Episode 3 – Keep Moving, Keep Moving
Malik walked alongside the caravan, arms crossed. The gemstones on his right arm glinted a faint yellow. Even with his job protecting the caravan he had only obtained that small bit of spirit-dust. And that had been provided by his employers; he felt just a smidge resentful. But that resentment wasn’t of any use, so he stifled it. If he completed this mission, he might move up in the guild, might make some more money, and might finally gain a foothold.
The afternoon sun shone brightly overhead, casting a warm glow over the forest. Sunbeams filtered through the leaves above. Golden threads of light danced and played through the trees as the wind blew. Birds sang their melodies, adding to the natural symphony of the forest. Malik looked up at them for a moment, beholding the wonder about him. His eyes soon turned to the forest about them scanning for threats.
The caravan he guarded brought food from Aersede to Verdant, one of many such caravans that left from Aersede to the other major settlements. It was, perhaps, the most important facet of the peninsula’s economy, the lifeblood that flowed from city to city. But, this passage had started to decline; there had been rumors that caravans to other settlements hadn’t arrived. He gripped the long handle of his war hammer more tightly.
Malik used his war hammer like a walking stick. It was, perhaps a crude thing. The head of the hammer, forged of iron, was rusted in places. He had bought it long ago once he’d saved up money. The long-handled hammer had served him since then.
He walked beside several wagons, each loaded with crates of grain, vegetables, and other goods. The wagons were pulled by a team of horses. A handful of guards, including Malik, walked alongside the caravan to protect it from bandits and other dangers. The people in the caravan were a mix of merchants and farmers. They were a hardworking and resourceful group, Malik supposed. Despite the rumors of missing caravans they were determined to make the journey to Verdant. The caravan was vital to the peninsula’s economy, and they were proud to be a part of it.
Indeed, fears around the missing caravans were drowned by talk and cheer. Malik listened to the chatter idly, still scanning the surrounding woods for threats. He didn’t want to begrudge the others of their fun and levity, even if a part of him was pulled in that direction. Some people made light conversation with him now and again but stopped after a few of his stilted responses.
The tranquility of the forest was interrupted by the sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves. The horses all were nickering and started to balk. They had to soothe the horses to ease them forward. Malik patted one of them and whispered in its ear. It trudged forward.
In front of the caravan, Malik spotted a deer.
He thought that it looked small. Still, there was something almost majestic about the way that it bent its neck to graze at the grass underfoot. There was something about the way that sunlight reflected off the animal’s back, giving it an almost violet hue, that reminded Malik of starlight. The caravan continued forward.
Yet, the horses were restless, seeming apprehensive about going farther. Malik started to feel a prickling feeling all across his glass carapace. There was a stench that grew as they drew nearer to the lone deer. By the deer, the grass was stained an almost red color. Slowly, the realized it wasn’t grass that the deer was eating. There was a crunching noise as well as a disconcertingly wet sound that gave Malik chills.
He watched as the deer knelt, its front pair of knees bent and its head brushing the fallen body. It opened its mouth and began to eat, burying its head in the corpse. Its tongue swept over the still-warm flesh. Bone-white antlers were stained in pooling blood. The person looked as though they had been dead for less than a day. Their arms were extended, as though reaching out in their last moments.
The horses had halted and nickered louder. No one urged them onwards. The deer slowly lifted its head to stare at the oncoming caravan. It made eye contact with Malik for the span of three heartbeats before returning for its meal. Something twisted inside him as he realized that deer weren’t supposed to have forward-facing eyes.
The horses were increasingly panicked and so were the people. A flurry of whispers rang about them. Malik gripped his hammer ever more tightly as he hefted it. But he didn’t move forward. For the moment, the deer wasn’t bothering any of the living. Malik was loathed to provoke it. His time in the bowels of Caespen Ru had taught him caution, eventually.
The horses were trying to turn, and no one was stopping them. They collectively decided it was best to leave the creature to its meal. Each set of horses tied to each wagon turned back the way they came. People followed, their pace quick, trying to get to anyplace else.
