Warm sunlight shining across Atlas’ face woke him from his slumber, and for a moment he lay there, struggling to remember where he was and why.
The where came first, and easily enough. The back of Phineus’ wagon, wedged between sacks of cured meats and wool. From the sunshine it seemed that the storm had long since passed. How long had he slept? Where were Phineus and Kleis, and why didn’t they wake him up?
Atlas’ mind flashed into the everyday panic of the oversleeper: chores undone, work neglected, schedules delayed. He almost leapt from the wagon in a blind rush, but the deeper, more insistent “why” had finally arrived, paralysing him where he lay.
Why was there sunlight inside a covered wagon?
So instead, Atlas cracked his eyes slowly open, squinting up at the sun peeking out of the clouds, shining merrily down on him through a tattered hole in the roof.
Great. Hopefully that wasn’t his fault. Atlas carefully pulled himself up into a sitting position, so as not to disturb the heavy sacks on either side of him, and peered over the back of the wagon. The path they’d arrived on snaked through fields of empty dirt, already being raked over for scraps by a flock of oversized crows.
Well done, Arastos. Atlas raised his eyebrows. Hadn’t he barely started work on one of these before they left yesterday? He must have worked long and hard to-
That was when Atlas became aware of the sound behind him, ongoing the whole time he’d been awake, but only now piercing through to his attention.
Chewing.
Rustling.
More chewing.
Slowly he turned, now in a position to see over the tops of the sacks to see one of the vast black avians standing atop the cargo with its back to him, burrowing its face into a bag of grain with distinctly un-crowlike snorting and gulping as it scraped food into its mouth with its claws.
Atlas was about to yell and shoo it away when a second pair of talons sheared through the canopy above his head, claws, over two inches long and wickedly curved, gouged grooves into the wooden strut that was its perch.
Two more sets of claws, evidently protruding from the “elbow” of the bird’s wings, coiled around the canopy. A misshapen human face, hairless and covered in greasy black skin that was stretched thin over its features, poked out over the hole in the roof, thankfully transfixed on the food and the one eating it.
The first creature looked up, letting out a guttural squawk-grunt, baring needle-like yellow teeth as the newcomer hopped down, its claws slicing deep into the sack by Atlas’ head. A shower of grain scattered over his feet.
The two bird-people squared off, puffing out more or less humanlike torsos. Atlas hurriedly scanned one as they began to circle one other, one female, one male, both grotesque, with sunken ribs and distended stomachs wrapped tight with the same black skin that made it hard to tell where flesh ended and feather began.
SCAN LEVEL UP
LEVEL 7
NEURAL NET UPGRADED: LEVEL 4
TOOL PROFICIENCY UPGRADED
TOOL ARRAY EXPANDED
Atlas was already ducking down, rolling over the end of the wagon as the two postured at each other before scrambling underneath as the description text superimposed itself over his vision.
ERINYES
THREAT LEVEL: 4
UNBURIED BOUND BY ETERNAL HUNGER.
AVENGER OF THE HARPIES.
PREFERS LIVE MEAT.
Well that was intimidating. How many had he seen just in the fields behind the cart? Dozens? Had they attacked the others? Atlas shuffled deeper into the shadows under the cart as the scuffle intensified above. The wooden wheels creaked as more and more erinyes were attracted by, and joined, the commotion. A string of sausages bounced to the ground by the wheel, swiftly accompanied by a spray of pungent grey liquid Atlas guessed to be blood, or its equivalent.
Well he didn’t have to worry about his breathing giving him away. The angry chorus was deafening even through the floor of the cart. More and more food scattering the ground in every direction. Atlas felt a brief pang of guilt even as he rationalised that his only contribution in defence of the wagon would have been to the length of their meal.
Atlas cast a cautious glance around the fields. The noon sun meant the underside of the cart was shrouded in shadow, but the cart itself wasn’t particularly low to the ground, and there were still enough erinyes in the fields that turning on his monitor, or even just moving around too much, could attract lethal attention. At least the others were probably safe. There was no way he could have slept through something like this.
Two black claws sank into the earth nearby. Apparently one of the erinyes had decided to focus on the food scattered from the cart rather than join the bloodbath overhead. Atlas gritted his teeth as she stooped over, walking on elbow claw “knuckles” towards the sausages piled barely an arms length from Atlas. Halfway there, the monster paused, tilting her twisted visage towards the earth at her feet before lunging forward, scraping jagged teeth along the ground to gulp down a throatful of grain and mud with no sign of either disgust or satisfaction as she resumed her approach.
