The underbrush was woven tight, each step forward was gained only after hacking through another impromptu fence. Thin twig fingers hooked into shirt collars with the slightest brush. The Delmerk fought against them, a gnarled net that threatened to strangle them. The path was spotty. The only constant were lopsided wolf tracks that cut through the forest floor. The party bit their tongues. A hot rush of Blood spiked through Thomas’s head; his heartbeat pummelled his eardrums like a drunk forcing open a locked door. Back and forth, he scanned the crowd. A bouquet of weapons jittered all around. Thomas smacked his own hand away, he caught himself picking at his arrow fletching. On and on, the band marched in lock step.
“Halt!”
There was a violent shuffle of boots tripping over each other, followed by yelps of surprise. Thomas gagged and spat. His mouth was stuffed with hair, a few strands caught between his teeth. He had unceremoniously slammed directly into the man walking in front of him, the man had also abruptly collided with the man in front of him, as did the man in front of him, and so on. The whole mob folded onto itself. Pushing himself away, Thomas found himself jammed in place by a man who had slammed into his back.
“Where is he?”
The group pushed against the trees and their less fortunate comrades as they righted themselves. At the front, the only member who wasn’t incapacitated and who barked the order that brought the march to a sudden stop was Theodore. Sweat gleamed off his bald head, eyes wide.
Junior was missing.
Heads frantically turned; weapons jutted towards the darkness as they stumbled to form a defensive ring. The mob squawked. Half calling out to their missing leader, the other yelling about bandits hiding in the shadows.
Even amongst the racket, Theo’s voice drowned out the crowd, “Sir, sir?” his expressionless tone wavered.
Thomas could hear a tremble that lingered at the end of his words, his eyes flickered back and forth, scanning the darkness for his charge. It reminded Thomas of a cow trying to find her lost calf.
“Gilligan, sir. Are you there?”
“I am right here, no need to yell,” Junior’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it was deafening to the group. All eyes snapped forward, “Why did everyone stop?”
They found his head, tilted to the side, eyes squinting as he examined the group.
It was hanging just above where his neck should be.
The rest of him was gone.
There was a thud as a man fainted, several stumbled or gagged as they desperately held back the contents of their stomach.
“By God,” said Theo. Although minor, it was the most fear he had shown in years.
Junior’s eyes rapidly darted among the crowd, settling upon Theo. Beads of cold sweat dribbled down his forehead.
“What happened?” his voice was hoarse, “Why are all of you looking at me like –”
His eyes glanced downwards.
He vanished.
There was a scream and a squelch.
Junior’s head appeared again; his cheeks covered in dirt. Mud clung to his ginger locks. He focused on a point at his side. Disconnected fingertips materialized, lengthening till they were joined together by a hand. His head and hand ducked in and out of reality, the disembodied limbs engaged in what could only be described as an abstract dance. The fear in most of the group transitioned into stunned confusion, gazing blankly as they failed to comprehend the greatest magic show they had ever seen. The thoughts in Thomas’s head twisted into knots, contorting to the beat of a pounding headache. He was lost for words.
The show came to an end and the young Gilligan stepped forward. His head firmly fastened to his shoulders.
Theo was instantly by his side. Patting him down and wiping the dirt from his face.
“Are you alright, sir?”
“I am.”
“Oi!” attention was drawn to a member of the group, “What the hell was that about?”
A second voice piped up, “Yeah, how did you do that?”
The mob was echoed with talk of ghosts and witchcraft. Paul was off to the side, endlessly shushing an incredibly smug looking Jackson.
“I don’t know how, but it wasn’t me,” Junior began, “It's like a veil, a very large but thin waterfall of” – his hands twirled around – “light. I haven’t seen anything like it. On the outside it looks like the rest of the trail, but on the other side it's as clear as glass. The other side is completely different.”
Theo chimed in, “What did you find there?”
“I think I found their camp.”
Waving the crowd to follow, Junior stepped through the veil once more. Theo passed through with him, walking shoulder to shoulder. Curious members of the group filter through in ones and twos, muffled words of astonishment could be heard from the other side. The rest stood back, keen on everyone else going before them in order to test the waters.