From behind them came more sounds in the undergrowth. Four more of the creatures emerged. They were akin to deer in an abstract sense. But they loomed taller, bearing bone-white gleaming teeth. And their antlers were twisted and gnarled like branches. They walked forward slowly, almost deliberately, always advancing. Horses bolted.
There was a moment when nothing made sense. Horses pulled each of the carts in different directions. Malik heard scattered shouts all about him. The deer poured in. He caught a glimpse of someone falling as a deer bared down on them, a scream on their lips as they died. Puffs of smoke and clouds of dust obscured some people’s escapes. Most of those present weren’t fighters.
Everything was hoofs and screams and bloodshed.
The horses drew each of the separate wagons in different directions. And no one was able to keep the group together. Even seconds in it was too late for anyone to take charge. The best that Malik was to frantically start working at the reigns of the horse closest to him, it having gotten tangled in the panic. Malik yelled for others to disappear into the forest. One of the deer was headed for their cart.
He barely had time to watch them gallop into the woods before he had to turn his attention back toward the deer before him. He would ensure the other’s escape.
Malik charged forward, eyes unwavering from his target. He moved with purpose, his feet quickly, efficiently carrying him toward the nearest deer. Its head turned from the fleeing cart and snapped towards Malik. With a quick pivot on one foot, he dodged a sweep of the creature’s antlers and countered with a sweeping strike of his hammer.
The head of the war hammer connected with the deer’s antlers. The antler split with a sound akin to breaking bone. The deer let loose a pained bleat. Malik almost felt sorry for it as he finished the job. He didn’t pause. Another deer bleated in pain. Malik continued to move forward searching for the monster. And there was a man, on the ground, a deer pressing its forehooves against the man’s chest.
The man coughed. Gemstones in the man’s right arm glowed blue. He closed his fist and summoned vapor which coalesced into blinding steam. The deer staggered backward. But his gemstones had desaturated; little spirit-vapor remained.
Malik lunged forward, thrusting the broad top of his war hammer toward the deer’s side. The deer stumbled. It turned toward Malik, stamped its foot, and lowered its antlers. The deer started to charge. The man got up and disappeared into the forest.
Malik again thrust the long hammer toward the deer, stalling its movement, and shifted his weight to the other side and transitioned into a heavy swing. But the deer moved, almost impossibly quick. Before Malik’s blow could connect, the deer reached him. A large antler, razor-sharp, scrapped against his side. He was worried for a moment. He thought he could feel the creature’s warm breath.
The blow connected; it cracked against the beast.
There was yet again a cry of pain. The deer staggered, wounded. It didn’t continue forward. And Malik swung the hammer again. He looked around the clearing. All struggle had died. Either the deer had been felled or else they had escaped. In the less than three minutes since the deer had attacked, everything had fallen apart.
Some of the dead lay fallen on the ground. Cart tracks led in scattered directions. One of the carts was still on the path, toppled and in ruins. Crates and cracked barrels lay strewn across the floor.
Adrenaline started to leave his body, and he became aware of the wound at his side. In Gingerly, he brought his hand to the affected area. When he withdrew it, no blood stained his fingertips. Sculos weren’t injured easily, but what injuries they did receive healed slowly. Their glass-like exterior was surprisingly thick and hard to scratch, protecting their soft innards. Still, Malik’s body was already covered in deep scars along with cuts of varying sizes. Some of them would fade.
Since the cut hadn’t broken past the outer shell, it wouldn’t require any immediate attention. There would be no risk of blood loss or infection, only a bit of pain. Malik decided that he could bear it.
But he looked at the destruction around him and felt hollow. He looked at the dead and wished he could have saved him. He should have. Malik thought of the kids newly orphaned by this event. Who was left to tell them that their parents wouldn’t come home? But there wasn’t anything he could do besides hope that some had escaped.
