Torches flickered in the light of the dawn as the procession departed from Altomac Lake through the thick foliage of the forests towards the affliction. Druids that burned incense and chanted in Old Jerv led the way. They swung sticks that had runes etched into wooden blocks tethered to ropes. The blocks clattered against each other and alerted all in the stillness of what was approaching.
The base camp erected by the volunteers of Lutant had been slowly filling with guests from across the Jerv Forest. A sizable host of volunteers were assembled on the lakeshore, however, it was still far less than had been hoped for. The more remote villages would not be able to raise and move appropriate forces in time and the nearby villagers did not offer more to compensate. Only around two hundred of the anticipated three hundred now left the lakeshore.
Elder Caci welcomed the lead druid from each village and, the night prior, held a meeting amongst the all of them. While those of the four-striped tattoo seemed satisfied by whatever briefing was provided to them, the volunteers that accompanied them were still skeptical of the claims brought forward. Whispers of a trap carried tension over the group of volunteer warriors as they watched each other with suspicious gazes.
Maeve watched those of separate tribes bicker and scuffle as the awaited day approached. Verbal confrontations quickly ended in blows and circles of people would open up a circle for a duel before being stopped by the druids. Every decision became an act of dominance. You had to reach the rations first for your meal. There were fights over prime sleeping spots. Violence both physical and sexual ran rampant throughout the camp. Anything that can be shown as proof of dominance over the rival tribes would be used by the disparate volunteer tribes.
In the days leading up to the assault, five volunteers had already been killed and burned, driving the underlying anger to greater heights. Maeve could hear the voices of the dead’s souls spread into the air. They screamed in anger and wished for the death of all other tribes. Now these people that had exchanged their vitriol and their violence were expected to watch each other’s back against an unknown foe.
Every day that passed, Maeve felt more uncertainty and regret over her decision. She had to resort to keeping it a secret from Bassett and Darri until the day of. She remembered the fear and hurt on their faces when she told them that she would be leaving with the expedition; that she didn’t want the resting place of their family to be corrupted. She wanted to prove her value so Ferron would cover for the rest of them. That it was enough to keep them all together. She winced at the guilt she felt inside.
She wasn’t deluded by Ferron’s cordial attitude towards the destitute children. If the younger children weren’t useful to him, he’d find someone that they would be useful for. She shook off the dark thoughts of the warband leader and returned to the present.
If things didn’t go well here, then there would be no further need for her to worry about such things. She silently watched the transpiring of the days and her confidence only whittled down further. Ignored by the expedition at large and considered to be a member of a defeated tribe. The only thing keeping her from the voracious reach of the rest of the assembly were the three warriors of the Armée du Corbeaux. However, all made it clear that they only did so since Ferron had not yet deliberated on her value.
The motivation didn’t matter to Maeve, she was just thankful that she wasn’t entirely alone. Besides, it was an improvement from the outright hostility that she faced within the longhouse. Even now, on the march to the site of the massacre, the warriors flanked her.
It did not take long for the alarmed whispers of lesser spirits to reach the ears of the more attuned druids. The ethereal screams chilled Maeve’s bones and her hairs stood. The clarion call of panic would not reach the ears of the spiritually deaf, however, Maeve noticed the lead druids exchange looks.
As the distance to the afflicted village grew ever closer, the pleas of the lesser spirits distorted and sounded wrong. The fluid songs of wind and water and animal call felt grating and discordant. Volunteers that were not as sensitive picked at their ears as the peaks in noise could reach even them ever so slightly.
The spirits no longer called out for help. Some just screamed. Some were incoherent calls. However, there was a rising unity of chants that quickly drowned out everything else.
“Over here. Over here. Over here.”
Maeve and the other druids looked around to see where the call was coming from. However, it was all around them. The trees, the breeze, the morning showers, and the bugs all called out to look at them. Hushed voices discussed the implications of the message and looked for the source of the calls.
In the trees, Maeve spotted a squirrel staring down at her. She slowed her walking and observed the creature. It watched the group pass beneath it before its head snapped in an unnatural angle. Maeve winced at the sight.
“Over here.”
“What’s wrong?”
One of the warriors pushed Maeve forward so she wouldn’t fall behind. Despite his gruff demeanor, he seemed interested in what she had to say.
She hadn’t learned their names nor was all that interested in it. Instead she internally referred to each by their most prominent features. The one that just spoke to her was the most talkative so she called him Tongue. A bearded warrior was named Beard and a woman with stern eyes was named Eyes.
“Do you hear the calls of the forest?” Maeve asked.
“I can only feel a sharp pain in my ears,” Tongue admitted. “Is the forest saying something?”
Maeve nodded slowly and stared into the forest. She could feel numerous tiny eyes watching the procession and calling out. “They are shouting ‘over here’ constantly.”
“They want us to find them?” Eyes asked. The other two warriors were now paying attention to the conversation. “Is that what the druids are discussing?”
“I don’t think they are calling to us,” Maeve responded, her voice beginning to quiver.
The other three didn’t need further explanation. They gripped more actively at their spears and aimed them towards their exposed right flank. The brushing and scraping sounds from deep within the forest attracted their attention and they watched the distance intently.