That tore it then. Atlas slowly crept a finger over to his B button. What did he have equipped? He cast his mind back across the last day. He’d had the scythe equipped for working in the fields, and he’d never put it back when he left - he remembered feeling bad about that before unequipping it, actually. Then he’d helped in the kitchen… After that was the bridle again? Or a spoon? Did he remember to jettison the spoon?
The erinyes’ claw scratched deep into the earth by the wheel, Atlas pressed the button with a grimace. He really hoped it wasn’t the spoon.
The tool materialised in his hand a moment later. Atlas’ expression darkened further.
Of course.
He’d been thirsty.
The erinyes drove its muddy face into the cured meat without a moment’s hesitation, her bald head pointing directly towards Atlas. The only reason he hadn’t been spotted in the first place was her focus on the food in front of her. As soon as she finished and raised her head her beady eyes would be passing right over his hiding place, and he…
Could spray her in the face, maybe? Atlas hefted his waterskin and shook his head. That wouldn’t even buy him enough time to select a weapon. He was going to have to risk opening his tool menu, illuminating himself with the monitor, and call up his knife or something. He’d try and kill the erinyes before it could alert any of the others… At which point he’d still be trapped under a wagon surrounded by who knew how many of the things that would finish eating the rest of the cart’s contents sooner rather than later.
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The sound of breaking glass sounded out across the field just as Atlas reached for his bracer, attracting his attention and the erinyes alike. The one by the wheel peered up at the sound without looking his way, and even the scuffle above fell silent for the moment.
Atlas twisted around to see the farmhouse in the distance, black shapes layered thickly across its roof now pouring into a broken window. Screams, human screams, sounded out from within.
Atlas winced. The others had probably left him in the cart to sleep before the erinyes had attacked, then retreated inside the house for shelter from the ravenous beasts. He could already see signs that they’d ransacked the grain silo, its now tattered doors hanging off their hinges. The only place that looked intact was the stone mill and its windowless barn, possibly because the erinyes hadn’t seen its contents.
The door to the farmhouse slammed open and a handful of figures poured forth, he recognised Phineus, the Wife, and Arastos in front, along with a few of the other hands. Most, including Kleis, were missing.
“Get to the Charon!” Phineus yelled, one hand wrapped around what looked like the coin box, the other around the Wife’s own hand as she swung a heavy wooden rolling pin at an erinyes launching down at them from the roof. Atlas heard the crack clearly from where he was as the bird-man dropped limp to the ground.
The wagon above Atlas creaked - and croaked - the sound of wings multiplying as more and more erinyes took off, and the beast on the dirt alongside followed suit, clambering up the side of the cart to gain height before launching itself into the air, struggling to gain altitude with heavy beats of its wings.
Atlas took the opportunity to turn around under the wagon, staring in mute horror as the people he’d worked and lived with over the last week scrambled towards the waiting figure of the Charon stood motionless at the river banks. The scene was made all the worse by the bright of day. The erinyes weren’t particularly graceful or fast fliers, but as they got up to speed they were rapidly gaining on the group, while others simply loped along the ground towards them.
The rearmost farmhand, Terillos, let out a short scream as the erinyes from the farmhouse caught up to him, drowning him beneath a wave of black. A large chunk of the murderous flock stayed there, red spraying through the air as they tore into the unfortunate man, but more were already closing in from all across the farm, bloated bodies bobbing through the air darkening the sky with their numbers.
Arastos was next to fall, trying to land a single clumsy swing with a rake before he too was cut down, taking another section of their pursuers into a feeding frenzy. Another farmhand dropped a moment later, tripping over an outstretched wing.
Phineus shouted something Atlas couldn’t make out over the cacophony of shrieks and squawks, stumbling forward as one of the erinyes slammed talons first into his shoulder before being battered aside by the Wife. The Wife pulled Phineus onward, his tunic already stained dark as they closed with the Charon, still looming unmoving before them. He raised his arm, coin box outstretched…
A streak of black slammed into Phineus from above. Atlas bit back a yell as the box slipped from numb fingers, metal coins glittered through the air as they tumbled from the spinning container. The Wife fell a moment later, still swinging as she was pulled down under the writhing mound of black.
The final farmhand dropped to his knees, scrabbling in the dirt with increasing urgency as landbound erinyes clambered over their distracted brethren towards him while the Charon looked on, motionless. Atlas turned away just as one pounced, his agonised cry followed by dreadful silence.
