1.
The thin country
road wound its way down through the valley. On both sides grew high,
unkempt hedges, which spilled onto the cracked tarmac. A small flock
of birds swooped and twirled above as if enjoying the late summer
warmth.
The body lay about
twenty metres away.
Siro slowly edged
forward, reluctant to give up his concealment in the dense
undergrowth below the hedge, but aware of the need to press on. He
hadn’t thought that the fighting had spread this far east, that he
could skirt round the side. An option would be to double back and
loop even further east, but that would take too long. He needed to be
back at camp by nightfall, the sun already low in the sky. He let
out a small sigh and moved along the side of the road.
Ten metres from the
body he stopped. Sniffed. Nothing. The evening breeze was fresh on
his face, but it contained no trace of decomposition, an all too
familiar smell in recent weeks. The body was recent. Siro
instinctively moved back towards the prickly undergrowth, before
pausing, caught between the desire to hide and the need to get back
to camp.
It was just one body
he told himself. Probably a refugee, maybe a deserter. At worst a
scout. Most likely died of as close to natural causes as there were
these days. Reports of disease in the region had grown recently, the
sieges and disruption to the harvest providing a ripe environment.
Siro continued to move on, told himself that he wasn’t even going
to look at the body, just get passed, no contact, no contamination.
Simple.
His eyes betrayed
him and he looked down just as he skirted the body. A neat slit
across the throat gave immediate lie to the theory of natural causes.
Siro stopped. While unfamiliar with combat first hand, he had
assisted at the camp’s medical facility on occasion. He could
recognise a sword thrust or swipe. But the injury to this poor soul’s
throat was too neat. The thin and straight slit was lined by a lived
purple bruise. Strangulation. Most likely a garrotte.
This time instinct
won out, Siro dived back towards the hedge, rolling through the muck
and leaves, thorns scratching his bare legs. He buried his head in
his harms, as if blocking his eyes could render him invisible.
Breathes came short and sharp, a trickle of cold sweat down the back
of his neck.
Stupid, he chided
himself. Hiding right next to the body, if the killer was still
around he’d already be finished. The body was recently deceased,
but it didn’t have to be that recent. Maybe an hour or two.
Killer probably long gone. Siro risked a look up. Nothing. Apart from
the dead body that is. Ok, time to calm down. Take stock. Coast
clear, places to be. Just carry on being cautious and get the hell
out of here.
Once again Siro
edged out of the undergrowth, quickly brushing himself down and
taking a few tentative steps forward. He looked again at the body.
His initial shock at the injury had blinded him to the other
unnatural aspects to the scene. It was only in its underwear. Pallid
skin peeking out from behind layers of filth and matted hair.
Scavengers.
Another shiver,
despite the fact that Siro himself was, technically, also a
scavenger. But one that tended not to create his own harvests with a
garrotte. Still, he’d been drilled not to waste an opportunity and
the camp was struggling for even basic supplies, anything that could
be used as a bandage or dressing in particular. With a gulp he moved
to stand over the body, cast another look around, before bending down
to remove the last vestiges of the corpse’s dignity.
Siro ran from the
naked dead body.
The road curved
round into a small hamlet. Siro came to a halt behind a tumble down
stone wall, crouching down to catch his breath. Catch his breath and
reprimand himself for running when he knows that a proficient killer
is in the area. And his only defence is a flea bitten pair of
underpants.
Peering round the
wall he eyed the buildings that made up the hamlet. Most had
collapsed during the years of neglect, just a couple still standing.
One an ancient stone barn, the other caused him to shiver once again.
It was one of those stark edifice built by The Previous, all gleaming
edges and stark angles, made from some unfathomable material. Siro
remembered the stories from his childhood - a time not all that many
summers ago - when he and the other camp children gathered round the
ample form of Tisias, the old man telling tales of how The Previous
never really went away, how their malevolent sprites still roam the
country, looking for the unwary to tempt with promises of access to
dark technology.
But they were just
silly stories, right? A fable aimed to stop the children from
wandering too far from camp. And even if those devious sprites did
lurk around a corner, they didn’t carry a garrotte with them. Did
they?
Siro quickly
reappraised his options. Backtracking was still unappealing,
especially as the sun headed towards the horizon and The Previous
monolith glistened. If he could jump the wall and head across the
fields then he wouldn’t have to go through the hamlet and past that
building. But he’d be heading back towards the front lines. No,
he’d have to press on.
Another look around
the wall revealed no movement other than the swaying of the weeds
that had flourished amid the cracked tarmac and derelict buildings in
the breeze. Maybe the killer had gone back to the front lines? Maybe
the sprites had sank back into their dark dungeons?
Time to move. Siro
stuffed the underwear into the cloth satchel that hung limply over
his shoulder, this scavenge having yielded little else. He kept low
and close to the wall until it fell off into the rampant undergrowth.
