Vanya's journals, #33: Parting WaysYou pause from reading aloud for a moment and look around the little tomb in which you sit. Dr. Thian Russ has not yet returned, but the mysterious woman sitting across from you seems completely absorbed in the journal, and returns your glance with a cold, distant gaze. You feel you should speak to her, but hesitate. In the end, you decide to continue to read and translate Vanya's ancient, elvish script. Perhaps, you feel, she will open up to you eventually, and the mysteries surrounding her will solve themselves. I doubt that around any star, in any galaxy, in any universe, dimension or timeline, there exists a single sentient species that doesn't feel pain. I don't mean physical pain... I guess that's conceivable. I mean emotional pain. No matter how hard we try to pretend or block it out, when we lose someone we love... it hurts.
Spearbreakers was faintly visible in the west: a fortress of walls and towers standing tall above the dense, bloodstained jungle forests. A month had passed since Scylk's speech, and the journey was slow. Although scythods could run fast, they took their time in moving, always being cautious. It wasn't like them to make an abrupt decision, and that was exactly what Scylk had done... While he was out of earshot, some of his soldiers would speak softly against him, though there were just as many who would defend him with an equal fervor. I wasn't sure what to think, and I didn't really have much of anyone to talk with. Scylk was always busy, and John didn't seem to feel like talking most of the time, almost seeming as if he was intentionally avoiding me. For the first time since I’d found the scythods, I actually felt like a prisoner.
Ballpoint patrols were becoming more and more frequent, and we had to stop more and more often to dispatch them. Sometimes some of the scythods were injured, but nothing like what had happened when they'd found me. I was the exception in their tactics: they'd been careful not to injure me, and had ended up injuring themselves. A few of the scythods still held some resentment towards me for that soldier's death, and the increased frequency with which we met Ballpoint’s patrols seemed to strengthen that resentment.
The blood plains were becoming far more dangerous than before.
~~~
"
Kathafa pibilk! Kloss Lorta!"
It was night, and the scythod's cry startled me from my sleep with the opposite effect of a bad dream. Instead of leaving a nightmare as I awoke, I was entering one: "
Kloss Lorta" is their name for the Holistic Spawn.
I heard a blood-chilling screech, a sound I'd come to know very well from my prison days. I didn't even have to ask what it was. Other screeches, one after another, followed the first... multitudes, it seemed. My heart pounded wildly in my chest, and I looked about in horrified bewilderment, trying to decide which way to run.
The moon broke through the clouds above me, and I suddenly beheld a terrible sight: less than a thousand feet away, a few scythods were trying desperately to defend themselves as at least fifteen Spawn hacked them to bits.
"They're over here!" I screamed, but my efforts were of little worth... Scylk's army was already charging past me in scattered disarray to meet the threat. I bit my lip and fell to my knees, praying to the gods with all I had that we'd survive.
In the moonlight, it was hard to tell what happened... the scythods clustered around our aggressors, whirring and clacking. They sliced with their scythes, while the Spawn sliced with their claws, gnashing with their teeth. The scythods followed suit, employing their teeth with terrifying efficiency. "The heart!" I heard them yell from time to time. "You must stab them in the heart!" I heard them cursing and calling on their gods for assistance, echoed by the enemy’s unearthly demonic screams. The battle seemed to last forever, and it was impossible to see who was ahead.
Finally, finally, as the first whispers of sunrise teased the tips of the eastern mountain range, everything quieted. I rushed over to see what had happened, half-afraid of what I'd find.
"
Stop!" the warmaster clacked forbiddingly. I halted my pace, unsure of whether or not he was talking to me. It turned out that he wasn’t. "You must not eat their corpses. If you do, we will become as the Kloss Lorta." He was speaking to his troops, who stood clustered around a great number of mutilated corpses.
"Warmaster, our dead cannot remain here as they are!" a brown-tinged soldier protested. "Fully four of our own! It is dishonorable! We bring shame to our enemy, ourselves, and
our dead!" Half a dozen scythods chattered their agreement. As I drew closer, I could see that most of the scythods seemed to be limping or nursing wounds. Scythod blood is strange... it’s green, but... if it makes sense, it’s a
greener green than "green"... I don’t know how else to describe it.