The farm was still once again.
Atlas crawled backwards out from beneath the wagon, keeping the vehicle between him and the slaughter of erinyes nestled along the river bank.
“Prefers live meat” had been exactly right. There wasn’t even a single erinyes still in the fields between him and the forest. If he moved quickly he could probably get there before any of them saw him. Even if they did, it didn’t look like they could get off the ground easily without gaining some altitude first, and there weren’t many places around the river that they could launch off. He could possibly lose them in the trees before they could reach him, though the woods were hardly free of danger themselves.
But…
Atlas slowly shook his head, staring at the destroyed cart full of shredded wool and black feathers stained with foul smelling grey and worse smelling brown. Scraps of leather parchment, the occasional fragment of a word still visible, lay across the top of the filth.
Could he have helped them?
Not from here, obviously, but in the confines of the farmhouse? Escaping towards the Charon? If he’d been awake when they’d arrived, would he be there scattered along the riverside, or would they all be alive right now, safely aboard the Charon instead of skulking back into the woods once more?
Water splashed his feet. Atlas looked down to see he’d squeezed the decanter tight enough to send out a spray of liquid. He stared at it, blinking rapidly as his mind reeled between stunned disbelief and guilt-stricken horror at what he had just witnessed before finally settling onto a new emotion altogether.
Rage.
These monsters had destroyed the place he had lived for over half his short life, the fields he’d worked, the bonds he’d made, the people he’d made them with. And for what? Some unspecified vengeance? This peaceful farm deserved such a fate?
So Atlas ran. Not for the woods, but for the stone mill, slinging the waterskin over his shoulder by its strap as he bounded across the fields.
The erinyes, having started to wander in the absence of food or prey, turned towards him en masse, guttural cries sounding out across the fields as they started towards him, some clambering on top of the others to launch themselves into the air with laborious flapping, slowly gaining altitude in preparation to dive.
Atlas paid them little mind as he ran, vaulting over a wooden fence that now divided two identical fields of dirt. By the time he’d reached the barn door most of the erinyes had managed to take to the sky using fence posts and one other as launching pads. Unlocked. Atlas threw the door open with all his strength, bouncing it off the face of a charging erinyes as he stepped into the mill, letting the force of the impact slam it shut once more. The wounded birdman shrieked in pain on the other side.
Atlas took a slow breath of the gloomy barn’s flour-choked atmosphere, holding the door handle tight behind him. He didn’t think they knew how to open doors, but if they did this plan was going to work out very differently.
Another heavy blow slammed into the door, sending vibrations shivering through Atlas’ spine, but the handle remained untouched. Atlas released it and bolted forward, careening into seemingly ever heavy sack of grain and flour in the dim light as he headed for the stone section of the mill with its still turning mill wheel. Their contents scattered across the floor, worsening the already unpleasant conditions as he ran, slipping across grains in his haste.
He didn’t have much time.
Bare minutes later the door gave way, by now more hole than wood, no match for the powerful claws and rabid determination of the erinyes. The first, a large male, burst through the door in a shower of splinters, squinting as it scanned the dark barn. A clattering sound from the other end of the building caught its attention, and it surged forward with a throaty caw.
More and more poured through the gaps in the door behind it, clambering over and snapping at one another in their haste to find the fresh meat that had momentarily eluded them. Some snapped up mouthfuls of grain from the floor as they surged forward.
The forerunner reached the stone mill tower barely ahead of the rest, its needle like teeth bared ready to pounce as it clambered over a hastily stacked barricade of grain sacks to poke its head through the doorway, saliva trailing down its chin.
But there was nobody there, just a waterskin dangling from the turning millstone, bouncing against an upturned wooden bucket as it swung from the force of the water pouring endlessly from its downturned spout, pattering a circular trail along the flour coated flagstones.
Atlas waited a few moments more for the last of the erinyes to get inside before straightening from his hiding place by the door, his body so thickly coated with wet floury paste his clothes and hair were almost as white as his skin. The perfect camouflage against the flour that covered every surface.
He tapped his tool into existence just as the lead erinyes let out a croak of anger and confusion, flipped open the small metal box just as the first one saw him, and drew forth a small metal loop and piece of flint as the grim flock scrambled back towards him, their claws stained grey as they scraped through the thick carpet of flour.
“I hope you things can feel pain.”
Atlas struck the flint and steel together.