Into the Stone Land (3 page)

Keene had turned over and the swarm was feasting on his exposed back. Tall set upon them with his staff, spinning the long stretch of arbor in his hand and striking out into the heart of the swarm. Angry, he began shouting as he jabbed and thrust. The ends of the staff stabbed, exploding in and through the blood-filled creatures. The long edge struck and batted buzzers up and away. Some landed far out in the pool; others deep in the weed-grass.

The heavy scent of blood brought a new swarm. As nothing could mask so close a man scent amidst a feeding frenzy, many of these set upon Tall, and for a time it was all he could do to keep them away. When he finally broke the swarm with his staff and turned back to Keene he was greeted by a most bizarre sight. Hatchlings were everywhere, crawling over the ground and Keene as they fed on buzzers. They seemed to be protecting Keene, but more likely their bellies were empty and the bloated, blood-filled buzzers seemed easy meals.

It was only as the swarms scattered that Tall realized he was standing. Staff in hand, he turned toward the deep pool where a pair of bulls were battling over mating rights. Not far off a queen watched, waiting to see which would be the victor. Tall could not tell which was the dominant and which the challenger, but he enjoyed watching the display against the backdrop of the setting sun.

Morning brought with it renewed hope and heavy rain. Though Keene's conditioned had not improved, Tall's had. He felt stronger and found he could walk short distances with the aid of his staff. Between breaks in the rain, he foraged. Bitter-sweet grew in abundance on the house. He feasted on the wiry bush's silvery green leaves and slender branches over the next few days while he regained his strength. Soon he was foraging farther and farther away and jumping between residences with increasing ease. Now when he washed away mud caking his wounds, he found scabs turning to red-etched scars.

Keene wasn't as fortunate. His wounds festered and a putrid stench told Tall the flesh was dying or already dead. Tall could no longer get the other boy to eat, though he did drink on occasion. It seemed each time Tall checked Keene, the boy was paler and thinner. Thoughts of Keene's approaching death terrified Tall. Not only because he didn't know the rituals to help see his friend into and through the afterlife, but because Keene's death was also the death of hope.

His stomach bunched in knots, despair overwhelmed him. He curled into a ball at the other boy's feet. Deep sobs followed tears. His body shook; he convulsed and screamed out. The pain was just too real.

Return of the hatchlings pulled Tall out of his dark mood. They were hungry and he helped them feed by luring black suckers with drops of his own blood. The hatchlings snatched suckers up in their jaws as soon as they surfaced from the depths of the mud, often fighting over the long, juicy bits as they shredded the suckers with their teeth. Hungry himself, he was returning to get roots from his pack when he heard Keene's faint voice calling out to him.

“Tall, Tall,” Keene said, his voice scarcely a whisper. “The wounds, suckers. They'll eat the poisoned flesh.”

“Suckers?” Tall asked, but the other boy had already slipped back into a heavy sleep.

Tall grabbed his container, drank down its contents before returning to the edge of the deep pool. He pricked his finger, squeezed to draw blood by the drop so that it fell to the mud. Suckers surfaced with the first drop, rippling at first beneath the mud and then rising to show their black, slippery forms. He plucked up suckers one by one and thrust them into the container. Something about the feel of them wriggling and squirming between his fingers made his stomach churn. This feeling doubled when he squatted down beside Keene and put the nasty, slimy creatures to Keene's rotting flesh.

In the still day, he thought he heard their tiny rows of teeth raking and attaching, but that was nothing compared to what he thought was the soft hum of their rending and chewing. It was enough to make the bile rise at the back of his throat. When he couldn't stand the thought of it any more, he ran to the deep pool and plunged in. It was a mistake, but by the time he realized this, he was already breaking the surface after his dive.

Bulls dove into the pool as if someone had rung the village banquet bell. He swam for the shore, had only gone a few strokes when he felt something slip past his leg. Instinctively, he curled into a ball, flipped and dove in the opposite direction. He knew his end waited for him when he came up through a tangle of bulls. It was only a matter of which would claim him first.

Taking a deep breath, certain one of the bulls would latch onto him, he waited to be pulled to the bottom of the pool. Lessons from the elders spun through his mind. A moment would come when the bull would loosen his grip. That would be his chance to make a break for the surface. If he could reach the surface, he could reach the shore and there he would be safe. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. Swim.

His eyes searched the shore. His residence was to his right. He swam for it. He reached the shallows, broke into a run, and didn't stop until he was standing over Keene. “Don't die on me,” he told the other between gasps. Keene was in no shape to reply, but Tall felt certain the other could hear him, and so he continued. “I don't think I could endure if you did. We were as brothers in the village and we will be as brothers in exile.”

The hatchlings had followed Tall from the pool and so when he turned around, they were waiting with their heads raised to greet him. They were what he felt in the pool, but he only just realized this as he saw their tracks leading from the pool alongside his own.

Chapter 3: Unexpected Company

Tall awoke to the sounds of his own screams. In his dreams, he was covered in slithers and they were starting to swallow and devour him. Such dark dreams were ill omens and he feared the worst when he checked Keene, but he found the other boy was in much the same state as the previous day.

Feeling less gloomy, he set himself to the tasks that were becoming his morning routine: filling the container, chewing roots for Keene to eat, and then eating himself. He checked the residence to ensure it was still his own. On the far side of the house, the queen, mostly bones and skin now, still draped her nest. Tall's arrival startled the hatchlings out of the nest and they alternately chattered and hissed at him. From the nest, he moved through the tall weed-grass to the place the bitter-sweet grew. He gathered some of the plant's silvery green leaves and moved on.