Jackson smacked his lips and smirked, a single word came out with enough force to pierce steel, “So –”
“No,” Paul replied in kind.
Jackson held back a laugh, “Oh come –”
“No.”
“I did try to warn –”
“Shut up,” Paul spat.
“Really? Don’t you have something to –”
“I have nothing to say about –”
“About the giant magic barrier standing right in front of us?” Jackson raised an eyebrow; Thomas could see an eagerness in his eyes to pounce on the next thing that came out of Paul’s mouth. There was a long pause. Paul couldn’t look at his twin for a moment.
“Yes.”
He had him right where he wanted him, Jackson had to deal with a tirade from Paul about his dubious token collection during the entire quest. Thomas could taste the anticipation from how long he had been waiting to give his brother a thorough response.
"The kind of thing that shouldn’t exist because, and I quote, ‘magic is made up bullshit for bed-wetting five-year-olds’?"
Paul threw his hands in the air, utterly exasperated, “And what am I meant to say to that?”
“Well” – Jackson took a moment to let the silence build – “a ‘I’m sorry’ would be rather nice.”
“Fuck you,” said Paul.
“Typical,” his eyes locked with Thomas’s, “Oi, Tommy. You seem rather keen on it. Got any comments on the fancy wall?”
He gave the invisible barrier in front of him a once over, rolling Junior’s description of liquid light around in his mouth, “No idea, what Junior said doesn’t make any sense.”
Paul snapped at Jackson, “Why are you asking him? Aren’t you meant to be the magic man?” he said with a false quizzical tone.
“I can see you lot stalling!” Theo barked from the other side, “get over here now!”
Panicked, the rest of the group finally began to shuffle through, either running or jumping to get it over with as fast as possible. The twins lagged, hopping between the two sides as they played with the anomaly. Thomas took a deep breath and stepped forward, parting through a paper-thin waterfall. The front bared a painting of a false landscape, the back resembled foggy glass. Rapidly moving his hand through briefly broke the surface like a stone being thrown into a lake, it shimmered like silver before settling flat again. The wall abruptly ended at the forest floor and trailed endlessly upwards.
⁂
Thomas was blinded, night instantly replaced with painful brightness, he blinked and rubbed his eyes as he adjusted. He and the others found themselves at the edge of a circular clearing. It was a section of woodland the size of Orhill’s town centre that was scorched and smashed flat. Ash and chunks of charcoal stuck out from the black compacted earth beneath their feet. As soon as someone regained their vision, their gaze was drawn upwards. Thomas was no exception.
Hanging motionless in the air, several times higher than the tallest trees, were an array of gargantuan golden panels, burning like a second sun. Five pentagons surrounded a sixth central face, forming the underside of a dodecahedron, the object was immense, spread wide across the clearing, a man-sized gap separated it from the veil. Spiralling floral fractals were etched across its faces.
A gapping maw adorned its central face. Out from it lulled its tongue, a long silver spine that twisted and coiled before its barbed tip dug into the desecrated forest floor. Wiry branches spread out from its final vertebrae, weaving into mats that formed ramps up to the spire. Thomas squinted; he saw what he thought looked like guardrails spiralling up the shaft. Cube shaped huts and stacks of crates were laid down in a ring around the Spine, crafted from welded cast iron plates.
While the rest were still gawking at the cathedral sized thing burning above them, Thomas caught a few men taking a few shaky steps towards a pair of “vehicles”. They resemble metal wagons, cast from the same glossy silver as the spine. A narrow seat cushion was mounted in place of the jockey box, pairs of pedals and leavers jutted out from it, attached in front of the driver’s seat was what looked like a sailing ship’s wheel. From where the yoke would've attached, a pair of arms the same length as the wagons themselves sprawled limp in front of them, each tipped with four fingered hands large enough to grip a tree like a walking stick. Four crab legs were curled up under their frames instead of wheels.
“Attention!” a clap of Junior’s hands brought the party’s focus onto him, “I know it's hard to stay focused right now,” his eyes locked upwards, “I don’t blame you. But we must remember why we are here. We have criminals to apprehend and more importantly, we have friends and family to rescue. We have come too far, risked limb and” – his hand gently grasped his throat – “life.” He whipped his cane towards the centre of the clearing. “Onwards brothers, for God, for Orhill.”
