Callan had a fit full sleep, plagued with visions of his men turning into demons and attacking him. At one point he heard a loud crack just when Remy was about to sink his dark claws into his throat. He started up from his bed, ready to unsheathe his sword and scared Brine, who was on watch with Remy, half to death before he realized it was simply the sound of a log splitting in the fire. So when Remy woke him up a few hours later for the watch, he hardly felt like he had any rest. However, since he had insisted on taking the last watch alone, he didn’t complain. He didn’t want his men getting worn out too soon just so he could take advantage of his rank.
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The watch was uneventful and from where he sat, Callan had a rather fantastic view of the dawn as it creeped up from behind the peaks to the east turning the sky into an emulsion of silver, gold and blue. Soon the sun was shining brightly in the eastern sky and after a quick first meal of bland porridge, it was time to continue the journey.
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The road started to become steeper and the mountainside devoid of plant life as they climbed. Giant lumps of balasite hung precariously over their heads. Callan eyed them nervously alert for signs of rockslides that were common to the area. With the trees gone, the sun glared at their exposed necks and without the breeze, they were soon covered in sweat. Even the phashtus started to look tired, their shaggy necks stooped low as they struggled to bear their burdens. The mounts were plain-dwellers, not accustomed to trekking up harsh mountain terrains and they had driven the animals hard the last few days. But Callan was hesitant to take rest before they reached the pass, to avoid arriving in the dark. It would be too difficult to search for the hidden path that he had discovered on the map then and he was not willing to wait for another day to start looking for the monsters’ lair. They had not come across any more villages since yesterday or signs of the creatures they were tracking, and he was running out of ideas.
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Bernol returned from his scouting to report that they would be in the view of Fermi Pass in another hour and joined the party beside him. The sun had already moved past noon. Eager to not lose any more daylight, Callan urged his phashtu to move at a faster pace. As he turned a sharp bend in the road, his phashtu stumbled. He pulled on the animal’s reins to stabilize it, but the gravel between its feet started rolling. The animal panicked and pranced to escape the slipping stones, stumbled again and fell on its hind legs, neighing in terror. Callan pulled on the reins again, digging in his heels to urge the phashtu to stand, but the terrified animal continued to thrash against the restraint and shrieked as it quickly slipped towards the edge. Callan felt the ground give away under his mount. Adrenaline surging, he slipped his feet out of the stirrup and jumped forward, kicking the poor animal over the edge. The angle was awkward and the phashtu’s snout smashed against his stomach, winding him as he was lifted into the air. A loud animal cry filled the surroundings as his mount fell to its doom under him and then, he was falling too. His hands scrambled for purchase as he hit the ground, slipped on the run-away stones and he slid to the edge of the ledge. He was almost over it, his entire torso dangling in the air when his hands connected with something large and solid. He grasped it holding tightly for his dear life.
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Blood pounded in his ears and his arms jolted with the sudden strain of his weight. Panic suffused him. He tried to plant his feet on the underside of the ledge. But the ground was too slippery, and another jolt ran through his arms as his feet swung back outwards. Breathing hard, he tried to pull himself up but his grasp was too close and he couldn’t find the strength with his armour weighing him down. His hands were bleeding and his fingers started to slip from the slickness.
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This is it? This is how I die? In a riding accident? Hanging from a cliff in the middle of nowhere?
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Then Tyrin’s face was in front of him, cold, bloodless, and glassy eyed. It was smiling, urging him to let go. He almost did. A pair of hands grasped one of his shoulders. Callan looked up and found himself gazing at Forgi’s grim face. The way Forgis looked at him, there was a mad gleam in his brown eyes. For a heartbeat, he thought Forgis meant to push him. But then another pair of hands grasped his other shoulder, and he was being hauled up. Several agonising moments later, he was spilled out on the ledge breathing hard, Forgis and Bernol panting beside him.
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“Captain!”
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Several more pairs of hands rushed to hoist him up to his feet.
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“I am alright!” He managed to croak as he found his legs again. The panic was still throbbing through his veins, he swayed a little under the firm grasp of Remy and Brine on his two sides. He was then escorted over to the other side of the road and made to sit down on a flat rock as Remy examined him.
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“What is it with you and the phashtus? They will be the death of you one day.” Remy muttered as he examined Callan’s hands.
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“It almost was.” Callan managed a rueful grin. “Guess I flipped the odds this time.” His heart ached a little at losing the animal though. It had been a gift from his elder brother Cornac for completing his training and joining the Johastian military. It had been a loyal and reliable companion to him for over two years and Callan gave a silent prayer to Joha for the animal’s soul.
