4Bedrock and Famine

Albus Soros - The plague doctor’s where monsters. Wherever demons or infections took root, the plague doctors came and purged. After interrogations, even grown men turned to drooling husks, alive by definition alone. I’d sooner rip out my own entrails than so much as see one.

Three months pass before an opportunity presents itself for my escape. Fall flowers bloom along the mountain pass as we neared the border town of Reebray. The roads turned stony and hard. The air became cold and crisp. Nights grew long as days grew short. As we crossed over a mountain cliff, the forest of green altered into a sea of reds and yellows.

I push at the front of the caravan, sweating and panting for each step. The Mist Mountain at my left loomed overhead as if saying, ‘You shall not pass.’ Boulders big as horses hide halfway under the ground, tiny compared with the towering, snow covered peak hanging overhead.

Beautiful as it is, I despise this mountain. We began passing the heap of dirt and rock three weeks ago, but carting over mountains proved far more tedious and difficult than moving across the smooth, forest roads. The mountain path hides lumps of rock that catch on the wagon’s wheels while we push through the ordeal like swallowing broken glass.

The exhaustion eats at each of our minds. My arms and shoulders burn as we shove the carriage with the help of several guards pushing from the back. I befriended many of them during my stay here, so with a little persuasion and promise, I convinced them to assist us during hard times.

Those times are now. My feet ache as I stomp across hard, coarse rocks for hours everyday while my lips chap because of the dry wind. Our only solace is the nearness a town of Reebray. Caric assists me up front as the other slaves rotate out who stands upfront pushing with me.

Several of the other slaves openly isolate me, but Caric gives me support despite the other slave’s resentment. My attitude for perseverance crawls under their skin since it serves as a reminder of their own cowardice.

As we pull the carriage uphill, Caric groans, “This is the worst you’ll see as a slave Jack. It don’t get no worse than this.”

I say, “Hah. Hah. I doubt it. You could serve this up with a dash of humiliation and starvation as well.”

“I’m too tired to be proud.”

“And I’m too young to be tired.”

We reach the middle of the mountain, surrounded on both sides by steep hillsides of boulders. Crisp and clean air turns to disgusting filth as a breeze brushes against my face. Over a mountainside, a murder of crows and ravens flies overhead. A second later, a loud pop and slip sounds beside me. Turning beside me, Caric stands with an arrow gouging in his eye.

Blood squirts out and around the arrow, dripping down like thick, red water. His head hangs back over the next guardrail behind him, limp and dying. His chest and arms convulse as he chokes for air. A few seconds pass like years in my mind until he stops moving or breathing. The light leaves his eyes empty before I turn forward.

Arrows clunk around me before I release the carriage and grab a hold on Caric. I say, “What just happened? Are you alright?”

Silent as a grave, Caric lays loose. An arrow whizzes past my ear as Jase sprints towards us, tearing through the air with each stride. A man behind him stands with an arrow jutting out of his chest while his hands lose tension. The guard vomits blood and food, fuming the area with the acrid stench of acid.

As he falls to his side, my heart pounds in my chest and ears. The man ceases all movement as his limbs contort on the ground.

While I peer around the other slaves look behind whimpering with cowardice. Jase reaches us and spits his words,

“Do not release this carriage. I will rip out your throats if any of you so much as thinks of it.”

I shout in outrage, “So you expect us to stay here and die?”

“Yes. Your nothing but slaves. Those goods are worth more than all of you combined. If you don’t die by the arrows, then I’ll kill you while you run away.”

The slaves tremble at his words, but he stirs none of my fears. He boils the hatred in my heart. All the songs, all the laughter, all the sweat and blood I bled amounts to nothing. I am nothing more than a good slave. Not a human with a thinking mind. I am livestock.

To these people, a man’s life means less than wagon’s wheel.

As I seethe, an arrow falls right beside me and Caric, smothering us with the smell of feces. If the arrow so much as scratched a man, he’d die of gangrene within a week. The hillsides pin us in, and keep us contained. The bandit leader planned our downfall with a precise, deadly strategy.

While we stand bearing the heft of the carriage, a group of bandits flank our side. The raiders slay several guards, gushing blood and spewing organs. Swaths of blood burst onto the wagons. Entrails tangle on windows and wheels. Several slaves vomit, and as the acrid stench reaches me, I gag as well.

Jase sprints towards the flank, shouting basic orders for the men to follow.

“Turn’n’face your enemy.”

“Don’t let them pin you against the carriage.”

“Keep yourself calm.”

The moment he turns around I release my grip from the carriage. I turn my body towards one of the storage wagons at the back of the convoy, beating my feet against the ground as the wind scrapes against my face. Arrows whiz and buzz past my ears, but this is my only chance for liberation. I will not waste it.

