"Mcpherson, K L - Nur Hunters" - читать интересную книгу автора (McPherson K L)
NUR-HUNTERS
NUR-HUNTERS
by K. L. McPherson
© 1998 - All Rights Reserved
- 1 -
Shahel-Brasut cursed as his foot slipped on the icy snow-covered
stone he'd chosen to jump to. He ducked to catch his balance and that might
have been the first thing he'd done right all day. A half-breath later
the frozen tip of a good five-weight warclub plowed through the space where
his skull had been.
At the business end of the club hulked a hill of a woman, the final
member left from a trio of Slodolan plainsfolk he and his partner Ulin
had been tracking north for the past eleven days. She had a craggy boulder
for a head, a face like a goat (beard included), and the disposition of
a neutered grizzly. The immense bulk of her body—fat, yet still impressively
strong—lay buried under several inches of thick animal furs and skins.
Her eyes were inset deep below her knuckled, frost-glazed brow; they glared
out at him like smouldering embers beneath a cold hearth.
Shahel let out an exhausted, coughing breath. It hung frozen in the
air between them a moment before drifting off. Another cough—another little
cloud.
I'm out of shape.
It was mid-day. The two of them had been fighting for some time,
dancing their slow dance of violence along a wide snow-choked trail under
the pale sun. On one side stood the forest Seirwold, all dark foliage and
gnarled limbs, frosted thick beneath an undisturbed mantle of white. On
the other, beyond the shoreline, the wintery, steel-grey waters of the
Andlinar Ocean stretched away from the rocky coast. Large surf-smoothed
boulders clutched the land's edge, huddled under a glaze of frozen seaspray.
Far off in the distance, where sea met sky and became the eastern horizon,
titanic blue glaciers drifted south, on their way to a slow death by consumption.
The land waited around them, dead-end silent, hauntingly still. Apart
from the occasional splintered crack as frozen sap split a tree-trunk,
or the gentle susurration of waves upon the rocks, the world seemed to
be holding its breath. Their battle went quietly too—his ragged gasps
of exertion, her guttural grunts—all wrapped in a gauze of bitter cold.
The air was so frigid it bit the lungs and dulled the senses. Clumps of
frozen sweat rattled in their hair like beads; ice braided his beard.
One of the woman's companions—the male—lay broken and bloody in
the snow behind her. Ulin had taken him down first, as planned, before
chasing off after the other female when she'd made a run for the forest.
He was long since overdue and Shahel was starting to think the entire day
had just been one huge mistake.
Where is Ulin anyhow? He should be done and back by now and helping
me with this beast.
Effortlessly she raised her heavy cudgel high again, holding it in
both hands while bracing her tree-stump feet wide apart and off-center.
He recognized the stance; she'd used it often while hunting baca-seals
along the shoreline that morning. Aided by Ulin's far-seeing device, he'd
secretly studied her fighting style for over an hour—the motion of her
swing, the rotation of her body, anything that could have possibly given
him a strategic edge. She was powerful, no denying that, but her agility
had surprised him. Many a swift baca-seal had perished under her precise,
crushing attack.
Shahel frowned. The way things were going, he and the seals might
soon have a lot more in common.
"Keegh! Nekhufh krejh!" Her club described a tight descending arc
that narrowly missed his shoulder. She yelled again, chewing off more of
the unknown words and spitting them at him. He offered his combatant a
disarming smile.
"Madam, let us end this senseless disagreement . . . is such a small
thing worth dying for?"
She growled something else—a curse in her language he suspected—and
took another mighty swing.
"Fine then, have it as your will," he said as he dodged the blow.
Moving away, he purposely positioned himself so the forest remained
at his back. He'd been slyly inching their mostly one-sided battle toward
the woods since it started. He prayed that if they reached the dense trees
the woman would be unable to swing her club around with quite so much freedom.
His own weapon, a blade of exquisitely-crafted tirsteel given to
him by his mentor DaHavel, was gone, lost somewhere beneath the white blanket
of thigh-deep snow covering the ground.
And a damn fine sword it was—blast this entire quest!
They were almost to the edge of the forest when he slipped again.
First he went down on one knee—an easy target—then lost his balance completely
and tumbled backwards. The plainswoman saw her chance, setting her feet
firm as she lifted the club. He tried to swim away in the deep drifts but
in his heart he knew it was over. She would not miss this time.
A low hiss split the quiet, followed by a wooden thunk.
The woman ceased her advance and stood up straight. A strange, almost
relieved look crossed her weather-beaten, homely face. The club dipped
twice then slipped from her hands. She focused on some point far out at
sea, gurgled up a mouthful of crimson, and toppled face-first. Her impact
sent up fantails of snow; Shahel had to scramble to get out of the way.
In her back, just below the spot where skull met spine, she had mysteriously
grown an iron crossbow bolt. He identified it as one of Ulin's—there were
four diagonal blue slashes etched into the metal, his liegemark crest.
Only marksmen and Westrider troops used such crests.
A flat shout echoed from farther ahead where the trail wandered away
from the shore and back beneath the canopy of trees. Ulin stood there,
a tiny figure in the distance. He held his crossbow up and waved it twice
in triumph before starting through the drifts toward Shahel.
He's more than sixty lengths away, Shahel thought. Marksman
all right . . . more like an assassin.
After climbing up out of the snow he heaved the woman over onto her
back. While the injury alone had probably been fatal, he also knew that
Ulin favoured the use of poisons. That was likely the reason why this behemoth
had gone down with such dispatch. Removing his thick gloves, he began searching
the body. He soon found a pouch of velvet-soft deerskin concealed within
a massive fur-lined inner pocket.
"Is that it?"
Shahel jumped. He hadn't heard his partner approach—the man moved
like a cat.
"Godcurse you, Ulin," he said angrily, "we should have stayed together."
Ulin frowned. "The second female ran. Since we didn't know which
of them carried the stone, I was forced to pursue her." His logic was annoyingly
sound.
Shahel gaze shifted over to Seirwold, and he gestured in that direction.
"Is she . . . ?"
"Dead." He said it nonchalantly. Killing had become commonplace,
almost boring, to him. "I was watching your battle—you are an adequate
warrior yourself."
It was Shahel's turn to frown. "If you were watching, why did you
wait so long to shoot?"
"You were in the way—I might have hit you."
A dry smirk crossed Shahel's face. "Next time I'll try and remember
to fall down sooner."
Ulin didn't smile back; he never did. Shahel let his own grin fade.
How odd and disconcerting his companion could be at times. He couldn't
remember if he'd ever heard him laugh.
"Is that it?" he asked again, all business. Yet under the calm exterior
Shahel sensed anticipation.
He opened the pouch, letting out a long sigh when he saw what it
contained. Inside, the last of the six objects that had dragged them so
far north, through so much. He plucked it out and held it between forefinger
and thumb, turning it slowly, relieved.
"That's it."
The object was a dark red crystal the size of a robin's egg. Its
facets were smoothly polished, but the flat surfaces shrugged off the bleak
sunlight, giving no reflections. Etched on one face was a small rune, two
stars inside a circle. Tiny filaments of white fire coursed through the
stone beneath Shahel's fingertips, as if it fed off his touch.
Ulin took the crystal, regarding it with grim satisfaction. "At last
. . ."
"You have them all, now will you tell me why they're so damned
important?"
