Chapter I

A VILLAGE IN THE RUINS.

Part II

* * *

They were at an impasse, Novak was too high up to reach, and she—and he did believe the not-antelope was a she—seemed comfortable enough to wait for him to come down. Of course, amid Novak’s surging worries and doubts, he had no urgency to do that. He could’ve stayed up there forever, or at least long enough to figure out where he was, how he got there, and how he might get away. But, then came along a gust of wind that sent the day lily’s magic ebbing back into its body, turned its petals piece by piece into scraps of golden light, and ruined his plans.

The scraps broke into fragments as the wind carried them, becoming smaller and smaller, until eventually, they disappeared. And when the fragments vanished, the golden light of the day lily lessened too. With less magic to hold him up, Novak found gravity re-asserting its domain on his shoulders, and his falling speed increased—becoming most notable during the last ten feet of his descent, when what remained of the day lily burst into a gale of light, and the dregs of its magic vanished.

Novak’s body jerked and he cried out, teeter-tottering forward. He braced for impact against the ground and would’ve fallen flat on his face too—right onto hard stone and jagged pieces of crumbled rock—but a strong set of hands caught him by his feet, and then swung him upright like a piece of ham being taken off a butcher’s hook.

“Wow there.” The not-antelope said, and Novak screamed and flailed.

For a brief second wind whistled as he was flipped upright and placed firmly on the ground. And he was light-headed when he landed, but before he could say thanks, or plead for mercy, the not-antelope was picking at splattered bugs stuck to his white t-shirt, smoothing over wrinkles, and swatting at some debris stuck to his legs. She affronted his personal space with casual ease, and left Novak nearly catatonic, but when she was done she did step back to regard her work, although all it equaled was a slight improvement upon a slopping mess.

Maybe it was the clouds that did it, but Novak’s black curls were in disarray and seemed to have suffered an attack of static; his white t-shirt, although now bugless, was stained with small patches of green; and his plaid pyjama pants clung to his skin. He returned the not-antelope’s stare, feeling more confused than ever, but the she didn’t seem to notice, and so there they sat, looking at each, man, and monster, until the monster grew bored and offered him a big, hairy hand.

She raised an eyebrow when he didn’t take it.

“Don’t they have handshakes where you come from?” She said, startling Novak out of his stupor and into a frenzy of blinking. He took a wary step back.

“What?”

“I said, ‘don’t they have handshakes where you come from?’ It’s a greeting around these parts unless you’re cephakian, but you don’t look too much like a cephakian,” she paused, dropped to all fours, drew closer, and sniffed at Novak before rearing back onto her hind legs. “Although I guess there is a passing resemblance. I’m Rela by the way, Rela Stouthorn.”

She held out her hand again for him to take, and this time he took, albeit hesitantly. Her hand engulfed his, and her palms were coarse.

“Uh… I’m Novak, Novak Carter.”

“Novak, huh?” Rela savored the word. “Interesting name.”

As their hands were shaking, Novak’s eyes roamed Rela’s face, over dark green fur tinted with swirls of brown, and a short snout. Two bright amber eyes gazed back at him, sitting on a wide head with chiseled features and long, flabby ears. A small scar lingered above Rela’s left nostril, and another much larger scar ran diagonally down her neck. Both scars were jagged and old, but fierce: the kind of scars that made people wonder.

The more Novak looked at her, the less Rela looked like an antelope, and the more she looked like some fantastical creature, which, she most likely was; yet, when Rela caught Novak looking at her scars, the look she gave him was disconcertingly human, so human, in fact, that he felt it was impolite to stare.

She let go of his hand and rubbed at her neck, and he rushed to bridge the conversation.

“Uh... Right! Thanks for catching me by the way. Where is this?”

Rela raised an eyebrow, then looked at Novak, seemingly searching his red, plaid pyjama pants and his bare feet for an answer. Her eyes opened wide.

“You don’t know?”

“Not at all.”

Rela held a hand to her chin.

“That’s… weird. Well, you’re in Ulthagar now stranger, or at least that’s what my people call this part of the fracture.” She she pointed a palm at the forest. “The last tribe that lived here had a different name for the forest though, but it was too long so we changed it when they migrated. It’s just Ulthagar now, a tiny part of the Piute fracture, which, as far as fractures go, is one of the better places to be. Its nice and seasonal here.”

Novak’s brows furrowed

“I don’t think I understood any of that. Piute? Ulthagar? Fracture? What do you mean by your people, are there more like you?”

Rela’s eyes widened and she laughed, a sort of hooting, bellowing laugh that jumped off the trees and bounced around the forest.