With Junior’s speech concluded, Theo gave out a loud grunt and waved his pole axe forwards. On his signal, the mob dispersed and slowly crept towards the unnatural makeshift village. Excitement and dread bounced back and forth amongst the search party. Many wanted to be the first to find a unique oddity, but no one wanted to stray too far from their fellow man. The air was filled with a dozen voices whispering the same three questions.
Where are the bandits?
Where are the kidnapped farmers?
What is this place?
As the search began, Thomas took is chance to get some much-needed distance. Ducking behind one of the cube shacks, he fell back against it and breathed a sigh of relief. Stretching out the tight muscles in his shoulders, he pondered the same questions. His attention clamped down on the last question with the force of a bear trap. He looked around. To him, he and the rest of the townsfolk looked like mice scuttling about cast iron miniatures, like a giant’s toy soldiers come to life. He swore his mother read him this story once. Quickly, his mind drifted off, putting off the man hunt, so he could put the entire scene together in his head. Thomas yawned and stretched out an arm.
He found his fingers caught on the cube’s door handle.
Hinges clicked as he swung it aside. The room was dark. There was a sourceless buzz, a low droning hum, cool dry air brushed against his face as it flew out the doorway. It smelled of freshly washed linen. Stacks of storage containers lined the walls from floor to ceiling, a pile of the same crates from outside squatted in the centre of the room. The exterior light slammed against them, highlighting every edge and deepening every shadow. It resembled a warped mirror of his hut. The grimy clutter he had grown to see as homely, replaced with clean, ordered sterility.
Everything within was labelled. Marked with a unique series of crossed lines and dots that attached to the top or bottom, like the neatly organised storeroom of a shop owner. It was writing, but nothing close to anything he recognised, more a child’s cypher than a language. If it was a code, Thomas couldn’t find a pattern that he could use to crack it. He ran his finger along a vertical grove on the face of one of the wall mounted crates. There was a snap of a spring. Winter air hissed out as an unseen force pulled it open like a desk drawer.
It was stuffed with packages, pillowcases crafted from a single piece of silver foil. It had no opening. Thomas pulled one free and gently bounced it between his hands. It jiggled like a water skin. He drew an arrow, slowly dragging the head across the bag before pushing the tip through. It pierced the skin with a squirt of thin lumpy grey gruel, the stench of vinegar and vomit burned his nostrils. He began to retch, without thinking he lobbed the bag away from it. It spun through the air before coming to a stop with a loud wet bang, the contents splattering over the wall.
Thomas cursed as he squeezed his nose tight and forced himself to swallow whatever wanted to come gushing out of his throat. The humming grew louder and the draft that poured out the door grew stronger. The burst of activity died down once the smell became tolerable. Cautiously, Thomas searched the other drawers.
The rest were a mismatched collection, a random selection of objects brought over by whatever created the camp and whatever the bandits must have stolen.
Glassware of various shapes.
Nails.
Spools of wire.
One of the drawers was stuffed filled with carrots, waxed and frozen like the hind quarters of the sheep and wolf. They clanked together like rocks in Thomas’s hands.
Another held apples.
Roughly shaped cubes of resin.
Waxed frozen bread loafs.
Hollow crystal spheres, various liquids and soil samples slosh around inside them as the drawer slid open.
Waxed frozen –
An explosion rang in Thomas’s ears as the back of his head slammed into the cold metal floor. A throbbing pain pulsed through his skull. His hands shot out wildly into the hazy black, desperate to find something to pull himself up on, his vision was dazed from the impact. He found and pulled himself up the central pile. He leaned on his elbows, slowly rubbing his eyes back into focus. Every breath was slow as he eased his heart and battled the knot in his stomach. Bile burned the back of his throat.
Waxed frozen eyes. Human eyes.