He drew a breath. "It is difficult to explain. There are still many
things you cannot—"
"Okay, don't tell me," Shahel cut him off, exasperated. "I don't
care. But here's something I'll tell you. We can't stay here—it's
not safe."
"The caverns are only a few days west. We'll be leaving soon enough."
Ulin scanned the area, his penetrating light-grey eyes darting from
horizon to treeline. He brought one gloved hand up and absently stroked
his ragged beard. Distraction creased his features, and he murmured something
Shahel couldn't quite make out—it sounded like 'together'. When
he noticed Shahel's inquisitive look, he ignored it, offering no explanation.
"The Nur will come after nightfall. Come, we must burn these bodies—the
smell will help hide our scent."
- 2 -
Dragging the bulky, stiffening corpses through the deep snow proved
to be difficult work. By the time they'd finished the sun was already settling
its great orange belly behind the trees. Smoke rose from the pyre in foul
clouds, blown west by a light offshore wind. Shahel kept one nervous eye
on the neighbouring forest's edge as they packed their gear.
Nur! Just thinking that word was bad enough; it conjured up
a decade of childhood terror. When your parents wanted you to behave it
was the Nur they terrorized you with, the nightbeasts who hunted wanderers,
slaughtered travellers, and ate small children. Such stories were not mere
adolescent myth however—even children soon realized that the fear of a
thousand towns and villages across the land was terribly real. The Nur
were nomadic pack-hunters, savagely brutal; they existed to be feared.
Their attacks were erratic, without reason, and left few survivors.
Yet here I am, hunting them. With a man I barely trust.
Darkness came quickly after sunset, much sooner than Shahel would
have liked. During the past week he'd noticed how night fell earlier, and
lasted longer, the farther north they travelled. With twilight came the
worst of the cold. He knew it would get so bitter that neither of them
would speak for hours, preserving what scant energy they had. The only
way to keep warm was to keep moving.
Time crept by, or so it felt. Ulin led them deep into Seirwold, backtracking
every so often to cover their footprints. It seemed like a futile gesture
to Shahel; he detected no signs of pursuit. It was unlikely the Slodolans
would follow them very enthusiastically anyhow, even if they managed to
pick up their trail; they preferred the open plains. Apart from wolves
(and Nur, he reminded himself) not much else ventured this
far north during winter. If it was Nur that Ulin worried about,
they both knew no measure of precaution would be enough—by the time an
attack came, it would already be too late. Still, he trusted his companion's
intuition. If he felt it necessary to conceal all evidence of their passage,
then he probably had a good reason.
That was how the days passed, with dense trees standing tall around
them. Snow fell sporadically, spat out of the unforgiving sky in thick
squalls, or sent raging until they were forced to seek shelter. Twice they
spotted great northern hawks spiralling high above, but the forest itself
remained devoid of life.
During the third afternoon, as they struggled through a particularly
dense region, Ulin held up his hand and placed one finger across an ear.
Shahel knew the sign—he slowed to a crunching halt. Without warning a
massive wolf charged at them from a row of pines running along a low ridge
to his right. .
It was large, but lean; hungry. Shahel froze as it came directly
at him, fangs showing, snarling eagerly. If it hadn't been for the deep
snow it would have reached him before either man could react. Despite the
cold, despite even his bulky clothing, Ulin drew his sword and swung as
the wolf lunged. Shahel raised his arms in attempt to deflect the animal's
attack.
Its heavy, warm body slammed into him, driving him against the trees
and down onto his back. He cried out and tried to protect his neck, but
the throat-ripping bite he expected never came. A moment later he saw the
reason.
The wolf's head sat in the snow several feet away, jaws still open,
tongue flopped to one side. Ulin had decapitated it in mid-leap. While
Shahel regained his feet—and his composure—his partner calmly stripped
and cleaned the body, placing both pelt and meat into his pack. After he
finished he knelt over the wolf's head for some time. Shahel was shocked
when he noticed that Ulin was crying, his tears falling on the grey fur,
freezing there. Finally he stood up and set out again without a word. Shahel,
still shaken, fell in behind. He spent the next few hours wondering who—or
what—Ulin actually was.
That night they camped in a shallow vale ringed by tall spruce, the
trees providing a natural windbreak. Ulin cleared the snow away as best
he could while Shahel built a small fire and prepared dinner for them—dried
deermeat and vegetables stewed in ale. The two men ate in silence, listening
to winter howl around them. After the flames died down Ulin wrapped himself
in his blankets, ready to retire. He rarely prompted conversation, so Shahel
was surprised when he heard his voice
"Are you familiar with the aegis cycle?"
Shahel shook his head, realized it was too dark, instead muttered,
"No."
Ulin hesitated for a moment, and Shahel waited. It wouldn't be the
first time his partner had uttered similarly cryptic statements and then
just left it at that. He would either continue or not. Tonight, however,
it was obvious that his problem wasn't how much he had to say, but how
much he dared to say. And how much Shahel was ready to hear.
"Things were not always as they are now. These times will be seen
as but a moment—a second!—through the eyes of history. This world
is ancient, Shahel, far older than most men can even conceive. Many powers
lie locked deep at its heart."
"OldScript scholars say that life and time are woven together, inseparable
. . . a static pattern with no beginning or end. Western sun-priests call
this afius anfenita—'infinite state'. They believe that while man
is the creator of events, his soul is bound with time by the force of nature."
"The Nur exist outside the pattern, unrestricted by physical and
spiritual law. They travel freely, at will, anywhere . . . anywhen.
Before, their passage to this world was strongly guarded, but the aegis
cycle is like a tide, rising and falling. We are in a age of decline, when
the protectorate is at its weakest."
A pause—Shahel though it was over. But he wasn't finished, not quite.
"Existence equals action, not change," Ulin said. "Life is choice."
The snow had started again. Shahel hugged his own blankets tighter
to his chest and shivered. He stared into the darkness, not fully understanding
Ulin's words, but sensing their importance. Intuitively he guessed that
their journey was drawing to a close—whatever reason they had travelled
so far would soon be revealed.
"What awaits us?" he asked, his voice low, uncertain.
But Ulin had already fallen asleep.
- 3 -
They reached the foothills early the next morning. The sky was overcast,
an inverted sea of lead. Ulin led the way—Shahel followed behind, cursing
as he stumbled over large rocks that jutted up above the snow. It was obvious
Ulin knew the area well; the spot he had chosen to exit Seirwold put them
right at the base of a steep rise. Along one side of it wound a path of
sorts, but it lay buried, nearly impassable.
"Up there," he pointed. "A fissure leads underground, possibly an
old quarry entrance. These lands were once occupied by tribes of Drowethal
nomads—they mined it clean centuries ago and moved on. The caverns we
seek may be a remnant of their excavations, or perhaps even older."
Shahel said nothing. Ulin's garrulous mood had carried on into the
day—he'd been talkative since breakfast, attempting to engage Shahel in
friendly conversation, commenting on the weather, or just idly chatting
about places and people and the history of the world. Fatalism dogged Shahel's
thoughts, and it made him restless. He discovered that he liked it better
when his companion kept to himself.
A hawk soared overhead, its plaintive cry breaking the stillness.
He watched briefly as it circled several times, then lowered his view,
taking in the hills and the ragged mountains beyond. The forest lay behind
them, to the east—it felt good to be out from under the trees, to stand
in the open. Cold winds blew, and dark stormclouds gathered to the north,
promising even more bad weather.