“I should hope so. Have you never met a tragite before? My people live in most places, even in the most distant fractures.” Rela turned her head and looked up to the sky, “although it’s no surprise if you don’t know, I get the feeling that maybe you came from somewhere more dis—”

—A snap sounded far off in the distance, and Rela’s head turned like a deer caught in headlights. A strong, howling wind snatched up a horde of leaves and sent them flying; her hair bristled, and slowly, she exposed two sharp canines. She growled, a sort of low, bleating growl, then turned to search her surroundings.

A lump formed in Novak’s throat, and a fresh wave of confusion coated his face. Had he done something?

“What’s wrong?” He said.

The early morning sun had yet to rise to its midday point, and the world was still sparkling with its reddish-orange hues. But in his concern, Novak followed Rela’s gaze into the trees, and into the bushes, failing to seeing anything, and failing to notice a lack of bird song, or crickets chirping.

Before he could say anything else, or even move to evade her, Rela reached out and grabbed Novak, tossing him over her shoulder.

“Wh—“

—Scared out of his wits, Novak struck at Rela’s head with his elbow, effecting a glancing blow that she dodged with minimal effort. He squirmed, and thought to yell, but Rela tightened her grip and hushed him. Bound as he was, Novak’s mind raced through countless scenarios, but then he felt Rela’s heart begin to beat so loudly that he could hear it outside of her chest. He felt the rhythm in his gut, a primordial drum, something savage, and stalwart… but afraid.

In the blink of an eye Rela woke like a sleeping cat to the sounds of thunder, and if that meant anything, it must’ve been that something was wrong.

* * *

Rela soared through the forest, leaping over fallen logs and stagnant puddles of water, avoiding trees, and searching, gazing into the darker depths and clusters of undergrowth where the light couldn’t reach. But she Novak slung over her shoulder all the while, gripped so firmly that he couldn’t fall, nor jostle.

Rela’s hooves clacked against hard stone as she leapt from a crumbling brick building and landed, tearing at clusters of purple flowers with her free arm, while using it in tandem with her legs to run like a pack animal. Her breath burst forth from between gritted teeth, regulating her strength under the burden of the weight on her shoulders, but it strained to keep up with the demand she placed on her body.

The ground flowed below her with every twitch of muscle fiber, and a cool wind surged all around her, but over Rela’s shoulder, Novak could feel her growing hot, and he struggled to fight off an oncoming bought of motion sickness. The landscape shifted, and the forest grew darker in spite of the sun that was still high up and would continue to rise for hours. Shadows danced among the canopy and the detritus, and the boulder upon which Novak had appeared, disappeared into its surroundings, replaced instead by stone archways and the occasional pathway leading up to green hills, or down into hollowed cliffs.

There was rubble everywhere, vestiges of ancient things that had been disowned by time and relegated to the lesser duty of becoming stepping stones, or nests for the critters that scattered as Rela ran. She ran like nothing Novak had ever seen before, she ran like her life depended on it, and maybe it did. But as she ran out of the forest and into a meadow filled with glowing butterflies; intruded into streams of cold, flowing water; leapt up the sides of cliffs were dust fell and agitated lungs; as she did all that, at no moment did their would-be predator ever emerge, and, in time, Novak’s heart calmed despite Rela’s unease.

They passed by one last stream of water before the pair arrived at a raging river where the water collided against rocks and blew up mist, but Rela’s body was feverish with heat; yet, she seemed determined to continue. Out of the corner of his eye, Novak saw the river’s tail curving and fading into the distance, and he saw rocks more than capable of shattering him, and so, very quickly, he worried about her resolve. After all, it didn’t seem necessary, not anymore at least.

He turned to Rela and opened his mouth, making every effort to think of something to say that might sound soothing enough to convince her to drop him, but then he heard a crack, and a gust of wind hurled towards his face. Novak’s head snapped back and he bit his tongue, but Rela sprang forward, then he saw it: a big, bloodshot eye, and an enormous claw inches from his face, wreathed and shadow, yet gleaming with a sharpened edge.

Strands of his long black hair touched the claw as it sang, then separated from the whole and fell fluttering to the ground. Novak’s heart stopped cold, but the claw vanished back into the forest after a brief pursuit, leaving nothing but a set of eyes following him. Two black sclera with yellow irises looked on at Rela’s back, but she didn’t turn to look.

She landed on a wooden pillar several meters from the shore, then leapt to another, traversing a wide birth of wood and rock. The cold water wet her lower body as she went, chilling her to the bone, but she didn’t stop until she reached the other side. Her breathing was rough even then, but unlike her Novak that couldn't breath. His skin had gone pale, and he watched the other side, still feeling the wind on his skin, still wondering if the eyes were watching him, because he couldn't see them anymore, and because maybe they were.