Reaching the rear wagon, I grab my cloak and harp. I shiver and scramble as sickening squelches and splatters of blood gush behind me. The disgust melds with the sounds of shields bashing teeth and swords slicing flesh, creating a symphony of battle. Like carrying bricks of lead, I carry these sounds with me as I search.

As I reach the wagon at the edge of the caravan, I peer backwards. A monster murders men. The lovable Dirk parries and thrusts while dodging blows that only clip his armor. He launches a dagger, lodging it in a man’s throat. Dirk ducks under a blow as he turns full circle, whipping his shield against a man’s skull like a guillotine against his neck.

A quick crack and a dent appears in the bandit’s face. Streaks of blood bathe Dirk’s frame with the eerie glow of bloodlust. He smiles as he ends the life of each man who gains his attention. The bandits transform into a pile of corpses around him that grow like a timer for my demise.

The slaves knew of his sickening skill for carnage. With the pressure of facing such a monster looming over their heads, the chances of a slave attempting escape fall from nil to zero. No, less than zero, yet I still rip and tear through the cargo till I find my father's knife. The will of my parents drives my body beyond reason.

I only take flint and the knife as I wish to give these merchants as little reason to hunt me down as possible. Leaping from the carriage, Dirk spots me after he murders the last man attacking the carriage.

Our gaze meets for a second as I peer into true madness. His bloodshot eyes and maniacal grin send dread through my blood and my marrow. My stomach plummets. Without thinking, I rip my face from the spectacle. I force my legs to move as I run down the bouldered hill with all my strength.

The sounds of his footsteps echo in my ears as I scrape my skin against the jagged rocks around me. The footsteps grow in volume until they become stomps of destruction. Blood pounds in my ears. I breath icy air that burns my lungs. My thoughts focus until only one function remains; I must run.

As I fall onto the edge of a rocky plain, my torn shoes catch on a brush’s branch. My vision blurs as I smash against the ground. A scathing spasm of sharp suffering detonates from my shoulder. I roar with pain, but somehow, I jolt back to my feet. I already lost precious seconds as Dirk neared me.

I command my left arm to move, but the limb refuses my orders. Sweat pours down my brow and into my eyes and into a bloodied lip. Pain ravages like a swarm of frenzied hornets chewing and stinging my arm from within. I ignore that pain. This is my one and only chance. Live like a man, or die like a dog.

I drag my feet forward where I reach a cove of boulders. Jase’s heavy breathing pounds my mind like sledgehammers. I climb a rugged boulder before grinding my feet to a halt. A sixty foot cliffside pops into sight. Glancing at the fissure, I know I can’t leap over this. I peer behind me as Jase barrels towards me from ten feet away with his sword overhead.

Despair fills me before the song of my mother thunders like two leviathans colliding. They clash with a force to part oceans inside me. My mother sings the music of life, not the silence of death. I regain focus. I shall not die here. I must not die here.

I shout, “Try to stop me mongrel!”

He sprints up a boulder, slamming his sword down towards my skull. I turn to my left side almost dodging his slash. He cuts into my nose and chin, but I overcome the explosive agony. With my right arm, I grip and pull him towards me, holding his leather belt that carries his daggers.

His and my momentum flings him over the cliff, but he grabs my foot as he falls tearing me over the edge. My chin slams against the stony edge of the boulder, breaking my teeth. Not fully conscious, I stab my fingers into a thin cove in the cliffside as we fall. Dirk’s hand grips on my leather shoe like a bear trap on my ankle.

A second later, the leather starts snapping, so Dirk says, “Let me up, silvertongue. I’ll buy you and let you go free once we reach Reebray.”

Glancing down, my fingers break inside the cliffside. A cold, menacing glare crawls onto my face as I say, “I am not silvertongue. I am Jack Donovan, and you do not decide if I am free. I do.”

Using my other foot, I force the shoe off my foot as Dirk howls in rage. His scream turns to an echo before flesh and bone crushes against stone. A sickening smack resonates from deep within the abyss. My chest tightens with guilt for a moment. I killed a man. I stole his life for my own.

The guilt dies down as one of my fingers dislocates. I howl with mindless misery before I pull with all my might. Another finger pops from the cliffside, so I howl once more, even louder than before. With an angry, hateful malice, I demand my left arm raise from my side. At that moment, my powerlessness became apparent.

It would not move, regardless of what I do. My fingers slowly slip until I hardly hand with white hot exertion. Glancing down, I see the mush that Dirk turned to. An idea pops into my head.

I fall. My insides float as they lose levity. Staring down, I claw at the cliffside, ripping out fingernails as I do so. I can’t even feel the pain, only panic. I aim my descent, until I land on my legs on top a tiny ledge.