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A sharp twinge pulsed from the side of his ribs and Callan hissed.
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“It does not look broken, probably bruised.” Remy observed pushing gently on the tender spot. “This trip is not turning out to be lucky for you, is it? Anyhow, I should bandage it before it gets worse.”
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“Later.” Callan ordered, pushing Remy’s hand away.
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“I really suggest … .“
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“Later, Remy! We don’t have time to waste.” Callan snapped. The near brush with death had done nothing to improve his mood, not to mention the time they had lost already because of it. “You can do it once we reach the pass and make camp. Unless you want to spend the evening in this Joha-forsaken palace.”
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Remy gave him a hard look but did not argue.
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“Mareet, saddle a pack phashtu for me and distribute the load among the other horses.” Callan commanded.
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His eyes met Forgis’s who stood dusting the dirt and gravel from his uniform. The man was back to his usual sullen self and Callan wondered if he had imagined the mad look on the soldier’s face. Then Callan turned away. If Forgis did want him dead, he would get plenty of chances to see that happen where they were going.
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The pack phashtu was not as well trained for riders as his own phashtu had been and Callan wondered if he shouldn’t have taken up Remy’s offer for bandage after all. His side twinged uncomfortably every time he had to pull on its rein to stop it from moving off course. It did little to improve his mood and he was feeling quite irritable when the Fermi Pass finally came into view.
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Two giant statues of bearded men in robes hewn into the black balsite mountainsides stood on either side of the pass, their arms outstretched in a welcome. Two small rest houses built of stone and wood and each with its own water well stood in the shadow of each statue for the weary travelers to take respite in. As they neared the rest stop, the wide rolling plains of Meyrin opened before them beyond the hump of the pass, the dense green foliage of the Meyrin forest in the far distance glittering like a field of pannils in the afternoon sun. Callan felt a surge of awe and reverence at the scenery before him. This was the view his ancestors had gazed upon when they crossed the Noigiri all those thousands of cycles ago to settle the Meritath plains and beyond. Now he was seeing it too. Only this time, he was trying to protect their legacy.
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They tied the phashtus to the wooden posts designed for harnessing the load animals and filled their water skins from the well. The water was clean and cool, and they drank deeply, refilling the skins for later use.
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“We are making camp here tonight, captain?” Brine asked hopefully as they entered the rest house.
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The rest house was bare, save for a dusty table and a few chairs covered in dirt. Still, the idea of sleeping under a roof after spending so many weeks in tents and under the stars was tempting even to Callan. Unfortunately, he would have to disappoint them. There was still too much work to do.
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“Not quite.” He replied and he motioned his men to gather around him.
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He took out the map of the region that he had been carrying in his saddle bag and spread it on the rickety wooden desk.
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“We are looking for this.” He pointed to the narrow pass he had found that branched out from the high road somewhere nearby. “Beyond the Fermi pass, the high road runs straight to Silver Peak. If someone wanted to hide an encampment or a den, this is where it would be.”
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“What makes you think these monsters need roads and passes to travel, captain?” Forgis interrupted, looking skeptical. “They could’ve their den in the forest somewhere.”
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“I don’t.” Callan admitted. “But we must start somewhere. So far, we haven’t encountered any other roads leading out from the main road. So, this is the only lead we have for now.”
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“And what if we don’t find anything there, wherever this goes.” Haldan stepped in looking equally unconvinced. “We go looking into the forest?”
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“No. If we don’t find anything there, we lure them out.” Callan noticed the men pale at the idea. “But I have a feeling it won’t get to that. I understand this is not much to go on right now. But you’ve seen what they did to those villages we passed and the people. If we don’t stop them, they will start attacking the plains. And to stop them we have to find them and learn their numbers and their weaknesses, one way or another. Is that clear?”
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The men hesitantly nodded in agreement.
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“I want this pass found as soon as possible. Pair up and start looking.”
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“Sorry cap’n. You are not going anywhere until I have had a chance to look at that bruise of yours.” Remy looked determinedly at Callan and the young prince knew he couldn’t put him off any longer.
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“Fine! Brine, look to the phashtus. Rest of you, find me that pass.”
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The soldiers departed and Remy sat him down and started taking his armor and coat off to administer his wounds.
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He had just started pulling his coat back on after getting bandaged when Bernol came bursting in.
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“We’ve found it, captain. We found the pass.”
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“Joha’s grace, that was fast.” Callan beamed. “Alright, we are leaving immediately.”