The icy drawer was stuffed to the brim, each finished with a thin white glazed. They looked like polished marbles. They were packed with the same care as the rest of the collection. Their gaze pierced him, blank attention that dug into him like a knife slowly dressing a deer, freeing hide from muscle. His neck grew tight as his breath grew weaker. He couldn’t look away. Thomas touched the groove and the drawer cracked shut.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
He stumbled along the walls on jelly legs, possessed by the urge to find an answer to what he saw, he ripped through container after container.
Waxed frozen mushrooms.
Waxed frozen meat, fist sized cubes from an animal he couldn’t recognise.
A small library worth of books.
Knifes, both local crafted and thin foreign razors.
Cleaned bone, sorted by size.
Fresh Eggs.
He then pried open one of the central crates, bursting out from within and unfurling like a carpet was a sheet of flayed –
Thomas slammed the door behind him, slowly sliding down against it. He stared forward, burning holes into the identical hut that sat opposite of him. His attention span in circles as two halves of his mind fought each other. One tried to make sense of what he saw, the other refused to acknowledge that it even happened.
He did not know what he saw.
He did not know why it was there.
He did not want to know.
There was a flash of red from behind one of the huts, the crack of a whip bounced around the clearing. Thomas turned to face it, grateful for something to distract him from what he had just witnessed. Squinting, he focused on the distant point. Trying to determine what just happened.
There was arguing.
“Oi!” yelled Jackson, “Put that bloody thing down!”
Paul snapped back, “Bugger off!”
“Damn it,” sighed Thomas. He rubbed his temples before pushing himself up and off the building, breaking into a sprint towards the twin’s commotion.
⁂
Between two of the cubes, Thomas found the pair desperately wrestling something out of each other's hands. A silver teardrop, half a forearm in length and the width of his hand at its widest point. In the corner of his eye, he saw that there was a smoking fist sized crater melted into the side of one of the huts.
Thomas cleared his throat. Both their heads flicked to face the cough; they froze like spooked game.
“Shit,” muttered Jackson.
Paul stuttered, giving Thomas a nervous wave, “Thomas, I –”
The object slipped from his fingers.
He didn’t have a moment to brace himself as Jackson rammed into him in a desperate scramble to catch it.
It bounced twice, and the world went white.
Nails dragged across glass in his ears. When his vision returned to him, there was a second hole burned into the wall.
“Paul!” Jackson screamed, “For God’s sake, watch what you are doing with that thing.”
Paul snapped back, “That’s rich, coming from the one who wanted to break it five seconds ago. It needs to be protected.”
“It needs to be thrown away and buried deep. That thing is dangerous, and I don’t want anyone knowing anything about it.”
Paul rolled his eyes, “Superstitious much,” he scoffed.
“No,” Jackson’s voice was firm, “No more calling me stupid for believing in magic. If this isn’t magic. The barrier, this thing” – he threw his hands up to the sky – “that. Then I don’t know what is.”
“There aren’t any witches around, and besides” – Paul shook the object for emphasis – “this doesn’t look like anything I’ve read from in a fairytale.”
“You are saying that because one, you don’t want to admit you were wrong and two, you’re too stupid to think of another insult other than calling me a superstitious jackass.”
“And you want to throw away something that could be very, and I really mean very, valuable. You know, as in, we could sell it for a lot of money. Remember money? It’s the thing you use to buy useless shit instead of supplies and Jackets”
Jackson’s face turned red, his hands squeezed into fists, “You God damned –”
“Paul! Jackson!” Thomas yelled, the twins froze in place once more, “What in God’s name is that?”
The pair turned to face each other, eyes darting back and forth from Thomas to their twin. Both filling time with hums and sighs as they formed an answer.
Paul was the first to speak, “Well, you see, Thomas. It’s –”
“A magical artefact that spits fire,” Jackson cut in.
“No, It’s –”
Jackson glared at Paul, muscles in his neck shook from the tenseness. Thomas’s attention bounced between the two as they silently duelled, exchanging side glances for voiceless interjections only to be parried with hand gestures. With a pained sigh, Paul admitted defeat.
“Fine, it’s a magic egg that shoots fire,” his face strained as he did his best to ignore Jackson’s smug expression.