My shins snap and fracture revealing the red and white inside them. My legs squish and pop, smashing like dry twigs in a thick sauce. My own blood splatters against me before my back smacks against the back of the outcrop.

My head whiplashes in the air, just off the cliffside. In a state between blackout and hell, my body slowly slides backward. Like a stampede of hooks and teeth and barbs, utter agony thunders up my legs. For an eternity, all is pain.

As the endless torture subsides, I convulse. Without any restraint, I shamble till my balance breaks. I fall over the edge of the outcrop. My eyes pop open as weightlessness returns. I scrape and grate at the edge with ferocious, terrifying grasps before I spot Dirk’s corpse below. I slap the wall beside me, aiming towards him before a jutting rock whips me around.

Above me, a blinding violet light flashes, parting clouds with its speed and force. As the light passes me by, the heat from the meteor burns through one of my eyelids, blinding me and leaving one side of my body numb. Before I am crushed by the cold, hard stone beneath me, a shockwave reduces my momentum and forces me sideways.

As I slam against the cliffside, the impact mars and mangles my body, crushing bones. I gyrate limply through the air before I smash against the wet, slippery blot of Dirk’s corpse. I breath, deep and long as my vision narrows. Before I die, I glance at the bright glow, not even five feet away. My eyes slide close as the stone cracks open.

By Gaia’s name, help me.

Mire Stoneslice on the Blightstone Caverns - The further down you go, the larger everything gets. I could fight a bear with my hands, but the horror in those caves...That ain’t nothing like no bear. That is a nightmare that crawls under your skin and down your throat.”

The heat of my shell recedes as I analyze the surrounding expanse. The cavern’s warmth will make moving far easier. An ashen crater surrounds me, bits of glass strown around from the impact. My carapace protected me from my collision with this planet. The atmosphere allows for carbon based life forms. I will assimilate them.

I crack open my shell, forcing my way out of my carapace. Creatures slither around me grinding against the ground of this new planet. Their exoskeletons prevent me from merging with them. I cannot slide through these shells. Bad. I can only maintain this form for mere hours before I congeal into a solid and die.

I slop around, rolling against the moist earth until I sense a life I can mold with. A small, bipedal creature with black fur on its head barely lives despite being brutally maimed. It is drenched in the plasma of another bipedal creature beneath it. This species must accept cannibalism. Good. That step will be easier.

Bruises, lacerations, scars, wounds, and tears are all over it. That is unacceptable. I cannot allow the infection of my precious host. As I crawl over, the strange creature gurgles a liquid in its respiratory system as it breathes shallow breathes. It has only minutes to live, that is before I reach it of course.

The being’s skin shows extensive coloration due to this star’s radiation while its hands press a piece of stringed wood as well as a metal object against its torso. This species keeps purposeless objects. Noted.

As I slide towards it, the creature shifts and moves before falling still. After the initial outburst, it makes only expands its chest cavity for respiration. Weak. The thing seems to lack awareness for its surroundings. Perfect. Resisting the melding process would be...problematic. Regenerating his extensive burns, swelling, contusions, fractures, breaks, and blood loss will be far easier to handle.

I sludge over to it. Many openings line its skin already, creating perfect entry points, so I cover the wounds and inject myself into its circulatory system. The primitive being disperses nutrients and liquids throughout its body with a pumping organ. How quaint.

Life force leaves the body rapidly, so I begin regenerating its tissues. I proceed to other life functions after repairing the ruptures on its skin and in its organs. I reorganize the structures the being uses for walking while using my liquid body to stabilize its low blood pressure. The crushed stilts it walks on litter the tissues, so the process is difficult. I manage.

Afterwards, I raise its metabolism speeding the entity’s recovery process. This heats his internal body temperature, so I cool his brain preventing any damage. A fully operational control organ will make wielding this primitive...thing easier.

When I reach past the blood brain barrier, I barely believe the complexity of the organ. This creature’s enormous intelligence defies both its actions and its appearance. The large brain even shows signs of training. This may be problematic.

After several hours, hordes of the tiny, exoskeleton covered creatures attempt eating my helpless host. He is material, not food. I use the metal object in its back to create an excruciating sound. My plan succeeds as they scurry away.

After several hours, the creature’s conscious begins resurfacing before I finish restructuring its body. Its control enlarges far more than I anticipate, so I bide my time. I will strike when it is weak. With this creature's base intelligence, consolidation will be effortless. The high functioning organ will allow me to plot logically for absorbing the life of this planet. None shall stop me.

All will accept legion. All will embrace eternity.

I awaken to a very expected pain. My ragged body radiates with a pulsing, hungry torment. My legs lay limp and numb. My left hand hangs like a broken branch from my shoulder and my right like an acorn crushed underfoot. My mouth fills with blood, so I swallow.