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Bernol led them back towards the way they had come to a junction between two mountains which they had passed earlier. A random balati tree grew there surrounded by shrubs of haegiri and demon weed. The tree was tall and wide, covering the gap between the two mountainsides so it would’ve completely hidden the narrow trail behind it in the summer when the tree was in full bloom. This late in autumn, the leaves of the balati had started to color and fall, leaving large gaps between the branches through which the pass was visible. Still, it would be easy to dismiss it at first glance unless you were specifically looking for it. It seemed like someone had gone to great lengths to hide the trail.
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Mareet, Forgis and Haldan were waiting for them at the pass when they arrived. It took a little coaxing for the phashtus to squeeze through the gap between the tree and the mountainside and then they were inside, staring at tall rock walls looking down on them from both sides. The mountain path was narrow, forcing them to travel single file. Bernol took the lead followed by Callan while Haldan guarded their rear.
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“Stay alert.” Callan ordered quietly. “Any sign of movement and draw your swords.”
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Something about this close narrow trail was setting him on edge.
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Here we go. He thought, urging his phashtu forward.
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Slowly, they made their way down the trail, tense and alert for any sound or movements. The barren mountain sides seemed to get taller as they rode until Callan realized it was the ground that was steadily sloping down. The sun was completely blocked by the bordering rock walls, so the trail was blanketed in shadows. It twisted and turned, creating blind passes that unnerved Callan for not being able to see what was only a few feet beyond them. And the air was unusually chilly making him hunch his shoulders. They rode for longer than an hour, not encountering any sign of life, natural or otherwise. Eventually, the trail started to rise towards a small hill in front of them. Callan called for a halt and gestured to Bernol to scout ahead. Bernol galloped to the summit of the hill and then returned momentarily.
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“It’s a small valley cap’n, with a lake. But no sign of anything else.” Bernol informed him.
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Callan nodded and gestured them forward. Peaking the hill, the valley came into view. It was a barren and rocky hollow surrounded by mountains on all sides and a small lake in the middle. The path continued down into the valley, skirting the sides of the lake and then ending at the footsteps of a tall summit on its southern side. The road they were on was the only way in and out of the hollow. As Bernol had described, there was nothing else. No sign of life or habitation. Not even a shrub of weed grew in the desolate landscape. The sun had started to set, covering half of the valley and the lake in shadows.
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“Well, nothing here to see.” Mareet observed. “Should we go back, cap’n?”
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Something about the path leading up to the edge of the mountainside seemed unnatural to him. He motioned them forward and rode down into the valley. As they neared the lake, it was Brine who first noticed the footprints.
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“Captain, look!” He shouted at a patch of the road that was illuminated by a stray strand of evening sunlight peeking from behind one of the mountain peaks.
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The footprints were hard to discern in the dirt and gravelly road but there were many of them shuffled around going in every direction. They followed the general direction of the prints and eventually found themselves face to face with the southern mountain where the prints seemed to end abruptly. Callan scanned the flat rocky mountainside for an opening; there was none that he could discern from where he was sitting. He jumped down from his perch, walked to the rocky wall, his men following behind him. The valley echoed with the sounds of their footsteps making them step carefully.
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“Mareet and Haldan, keep a lookout. Rest of you, help me search for a door or an opening in this mountain.”
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If the men found his command unusual, they didn’t say anything. Callan pressed his palms to the uneven surface and moved them around looking for a crack. After a few minutes of meticulous search, Forgis shouted, “Something here.” He traced a vertical line down the rocky surface with his palm from a few feet above his own head down to his feet.
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“Light me a torch.” Callan ordered and hurried to Forgis’s side. Somebody lit one and handed it to him. As he angled the torch’s flame towards where Forgis was pointing, a thin crack in the solid wall appeared, running almost straight to the bottom.
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“It’s a door in the mountain.” He breathed.
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“Is that where you think the demons be coming from, cap’n?” Brine's voice was shrill with anticipation and nervous energy. This was the first time that anyone had called the creatures, demons. It sent a shiver down Callan’s spine, and he saw the other men look at each other uneasily.
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“I don’t know.” Callan admitted. “But I intend to find out.”
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But it seemed like there was no way to open the door from the outside. For a while, they tried to push on the either side of the crack, but the wall would not budge and finally, they gave up.
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“What now?” Remy asked. “Doesn’t look like it would give. Maybe it only opens from the inside.”
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“I suggest we camp nearby and watch the door. If this is where those foul creatures are emerging from, sooner or later it will open.” Haldan suggested.
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Callan nodded. That seemed like the best plan. He ordered the men to find a suitable camping ground that was well hidden but would give them a direct view of the door. Soon they were unloading their phashtus and tying them behind a large boulder on the other side of the lake. After the animals had eaten their fill, they were muzzled to prevent them from making sounds and Remy produced a mild sleeping salve and rubbed it on their noses to put them to sleep. The valley lapsed into a dense silence as they settled down to wait.
