in front of one cave. Focusing there, Revon followed the tracks and stood before the gaping darkness at a cautious distance, waiting for what was sure to come. It shouldn’t take long for them to smell him.

A low, pulsing growl shivered through the air and something breathed deeply from the cave, hissing through its teeth. A slender, misshapen figure loomed forward from where the shadows were deepest, beyond what pinpricks of light had somehow squeezed between the largest stones near the mouth of the cave. The nails in its hands were like talons, its eyes were sunken pits, and its teeth were like those of a mountain cat, only black. Its naked form seemed almost skinless, the sinews and musculature torturously exposed to the elements. Even its lips were forever pulled back into a gruesome smile. Something slick and glistening ran down its arms and legs, and an overwhelming rot filled the air. Revon felt the totality of its intention resting on him.

“I have one here,” he said with a grimace.

“Just one?” Sya’s voice was farther away than he had expected and he looked over his shoulder. She had climbed a different rocky mound and was looking through a mortal spyglass, slowly sweeping it across the horizon. “Maybe it moved on.”

“Perhaps, but that still doesn’t explain how they got this far,” he replied, as a stronger gust of stinking air swept past him. He covered his nose. “They still would have had to know—”

Oh. Of course. A blatant oversight on his part.

“What,” Sya said, noting his sudden silence. “What is it?”

Revon backed away from the cave, seeing the situation in a fresh light. The air coming from underground had been the first clue. Then the stones at its entrance, and those scattered throughout the clearing, were too regular in size and shape to be natural. The hills themselves were too evenly spaced, and the entrances too closely mirroring north and south, east and west, to be coincidental. All four had the same, narrow door. All four were of similar height and construction. This wasn’t a group of mounds.

It was a crossing, for travelers taking the oldest road in Arras.

“Evershade,” Sya demanded, at his continued silence. “What is it?”

“They’re tunnels,” he said, then pointed at each of the mounds: “You’re standing over one of four entrances.”

“Tunnels?” Excitement seeped into her voice. “By the dead, I had thought those were all closed up before the last age.”

These four entrances were just a small piece of an ancient maze of passages, used by mortals when the world was younger and more dangerous. Sya would know very little about them. Revon technically shouldn’t know very much, either. He’d nearly forgotten they were there.

“That explains how they’ve gotten this far inland,” Sya pronounced, picking her way down the mound. “Only the dead know where they all go. I would bet the myriscrolls had the answers, if they hadn’t burned.”

Indeed. The sudden patter of receding footsteps and a gust of putrid air had him looking sharply back into the darkness. The Fleshseeker had disappeared.

“The light is fading beyond comfort,” Revon said. “We should go.”

Hela, Sya’s raven, was perched atop a nearby hill, cleaning her feathers. At her mistress’s call, she stood and shook out her wings, then leapt into the air. She landed in the middle of the ancient crossing, and dropped down to her knees to make mounting easier. But the shadows had shifted, lengthening towards the center of the clearing. Fast as snakes, two Fleshseekers left the protection of the cave that lay on the western side. Together, they took hold of Hela’s right wing and began to drag her further into the shadows and underground, the raven screeching as she struggled against their strength. Sya’s thirdhand burst forth, wild and panicked, chilling the air. Under the weight of her mind, the crown of the ancient mound began to buckle. The fleshseekers hissed, released their holds, and retreated into the blackness as the entrance collapsed. Revon had kept his own thirdhand ready for a second attack, watching the other three entrances.

“Vermin,” Sya huffed shakily then with disbelief: “I never knew that Fleshseekers craved raven meat. Did you?”

“They don’t,” he retorted, looking over his shoulder and quickly mapping out where the shadows had begun to encroach on the afternoon sunlight. “Their goal was to ground us.”

“By the dead.” Sya breathed, gently inspecting Hela’s wounds. The woman looked up in growing fear. “Call Nightwing.”

“It’s too far for that. In the meantime, we must get to high ground,” he said, releasing his thirdhand on the other three entrances. They shuddered, groaned and collapsed. Furious snarls could be heard, even through the rubble. “Can she fly at all?”

“I think so—but only for a short way.”

That would be enough. If it killed the beast, Revon would ensure she got them to Orrendale. “If Hela can get us out of these hills, we will be close enough for me to call Nightwing.”

Sya winced, turning to her raven. “Hela, can you?”

By the dead. Ravens were tools, not pets. Sya could have another one made and never know the difference. Only he and Sya herself were actually irreplaceable. They mounted Hela again, her right wing only partially extended. Her legs shook under them. He felt Sya silently coaxing the raven towards the sky. The beast crouched and abandoned several attempts, before Revon decided that he would force her to fly with his own thirdhand, whatever the consequences. He could hold Sya back, if she fought him. But he was interrupted.

“Your beast will not fly.”

The words were spoken in the unmistakable guttural tone of the south. It came from somewhere above them. Revon looked up and saw a tall, looming shape on the remains of one hill, and it wasn’t alone. There were others, some standing fearlessly in the shadows, others on higher ground. They all wore light cloth, cheaply dyed black. The apparent leader lifted his chin, to reveal a many-scarred face and sun-soaked skin.