Before doing anything else, he grabbed one of the smaller sacks of food. He’d long since learned not to waste resources and knew that he’d end up hungry if he couldn’t reach a settlement or at least one of the villages. Malik didn’t want to go hungry again.
There were snorts and grunts from the underbrush near him. In Malik’s experience, this was often the point where things got worse. Perhaps there was an entire herd of the things. He disappeared into the midst of the followed the path that the cart nearest to him had taken, the wagon that he had told to flee. He trudged in that direction, tracing the points at which the wagon had disturbed the underbrush. The cracked branches, disheveled bushes, and the slightly marred earth all contributed to his assessment that he would reach the cart eventually.
And reach it he did, after a surprisingly short amount of time. Barely had he set out on his course before he found it, though it seemed abandoned. Like the cart still on the trail, a collection of crates and goods spilled from it. And, with its looming figure and twinkling hide, there stood a deer. It was almost majestic in the silence. Malik held his breath as he watched the deer eat its meal. Copper-stained teeth tore into human flesh.
Quietly as he could, Malik eased backward. There was little he could do for the dead. His efforts would be wasted on them. He turned away and continued further into the woods. He didn’t wish to return the way he had come; he’d heard signs of perhaps more deer. His only course was to press deeper into the woods.
He had walked out of earshot, and he slammed his fist into a tree, succeeding in little more than scratching his hand. Even those who had escaped hadn’t done so for long. He took a moment and did his best to collect himself. His feelings would only distract him from survival in the short term.
Malik did his best to travel in the direction of Verdant. Not being able to follow a path, he was nervous. What he did know was that Verdant was east of his current location and the sun had just crested midday. He hoped that walking away from the sun would lead him in the right direction.
Malik had time to think about the deer, about what he had seen. His adrenaline had long since dissipated. In the peaceful forest, under the swaying trees, Malik was forced to reckon with what he had seen. The deer had an altered appearance, with strange markings, twisting antlers, and frightening aggression. In the noon sun, away from the monsters, it was harder to believe that the deer had been real.
But it was. His side still ached, and he was forced to confront the altered reality he now found himself in. Malik wasn’t quite sure what it meant or what would happen. He supposed that he would simply have to survive, as he had before, as he would in the future. Dwelling on the deer, for the time being, would be of no use. Still, he was even more cautious than usual.
Perhaps he would end up reaching Verdant eventually. It was somewhere in the forest.
Malik continued in the woods. He thought that it had been a few hours. Whereas once the sun had been near its peak, it now cast long shadows in front of him. Still, dusk didn’t look like it would be coming just yet. Malik dearly wished that he would reach a settlement before nightfall. If what happened to the deer happened to other creatures… He didn’t want to risk the night.
As Malik trudged through the dense woods on a sunny afternoon, a piercing bleat shattered the silence. He clutched his hammer, scanning the trees for the source of the sound. Then, he heard the sound of something being dragged through the underbrush. Cautiously, he approached the noise. As he emerged from the trees, a grotesque creature emerged from the shadows. Its fur was matted, twisted with clumps of red and white. And its eyes seemed to glow in the bright sunlight. Its teeth had a coppery tint. And it was dragging a baby deer.
The fawn looked like one of the strange monsters, smaller than it should be. Dappled starlight ran across its back. Malik felt the tiniest bit sorry for it. But he continued his eastward march, even warier. It wasn’t just the deer that had been changed.
The sky became overcast as Malik found himself in a denser, darker, part of the woods.
He heard a voice. “Keep moving, keep moving.” The voice was tense and reminded Malik of one of the farmers. He tensed.
So long had he been alone, so long had all been silent, that he at first thought it was one of his thoughts. But it had come from somewhere far off to his left.
“Hello?” He kept his voice soft, not wanting to alert anything to his location. He was still wary after his encounter with the deer.
This sound came again, soft, almost low to the earth. “Keep moving, keep moving.” There was no other reply.
He had been using his hammer as a walking stick; now he lifted it once again. He didn’t know where the voice had come from. Malik scanned the surrounding area around him but saw nothing. All was still. He continued ahead, if at an altered angle. Malik looked about him as he walked, and was careful at every step. He had been forewarned.
