Bo couldn’t take his eyes off Martin’s dead face. He was too stunned by what had happened to think, too shocked to move. It hadn’t been so long ago when the dead man had challenged Bo to a fight. The pitmaster had spared Martin then, but there was nothing he could do to save his life now. A single arrow—just a stick of wood, some feathers, and a sliver of metal—had snuffed the man out in the blink of an eye.
The cold shock was soon driven out of Bo’s heart by the burning bonfire of rage. He would make these jumping freaks pay for what they’d done. All he had to do was heal himself, get up, and start cleaving these mutants into meaty chunks.
Before he could do that, though, shadows fell over Bo. He didn’t look up at them or stir. Maybe if they thought he was already dead, the jackalopes would go on their way. But when they didn’t, Bo couldn’t help but crack open one eye to see what the hell they were up to.
The leader of the jackalopes stared down at Bo’s motionless body. The creature’s eyes were a deep, pitiless amber that held the pitmaster captive in its gaze. It tilted its head from side to side, eyes flicking from the arrow in Bo’s chest to the young man’s pained face, then back again. The monster seemed more interested in admiring the effect of his archery than looking at Bo. Finally, though, the creature sighed and looked the pitmaster full in the face..
“You know who I am?” the jackalope asked in a deep voice. The words rumbled in its chest, every syllable thick and gravelly as a landslide.
“A damned rabbit that got too big for its britches,” Bo said.
“You killed my family,” the creature explained. “We were lost, confused. My sire and dam guided us away from the strange power that threatened us. We had but to cross the road. A few seconds was all it would take. But you killed us all.”
“I’m not sure if you noticed,” Bo said, coughing on blood, “but we were all pretty confused back then. I was on my way to kill some devils and save my people. I never meant to hurt anyone else.”
“My family died no matter what you meant,” the jackalope said. “And the more I grow, the more my mind changes, the more that fact hurts. Knowledge is the worst kind of torture.”
Bo didn’t want to feel any empathy for the asshole who’d punched an arrow into his chest, but he felt a twinge of emotion just the same. The pitmaster had a hard enough time adjusting to life as a champion and understanding how to use his deck. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a rabbit’s pea-sized brain expand until it could talk and reason. No wonder the jackalopes were acting so crazy.
“I can't change what happened in the past,” Bo said. “It was an accident. That’s all I can tell you.”
The pitmaster didn’t think the jumped-up rabbit was ready to kill him just yet. The creature wanted suffering. It wanted to torture Bo in return for what the pitmaster had done. That sucked, but Bo didn’t see a way to change the thing’s mind. He figured his best option was to stall, gather his strength, then use his cards to get out of here. That, though, might be a problem.
There was still enough Meat in Bo’s personal storage space to heal the injuries he’d suffered. But if the jackalopes sensed the pitmaster about to do something, they might just finish him before he could activate a card.
“Does it hurt?” The jackalopes asked, nudging the arrow in Bo’s chest with its back paw.
The arrow did, in fact, hurt like a bitch. Bo clenched his jaw against the pain, though, and refused to let the jackalopes see him suffer. Instead, he bared his bloody teeth in a smile and shook his head. “Hardly felt a thing. I’m just taking a little rest. I’ll be back on my feet soon enough. You and your boys better not be around once I am.”
The leader of the jackalopes laughed, a strange, braying noise. Its allies, who’d gathered around to surround Bo, echoed the sound. The jackalopes held their weapons—shortbows that were much nicer than what Slick had produced—at the ready. One word from their boss and the pitmaster would be a pincushion.
“You’re lucky,” the jackalope said. “Were it up to me, we would roast you alive over a fire.”
“I won’t taste good,” Bo quipped. “I’m big, but there’s no fat on my bones for flavor. I’d be stringy and tough. Doubt you could even braise me down to something edible.”
“We don’t eat creatures,” the jackalope leader said in disgust. “We are not barbarians. Fortunately for you, someone more important than me wants you alive. I will keep you that way. For the moment.”
Bo did not like the sound of that. He was grateful the jackalopes had all focused their attention on him. That meant his people, including Jenny, would probably find their way home with no other losses. Martin’s death stung, but if he was the only one they lost that day, Bo would count himself lucky. Things could’ve been much worse.
And it sounded like they were about to get that way for him.
The pitmaster weighed his options. He could try for his card, gulp down some Meat, and start swinging. The jackalopes weren’t close enough to use Hackstorm, but his cleaver would be enough to take down their leader. That would rattle the critters and give Bo a chance to play more cards.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The risk, of course, was that Bo might not live that long. Another shot or two like the one the one quivering in Bo’s chest would be the end. He’d be dead and buried long before he could activate his card.
And there was another reason Bo hesitated. If the jackalopes took him captive, they would likely go back to their lair. If that was their spawning point, Bo could kill a bunch of birds with one big, ugly rock. But that had risks of its own. Including the fact that Bo would be surrounded by all the jackalopes at that point. Fighting his way free may not be a piece of cake. Especially if they had more bows like the one their boss carted around.
He worried, too, that is people might freak out if he didn’t come home. None of them were fond of Lydia, and she would almost certainly try to take control of the camp if Bo wasn’t present. She’d also know he wasn’t dead, because the monster could sense the pitmaster through his deck. Bo wasn’t sure the other barbecue predators would follow her. And if a civil war broke out amongst them, Lydia would win that fight hands down.