Thomas approached with caution, nervous that him merely moving too fast would cause it to detonate again. Hundreds of silver scales were layered upon it like gilded snakeskin. The sharp point ended in a tea kettle’s spout; the rounded backend was a mesh of black twine. They writhed like a ball of worms in Paul’s hand, endlessly curling around his fingers, seemingly to offer better grip. A faint red light pulsed in the mass, growing brighter and dimmer as Paul’s grip tighten and relaxed.
Slowly Thomas leaned forward, hand outstretched and hovering towards the bauble, “Would you two be bothered if I took a –”
“No!” the twins roared in unison; Paul shoved it tight under his armpit as he took a few jerky steps backwards. Jackson stepped forward, shielding his brother's retreat. Thomas tried and failed to mumble an apology; his words were lodged in his throat. He was shocked by how sudden and in sync their reaction was.
Paul huffed, “We just nearly blew ourselves up over trying to figure out who should hold the damned thing. We are not going to play out that argument again. Until further notice, I will be holding on to it.”
“For now, I agree with him,” Jackson said. Thomas could tell this was the first thing the pair had agreed on since they found the thing.
Thomas shrugged, “Fair enough.” He walked over to the scorched wall. Thin trails of smoke lingered from the craters. His fingers brushed over one of the burn marks, it was still warm to the touch. He hovered over the two, eyes scanning over every inch and noting every detail. The two were far wider and deeper than what he saw on the sheep and wolf, even between each other the shapes seemed arbitrary. Like two random splatters of paint.
“Why are they so inconsistent?” he wondered aloud.
Jackson answered, “Well, the shots do go very wild when you aren’t gentle with the thing,” he cocked his head at Paul. He faced away, refusing to acknowledge what his brother said, “But after messing around with it, Paul got strangely competent with it. Look here.”
Jackson led Thomas around one of the huts, he pointed to a stack of crates, peppered with holes, stacked in rough columns, pin head sized specks on the left that grew wider and deeper as it moved to the right, ending in gouges that could snugly fit a thumb.
“When we figured out what it did, I thought you needed to squeeze the back of it,” Paul said, “But when I was shooting it, I could make the holes it made bigger or smaller just by thinking about it.”
“And you say you have decent control over the size of them?” Thomas asked.
“I’ve gotten pretty reliable with them.”
“At least we know where the sheep and wolf got their burns from now. And they weren’t random.”
Paul raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”
“Look,” Thomas pointed back at the holes on the wall, “If that egg thing can make holes like that in metal, then it can do far worse to an animal. Whoever burned them was being deliberate about it.”
“Why?”
“One time I found a few of Rodrick’s friends out in the woods throwing stones at bird nests, leaving anything they injured for dead. They said something about having a little bit of fun before they ran off. I’d bet good coin that whoever did it had the same reasoning.”
Paul looked down at the object in his hands with disgust, “Who are they? What is this?”
Paul gasped as he was slammed into the floor. In a flash, Rodrick had him pinned. He was flashing his knife as he tried to wrestle the object from him. Both writhed like angry snakes.
It slipped from his fingers.
There was a sharp ding as it was struck by Paul’s shoe.
It bounced once.
Twice.
It hissed as it rolled, glowing like coal. Jackson tackled it and held it tight in his arms. Thomas had an arrow aimed at Rodrick’s neck.
Paul’s face was red, and his breathing was quick and shallow, “Get your hands off me, you ugly –”
“Shut it!” Rodrick scowled.
“You, get off him now,” Jackson ordered; teeth bared. Malice dripped from his words.
“Drop the knife, Rodrick,” said Thomas.
“Nah,” Rodrick smirked, “I’m not doing that. Now all of you listen up because I am more than willing to gut little Paul over here. Now, I’m going to tell you what's going to happen.”
Thomas’s eyes ran around the blade, scanning it up and down. The world was fuzzy at the edges, his head was light as blood rushed into it.
He prayed that this wasn’t real.
That this was a bad dream.
“That egg thing,” Rodrick’s voice brought the scene back into focus, “I saw you two fiddling around with it, so I know exactly what it does. Give it to me,” he demanded, “Give it to me and Paul walks away. It's a very generous deal, If I say so myself,” he grinned with broken teeth.