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The Moon rose in the sky, washing the rocky valley in its silvery glow. The stagnant water of the lake reflected the night sky perfectly, giving the bewildering impression that the sky had suddenly flipped on their heads. Callan tried not to look at it. It reminded him too much of dangling from the tips of his fingers as the ground fell out below him. No one spoke or moved, crouched tensely as they were behind the large balsite rock. There was an unusual stillness to the valley in the night that seemed almost forbidden to break. As the hours passed, Callan’s heartbeat sped up in edgy anticipation. If he was right, they were about to discover the hidden stronghold of these creatures. If he was right, he was afraid of what he would find in there.
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“Something’s happening.” Mareet whispered excitedly from beside him.
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Callan gazed over to where Mareet was staring in the middle of the lake. There was disturbance on the surface. The lake’s surface was glowing with a pale silvery shimmer and ripples were spreading from the center towards the shores. A blinding white bolt of light shot out from the middle of the ripples, travelling rapidly across the lake’s surface and then across the shore, over the dirt ground and hit the mountainside. The mountain lit up as veins of silver started to appear over it. The veins continued to grow, spreading across the entire mountainside, growing broader around the crevice they had found and branching out into thin tendrils across the dark surface. A resounding crackle rocked the valley and then the wall simply dissolved, revealing the rectangular entrance to a cave.
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Echoing sounds of footsteps emerged from the pitch-black cavern. And then they came. Beings of shadows, black as night with hair and eyes blazing with fire in red, green, blue and a multitude of other colors. It was the first time Callan had the time to observe them. They were shaped as humans, arms, and hands with five fingers, legs ending in feet, shoulders, chest and back all the same. There were also females, evident by the breasts and lack of external genitals. A strong smell of rotting meat arose from them as they neared Callan’s hiding place and he noticed peeled charcoal skin revealing white bone and rotting red flesh underneath. He clamped his nose at the strong scent, his heart pounding in his ribcage so loudly he was afraid they would hear it. There were hundreds of them, following a tall demon with red fiery hair at the lead.
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A deep instinctual dread gripped him, paralyzing his body. He had been avoiding it ever since he had first laid his eyes on the demon at the bridge. But he couldn’t deny it any longer. They were exactly as the stories described them. Demons were real! His entire life he had been taught that demons didn’t exist. That they were simply a figment of imagination, a ruse constructed by the corrupt old religion to maim their populace with fear into subservience. But he had also heard the same tales as every boy in Airaat, grown up with the same nightmares of the evil servants of Beniot that drank human blood and feasted on their flesh. And here he was facing an army of them.
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The column of marching demons stopped suddenly only a few hands away from their hideout and Callan’s heart skidded to a halt. He caught his breath. Had they been seen? The tall red demon turned its head to look in their direction. Callan swiveled quietly on his feet and pressed his back to the boulder out of sight, as did his other companions. A stronger scent of rotting meat drifted towards them, and they heard footsteps approaching. Time came to a standstill. No one breathed. Callan clutched the rock surface at his back tightly, his bent legs straining from being in the crouched position for so long. He wished in vain for his heart to stop pounding.
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If they were discovered now, there was no way they could fight the demons off. They would have to run. With the army of Beniot’s creatures blocking the path towards the entrance to the valley, the only way they could escape was through the cave in the mountainside. But they will have to cross the lake first and that will slow them down. And what if there were more demons inside? Callan realized they were trapped and cursed himself for his stupidity.
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Time seemed to move agonizingly slowly as the footsteps came closer. Sweat poured down his face and backside and pooled on the ground beneath his feet. He grabbed the pommel of his sword, ready to unsheathe it and waited with bated breath for the hideous creatures to come into view. Suddenly, there was a shrill cry and the footsteps stopped. He heard feet shuffling as their pursuers turned around. Moments later the receding marching steps of the monsters could be heard heading out of the valley.
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No one dared speak or move for a long time even after the footsteps had faded away. Sweat drenched and breathing heavily, they remained plastered against the rugged balsite’s surface. Finally, Mareet stood up slowly and peeked behind the ledge where he had been hiding.
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“They are gone!” He exhaled and sighs of relief flooded the small company.
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Callan and the rest stood up from their crouches, grunting and rubbing their thighs to bring back the circulation in their legs. He felt a twinge of shame mixed with relief, though he knew that hiding was their only option and even then, they had almost gotten killed. Gingerly they stepped out from the shadows. The valley was empty and the door in the mountain stood open.