"We have no choice, Klade," Scylk said with finality. "If anyone here has been bitten, they, too, must be put to rest, lest we release one of these monsters upon ourselves."
Anger tinted Klade’s voice. "Is there no other way? Can not our injured be healed? We are stronger than the petty dwarves, the loathed
kliskik! We can take what they cannot! They are hateful, evil to begin with! They are
pak!!"
The warmaster stomped his forelegs into the ground, clacking his teeth with force, almost shouting. "There is
no choice! I have
seen it, Klade! They will turn, as dwarves do, into a twisted mockery of our kind! We
cannot allow that to come to pass! It is more shameful and dishonorable than even
this death." He paused for a moment, and seemed to calm, slowing his breath. "You are my right hand, Klade, and your words hold much weight, but this must be done. I hate it just as much as you do."
I watched, dumbstruck, as two scythods walked forwards from the ranks – one with a broken arm, the other with a bad limp.
Scylk solemnly rested his scythes on their upper shoulders and spoke softly. "You will be remembered with honor, Por'bak, and Chal'lk. For though your bodies cannot be consumed, your spirits will become one with her holiness, Lacsa, and your memory shall live on forever."
The other soldiers gave a solemn roar of agreement, and Scylk pulled back his scythes. I turned away, tears edging down my face... I couldn't watch their execution. They offered themselves so selflessly, when they had so much to live for otherwise... had I been in their position, I don't know if I could've done it.
The sound of a scythe bit cruelly through the air, followed by two soft thuds that spoke much louder than their volume. Turning back, I saw their bisected bodies, lying on the ground amidst a semicircle of quiet, somber scythods. One by one, they turned, walking back past me towards where they'd made camp, until only Scylk remained. I watched him for a moment from afar, wondering why he stayed. Suddenly he lifted his neckstalk to the sky, letting out a long, bone-chilling wail that pierced my heart and made me shiver as it echoed across the plains. Anyone could’ve understood that cry: it was the voice of anguish and despair.
~~~
Later that morning, K’bahth, one of Scylk’s officers, told me that Scylk desired my presence. I followed the soldier back, and Scylk greeted me quietly, asking K’bahth to leave. Scylk's right upper shoulder bore the slash of a Holistic Spawn's claw, and his chitin elsewhere seemed badly damaged. He'd been in the thickest of the fight, I later learned.
After K’bahth was out of earshot, Scylk spoke hesitantly, with a feeling of regret. "Spala, we cannot go forwards to Spearbreakers. I am sorry. We are not equipped to deal with the Kloss Lorta, and have taken heavy losses. None of us wish to continue."
"I understand, warmaster," I said quietly. After the battle, I'd expected it, really... "I'll continue on my own, if that's all right with you... Spearbreakers is close enough for me to see it."
Scylk clicked his claws in disapproval. "I cannot allow that," he chattered firmly. "It is far too dangerous for even a scythod, and the skin of an Alaf is far softer. You must remain with us. However... you need to avoid Klade's company from now on."
I looked at him cautiously with a sense of foreboding. "...Why?"
"Klade lost his daughter this morning," the old scythod explained. "I myself had to execute her... I feel he harbors some resentment towards me for it, and I don't blame him. He possesses a strong, independent spirit, and may try to harm you.
"Okay..." I pursed my lips. "Then where are we going?"
"Home," Scylk replied, and then, almost apologetically, he added, "or... such that it is. We return to the Amber Barb. We do not have enough soldiers remaining to continue patrolling the blood plains."
"And I'm coming with you..." I whispered, my eyes widening.
He clacked his scythes. "You guess well, young one. You will be safe among my people, and perhaps," he said hopefully, "perhaps you can lend us your skills that Mr Frog has taught you, and build us a portal to return to our true home, Piscyth."
I almost gasped, a smile spreading over my face. "Could I come, too?" The idea of leaving Everoc behind forever strongly appealed to me. "I would love go to the stars..."
Unfortunately, he didn't seem to approve of the idea. "It would be dangerous for you, Spala... We will talk about it later, perhaps. First we must make it to the mountains."