They began making their way up the treacherous slope. The snow was
deep, but packed down under its own weight, and their feet threatened to
go out from under them at every step. By the time they stopped Shahel was
breathing heavily. Ulin found amusement in this.
"You're out of shape," he smiled uncharacteristically.
Shahel cursed at him. "Just lead."
Not much further ahead a narrow cleft cut into the hillside. Ulin
withdrew a small oil lantern from his pack—he had prepared for every contingency.
After lighting the wick he shone lamplight into the opening, scanning the
walls inside. Satisfied, he turned sideways and stepped through the gap.
Shahel did likewise, but not before casting a wistful glance at the wintery
landscape around him.
Not the most inviting place, he thought, but I hope I'll
see it again.
Once inside, the cleft seemed even smaller—cramped; claustrophobic.
Both men crouched as they walked to avoid hitting their heads. However,
just when Shahel felt close to panic, the wall on his left disappeared
and the rough stone ceiling lifted. He had the impression of a vast cavern
outside the small sphere of light cast by Ulin's lamp.
"Stairs lead down from here," Ulin reported. "Careful, the drop is
considerable."
Shahel strained to see into the empty space beside him, but the blackness
was complete. His foot dislodged a piece of loose shale, sending it over
the edge. He listened but never heard it hit. Unnerved, he stayed as far
right as possible, keeping one hand on the wall.
The steps led down, down—there seemed to be no end to their descent.
They stopped periodically to rest, and Shahel would spend the time massaging
his cramped calves. Strange smells reached their nostrils, sulphurous fumes
and mineral-rich gases carried on ghostly air currents. It grew steadily
warmer too, forcing them to shed their heavy outer clothing.
At last, after what felt like several hours, their feet touched solid
floor. Ulin immediately headed right, leading them through a square alcove
braced by broad timbers into a squat passage. From somewhere came a breath
of cool, fresh air—how it found its way through the miles of rock above
them, Shahel couldn't even imagine.
He tried memorizing their route, but after four more turns gave up.
Caverns, antechambers, connecting passages, junctions, branching intersections—the
place was a maze. If they became separated, his knew his chances of retracing
their steps would be highly unlikely.
Time lost all meaning. He couldn't guess how long they wandered those
lost hallways. Desperation closed in on him again; the oppressive reality
of so much earth and granite weighing down like a tangible force, strangling
his thoughts. Ulin had been silent for some time, intent on guiding them,
but noticing his companion's distress he stopped and spun around, alarm
on his face.
"We are almost there . . . do not succumb to the fear!" He paused,
then, with an almost embarrassed look, added, "I can help you. Do you want
my help?"
Shahel stared, unblinking. Everything rushed in, a sea of confusion
eroding his willpower, suffocating him. Ulin didn't wait—he placed his
hands on Shahel's trembling shoulders, gripping tightly.
"There is no fear. I am with you. You are not alone. There is no
fear."
For a brief moment Shahel felt suspended, caught between here and
there, incomplete. Then it all disappeared—all his panic, all his feelings
of drowning—blown away like autumn leaves. He sensed a presence pass through
him, something at once familiar yet unfathomable. A second later he was
just himself again, unsettled but whole.
They shared a silent glance; Ulin however quickly turned away, resuming
his course. Shahel fell in behind, wondering what exactly had transpired.
A short time later the sound of water dripping could be heard. He
and Ulin entered an immense grotto, and Shahel gasped as they came upon
the shore of a spectacular underground sea. Its still waters were dark,
ominous—a black mirror. Their footfalls echoed, skipping across the surface
like flat rocks. Massive stalactites covered the ceiling like horns on
the hide of some great beast. The glow from Ulin's lantern illuminated
only a short distance, making the cavern seem even larger.
"Witness 'aukroumakasah', the eternal waters."
Shahel was awestruck—never had he seen such cold, raw beauty.
Ulin appeared unmoved by the sight; he'd already started walking
toward a finger of rock that jutted out over the waters like a stone pier.
As Shahel chased after him he tried to imagine what manner of ships would
sail such a strange, exotic sea.
Just before reaching the pier Ulin halted again, this time facing
a nondescript section of wall. Shahel studied the blank stone, puzzled—it
looked no different than the rest—as Ulin went closer and, without touching,
passed his palm over one specific spot.
That part of the cave wall shimmered then vanished beneath his hand
(and before Shahel's astonished eyes). It was as if Ulin had erased it
from existence. The effect spread outwards until the two of them were staring
into the mouth of another passage.
Shahel finally found his voice and asked the question he dared not
ask before.
"Who are you, Ulin?"
Ulin once again looked perplexingly apologetic. "I ask . . . no,
I beseech you—please come with me the rest of the way. All your
questions will be answered very soon. Please."
He stepped inside. Shahel remembered his words from the night before
. . . life is choice. It was his choice, and his life. He
chose to complete what he'd begun, following Ulin as he had all along.
- 4 -
The tunnel widened into a circular chamber. Its surfaces were rough,
as if they had been hastily carved. Driven into the stone walls at irregular
intervals were several empty sconces, the ceiling above them blackened
with soot. As they moved further inside Shahel noticed how smooth the floor
looked—worn, as if by the passing of many feet. Generations of feet.
Ulin went directly to the centre of the room and examined a hexagonal
section of floor slightly raised above the rest, possibly a plinth, although
nothing stood on it, no statue or column. It was made from a type of stone
different than anything Shahel had ever seen before—dark, marbled with
veins of light grey, silver flecks. As he drew nearer he could make out
odd patterns inscribed across the surface; geometric angles, constellations,
unusual oval-shaped script. Looking closer still he discerned shallow depressions,
one per corner.
Six depressions.
Kneeling, Ulin removed the tei-stones from his pack. He set them
to one side and consulted the cryptic etchings on the plinth, comparing
them with the runes engraved on the six stones. One by one he set each
in one of the depressions. Before he placed the sixth he glanced up at
Shahel, who by this time simply stood beside him, mouth open, not sure
what to say or do.
Ulin gave him a reassuring nod. Then, gently, he positioned the final
one.
Nothing happened at first. Suddenly, in unison, all six stones came
to life.
A harmony of light exploded, filling the cavern, igniting the stale
air. The silver radiance grew so brilliant it seemed there could be no
place large enough to contain it all, that it had to spill over. Half-blinded,
Shahel absently traced three quick dashes—the OldLand symbol for Brethan's
Blessings—over his heart for luck.
Slowly the initial brightness softened. Slender shafts of intense
colour stabbed up from each stone—they began cycling through the primary
colours before widening, merging. Becoming one.
Both men stepped back. Rapture shone in Ulin's eyes.
A single golden ray emerged from the centre of the plinth, brighter
than sunlight, needle-thin. As they watched it began to sketch an outline,
painting the air with delicate filigrees. The ghostly framework was faint
at first, a tracery of spider-silk, but soon grew clearer. It looked like
a window.
Or a door.
"Such brave hunters."
The words came out of the empty darkness behind them, near the tunnel
opening. It was a woman's voice, yet it sounded strange—forced—as though
the speaker had only recently learned the language. Both men jumped up,
hands at their sides. Ulin drew his blade.
"Show yourself!" he commanded.
A figure shifted in the shadows..