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” Thomas said bluntly, “This isn’t you and your boys throwing your weight around to squeeze some unlucky bastard for coin or making the life of whoever annoyed you that day hell. You are alone, and there are a hundred ways you don’t walk away from this. You have lived your life as an impulsive, short-sighted moron and if you don’t change that now, put the knife down and let Paul go, you are going to die a moron.”
Rodrick smacked his lips and hummed, “I admit, it's bad odds for me. I would be lying if I said that you were a bad shot. You loose that arrow, and I’m probably dead before I realise what happened. Probably. Or I could live long enough to realise what happened and stick this deep into his neck,” he pressed the knife tighter against Paul’s neck, he sputtered a curse as a drop of blood slid down his throat, “My odds of winning are shit, and even if your luck is better, I know you won’t risk losing.”
“Fucking bite me,” Paul grunted.
Jackson’s lip began to quiver, his fingers struggled to grip onto the egg.
“Don’t you dare,” Paul hissed to his brother. His voice was angry, but his eyes were filled with desperation, “Even if I get out of it, I will throttle you.”
Two, three, five more drops spilled out the shallow wound as the knife dug deeper, Paul wailed through gritted teeth.
“So, what's it going to be?” Rodrick raised an eyebrow.
Thomas’s fingers trembled, he knew he could do it, release, snap, dead. But if he misses, if he lives, he can tell that he is going to shoot, then Paul is dead. The urge to put an arrow between his eyes strained and coiled in his guts, held back his rational mind as it desperately tried to find the perfect solution. Every second that passed, the knife pressed harder against Paul’s throat. Thomas was trapped, Rodrick locked him in his own head.
“Fine!” Thomas didn’t realise how deafening the silence was till Jackson broke it, “You can have the bloody thing, just please let Paul go.”
“Put down the bow first, then roll it over,” Rodrick commanded.
Thomas felt Jackson’s gaze burn into the side of his head, desperate and defeated. Thomas set his bow on the ground and took five steps back. In a smooth motion, Jackson sent the egg wobbling towards Rodrick. It bumped into his foot. He sent Paul tumbling towards his brother.
“Did I say you could pick it up?” before Thomas could take his bow back, Rodrick was already on his feet and had the item pointed at him. He could see burning red shining out of its nozzle.
The stomping of boots and distant bickering echoed from behind, growing louder and louder. The crowd quickly approached.
“What was that noise? Where did that light come from?” asked a voice.
“Was it the bandits? Are they here?” added another.
“Shut it,” Theo barked.
The four were locked in place. Thomas and the twins couldn’t run without Rodrick striking them down with bolts of flame, Thomas couldn’t grab his bow for the same reason. Fortunately, Rodrick couldn’t kill them without alerting the crowd. Knowing them, Thomas guessed they would think he was a secret bandit or a witch and want his head. He knew Rodrick wasn’t ready to take that risk. The fear of an arrow in the back prevented his escape.
The crowd rounded the corner.
The clearing went silent.
“What are you doing, Rodrick?” Junior piped up, “And what is that thing?”
Rodrick shrugged, “None of your business. Everything is absolutely peachy here.”
“Lying psychotic bastard,” said Paul.
“What do you mean –”
Junior paused, his face went pale, “Paul, what happened to your neck? Did you do that to him, Rodrick?”
“Don’t know what you're talking about –”
“Answer the question,” Theo ordered, taking a step towards him.
Rodrick pointed the artefact to the sky.
Red soared towards the golden edifice that hung above them, striking with the force of thunder. There was an ear-splitting scream as the air in front of it warped. A wince of pain shot through the crowd.
“What's going on? Where did you get that?” Junior fired question after question. “Please, hand it over, and we can talk,” every fibre in his hands trembled, his legs struggled not to buckle.
“Nah,” Said Rodrick, “I’m not listening to anything you say any more. You don’t even know what any of this is. This” – he shook the silver object, gesturing to everything in the clearing in a circular motion – “this is a gift from heaven, all the wealth and power one could ever need, waiting here for someone with the will to take it.”
Theo huffed, “You are going to be a dead man if you don’t come over here and stand down,” He squinted as red light shone in his eyes.