Stop fretting over pointless possibilities. Kill the jackalopes. You know it’s the right thing to do. Reap vengeance for what they did to Martin. Punish them for the pain they’ve caused you.
Barbie’s words felt right to Bo, but he didn’t act on them. Logically, his best choice was to wait for a better opportunity to heal himself or to be taken back to the jackalopes’ lair.
“You have nothing else to say for yourself?” The jackalope leader asked.
“Sorry,” Bo said. “I don’t usually talk to mutant rats.”
“Get him up,” the monster’s leader said, what little patience he had clearly exhausted. “Carry him back to the warren.”
“You don’t have a wagon or maybe a palanquin?” Bo asked. “It’d be so much cooler to meet the people I plan to conquer in style.”
“Keep talking, human,” the rabbit said. “Waste your strength. Squander your breath. The Crimson Forest will tear the secrets from your beating heart.”
“I don’t keep much in my heart,” Bo said. “On account of all the thumping? Seems like a dumb place to store stuff.”
The rabbit looked at the pitmaster with open disgust. It seemed about to say something, then wrinkled its nose, twitched its whiskers, and hopped off.
That felt good. Bo liked to know he was getting under the skin of people who annoyed him. Maybe, if he was lucky, it’d make the jackalopes so angry they’d forget to feed him to the giant, bloody tree.
Rough hands grabbed the pitmaster under his arms and by his ankles. The jackalopes hoisted him into the air, then dropped his body into a makeshift sling carried by six of their brothers. As Bo was secured to his crude transport, he caught sight of something from the corner of one eye.
Jenny.
The scout was crouched down in a stand of tall grass a few yards away. She’d parted the blades with one hand, and mouthed, “I’ll get you” to Bo.
The pitmaster resisted shaking his head or making any other movement. Instead, he mouthed, “no,” again and again. Then, “go home.”
Jenny hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowed. Then she faded back into the grass, her scout’s cloak hiding her from the world.
The rabbits lunged into motion without warning. Their long, leaping gaits jostled Bo mercilessly. Every time they hit the ground, the arrow jiggled in his chest, raking his mind with talons of pain. The pitmaster slipped in and out of consciousness as his foes carried him away. He held on for as long as he could, but darkness claimed him at last.
----------------------------------------
Bo opened his eyes to pitch blackness. His body was numb, so cold he couldn’t even shiver. The pain that had driven him into the inky depths of unconsciousness was gone, though. And that could only mean one thing.
“Shit,” Bo muttered. “I’m dead.”
You are not dead. Though if you keep talking like that, you most likely will be soon. We are in the lair of the jackalopes.
“Did you steal my pain again?” Bo asked.
It was the only way to wake you up. I don’t like it, if that’s what you’re asking.
“That’s not what I meant,” Bo whispered. “But thank you. I do mean that.”
At least you appreciate something I do for you.
The sound of feet scraping over dirt silenced Bo before he could respond. The jackalopes obviously didn’t know he could heal himself yet, and he wanted to keep that surprise to himself. Best if they thought he was near death and too weak to be any threat.
Those footsteps drew closer, second by second, and Bo willed himself to relax, for his body to go limp. He let his eyes drift closed, forced his breathing to become shallow, and waited patiently for the creature to leave.
“This one doesn’t look so tough,” a jackalope’s deep, gravelly voice said. “I don’t know why Bloodwhiskers cares so much about it.”
“It isn’t Bloodwhiskers,” a second jackalope answered. “It is the roots of the forest. They speak to him. The trees want this one. If we give it to them, they will raise us up in their empire.”
“You don’t believe any of that, do you?” The first jackalopes asked.
“I’ve seen the visions,” his companions said. “The trees were waiting for this moment. They spread their roots far and wide, long before the devils came. They have many allies beyond our lands. Bloodwhiskers feels it is best to obey them, for a chance to be at the top of their forces rather than the bottom.”
“Ridiculous,” the first jackalope said. “We should go. Just looking at this one makes me sick. They hunted us for sport, and we can do nothing now, that we have weapons.”
“We will be ascendant in the future,” the rabbit said. “Bloodwhiskers has promised us that.”
The first rabbit grunted, but didn’t argue. The footsteps receded until Bo was surrounded with silence once again.
It sounds like the trees have planned farther ahead than I would have thought possible.
Bo didn’t know how to make sense of what the jackalopes had said. It sounded like the Crimson Forest had been on Earth before the Grail System sent its harvesters. Bo wasn’t sure how that was possible, but he’d heard of seeds lying dormant for thousands of years until their environment was right for sprouting.
Maybe the Crimson Forest had planted some bloody acorns on Earth when dinosaurs were still the big monsters on campus. Maybe those had lain in wait for the magic to return, and now…
That is possible. But if what the hare-brained jackalopes say is true, we have bigger worries than how the tree got here. If it is bringing allies from beyond its hex to claim this one, we are in grave danger.
Bo couldn’t deny that Barbie was right. Sure, he had the silver hounds and the Knights of the Holy Roast. But that didn’t make up an army, even with the barbecue folks. If they wanted to fight off a bunch of monsters, Bo needed help.
A lot of help.
“I’ve got an idea,” Bo said. “But we need to get the hell out of here first.”
What could stand against the Crimson Forest? The tree alone has roots spread for miles.
“There’s always a bigger fish, Barbie,” Bo whispered.
This place is landlocked.
“Fine,” Bo said, “ruin my folksy sayings. There’s always a bigger bison.”