“She will not get you to the sun in time. You will be trapped in the shadows with the skinless ones,” he sighed. “We will escort you back.”

“And who are you?”

He sniffed the air. “Hunters. Orrendale pays well for a pair of skinless fangs.”

Koza. Revon dismounted, disgusted by requiring a halfblood’s help but not too proud to admit the truth. They were in trouble.

“What are you doing?” Sya hissed.

“They’re halfbloods.”

She grimaced. “I can see that.”

“I imagine they’ll pay at least as much for two visiting Counselhands to be returned safely,” the leader went on, peering at Revon. “Won’t they?”

Revon nodded tightly. “Yes, I’m sure. Shall we? Sya, come down.”

“That’s good, because you’ve destroyed one method of catching them,” he said, gesturing at the ruined ancient crossing. “We got a few by blocking the entrances before they returned from a hunt, right at dawn. You corner them, the sun rises, and—” He snapped his fingers. “Your job is done. The other way isn’t quite as—well. Enough talk.”

He never finished his final thought and there was no point in trying to decipher it. The koza mind was as dirty and unkempt as its physical form. The party fell into line. Revon and Sya were jostled towards the front, with Hela bringing up the rear. There were more koza in this group than Revon had realized, at least ten. That was too many in one place beyond the Counsel’s walls.

“So you burned the skinless one—on the pyre,” Sya observed.

“Of course we did,” their leader said with disdain. “Did you think mortals coaxed it up there or that it climbed up itself?”

A round of low chuckles shivered through the air. The koza's arrogance in their own strength was never lacking. And yet, they had been servants to the Counsel for hundreds of years—once great kings, now slaves. The leader raised a fist and the company stopped. One of his men broke away and disappeared between the hills. Revon blinked. The speed of a koza at full pace never became less shocking. It was incredible. Dangerous.

“Why are we stopping?”

“Making sure we haven’t missed anything,” the leader said, clearing his throat and looking away. “Don’t want any surprises.”

The silence swelled. The sun crept lower. The scout was nowhere to be seen. Ahead, among the rolling, purply shadows of the western mountains, Revon could see the flickering of lights. The keep and the town weren’t far. And, if he could see it, the koza certainly did.

“Really, must we—” Sya piped up.

The scout was suddenly there again, cutting her complaint short. “The shadows are cast. Won’t be long now.”

At the cryptic statement, the leader turned. “We’ll wait here, take them head on.”

The band of hunters formed a circle around their charges, facing outwards. Sya took a breath to object but Revon grabbed her arm, silencing her. He reached for her with his thirdhand and found she was only too eager to speak mind to mind.

What in all hells!

We’re the bait, he explained. They need their pay.

Her jaw dropped slightly. They can’t do that! Don’t they know who we are?

We don’t have a choice. They’re our best chance of getting back.

Her hands curled into fists. He felt her rage and fear and humiliation.

The Counsel will hear of how many koza Orrendale keeps. A faintly cruel smile upturned her mouth. Her fists uncurled. They’ll pay.

The Fleshseekers didn’t try to hide their approach. Their bottomless hunger for mage-flesh drove them, frenzied and snarling, from between the hills. Revon counted two, then three—more than even Sani had expected. They ran on two feet at times, sometimes four, their long arms and clawed hands pulling them forward far faster than any man could run. It should have been the most gruesome death sentence. But the kozas’ need for money was just as strong.

The hunters worked in threes. One would intercept, engaging the Fleshseeker on its first charge, and another would take it by its neck, controlling its fanged mouth. These two roles incurred the greatest injuries and seemed generally to be performed by the larger members of the party. It was impressive, the number of wounds a koza could take. Once the mouth was under control, the second koza lifted the creature’s feet, so that it was parallel to the ground, but not on it. The third koza then whipped a heavy chain around the monster’s legs and a second chain around its flailing arms. Its head was covered in a weighty, leather sack, drawn tight around its neck.

It took all of ten minutes. As the chaos subsided, and it became clear that no more Fleshseekers would appear, the hunters began congratulating each other and tending to their wounds. Several had split away from the group and returned with armfuls of sticks and wood. Together, they built a roaring fire, much like the one from earlier that day. When the fire had become a blaze, they threw the bundled Fleshseekers onto the flames. The monsters’ screams rose into the dusky sky, a hideous serenade. The koza leader approached, his own eyes reflecting every fleck of light like a cat’s.

“When we catch them after dark, we have to burn them through the night, to keep them down,” he said, wiping his face on the back of one arm. The screams of the burning Fleshseekers echoed against the hills. “Only the sun can finish them off. We’ll be at it all night.”

With the danger gone, Hela stamped one foot with a tense cry.

“My raven needs tending,” Sya said. “Who will take us back?”

“Yes, yes—we will,” the leader said cheerfully, waving several of his men over to join him. “What a catch, though. What luck. Couldn’t pass it up, eh?”

“Of course,” Revon murmured calmly, belying the seething in his veins as they made their way towards the lights that they must have seen an hour ago. “And what will your payment be? From the Lord of Orrendale.”

Their leader spread his arms, at the world around them. “Land, of course. The very finest in Arras.”