From there he picked his way through the collapsed buildings, keeping
an eye out for the broken glass that could rip his ragged foot
bindings to shreds. He stopped briefly opposite the entrance to the
barn, peering in to see if there might be some long forgotten stores
lurking in the gloomy depths. But the contrast of the evening light
to the dark inside of the barn made it impossible to tell. He darted
across the road to get closer to the entrance, scavenger’s
curiosity piqued.
Movement.
Not his, not the
weeds around him or the birds above. But from inside the barn. Human.
Ok, think. This is what Aesara trained him for. Stay calm, stay
hidden, stay safe, the phrase drilled into him and the other
trainees. He backed up a couple of metres and crouched behind a
cluster of rubble. Assess your options. He needed to get
through and out of the hamlet, but the entrance to the barn looked
directly onto the mottled road he needed to traverse. There wasn’t
enough daylight to wait it out or turn back. Aggh, stupid. He already
knew Aesara would be angry for his decision to search so far from
camp on only his third solo outing. At the time he’d imagined
returning with untold riches; food, clothes, maybe even some Elder
writings. Now the decision just seemed foolhardy. Stay calm.
He was letting himself get to worked up. Think. What would Aesara do
now? She wouldn’t, couldn’t run. Instead she’d prowl, low
through the rubble. Balance haste with caution.
Sound.
“Hey, Niv, that
you?” the deep voice coming from within the barn, “I got nothing
in here, told ya this was a waste of time”. A pause. “Niv? NIV?”
A bulky figure waddled into the evening light, squinting as he looked
around. One hand shielding his eyes, the other gripping a long blade,
spotted in rust, but with an edge that gleamed.
Siro ducked down
lower, chin just a handbreadth from the stony ground. There was more
than one of them. He could be surrounded, he turned in fear, eyes
darting, searching out an unseen aggressor. Breathing now ragged.
Aesara forgotton, Siro broke cover and ran.
“OI!” The bulky
man cried “HEY NIV, PYRRHO, WE GOT COMPANY”
That makes three of
them, a remote part of Siro’s brain whispered. But the rest of his
brain was preoccupied with putting as much distance between this
cursed place and himself as possible. He leapt fallen masonry,
whipped through tall weeds and sped past The Previous lair. The
cracked road was beginning to slope up and out of the hamlet when the
second figure emerged from behind a fallen tree.
“What the...?”
the figure was slender, lithe, pretty even. Well, would have been if
Siro wasn’t convinced that she wanted to kill him. He skidded to a
halt and took off in the opposition direction. Behind him the woman
grappled with the fastening on her patched up trousers, then
snatching up a small bag and a knotted wooden club before beginning
her pursuit. This gave Siro precious seconds, but he was already
tiring from the initial sprint. Back in the hamlet he slowed a
little, cautious for the big man. However, that waddling form was
still close to the barn, ill equipped for the chase.
Siro looked around.
Stay hidden, the small calm part of his brain whispered. But
where? He jinked off the road an picked his way through some of the
derelict buildings. There were piles of masonry he could duck behind
or within, but they wouldn’t hold up against any more than a
cursory search by his pursuers.
The Previous
building.
The thought actually
stopped Siro in his tracks. Was he crazy to think such a thing? Was
that even him thinking it, or perhaps the devious whispering of a
Previous sprite?
“HE WENT THAT WAY”
the shout of the big man, directing his comrade, shook Siro from his
considerations. What was the greater risk; confronting his childish
nightmares about The Previous or the slow embrace of a garrotte?
He dived towards The
Previous building, in through the wide front opening, embraced by the
darkness inside. Tripped, fell, scrabbled back up, furiously willing
his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Was that a shimmer of light from
above? He squinted. Yes, light from somewhere. He moved cautiously
forward, foot banging against a hard surface. He bent down to examine
the obstruction. It wasn’t very high, but then just a little way
above and beyond the barrier was another short wall.
Stairs.
Why would The
Previous use stairs? Don’t malevolent sprites float where they
wish? Or perhaps this was just a temporary construction to entice and
entrap the unwary? The approach of his pursuers footsteps from
outside echoed through the front opening. Siro went up the stairs.
The light is
definitely getting better up here, thought Siro. He could now make
out the top of the staircase as it bent round onto a small landing
area. Detritus litters the floor. Rotting carcasses of small birds
mainly, interspersed by odd little Previous trinkets that Siro
daren’t look at for too long lest they come to life. He moved off
the landing and into the room the light was coming from. Moving into
one of the darker recesses of the building would have made more sense
from the perspective of hiding, but that was a move too far for the
terrified young scavenger.
It was a small room.
The oppressing smell of bird droppings making it feel all the
smaller. Siro put a hand to his mouth, as if skin and bone could
filter the noxious scent. Most of the room’s feathered inhabitants
appeared to have vacated before his arrival, presumably startled by
the chase that had led him here. He edged towards the broken hole in
the side of the room that had let the birds out and the light in.
Down below and a few tends of metres away he could see the big man
and the slender woman remonstrating with each other, but their voices
seemed oddly quietened by The Previous building. Siro slumped down
against the wall below the opening, caring not for what he sat in as
he fought to catch his breath.
“Hello” said a
voice from the other side of the room.
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