A loud, harsh voice hissed out from behind me, biting into the cool air: "We will not be going to the mountains." I spun around and saw a gray-brown scythod clicking his claws distastefully. "My soldiers enjoy the rain here, and it will become our home. We have women among us, and can create a new colony on this world. Boulders do not fall from the sky here, nor do winds and rain eat our skin like acid. It is beautiful, and we shall stay."
Scylk seemed indignant. "Your soldiers, do you say? Tell me, Klade, when did they become yours? I am a Warmaster of our people and a member of the high council of Scask. I am the son of the Grand Mystic himself. It falls to
me to lead our armies."
"Not anymore!" Klade countered. "You have led us to ruin, Scylk! Your fondness for this Alaf has nearly destroyed us!" His words rang out loudly, and the other scythods began to cluster around us as he continued. "You follow her advice as if it is your own, taking us right into the stronghold of the dwarves! Do you truly believe they will be any different from the Klascoryf? They will enslave us! They will kill us if we do not serve them!"
"This is mutiny, Klade! This is treason!" He was nearly trembling with rage.
"No!" Klade hissed. "It is an insurrection. You must step down, Scylk. Your whole army is against you."
A scythod stepped forwards. "That is untrue!" he clacked. "Though I would enjoy staying on the blood plains, I trust the warmaster more. He is the finest soldier I've ever had the privilege of knowing."
Scylk turned briefly. "Thank you, K'bahth. You are a fine soldier as well, brother." Then, to Klade, "It would appear you assume wrongly of our people. We may be tattered, but together we still number fourteen, and we will stand as one!"
"Lies!" Klade spat through his teeth. "Your speeches are empty and worthless!" He turned to the gathered crowd. "Who among you really wish Scylk to remain warmaster? Which of you are fools that would follow him?"
There was a silence for a moment, and then, a loud clacking of armscythes.
"Over half," Scylk said tersely.
Klade turned and stomped forwards angrily. "But six still wish you deposed, and others may follow! You are old and weak! You are unfit to lead!"
"I am as strong as any, young Klade!" Scylk roared. "You are foolish and affected by the recent loss of your daughter! I, too, have lost a child to a cruel death! It is still no cause for this idiocy!"
Klade seemed outraged. "'Idiocy'?! You call sensibility 'idiocy'?" He stopped, turning back to the crowd. "Do you see now who leads you? Your beloved warmaster is backwards! His mind is addled! He is
weak!"
My blood boiled; I couldn't stand it any longer. "Listen to yourself!" I shouted at him. "You're just upset! I've lost someone I've loved, too; I understand how you feel! Honor her memory, and don't do something you're going to regret!"
Like lightning, the soldier spun around, slicing towards my chest with a scythe. I didn't even have time to react. There was a loud clack as his scythe stopped short, inches from my throat – Scylk had stopped Klade's armscythe with his own.
"Do not
ever speak of my daughter, foul Alaf!" Klade growled hatefully, his voice strained through the force he was putting into his scythe. "You stain her memory with your words."
"We do not kill prisoners, Klade," Scylk interrupted ominously. "That, and treason, is punishable by exile."
After a final, futile effort, Klade reluctantly withdrew his scythe. "I challenge you, Scylk," he hissed. "By the laws of our people, I challenge you to a death duel."
There was a pause. An astonished murmur seemed to run through Scylk's little army, but Scylk retained his cool presence. "By the laws of our people, at least one-third of those present must desire it," the warmaster noted.
"Over one-third have!"
"Yes, but we should ask again now that they've seen your reasoning, and your actions," Scylk replied with a knowing hiss. "Who here desires us to duel to the death?"
This time, even I, with my untrained ears, could hear the number of scythods that clacked their scythes: it was only two.
Klade stopped short in amazement. "You are all fools," he hissed. "All of you!"
The warmaster spoke calmly again, with the formal air of a seasoned general. "And you, Klade, are a traitor, and thus must be exiled. I think you may actually find that to your preference, as you do not wish to return to the mountains. You may live out your life to the end, here on the blood plains. We are done here."