"Back, demoness," Ulin warned, "you must not interfere in this."
"It is you who must not interfere. Do you not remember me, Shahel-Brasut
of Erunvale?"
Her voice seethed with spite—soft and mocking, hardly at all like
the rumbling garble she'd cursed him with before. Still, he recognized
it, and his heart nearly froze.
Impossible!
The Slodolan plainswoman came forward, moving into the chaotic glow
of the crystals. Tattered flaps of seared flesh dangled from her face like
sails on a ghost ship. Her nose was a stub of blackened wax. Behind the
tight ashen rinds that were the remains of her lips, white teeth flashed,
permanently showing a hideous skull's grin. A rancid-sweet smell—charred
flesh—preceded her. She apparently was not as dead as they'd thought,
although she looked it. Her unimaginable stench wafted into the cavern,
making Shahel's stomach twist.
He glanced back—the eldritch fire continued to work its magic, weaving
the rectangle of golden light. The space inside that glowing outline had
taken on a misty, translucent appearance. Through it he could barely make
out the wall on the opposite side of the chamber.
She strode forward, still talking to Shahel but pointing a blistered
finger at Ulin. "For this creature, you sacrifice your own life? Ha! Only
a human with primitive senses and a truncated imagination would
be so foolish. You do not see beyond your own ignorance."
"Back, witch," Ulin warned. "The dead have no place here." His sword
hovered before him, its sharp tip aimed at her chest.
She looked amused, grinning through her destroyed face. "Oh, but
I think they do. This is a place of death . . . yours! What
will you do, hunter? Kill me again? Can you?"
Shahel gaped. He couldn't believe—wouldn't believe—what
he saw and heard. He could feel his mind slipping into a dark and distant
place. Ulin stood protectively in front of the plinth, sword steady in
his hand..
"I can," he said, "and I will if I must. You do not realize what
transpires here."
Her voice went low, poisonously cold. "I realize all too well."
She began to laugh, and as she laughed she began to change. Her bulky
body grew taller and slimmer; her arms lengthened, hands turning into claws.
The charred furs she wore peeled away, dropping to the stone floor, dissolving
as they fell. Burnt hair and flesh ran off her skull like heated tallow—features
melting, eyes draining.
Underneath, hidden all that time, surfaced the wicked and cunning
face of a Nur.
Shahel stepped away from her . . . it! . . . until his back
touched the cavern wall. It seemed impossible, yet there before him stood
all the myths and superstitions of a hundred generations given life. His
eyes went wide with terror.
Ulin still held his ground. He didn't appear to be surprised or afraid.
"I should have known," he said. And, to Shahel's amazement, he laughed
too.
With a furious crackle of energy that drew everyone's attention,
the golden ray disappeared. The doorway stood complete, nearly touching
the cavern roof, its frame ablaze with power. From the smoky haze inside
the newly-formed portal two figures emerged—more Nur, red sparks for eyes,
bodies garbed in rusted mail and mouldering robes. They stepped through
the limned opening, their ancient weapons and armour clanking like cell
doors.
Shahel let his numb stare drift past them, past the doorway and into
the fog where more Nur were appearing, dozens more. Hundreds more.
They lined up, double-file, awaiting their turn to step through the doorway.
The newcomers began to laugh too, insanely and inhumanly, until it
rang from the vaulted ceiling. Ulin stepped aside as they moved to joined
the first, then all three began to advance on Shahel. Savage glee contorted
their features; their smiles were unbearable. He mumbled a silent prayer
and hoped his end would come quickly.
As they approached he looked toward Ulin who had moved closer to
the portal. What he saw staggered him, to the point where he completely
forgot about the impending attack.
Ulin had begun to slough his flesh too, much like the Nur. The rugged
hunter's skin and clothing melted away, and what emerged was both wondrous
and terrifying.
It took the shape of a man—four limbs and a head—but there the
similarity ended. The being's skin looked like white stone, and its face
was smooth, featureless. As it transformed it became larger, body widening,
torso doubling in size. Something like a short prehensile tail snapped
out from the back of its neck. A series of pointed humps appeared below
it, running all the way down both legs.
"Engkal!" The former plainswoman screamed the word. "How?"
Even as the trio rushed at Shahel the white figure flashed across
the room to intervene. Something circular in the creature's hands glinted
and there was a bright, warm rush of ivory light that forced Shahel's eyes
shut. When he opened them again the three Nur were gone—not even their
bodies remained.
More appeared, coming out of the golden portal. They poured forth,
and the white creature met them. The rounded weapon flashed like a scythe—blasts
of hot argent fire lit up the cavern as it effortlessly struck down every enemy
that attempted to make its way past him. Shahel knew he should try to escape, he had ample opportunity, but the battle transfixed him. That, and his own fear.
Eventually the flow of encroaching Nur ceased. Shahel expected the creature
to come after him next, but instead it waited by the plinth, its stance
casual, patient. He thought it had forgotten about him, but then it spoke.
"Shahel," it said in a low, grating tone. "I am here. You are not alone. There is no
fear."
His throat clenched. "Ulin?"
"You are wondering why I brought you here. Now you shall know."
The being lifted its arms slowly, and the tei-stones responded, glowing
anew. Above each one appeared a shape, a spectral form matching the colour
of the crystal beneath it. All except the white crystal.
Five figures slowly materialized, five beings that, apart from being
different in colour, looked just like the one that had been Ulin.
"Together," it whispered.
- 5 -
Before the six of them went into the portal, the white being assured
Shahel that the threat of Nur to this world had ended. They had been driven
back to another place, another time—one so far away that even the gods
could rest at ease.
His kind were called engkal, creatures whose lives knew no
beginning nor end. Their sworn duty was the protection of worlds such as
Shahel's, guarding them from Nur and other ill races who strived to cross
over. Such intrusions violated the patterns of time everywhere; it was
for the good of all that they be prevented or thwarted as quickly as possible.
Soon the others had passed through the doorway, from one world to
the next, leaving Shahel alone with his former companion. Fluctuations
began to appear in the portal's golden frame, pulses of random colours.
They grew stronger each passing moment.
"Time grows short. By now you must undertand why I brought you to
this place. Your purpose is plain, Shahel. You are to take the stones with
you."
He started to protest. "Take them? Where? I'm only a hunter—"
"You shall know what to do."
Stepping up onto the plinth, the being turned to face Shahel.
"Farewell . . . friend."
Shahel raised his hand, waved, as the engkal moved into the
mist and vanished.
The doorway flickered out of existence a moment later.
Once he'd gathered the dormant tei-stones Shahel left the chamber,
going down the tunnel and back to the shore of the dark sea. The pier was
no longer vacant—a small boat rested in the water next to it, motionless.
He was not surprised to find two oars inside. With lantern in hand he climbed
aboard.
A short time afterwards he held up his light and peered back at the
shoreline. The pier had shrunk in the distance, barely visible. Ahead,
aukroumakasah stretched away, empty and black.
Purposefully, Shahel began rowing onward into the blind darkness.
Three kids occupy most of Kevin's time, so don't even ask how he manages to go to school, run this website, as well as jot down his own short stories. He digs horror and science fiction, especially when they're combined.
Favorite movies: Aliens and The Exorcist.
Favorite stories: the Hyperion/Endymion series by Dan Simmons and The Long Walk by Stephen King.