Another voice came, this time from a ways off; Malik thought it was the voice of one of the caravaneers. “Be careful. There could be more of them out there. Stick close together.” With it came the sound of footsteps.
“Hello?” Malik said in a voice just barely above a whisper.
Soon another thing was said, perhaps in response. “Who goes there?”
Malik stopped and again looked for the source of the noise, saying “I was part of the caravan guard.”
And a chorus of whispers picked up the previous phrase like a mantra. “Who goes there? Who goes there? who goes there?”
It came from all sides. He turned in a slow circle, hefting his hammer. Shadows moved. And there was a scratching, chittering noise that accompanied every repetition of the phrase.
“Who is it?” Malik tried again to converse with whoever was speaking.
The only response was a chorus of “Keep moving, Keep moving” and “Who goes there?”
He took a few steps forward. And then, from in front of him and to his right, he heard someone say “Hello?”
It was louder, nearer, and more distinct than the other things that had been said. It felt more like it came from a real person. He stepped in the direction of the voice.
The call came again. “Hello?” It sounded farther away, more desperate.
Malik almost continued in that direction but he stopped himself. Malik took a step backward from the nearest voice. Immediately after there was a skittering sound and then right behind him. Malik heard them say, “Keep moving, keep moving.” The words had taken on a sinister bent.
He dearly wished to disengage. His curiosity had been beaten out of him by the streets of Caespen Ru. A conflict avoided was a conflict won. But he was disoriented by the dimness and the chorus of voices. He tried to continue his course but was unsure if he was even walking in a straight line or whether he was constantly being turned around.
There was a scream, the wail of someone who only now appreciated how much they wanted to live. Malik knew was that of one of his dying comrades. He turned toward the scream, his skin cold as ice. In the darkness, he saw eyes; they blinked. Malik stepped backward.
“Keep moving, keep moving,” a voice said. He wondered if the voices understood what the words meant.
Malik edged away from the eyes, deeper into the darkness. He was sure that he had abandoned his previous eastward trajectory. Around him came scattered voices and stray calls. He needed to find some reprieve. Ahead of him was a cave, dimly lit, a wide gash made in a hill.
He entered it and stood, his back to one of the side walls while he caught his breath. At least he wouldn’t need to watch behind him. But in front of him, shapes continued to move. And he saw so many pairs of unblinking rodent eyes. No longer cloaked in the underbrush, he could make out their forms, although only in scattered glimpses.
The mice were large, having swelled to the size of small cats. Beady black eyes reflected motes of light. They lashed long tails like whips, thrashing against the ground. Its fur of mottled browns and grays blended into the darkness. Needle teeth glinted in dim light. Underbellies were white as fresh blankets of snow and almost gleamed.
Malik tightened his grip on his hammer. In most cases, things could be solved through the direct application of excessive force. He slammed his hammer at the closest mouse. He hit only stone. The mouse had moved away.
The mice whispered to him, he knew not how, saying, “Keep moving, keep moving.”
Many resounded with a chorus of “Hello,” and “I was part of a caravan guard.”
Right next to him he heard “There could be more of them out there.”
They taunted him.
Each mouse neared him, chittering. Malik extended his hammer, jabbing at the mouse that dared to close. But they surrounded him in a wide semi-circle. Whenever he pushed one back, two more edged closer. Then the mice moved in one crushing mass, spilling around where the hammer had landed. They rushed at Mallik and poured over him, tearing at his feet and legs.
Malik felt the weight of the mice on his body, their sharp teeth tearing at him. Most weren’t able to sink their teeth into his flesh, but others broke the skin, needle teeth puncturing through his outer shell. He could feel their hot breath on his skin, their claws scratching at his clothes. He knew he couldn’t hold them off for much longer; he had to find a way out.
Malik was subjected to a dozen dying screams, a chorus that blended together in one great exaltation of death. This was not the first time he had heard the screams of dying men, but perhaps this would be the time that took the prime seat in his nightmares in the weeks to come.