With that, Scylk turned and began slowly stomping away through the red mud. Klade, however, stayed where he was, dumbfounded by the warmaster's words. "You would
abandon me, Scylk?
Me, your right hand?"
Pausing, Scylk spoke softly. "I did not abandon you, Klade. You abandoned me."
~~~
We traveled far that afternoon... it was clear that the scythods felt as though they were fleeing something, but whether it was the Spawn, the ghosts of the dead, or even the dishonorable battle, I can't say. Everyone was quiet and somber. There was a brief shower of blood later towards the evening, and none of them seemed to enjoy it. There wasn't any joking conversation, or any of the typical chittering one normally heard. It was like a funeral... it actually reminded me of The Master's.
That night, I sat by my little campfire as I always did, cooking my supper on a stick over the flames. There was a slight wind fanning the flames, and whisking dried, dead leaves across the ground. John wasn’t around, but that wasn't unusual anymore. After his outburst, he'd grown distant... he'd started to stray away whenever I came near, almost as if he was ashamed to be around me.
Suddenly, a voice spoke out on my left. "Alaf? Spala?" Startled, I turned from the fire and strained my eyes into the darkness, trying to see who it was. A tall, dark gray scythod stomped towards me into the flickering light, with John by his side. "Spala, you must come with me."
Putting my supper to the side, I got to my feet. "Who are you?" I asked. I could tell from the scarless armscythe that it wasn't Scylk.
"I am K'bahth, but it matters not," he said. "Come. Scylk desires your presence."
Scylk sat before a flickering fire, waiting patiently for us. With a claws on our shoulders, K'bahth silently guided John and I to sit, and then took a seat by the fire himself.
"Spala... Lonne..." Scylk spoke, almost hesitantly. He seemed regretful... almost sad.
I was getting worried. "Is something wrong?" I asked, trying unsuccessfully to read his body language.
He ignored my question. "K'bahth and I, and the other elders, have discussed our situation after this morning's events. I regret to say that you will not be coming with us to the Amber Barb."
I almost got to my feet in surprise. "What?? You can't leave me here!"
"Did you forget about me?" John asked me, seeming agitated. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back down.
"I am sorry," Scylk told us quietly. "Today's events have reminded me that some of our people, back at home, do not like the fact that I am Warmaster. If you were to remain with me, you would not be prisoners anymore, but members of my people. Scythods treat duels to the death as personal matters. Eventually someone will attempt to kill you both, to strike at me. I cannot allow that."
My head was spinning. "What... Then... what am I going to... Where..." I paused, trying to collect my thoughts. "What's going to happen to us? We won't last a week on the blood plains! You know that, Scylk!" I glanced over at John, who didn't seem nearly as concerned.
"My brother will stay with you, to keep you safe, and guide you to a settlement of Parasol," the warmaster explained.
From beside him, K'bahth spoke. "I have already accepted. It would bring me honor to assist you, Spala."
After eight or nine months of traveling with the scythods, it was hard to take in. "But I've spent so long with you. Please, please let me stay!" I begged. I didn't want to have to face Parasol again, with all its reminders of my sister and Urist. "I'll be careful, I promise! And... I didn't even know you
had a brother."
"Half-brother," said K'bahth quietly.
"Full in spirit," Scylk said, tapping him on the shoulder with a claw. "But Spala, there is no option. You would not be safe among my people. They would look at you as they do the dwarves, as they do humans, as they do the Klascoryf. They are prejudiced. They are not yet ready."
"But why Parasol?" John interjected. "Why not a human settlement?"
"Parasol settlements are closer," Scylk pointed out sagely. "They have portals, so they can send you wherever you desire. More importantly, Spala is one of them."
I hated hearing that. "But –"
"That is enough," Scylk said firmly. "I did not call this meeting for a discussion, only to give information. You will depart in the morning with K'bahth and Klade."
That was too much. "Klade?!"
K'bahth clacked his scythes, chirping humorously. "Did you think I was coming along for my own amusement?"
I slept fitfully that night.
☆
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Topic: [34.11] Spearbreakers - It shudders and begins to move (Read 2279723 times)