Instead of liquid iron and broken teeth, I swallow a sweet, succulent flavor. The pulsing pain of before lessens, starting with my mouth then lips then throat. The relief revitalizes my spirit. I clench my harp and knife, surging with strength. I don’t remember grabbing these from the leather bag on my back, but I’m glad they’re here.

Still, my heart beats fire through my veins as I gasp and wheeze for air in this crushed body. No sight meets me when I try opening my right eye, but at least my left eye works. I glance around, and an eerie cliff greets me.

Black, jagged stone with blots of green moss tower overhead. Black insects with eyes and limbs like horror skulk around. Light leaks in from overhead. A pad of rough sand scatters at the bottom with shallow pools so smooth that they reflect like mirrors. A slight mist floats in the ravine while roots latch onto the surrounding stone, like wooden fingers. Around me, drops plop off stalactites.

The rocky ravine’s steep as a guardsman’s tower. Insects of eerie, alien origin crawl amongst the decay. They blanket patches of the ravine’s floor with mounds of moving insects. They chew and gnaw and tear through anything they find.

How have they not found me...I should be bones by now. I peer downwards, flinching in shock as I find my legs fixed. The skin smoothly covers my wounds without any hideous scars. Mere minutes later, my vision returns. My hands and feet, which were missing nails, lay more than just unscathed. They are pristine.

I move each finger, fascinated by them, like moving someone else’s hand. My new build lacks any defects or deformity. Not a single scar or wound marks me, even ones before the fall. My hands clasp strong as steel. My eyes see with detail and distance.

After moving my new self for a while, a ravenous hunger grips me. I’m starving. This hunger mauls me like an angry titan. I push myself to my feet, wobbling like a baby as my limbs feel new and foreign. Despite my clumsy walk, I glance around like a wolf hunting prey.

A few feet away lies the corpse of dirk, spread across the floor like a sack of flesh. Instead of disgust and revulsion, an urge to tear and chew the meat fills me. I start pacing towards the body, my mouth drooling. Reaching over it, a wave of disgust rushes into my mind.

What in the hell is wrong with me? I rear my fist back before punching the side of my cheek. The quick, sharp pain snaps me out of my stupor. I am no cannibal. I step away from the sweet smelling carcass as insects swarm around him. An idea snaps into my head.

These little devils may have hordes of limbs and sinister eyes, but they had hordes of edible limbs and sinister, edible eyes. From Dirk’s remains, I take his shirt and tear it. The fabric sticks against his broken skin like a thick jelly, but with a few jerks, I rip it off.

After laying the fabric on the ground for a few minutes, a pile of insects crawls over the bloodied rag. With quick jerk, I scoop two corners of the rag, pulling the crawling mess into a big ball. The bugs writhe in the rag, beady eyed and squirming, yet they don’t disgust me. At that moment, a bizarre feeling sinks into my chest like a knife.

Here, in this dank, dark cavern, I’m hunched over a rotting corpse, with a bag of cave crawlers in my hand. A filthy rot reeks all throughout the place, and despite my desire for life, I realize I should be dead. None of this bothers me in the slightest. Odd.

What does bother me is the hollow feeling in my gut, so I stare at the bag of bugs. A few seconds pass before I look around for something to burn. I find nothing but wet rocks and crystal clear pools. I won’t be able to cook them.

I sigh before I rear back and smash the bag against the cliffside. I beat and brutalize the bag before opening it, finding a few insects crawling in the newly made mash. I grab a handful and devour the mush, then another, and another.

An hour passes, and somehow, I’m still eating. After finishing my feast of crushed vermin, my belly feels full. With a few gulps of water from nearby pools, I enjoy my first meal as a free man. When I glance up, that satisfaction wilts like a dying flower.

These steep cliffs glower down at me with disdain. The stars shine in the night sky, brilliant and burning. I grow tired, so I wrap myself in my father's cloak beside the edge of the cliff. The body of Dirk stays right in front of me tempting my insatiable appetite, so I scurry a few eye distances away before making a bed of moss.

As I cover myself with my cloak, a set of voices echo down the cavern. The indistinct murmuring grows to a quiet conversation, so I listen close.

“I don’t know if I want to find him anymore. Did you see what he did to Dirk?”

They knew Dirk, so they must be fellow guards. Another said,

“You’d think he’s some sort of demon.”

My eyes grow heavy as my lids close. Right as I fall asleep behind a boulder, they say one last line,

“Dirk used to be a chainer. He’s dealt with worse than just demons, and that boy isn’t one. He’s something more. He’s a monster.”

A foggy memory flashes before my eyes. An abomination crawled. A spawn of hell, moving, squirming. As it crawled towards me, my stomach sank...or maybe rose? I couldn’t recall. I wasn’t all put together then.

Maybe it was a bizarre dream, or maybe the mercenaries were right.

Maybe I am a monster...