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“Joha’s grace! Then it is true!” Very few things flustered the old healer, but at the moment he looked very flustered indeed. “They are real!”
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From the looks of it, his words pretty much summed up everyone’s thoughts as well. They’d almost come face to face with their nightmares and survived, though Callan still couldn’t believe how or why.
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“Now what?” Forgis asked, his usual face mask of stone strained by the creases of terror.
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Callan took in a long breath and then looked towards the hole in the mountainside. It looked like they had found the lair of the demons.
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“Cap’n. Don’t say we gotta go in there now?” Mareet groaned.
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“That’s what we came here for.” Callan smiled grimly.
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Haldan patted Mareet’s shoulder affectionately. Mareet gave a resigned shrug and walked over to wake and untie the phashtus.
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They decided not to ride and instead, torches in hand, walked their phashtus to the gateway into the mountainside. It was dark inside, the cavern stretching into a tunnel deep into the mountain with no end in sight. The roof and walls of the tunnel were made of black balsite which shone slickly under the flicker of their torch lights. As Callan drew his torch towards the floor of the tunnel, light fell upon a bundle of rags stowed away in a corner. He spied a bronze sunburst peeking from under the folds and walked over to pick it up. The rag unfolded into a white cloak of a legion soldier, torn, dirty and stained with blood. The men drew in their breaths as he turned to show them. It was tradition for the soldiers to have their names sewn in the cloak's border so they could tell them apart and as he traced the border now, he found the black stitches that scribed Entol’s name.
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“Let’s go.” Callan said quietly as he turned towards the gaping mouth of the tunnel and stepped inside. His men followed him.
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----
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Eren was running through the forest, the land beneath his feet sloping downwards. He felt like he had been running for a while. But he did not feel tired or winded. Rather, he felt unusually energetic. As if he had been confined for a very long time and it was torturously pleasurable to be able to put his limbs to use again. And he felt anticipation. He could smell it, the smell of human blood in the distance and it aroused a hunger in him. He imagined piercing the warm soft skin with his fingers, squeezing on the organs inside the bodies till they burst, and blood covered him, bathed his own body and renewed his mind and soul. His hands itched for the feel of a slender neck to slash and let blood flood down the torso. His dark lips stretched into a feral smile. He had done this before, so many times he had lost count and each time the need and the hunger only grew.
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He leapt out from the cover of trees into the wide expanse of a hill and raced downwards towards a cluster of wooden cabins at the bottom. On his side, he spied more like him, his brethren, leaping out of the shadow to join him in his hunt. The smell of blood grew stronger. The hunger in him rose till it was almost painful. He sped up, the landscape blurring past him as he hurtled towards the wonderful scent. Then he was among the cabins, bursting through wooden doors and windows. Screams filled the air. A pale frightened face looked at him as he grabbed it by the neck and ripped it. The face sagged as the blood poured out of the man’s throat. He looked into the eyes. He liked to watch as life went out their eyes, the eyes of these disgusting humans. They were emerald. He blinked. He knew those eyes, and that face. He gasped as the lifeless face of Feldor Hargreev stared up at him.
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Eren woke up screaming in his cell, sweat drenched, heart thundering and hands clawing at the air. He backed away, struck the stone wall with the back of his head, and moaned out a sob. He drew in his knees, hugged them tightly with his arms and lowered his head in between them, gripping his head in his arms.
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Stop! Please! Someone! Make it stop!
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Tears streamed down his dirt-stained cheeks into the grimy collar of his tunic. He smelt ripe with sweat, but it did not register. Nothing registered other than the nightmares. How long had he been here now, in this dark damp cold stone chamber? He had forgotten. There was no window in his prison, just a small iron barred skylight up in the corner. Moonlight streamed from it, creating rectangular pockets of light on the stone floor in front of him. It was night already, but which day?
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Then memories started to return slowly. His arrest at the inn. Muntoose and his henchmen dragging him to the town hall in the middle of the night and throwing him in this cell. The thunder of his father’s voice outside the next morning when Myron had confronted his son’s jailers. The sickening thud that abruptly ceased his father’s voice. His unanswered yells at the guards to let him out. The dread he had felt, exhausted from shouting and pounding on the iron bars as he anxiously waited for any news of his father. The relief when the guard, who came with the food, told him that his father was alive, nursing a head wound in another cell above him. The guard’s had laughed at his begging to let him see his father. The nightmares. The blood-soaked nightmares of people begging and screaming and running from him, and always the pale bloodless glassy eyed stare of Feldor. He felt drained and exhausted, and he wept, sobbing silently into his soiled breeches.
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