But there was no time to revel in the horror.
“Be careful.”
The mice almost knocked him over, so great was their combined force. But though he stumbled, he remained steady and still standing. Some tried to clamber up his legs, towards his arms and torso. He managed to pull them off.
“There could be more of them.”
He kicked at the rodents. A few of them were flung off of him, as well as a few drops of his own bright blue blood. Still, they tore at him. He couldn’t keep from screaming.And all of his screams were repeated back to him in softer tone tones by the surrounding mice. All of them took up the call as they tore at his legs.
“Keep moving.”
Malik spilled the sack of food on the floor, hoping to distract the mice. Bread and wheat, as well as ears of corn, spilled across the floor. Some of the mice descended upon it immediately. A few still gnawed at Malik’s legs. He kicked a few more of them and swung his hammer such that there were only a few mice still upon him.
“Keep moving.”
He ran in a daze, stumbling out of the cave. Fear lent wings to his feet, and he disregarded caution. He pulled off the last of the mice.
“I was part of the caravan guard.”
But his injuries were too much. As soon as he had gotten some distance away, he collapsed. Broken, injured legs gave way. He could not continue to stand. And the last thing he saw before falling unconscious was a small army of people and the distant sight of Verdant.
Malik awoke in a bed. This surprised him greatly. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he had been in a bed, certainly not one with any level of comfort, and the softness was almost suffocating. Malik tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his legs. He winced and lay back down, noticing bandages wrapped around his legs and side. He looked around the room, taking in his surroundings. His hammer rested on a small rickety side table. It was a good sign, that he was allowed access to his weapon.
Still, Maik did his best to catalog his surroundings. He was tucked in a small room, which contained five other beds. Four of them were empty. In one, there lay a girl who seemed peacefully asleep, dark hair tangled about her face. Other things of note included bundles of herbs hung on a rack by the door, along with vials of strange liquids. There was only one entrance, one exit. Recognizing all this made Malik feel more assured.
He heard the sounds of someone bustling in a nearby corner of the building. Shortly, someone opened the door. She was an older woman. Grey hair framed her face while wrinkles adorned it. She stared at him for a moment, forcing contact, which Malik met.
Then she turned and yelled. “Abraxas, the patient’s awake.”
Abraxas shuffled into the room, looking nervous as usual. Malik noticed that the herbalist was carrying a bundle of freshly picked herbs and a mortar and pestle. “Good morning,” Abraxas said in a soft voice. “I’m glad that you’re awake.”
“Yeah, well. Where am I?”
“Welcome to Verdant!” Abraxas punctuated these words with a sweep of his hands.
Malik looked about the surrounding cramped room, unimpressed. “When can I be out of here?”
“It will take some amount of time for the injuries to fully heal, and there will be some scarring. But, most of the damage is superficial, and you should be able to stand and walk soon. Just be careful, the carapace on your legs will be thinner and weaker for a fair bit of time. Make sure not to injure them again.”
“I know how my injuries work.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose you do.” Abraxas fidgeted and wrapped the string of his satchel around his finger. He set the bundle of herbs down on a nearby table and began grinding them with the mortar and pestle. “I’ve been preparing a special ointment for you,” he said, not meeting Malik’s gaze. “It should help with the healing process and reduce the appearance of scars.”
Malik watched as Abraxas worked, his hands steady and precise. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of admiration for the herbalist’s skill, despite his initial skepticism. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.
Abraxas looked up and gave a small smile. “It’s my pleasure,” he said. “I just want to make sure that you’re taken care of. I’ll leave some of it with you, make sure you reapply it every morning.”
—-
It was a few days later, and Malik was growing restless. The cramped room was too confining, and his dependence on Abraxas and Illoc, was becoming grating. Besides that, the girl that had also been contained to the infirmary had departed sometime while he had been asleep. Malik almost missed her meaningless jabbering.