Contact: [email protected] - ICQ
#36450127
NUR-HUNTERS
NUR-HUNTERS
by K. L. McPherson
© 1998 - All Rights Reserved
- 1 -
Shahel-Brasut cursed as his foot slipped on the icy snow-covered
stone he'd chosen to jump to. He ducked to catch his balance and that might
have been the first thing he'd done right all day. A half-breath later
the frozen tip of a good five-weight warclub plowed through the space where
his skull had been.
At the business end of the club hulked a hill of a woman, the final
member left from a trio of Slodolan plainsfolk he and his partner Ulin
had been tracking north for the past eleven days. She had a craggy boulder
for a head, a face like a goat (beard included), and the disposition of
a neutered grizzly. The immense bulk of her body—fat, yet still impressively
strong—lay buried under several inches of thick animal furs and skins.
Her eyes were inset deep below her knuckled, frost-glazed brow; they glared
out at him like smouldering embers beneath a cold hearth.
Shahel let out an exhausted, coughing breath. It hung frozen in the
air between them a moment before drifting off. Another cough—another little
cloud.
I'm out of shape.
It was mid-day. The two of them had been fighting for some time,
dancing their slow dance of violence along a wide snow-choked trail under
the pale sun. On one side stood the forest Seirwold, all dark foliage and
gnarled limbs, frosted thick beneath an undisturbed mantle of white. On
the other, beyond the shoreline, the wintery, steel-grey waters of the
Andlinar Ocean stretched away from the rocky coast. Large surf-smoothed
boulders clutched the land's edge, huddled under a glaze of frozen seaspray.
Far off in the distance, where sea met sky and became the eastern horizon,
titanic blue glaciers drifted south, on their way to a slow death by consumption.
The land waited around them, dead-end silent, hauntingly still. Apart
from the occasional splintered crack as frozen sap split a tree-trunk,
or the gentle susurration of waves upon the rocks, the world seemed to
be holding its breath. Their battle went quietly too—his ragged gasps
of exertion, her guttural grunts—all wrapped in a gauze of bitter cold.
The air was so frigid it bit the lungs and dulled the senses. Clumps of
frozen sweat rattled in their hair like beads; ice braided his beard.
One of the woman's companions—the male—lay broken and bloody in
the snow behind her. Ulin had taken him down first, as planned, before
chasing off after the other female when she'd made a run for the forest.
He was long since overdue and Shahel was starting to think the entire day
had just been one huge mistake.
Where is Ulin anyhow? He should be done and back by now and helping
me with this beast.
Effortlessly she raised her heavy cudgel high again, holding it in
both hands while bracing her tree-stump feet wide apart and off-center.
He recognized the stance; she'd used it often while hunting baca-seals
along the shoreline that morning. Aided by Ulin's far-seeing device, he'd
secretly studied her fighting style for over an hour—the motion of her
swing, the rotation of her body, anything that could have possibly given
him a strategic edge. She was powerful, no denying that, but her agility
had surprised him. Many a swift baca-seal had perished under her precise,
crushing attack.
Shahel frowned. The way things were going, he and the seals might
soon have a lot more in common.
"Keegh! Nekhufh krejh!" Her club described a tight descending arc
that narrowly missed his shoulder. She yelled again, chewing off more of
the unknown words and spitting them at him. He offered his combatant a
disarming smile.
"Madam, let us end this senseless disagreement . . . is such a small
thing worth dying for?"
She growled something else—a curse in her language he suspected—and
took another mighty swing.
"Fine then, have it as your will," he said as he dodged the blow.
Moving away, he purposely positioned himself so the forest remained
at his back. He'd been slyly inching their mostly one-sided battle toward
the woods since it started. He prayed that if they reached the dense trees
the woman would be unable to swing her club around with quite so much freedom.
His own weapon, a blade of exquisitely-crafted tirsteel given to
him by his mentor DaHavel, was gone, lost somewhere beneath the white blanket
of thigh-deep snow covering the ground.
And a damn fine sword it was—blast this entire quest!
They were almost to the edge of the forest when he slipped again.
First he went down on one knee—an easy target—then lost his balance completely
and tumbled backwards. The plainswoman saw her chance, setting her feet
firm as she lifted the club. He tried to swim away in the deep drifts but
in his heart he knew it was over. She would not miss this time.
A low hiss split the quiet, followed by a wooden thunk.
The woman ceased her advance and stood up straight. A strange, almost
relieved look crossed her weather-beaten, homely face. The club dipped
twice then slipped from her hands. She focused on some point far out at
sea, gurgled up a mouthful of crimson, and toppled face-first. Her impact
sent up fantails of snow; Shahel had to scramble to get out of the way.
In her back, just below the spot where skull met spine, she had mysteriously
grown an iron crossbow bolt. He identified it as one of Ulin's—there were
four diagonal blue slashes etched into the metal, his liegemark crest.
Only marksmen and Westrider troops used such crests.
A flat shout echoed from farther ahead where the trail wandered away
from the shore and back beneath the canopy of trees. Ulin stood there,
a tiny figure in the distance. He held his crossbow up and waved it twice
in triumph before starting through the drifts toward Shahel.
He's more than sixty lengths away, Shahel thought. Marksman
all right . . . more like an assassin.
After climbing up out of the snow he heaved the woman over onto her
back. While the injury alone had probably been fatal, he also knew that
Ulin favoured the use of poisons. That was likely the reason why this behemoth
had gone down with such dispatch. Removing his thick gloves, he began searching
the body. He soon found a pouch of velvet-soft deerskin concealed within
a massive fur-lined inner pocket.
"Is that it?"
Shahel jumped. He hadn't heard his partner approach—the man moved
like a cat.
"Godcurse you, Ulin," he said angrily, "we should have stayed together."
Ulin frowned. "The second female ran. Since we didn't know which
of them carried the stone, I was forced to pursue her." His logic was annoyingly
sound.
Shahel gaze shifted over to Seirwold, and he gestured in that direction.
"Is she . . . ?"
"Dead." He said it nonchalantly. Killing had become commonplace,
almost boring, to him. "I was watching your battle—you are an adequate
warrior yourself."
It was Shahel's turn to frown. "If you were watching, why did you
wait so long to shoot?"
"You were in the way—I might have hit you."
A dry smirk crossed Shahel's face. "Next time I'll try and remember
to fall down sooner."
Ulin didn't smile back; he never did. Shahel let his own grin fade.
How odd and disconcerting his companion could be at times. He couldn't
remember if he'd ever heard him laugh.
"Is that it?" he asked again, all business. Yet under the calm exterior
Shahel sensed anticipation.
He opened the pouch, letting out a long sigh when he saw what it
contained. Inside, the last of the six objects that had dragged them so
far north, through so much. He plucked it out and held it between forefinger
and thumb, turning it slowly, relieved.
"That's it."
The object was a dark red crystal the size of a robin's egg. Its
facets were smoothly polished, but the flat surfaces shrugged off the bleak
sunlight, giving no reflections. Etched on one face was a small rune, two
stars inside a circle. Tiny filaments of white fire coursed through the
stone beneath Shahel's fingertips, as if it fed off his touch.
Ulin took the crystal, regarding it with grim satisfaction. "At last
. . ."
"You have them all, now will you tell me why they're so damned
important?"