Soon, with his circuit complete, Tall was back where he started. He put the bitter-sweet in his pack, checked Keene, who seemed less pale, before carefully turning the stinging to renew his circle of protection. The large leaves were wilted but would last until he gathered more.

The day's foraging began several houses over in a place where the dark root grew. Bright orange lilies floating on the surface of a rounded pool in the center of the house told him of the terrible danger lurking just below. The cool, secluded pool seemed an ideal place for a bath or swim, but under the surface a thick, sandy mud waited to suck down the unwary.

Tall sidestepped, used his staff to help steady his way until he finally sighted plump, leafy-green plumes. Gathering the long, dark root was easy work, especially in the soft ground, but he moved with care and purpose, for he didn't want to end up like the creatures whose remains helped the lilies bloom in such abundance.

Rain found him before he could make his return, and he hunkered down in the tall weed-grass to wait out the downpour. The deep, earthy smell of the rain-washed dark root made him hungry for his mother's sun and moon surprise—a dish of light and dark root spiced with terbil leaf and bathed in the oils of the silfer nut. Although terbil and silfer were things grown and not gathered, he could make a similar dish by mixing light and dark root with pressed and crushed bitter-sweet.

When the rains eased near midday, he went in search of light root. Having gathered as much as he dared already from the closest residences, his search took him farther away from his encampment than he had gone before. He only realized how far afield he'd gone when he pushed his way through a thick growth and found himself staring out at a new section of the deep loch.

There at the loch's edge were the tall, grassy plumes he sought, but sure as the beauty surrounding a deep sinking hid its trap, so did the seeming calm of the loch. Soft ripples lapping at the dry were what warned him to step back, and he did so with urgency, using his staff to give his feet flight just as something enormous surged out of the deep waters and struck the ground where he had been standing a moment before.

His breath caught in his throat. He didn't wait around to find out what manner of creature it was. He raced into the weed-grass and there waited for the danger to pass. Just in case the creature moved from the loch, he slowed his breathing to quiet his heart. He sat still with his back straight and his hands gripping his staff while the sun completed its ascent.

Neither sucker nor buzzer stirred him from his hiding place, though both tried. He thought of home and Ellie during the long wait. Surely there was life and opportunity for him beyond Nahtern'n. Perhaps if he followed the outtraders, they would lead him to a village where he could make a home. Perhaps then, once settled, he could return for Ellie. But if he did, would Ellie even look upon him? She would if he could prove himself somehow, he told himself. They'd all look upon him and not see the ghost of what he had been—if he could prove himself.

Before emerging from seclusion, he caked himself in mud. He was just pushing through the weed-grass and into the open when a herd of wetland horses thundered to the edge of the loch to drink. The horses were svelte and beautiful. Some were brown, others black. Their thick coats had a soft sheen and their manes were shaggy and long.

A sudden surge of water and waves preceded the long-necked colossus as it surfaced. This was the only warning as the creature's gaping maw enveloped and devoured one of the horses. The herd scattered, but not before the lead stallion reared and snorted. It was a small defiance in the face of grave danger, but that moment froze and played over and over in Tall's mind as he made his own escape.

Danger was everywhere. Tall sensed it as he ran. Using his staff, he vaulted across a narrow flow, sprinting away as soon as he landed. Past an expanse of scatter bush and an open round, he came upon a dense, prickly tangle. Rather than go around, he pushed his way under and through. The thick cake of mud on his face and skin helped protect him from the long thorns, but he tore his cloak in several places before he emerged on the other side. Only with a wall of spike bushes between himself and the creature did he stop, and that was when he heard a nicker, followed by a faint cry. Both closer than he expected, and especially so when the sounds repeated.

Tall squeezed under the tangle of spikes, worked his way back as far as he dared, and peered out. There in the middle of the open round was a yearling, trembling and unsure where to go.

“Back to your mother. Go now,” Tall said, but the colt didn't move. Tall heard a deep hissing, saw mud falling from the sky. He lifted his gaze, saw the behemoth towering behind the colt. Gripped with sudden fear, he found he couldn't swallow or breathe. His body trembled, much as the yearling trembled. He could not calm himself, and yet when the behemoth began to open its maw, he found he could not stop his feet either.

Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself in the clearing, staff spinning in his hand. He shouted, jumped. Using his staff as leverage, he lifted high into the air. He landed with both feet on the yearling's back and there he stood, swinging his staff wildly from left to right in wide arcs.

His staff met the creature's descending maw much as it would have met that of a bull. He slapped left, right, left, right while he shouted as long and loud as he had ever dared. When glistening, white teeth and the black hole of the mouth were all he could see, Tall jumped up and stabbed at the top of the creature's head as hard as he could.

The head swept back and the great eyes regarded him. Tall spun his staff in one hand, shook a balled fist in the other. He jumped off the yearling's back, picked up a stone and threw it. The creature raised back, moved away.

Tall threw another stone and another. With each strike, the behemoth moved away. Soon he backed the behemoth into the loch, where it sank into the dark depths.

Tall sucked in a breath as he fell to his knees. He curled into a ball, wrapping his arms so tightly around himself he was sure he could stop himself from shaking—but he couldn't. He shook, convulsed, and wept. Tears and anguish swept him away.

Standing alone against bulls and slithers was one thing; standing alone against the behemoth was something else entirely. The mere sight of the behemoth was terrifying, but he had managed to push down his fears when it mattered most.

Suddenly, he stood and took account of himself and his belongings. Retracing his path, he returned to the clearing where the yearling still stood frozen with terror. “Your mother waits for you,” he told the colt, but the colt didn't move.