Then the door opened. Neither Abraxas nor his master entered. Instead, there entered an imperious-looking young woman. She strode across the floor with a grace that was faintly reminiscent of that of the lords in Caespen Ru. Her eyebrows were creased, either from thought or determination. And her posture is rigid, held taut by strength and purpose. She looked quite different now that she wasn’t confined to her bed, more alive and powerful.
She sat down on a chair across from his bed.
“Hello, I’m Valeria. How have you been doing?”
Maik shrugged with a jerk of his shoulders. “I’ll heal.”
He watched her eyes flick down to his thick bandages. “I see that.”
“I was hoping that you’d tell me what happened to you.”
There was a fire in her eyes. Malik decided that it would be best to answer anything she asked. “There was a caravan, I was guarding it. And…” Malik continued in this way, slowly relating the encounter in stilted sentences. It took a fair amount of time. He recounted the major points of the story, the deer, the mice. But, he felt as though his explanations fell short in some respects. Still, Valeria listened with rapt attention.
“The fox, did it do anything to you?” Said Valeria once he had finished his recounting.
“No, why?”
“Oh, no reason. Just- don’t let it bite you. It gets better, but it’s not fun.” She shuddered. Malik decided not to press the issue.
“You mentioned a caravan earlier.” She said after collecting herself. “And do you know if other caravans were on their way to Verdant, will there be others?”
“I didn’t look too hard at the shipping manifests, those were for other people, so I don’t remember much. But I think I recall hearing that people from Penomier would be departing for here today. I don’t know if they will.”
He lapsed into silence for a moment before continuing in a softer tone. “You won’t see anyone else from our caravan. They died, most of them. Some of them might have escaped. But I don’t think so. If they’re not dead, they’re as good as.” And there, in that soft bed, he looked at his failure. Away from any danger, safe inside, he let himself feel. His shoulders loosened and then shook. There was a moment’s pause where no one said anything.
A moment passed, and Malik felt calmer.
“Can I get you anything? I can call over Abraxas if you’d like.”
“I’m fine,” Malik said, his voice gruff. “Continue.”
Valeria paused for a moment, either wavering or collecting her thoughts. Brow furrowed, she asked “What do you think caused this? Have you heard of anything like this happening elsewhere?”
“I don’t know what caused it. I won’t look for answers. But there’ve been scattered reports. People went missing. We haven’t sent any caravans to Dordel in a while. But no one I know of survived to tell us about it.”
Valeria nodded. “So there have been scattered reports of people going missing and no one has returned from Dordel. That’s certainly concerning,” she mumbled to herself.
She looked towards Malik. “Do you have any idea what we should do? We need to protect our village and make sure everyone is safe. We can’t just ignore what’s happening outside of our borders,” she said, eyes shining with passion.
“Don’t know.”
Valeria deflated slightly.“I suppose that’s my job.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine, dealing with… all this.”
“I will. I have to.” The fire in her eyes rekindled. “Still,” she said, “you must have some plan for once you get healed.”
“Once I heal, I’m leaving.”
“Really? Why leave?”
“It doesn’t feel right. It’s too constrained, too constricting,” he said, “I should be back in Caespen Ru, where I can fade into the background.”
Valeria nodded slowly. “It must be nice, to be able to sequester yourself away. I wish I could do the same.” She shook herself slightly. “But, I don’t know how much luck you’ll have traveling to Caespen Ru. There hasn’t been much travel since everything fell apart.”
“I’ll figure something out.”
There was a moment of silence before Valeria continued, “Nothing has been confirmed, but there are talks of a scouting expedition leaving in a week or so. We’re going to see if we can reconnect with Penomier. Even if it’s not your preferred destination, it’d give you a chance out”
Malik raised an eyebrow. “You’d have me come along?”
“Why not? We could use you; only a handful of us have seen the deer firsthand. And, if you want out of Verdant,” she waved her hand in the direction of the door, “here’s your chance.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“If you’re feeling well enough to, let Abraxas know.”
And then she left, leaving the door open behind her.