He drew a breath. "It is difficult to explain. There are still many
things you cannot—"
"Okay, don't tell me," Shahel cut him off, exasperated. "I don't
care. But here's something I'll tell you. We can't stay here—it's
not safe."
"The caverns are only a few days west. We'll be leaving soon enough."
Ulin scanned the area, his penetrating light-grey eyes darting from
horizon to treeline. He brought one gloved hand up and absently stroked
his ragged beard. Distraction creased his features, and he murmured something
Shahel couldn't quite make out—it sounded like 'together'. When
he noticed Shahel's inquisitive look, he ignored it, offering no explanation.
"The Nur will come after nightfall. Come, we must burn these bodies—the
smell will help hide our scent."
- 2 -
Dragging the bulky, stiffening corpses through the deep snow proved
to be difficult work. By the time they'd finished the sun was already settling
its great orange belly behind the trees. Smoke rose from the pyre in foul
clouds, blown west by a light offshore wind. Shahel kept one nervous eye
on the neighbouring forest's edge as they packed their gear.
Nur! Just thinking that word was bad enough; it conjured up
a decade of childhood terror. When your parents wanted you to behave it
was the Nur they terrorized you with, the nightbeasts who hunted wanderers,
slaughtered travellers, and ate small children. Such stories were not mere
adolescent myth however—even children soon realized that the fear of a
thousand towns and villages across the land was terribly real. The Nur
were nomadic pack-hunters, savagely brutal; they existed to be feared.
Their attacks were erratic, without reason, and left few survivors.
Yet here I am, hunting them. With a man I barely trust.
Darkness came quickly after sunset, much sooner than Shahel would
have liked. During the past week he'd noticed how night fell earlier, and
lasted longer, the farther north they travelled. With twilight came the
worst of the cold. He knew it would get so bitter that neither of them
would speak for hours, preserving what scant energy they had. The only
way to keep warm was to keep moving.
Time crept by, or so it felt. Ulin led them deep into Seirwold, backtracking
every so often to cover their footprints. It seemed like a futile gesture
to Shahel; he detected no signs of pursuit. It was unlikely the Slodolans
would follow them very enthusiastically anyhow, even if they managed to
pick up their trail; they preferred the open plains. Apart from wolves
(and Nur, he reminded himself) not much else ventured this
far north during winter. If it was Nur that Ulin worried about,
they both knew no measure of precaution would be enough—by the time an
attack came, it would already be too late. Still, he trusted his companion's
intuition. If he felt it necessary to conceal all evidence of their passage,
then he probably had a good reason.
That was how the days passed, with dense trees standing tall around
them. Snow fell sporadically, spat out of the unforgiving sky in thick
squalls, or sent raging until they were forced to seek shelter. Twice they
spotted great northern hawks spiralling high above, but the forest itself
remained devoid of life.
During the third afternoon, as they struggled through a particularly
dense region, Ulin held up his hand and placed one finger across an ear.
Shahel knew the sign—he slowed to a crunching halt. Without warning a
massive wolf charged at them from a row of pines running along a low ridge
to his right. .
It was large, but lean; hungry. Shahel froze as it came directly
at him, fangs showing, snarling eagerly. If it hadn't been for the deep
snow it would have reached him before either man could react. Despite the
cold, despite even his bulky clothing, Ulin drew his sword and swung as
the wolf lunged. Shahel raised his arms in attempt to deflect the animal's
attack.
Its heavy, warm body slammed into him, driving him against the trees
and down onto his back. He cried out and tried to protect his neck, but
the throat-ripping bite he expected never came. A moment later he saw the
reason.
The wolf's head sat in the snow several feet away, jaws still open,
tongue flopped to one side. Ulin had decapitated it in mid-leap. While
Shahel regained his feet—and his composure—his partner calmly stripped
and cleaned the body, placing both pelt and meat into his pack. After he
finished he knelt over the wolf's head for some time. Shahel was shocked
when he noticed that Ulin was crying, his tears falling on the grey fur,
freezing there. Finally he stood up and set out again without a word. Shahel,
still shaken, fell in behind. He spent the next few hours wondering who—or
what—Ulin actually was.
That night they camped in a shallow vale ringed by tall spruce, the
trees providing a natural windbreak. Ulin cleared the snow away as best
he could while Shahel built a small fire and prepared dinner for them—dried
deermeat and vegetables stewed in ale. The two men ate in silence, listening
to winter howl around them. After the flames died down Ulin wrapped himself
in his blankets, ready to retire. He rarely prompted conversation, so Shahel
was surprised when he heard his voice
"Are you familiar with the aegis cycle?"
Shahel shook his head, realized it was too dark, instead muttered,
"No."
Ulin hesitated for a moment, and Shahel waited. It wouldn't be the
first time his partner had uttered similarly cryptic statements and then
just left it at that. He would either continue or not. Tonight, however,
it was obvious that his problem wasn't how much he had to say, but how
much he dared to say. And how much Shahel was ready to hear.
"Things were not always as they are now. These times will be seen
as but a moment—a second!—through the eyes of history. This world
is ancient, Shahel, far older than most men can even conceive. Many powers
lie locked deep at its heart."
"OldScript scholars say that life and time are woven together, inseparable
. . . a static pattern with no beginning or end. Western sun-priests call
this afius anfenita—'infinite state'. They believe that while man
is the creator of events, his soul is bound with time by the force of nature."
"The Nur exist outside the pattern, unrestricted by physical and
spiritual law. They travel freely, at will, anywhere . . . anywhen.
Before, their passage to this world was strongly guarded, but the aegis
cycle is like a tide, rising and falling. We are in a age of decline, when
the protectorate is at its weakest."
A pause—Shahel though it was over. But he wasn't finished, not quite.
"Existence equals action, not change," Ulin said. "Life is choice."
The snow had started again. Shahel hugged his own blankets tighter
to his chest and shivered. He stared into the darkness, not fully understanding
Ulin's words, but sensing their importance. Intuitively he guessed that
their journey was drawing to a close—whatever reason they had travelled
so far would soon be revealed.
"What awaits us?" he asked, his voice low, uncertain.
But Ulin had already fallen asleep.
- 3 -
They reached the foothills early the next morning. The sky was overcast,
an inverted sea of lead. Ulin led the way—Shahel followed behind, cursing
as he stumbled over large rocks that jutted up above the snow. It was obvious
Ulin knew the area well; the spot he had chosen to exit Seirwold put them
right at the base of a steep rise. Along one side of it wound a path of
sorts, but it lay buried, nearly impassable.
"Up there," he pointed. "A fissure leads underground, possibly an
old quarry entrance. These lands were once occupied by tribes of Drowethal
nomads—they mined it clean centuries ago and moved on. The caverns we
seek may be a remnant of their excavations, or perhaps even older."
Shahel said nothing. Ulin's garrulous mood had carried on into the
day—he'd been talkative since breakfast, attempting to engage Shahel in
friendly conversation, commenting on the weather, or just idly chatting
about places and people and the history of the world. Fatalism dogged Shahel's
thoughts, and it made him restless. He discovered that he liked it better
when his companion kept to himself.
A hawk soared overhead, its plaintive cry breaking the stillness.
He watched briefly as it circled several times, then lowered his view,
taking in the hills and the ragged mountains beyond. The forest lay behind
them, to the east—it felt good to be out from under the trees, to stand
in the open. Cold winds blew, and dark stormclouds gathered to the north,
promising even more bad weather.