“I bet I can punch a burning hole through your head before you can reach me.”
The crowd broke into an uproar. No one wanted to be there, but everyone was too afraid of being Rodrick’s next target to move, the rest talked over each other in a vain attempt to calm the group’s nerves and talk sense into Rodrick. His mob were confused, asking him what's going on and what are they meant to do over and over again like scared children.
“Growing a fucking spine is what I want you to do,” he snapped, “This grand old hike has been fun, but now it's time to get to work. With this little fire shooter alone, I could take all of Orhil, with the rest of this we could take the whole God damn county.”
There was quiet amongst his friends, “Boss,” said a meek voice, “You're fucking nuts.”
A crack was heard as one of his more obedient followers swung a fist into a random man’s jaw, blood and teeth spurted from his mouth as he dropped like a stone.
The crowd exploded into chaos, a flurry of shouting and flailing limbs. Theo took Junior behind him and slowly backed away, striking at whoever got too close upside the head with the butt-end of his pole axe.
Thomas dived forwards; dirt stained his front as his body slid towards his bow. Ruby embers flew as Rodrick fired haphazardly into the mob, seeming more intent on flinging flame at the greatest grouping of brawlers that he thought was against him, instead of aiming to hit any one person. Occasionally one would fall, howling in pain as a stray flame grazed them. Rolling to his side and stumbling to his feet, Thomas ducked behind a pile of crates as he caught Rodrick’s attention, barely escaping the burning rays as he ran for cover.
“Hold still, you jittery bastard.”
“Go to hell, Rody.”
“Stop calling me Rody!” he yelled; the silver artefact glowed brightly.
Thomas leapt to the side as a red comet raced towards him, it hissed as it ripped through the crate stack. Molten metal splattering across where he was just crouching. Thomas’s breathing was quick and shallow, he tensed his hands to get control of the shaking as he notched an arrow.
“This ends now Tommy, I’m taking back the land you stole from me, then I’m taking your fat ugly head and mounting it on my wall.”
“It wasn’t yours; it was never yours.”
“Doesn’t matter” – Rodrick chuckled – “what can you even do about it now?”
“What I can do is put an arrow between your eyes if you don’t drop that thing now!” Thomas’s voice was shrill with anger.
“You poke your head out behind that cube, and I’ll drop you before you can think about shooting back.”
“If I die, I lose my grip. If I lose my grip, then the arrow gets loosed. I’m hitting you either way.”
Rodrick scoffed, “Bloody idiot, you really think you’re going to be a good shot dead?”
“Odds are I’ll still be a better shot than you are alive.”
“You cocky bastard –”
Rodrick screamed.
Jackson yelled, “Thomas, get him!”
Thomas leapt out from behind the hut, bow drawn. He saw Jackson running towards Rodrick, Rodrick was stumbling backwards, a gash on the side of his forehead and a bloody rock at his feet. He released his grip, and the arrow flew, sliding up Rodrick’s thigh before ramming into his waist.
Rodrick howled, his eyes locked onto Jackson, “You fucking brat!”
Jackson went in for a tackle as Rodrick raised the weapon for a shot, his armed jerked and fire skated across the sky. Soon the clearing was filled with burning red hail. Each grapple was mirrored by a fireball from the object as Rodrick and Jackson wrestled over it. Theo threw Junior behind one of the huts, and the mob dispersed as the blasts of flame increased.
A trembling voice shouted over the chaos, “Jackson, what are you doing?” Paul peaked out from behind cover, “Let Tommy deal with him and run!”
“Just get out of here, I’m not leaving till I’m done with this bastard.”
“Fuck you,” Rodrick grunted as he regained his footing, using his size and weight to try to force Jackson into a pin.
Jackson remained on his feet. Barely. Thomas notched another arrow, slowing his breathing, he waited till he could land a clean shot. Every toss and turn from the wrestling pair forced him to readjust.
His eyes glanced past the mayhem, and he saw it.
In a gap between the cube huts, he saw movement, one or two shadows darting to the side. There were lights, a dozen red pinpricks in the night.
He turned to face a metallic clang.
Another red light burned on a rooftop.