They began making their way up the treacherous slope. The snow was
deep, but packed down under its own weight, and their feet threatened to
go out from under them at every step. By the time they stopped Shahel was
breathing heavily. Ulin found amusement in this.
"You're out of shape," he smiled uncharacteristically.
Shahel cursed at him. "Just lead."
Not much further ahead a narrow cleft cut into the hillside. Ulin
withdrew a small oil lantern from his pack—he had prepared for every contingency.
After lighting the wick he shone lamplight into the opening, scanning the
walls inside. Satisfied, he turned sideways and stepped through the gap.
Shahel did likewise, but not before casting a wistful glance at the wintery
landscape around him.
Not the most inviting place, he thought, but I hope I'll
see it again.
Once inside, the cleft seemed even smaller—cramped; claustrophobic.
Both men crouched as they walked to avoid hitting their heads. However,
just when Shahel felt close to panic, the wall on his left disappeared
and the rough stone ceiling lifted. He had the impression of a vast cavern
outside the small sphere of light cast by Ulin's lamp.
"Stairs lead down from here," Ulin reported. "Careful, the drop is
considerable."
Shahel strained to see into the empty space beside him, but the blackness
was complete. His foot dislodged a piece of loose shale, sending it over
the edge. He listened but never heard it hit. Unnerved, he stayed as far
right as possible, keeping one hand on the wall.
The steps led down, down—there seemed to be no end to their descent.
They stopped periodically to rest, and Shahel would spend the time massaging
his cramped calves. Strange smells reached their nostrils, sulphurous fumes
and mineral-rich gases carried on ghostly air currents. It grew steadily
warmer too, forcing them to shed their heavy outer clothing.
At last, after what felt like several hours, their feet touched solid
floor. Ulin immediately headed right, leading them through a square alcove
braced by broad timbers into a squat passage. From somewhere came a breath
of cool, fresh air—how it found its way through the miles of rock above
them, Shahel couldn't even imagine.
He tried memorizing their route, but after four more turns gave up.
Caverns, antechambers, connecting passages, junctions, branching intersections—the
place was a maze. If they became separated, his knew his chances of retracing
their steps would be highly unlikely.
Time lost all meaning. He couldn't guess how long they wandered those
lost hallways. Desperation closed in on him again; the oppressive reality
of so much earth and granite weighing down like a tangible force, strangling
his thoughts. Ulin had been silent for some time, intent on guiding them,
but noticing his companion's distress he stopped and spun around, alarm
on his face.
"We are almost there . . . do not succumb to the fear!" He paused,
then, with an almost embarrassed look, added, "I can help you. Do you want
my help?"
Shahel stared, unblinking. Everything rushed in, a sea of confusion
eroding his willpower, suffocating him. Ulin didn't wait—he placed his
hands on Shahel's trembling shoulders, gripping tightly.
"There is no fear. I am with you. You are not alone. There is no
fear."
For a brief moment Shahel felt suspended, caught between here and
there, incomplete. Then it all disappeared—all his panic, all his feelings
of drowning—blown away like autumn leaves. He sensed a presence pass through
him, something at once familiar yet unfathomable. A second later he was
just himself again, unsettled but whole.
They shared a silent glance; Ulin however quickly turned away, resuming
his course. Shahel fell in behind, wondering what exactly had transpired.
A short time later the sound of water dripping could be heard. He
and Ulin entered an immense grotto, and Shahel gasped as they came upon
the shore of a spectacular underground sea. Its still waters were dark,
ominous—a black mirror. Their footfalls echoed, skipping across the surface
like flat rocks. Massive stalactites covered the ceiling like horns on
the hide of some great beast. The glow from Ulin's lantern illuminated
only a short distance, making the cavern seem even larger.
"Witness 'aukroumakasah', the eternal waters."
Shahel was awestruck—never had he seen such cold, raw beauty.
Ulin appeared unmoved by the sight; he'd already started walking
toward a finger of rock that jutted out over the waters like a stone pier.
As Shahel chased after him he tried to imagine what manner of ships would
sail such a strange, exotic sea.
Just before reaching the pier Ulin halted again, this time facing
a nondescript section of wall. Shahel studied the blank stone, puzzled—it
looked no different than the rest—as Ulin went closer and, without touching,
passed his palm over one specific spot.
That part of the cave wall shimmered then vanished beneath his hand
(and before Shahel's astonished eyes). It was as if Ulin had erased it
from existence. The effect spread outwards until the two of them were staring
into the mouth of another passage.
Shahel finally found his voice and asked the question he dared not
ask before.
"Who are you, Ulin?"
Ulin once again looked perplexingly apologetic. "I ask . . . no,
I beseech you—please come with me the rest of the way. All your
questions will be answered very soon. Please."
He stepped inside. Shahel remembered his words from the night before
. . . life is choice. It was his choice, and his life. He
chose to complete what he'd begun, following Ulin as he had all along.
- 4 -
The tunnel widened into a circular chamber. Its surfaces were rough,
as if they had been hastily carved. Driven into the stone walls at irregular
intervals were several empty sconces, the ceiling above them blackened
with soot. As they moved further inside Shahel noticed how smooth the floor
looked—worn, as if by the passing of many feet. Generations of feet.
Ulin went directly to the centre of the room and examined a hexagonal
section of floor slightly raised above the rest, possibly a plinth, although
nothing stood on it, no statue or column. It was made from a type of stone
different than anything Shahel had ever seen before—dark, marbled with
veins of light grey, silver flecks. As he drew nearer he could make out
odd patterns inscribed across the surface; geometric angles, constellations,
unusual oval-shaped script. Looking closer still he discerned shallow depressions,
one per corner.
Six depressions.
Kneeling, Ulin removed the tei-stones from his pack. He set them
to one side and consulted the cryptic etchings on the plinth, comparing
them with the runes engraved on the six stones. One by one he set each
in one of the depressions. Before he placed the sixth he glanced up at
Shahel, who by this time simply stood beside him, mouth open, not sure
what to say or do.
Ulin gave him a reassuring nod. Then, gently, he positioned the final
one.
Nothing happened at first. Suddenly, in unison, all six stones came
to life.
A harmony of light exploded, filling the cavern, igniting the stale
air. The silver radiance grew so brilliant it seemed there could be no
place large enough to contain it all, that it had to spill over. Half-blinded,
Shahel absently traced three quick dashes—the OldLand symbol for Brethan's
Blessings—over his heart for luck.
Slowly the initial brightness softened. Slender shafts of intense
colour stabbed up from each stone—they began cycling through the primary
colours before widening, merging. Becoming one.
Both men stepped back. Rapture shone in Ulin's eyes.
A single golden ray emerged from the centre of the plinth, brighter
than sunlight, needle-thin. As they watched it began to sketch an outline,
painting the air with delicate filigrees. The ghostly framework was faint
at first, a tracery of spider-silk, but soon grew clearer. It looked like
a window.
Or a door.
"Such brave hunters."
The words came out of the empty darkness behind them, near the tunnel
opening. It was a woman's voice, yet it sounded strange—forced—as though
the speaker had only recently learned the language. Both men jumped up,
hands at their sides. Ulin drew his blade.
"Show yourself!" he commanded.
A figure shifted in the shadows..
"Back, demoness," Ulin warned, "you must not interfere in this."
"It is you who must not interfere. Do you not remember me, Shahel-Brasut
of Erunvale?"
Her voice seethed with spite—soft and mocking, hardly at all like
the rumbling garble she'd cursed him with before. Still, he recognized
it, and his heart nearly froze.
Impossible!
The Slodolan plainswoman came forward, moving into the chaotic glow
of the crystals. Tattered flaps of seared flesh dangled from her face like
sails on a ghost ship. Her nose was a stub of blackened wax. Behind the
tight ashen rinds that were the remains of her lips, white teeth flashed,
permanently showing a hideous skull's grin. A rancid-sweet smell—charred
flesh—preceded her. She apparently was not as dead as they'd thought,
although she looked it. Her unimaginable stench wafted into the cavern,
making Shahel's stomach twist.
He glanced back—the eldritch fire continued to work its magic, weaving
the rectangle of golden light. The space inside that glowing outline had
taken on a misty, translucent appearance. Through it he could barely make
out the wall on the opposite side of the chamber.
She strode forward, still talking to Shahel but pointing a blistered
finger at Ulin. "For this creature, you sacrifice your own life? Ha! Only
a human with primitive senses and a truncated imagination would
be so foolish. You do not see beyond your own ignorance."
"Back, witch," Ulin warned. "The dead have no place here." His sword
hovered before him, its sharp tip aimed at her chest.
She looked amused, grinning through her destroyed face. "Oh, but
I think they do. This is a place of death . . . yours! What
will you do, hunter? Kill me again? Can you?"
Shahel gaped. He couldn't believe—wouldn't believe—what
he saw and heard. He could feel his mind slipping into a dark and distant
place. Ulin stood protectively in front of the plinth, sword steady in
his hand..
"I can," he said, "and I will if I must. You do not realize what
transpires here."
Her voice went low, poisonously cold. "I realize all too well."
She began to laugh, and as she laughed she began to change. Her bulky
body grew taller and slimmer; her arms lengthened, hands turning into claws.
The charred furs she wore peeled away, dropping to the stone floor, dissolving
as they fell. Burnt hair and flesh ran off her skull like heated tallow—features
melting, eyes draining.
Underneath, hidden all that time, surfaced the wicked and cunning
face of a Nur.
Shahel stepped away from her . . . it! . . . until his back
touched the cavern wall. It seemed impossible, yet there before him stood
all the myths and superstitions of a hundred generations given life. His
eyes went wide with terror.
Ulin still held his ground. He didn't appear to be surprised or afraid.
"I should have known," he said. And, to Shahel's amazement, he laughed
too.
With a furious crackle of energy that drew everyone's attention,
the golden ray disappeared. The doorway stood complete, nearly touching
the cavern roof, its frame ablaze with power. From the smoky haze inside
the newly-formed portal two figures emerged—more Nur, red sparks for eyes,
bodies garbed in rusted mail and mouldering robes. They stepped through
the limned opening, their ancient weapons and armour clanking like cell
doors.
Shahel let his numb stare drift past them, past the doorway and into
the fog where more Nur were appearing, dozens more. Hundreds more.
They lined up, double-file, awaiting their turn to step through the doorway.
The newcomers began to laugh too, insanely and inhumanly, until it
rang from the vaulted ceiling. Ulin stepped aside as they moved to joined
the first, then all three began to advance on Shahel. Savage glee contorted
their features; their smiles were unbearable. He mumbled a silent prayer
and hoped his end would come quickly.
As they approached he looked toward Ulin who had moved closer to
the portal. What he saw staggered him, to the point where he completely
forgot about the impending attack.
Ulin had begun to slough his flesh too, much like the Nur. The rugged
hunter's skin and clothing melted away, and what emerged was both wondrous
and terrifying.
It took the shape of a man—four limbs and a head—but there the
similarity ended. The being's skin looked like white stone, and its face
was smooth, featureless. As it transformed it became larger, body widening,
torso doubling in size. Something like a short prehensile tail snapped
out from the back of its neck. A series of pointed humps appeared below
it, running all the way down both legs.
"Engkal!" The former plainswoman screamed the word. "How?"
Even as the trio rushed at Shahel the white figure flashed across
the room to intervene. Something circular in the creature's hands glinted
and there was a bright, warm rush of ivory light that forced Shahel's eyes
shut. When he opened them again the three Nur were gone—not even their
bodies remained.
More appeared, coming out of the golden portal. They poured forth,
and the white creature met them. The rounded weapon flashed like a scythe—blasts
of hot argent fire lit up the cavern as it effortlessly struck down every enemy
that attempted to make its way past him. Shahel knew he should try to escape, he had ample opportunity, but the battle transfixed him. That, and his own fear.
Eventually the flow of encroaching Nur ceased. Shahel expected the creature
to come after him next, but instead it waited by the plinth, its stance
casual, patient. He thought it had forgotten about him, but then it spoke.
"Shahel," it said in a low, grating tone. "I am here. You are not alone. There is no
fear."
His throat clenched. "Ulin?"
"You are wondering why I brought you here. Now you shall know."
The being lifted its arms slowly, and the tei-stones responded, glowing
anew. Above each one appeared a shape, a spectral form matching the colour
of the crystal beneath it. All except the white crystal.
Five figures slowly materialized, five beings that, apart from being
different in colour, looked just like the one that had been Ulin.
"Together," it whispered.
- 5 -
Before the six of them went into the portal, the white being assured
Shahel that the threat of Nur to this world had ended. They had been driven
back to another place, another time—one so far away that even the gods
could rest at ease.
His kind were called engkal, creatures whose lives knew no
beginning nor end. Their sworn duty was the protection of worlds such as
Shahel's, guarding them from Nur and other ill races who strived to cross
over. Such intrusions violated the patterns of time everywhere; it was
for the good of all that they be prevented or thwarted as quickly as possible.
Soon the others had passed through the doorway, from one world to
the next, leaving Shahel alone with his former companion. Fluctuations
began to appear in the portal's golden frame, pulses of random colours.
They grew stronger each passing moment.
"Time grows short. By now you must undertand why I brought you to
this place. Your purpose is plain, Shahel. You are to take the stones with
you."
He started to protest. "Take them? Where? I'm only a hunter—"
"You shall know what to do."
Stepping up onto the plinth, the being turned to face Shahel.
"Farewell . . . friend."
Shahel raised his hand, waved, as the engkal moved into the
mist and vanished.
The doorway flickered out of existence a moment later.
Once he'd gathered the dormant tei-stones Shahel left the chamber,
going down the tunnel and back to the shore of the dark sea. The pier was
no longer vacant—a small boat rested in the water next to it, motionless.
He was not surprised to find two oars inside. With lantern in hand he climbed
aboard.
A short time afterwards he held up his light and peered back at the
shoreline. The pier had shrunk in the distance, barely visible. Ahead,
aukroumakasah stretched away, empty and black.
Purposefully, Shahel began rowing onward into the blind darkness.
Three kids occupy most of Kevin's time, so don't even ask how he manages to go to school, run this website, as well as jot down his own short stories. He digs horror and science fiction, especially when they're combined.
Favorite movies: Aliens and The Exorcist.
Favorite stories: the Hyperion/Endymion series by Dan Simmons and The Long Walk by Stephen King.
Contact: [email protected] - ICQ
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