Shouts from the front of the procession caused everyone to look directly up the path. A massive grub lumbered directly before them. Its body was covered in thin gray skin like a tarp overstretched atop a pile of bodies. Bony limbs and faces pushed against the cloth-like skin of the creature in an attempt to break free. Patches of the skin were hardened and ossified as though it were in the early stages of building a cocoon.
Most distressing, the creature had a human face that was made of a patchwork of faces both male and female. It had compound eyes that didn’t blink. It spoke in a chorus of disharmonious voices from a mouth that didn’t move.
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“There you are,” it cooed.
“Oh spirit,” Elder Caci addressed the grub. “What is your name?”
“Concasque,” It answered in many voices.
“Concasque. Why have you left the confines of your resting place?”
“I felt you. Wanted to see Jerv.”
“You wished to meet us?” A different druid elder spoke up. “What type of spirit are you? What do you aspire to be?”
Murmuring spread throughout the procession. The spirit wasn’t openly hostile like they had anticipated and many were discussing whether or not the spirit was benevolent. The warriors around Maeve stood silently and kept their spears ready. She wasn’t ready to cast judgment on the creature, however, a feeling of unease from the calls of the spirits made her wary of the spirit.
“Protection. Food. Transformation. Become powerful. Jerv. I kill for Jerv.”
Another druid elder took lead of the questioning. “So you wish for us to protect and feed you until you can transform into something powerful?”
A clicking noise emanated from the spirit made flesh that turned into a linger vibrations that shook Maeve’s ears. The new noise quieted the procession. The grub spoke again. “Yes. Feed blood. Grow strong. Conquer for leader. Who leader?”
The spirit’s question began to cultivate the seeds of discord and dissent that had been planted generations ago. Volunteers from the same villages shared knowing glances at one another. Only one village needed to remain to make a deal with the spirit. Those who had contributed many members smiled while those that mistrusted and skimped on support cursed under their breath and looked around nervously.
In the front of the procession, the elder druids bickered and screamed at one another. Maeve could not make out what they were saying through all of their shouting. Each wished to name themselves leader to the grub. The largest village, the one that committed the most volunteers, the one who started the expedition, and all other matters of claims to the grub were exchanged.
The tentative alliance was falling apart. Arguments were now breaking out between the represented villages. Maeve was nudged by one of Ferron’s warriors and the four separated themselves from the rest of the procession.
“I didn’t volunteer to solve this petty squabble,” Beard cursed.
“Let’s get away from this thing while we still have a chance. Have Ferron tell the High Elder that they need to enact a purge,” suggested Eyes.
The skin of the grub began to pulsate with different colors of gray and milky white. The bodies of those trapped inside began to writhe against the grub creating a macabre dance of rotting outlines.
A strange humming began to emanate from the grub’s false human mouth. It was not noticed by those in the crowd. Their focus was engrossed in the prospect of obtaining the spirit. The humming turned into a high pitch whine that rattled in Maeve’s ears and penetrated deep into her mind and soul. Violent impulses flooded into her mind and she clawed at her ears to try to purge the invading sound. Through the whining, Maeve could make out the words that the spirit silently spoke.
“Only one Jerv tribe. Show me the true Jerv.”
“Cover your ears and look away!” Maeve called out to the entire procession but only Ferron’s warriors obliged to the request of the girl.
“Girl, what’s h-” Eyes began to ask Maeve before guttural screams pierced their eardrums.
One of the volunteers had stabbed another with a long spear, piercing the padding and impaling their abdomen. The victim collapsed to their knees as other volunteers stabbed their spears into the soft spots on their body. Blood oozed out of the wounds and into the soil below.
The attacker planted their foot upon their victim, their eyes crazed and bloodshot. The humming spurring them to perform the violence that was in their heart all along. They turned towards the front of the procession and addressed the grub. “Here is you blood, oh Great O-”
A spear burst forth from the open mouth of the volunteer and replaced their tongue. The body was shoved to the ground. A boot was stomped on their back and the spear was ripped from the body. The new killer stared down the other volunteers that participated in the first killing. He readied his spear and pointed it at them.
“If you want to offer blood, then offer your own,” they said before spitting on the corpse.
Violence descended upon the volunteers as the holy procession devolved into a melee. Battle lines ceased to exist as people were attacked from all angles in the gruesome free for all. Even the elder druids were not immune to the subliminal takeover of their minds and the aged spiritualists came to blows. Their subordinates whipped each other with the ceremonial staff of talismans creating numerous wooden thunks.
The face of the grub remained stoic. It squirmed forward towards the combat. Strangely, the tides of the fighting seemed to unconsciously part in the presence of the spirit until it reached the center of the fighting. The face lifted up revealing a gaping maw underneath. A long proboscis snaked forwards and dipped into the bloody soil near a corpse of a fallen volunteer. A mixture of brown and red liquid rapidly traveled up the translucent proboscis and into the grub’s body.
The creature vibrated in pleasure after taking in the life-force. It shifted its body and continued to root around in the carnage, lapping up the water of violence. The fervor of the battle ever increased with every freshly created corpse to ensure that the liquid of life flowed freely to the voracious spirit.
“How do we stop it?” Beard screamed so that Maeve could hear through her covered ears.
“We need to make it stop making that noise!” Maeve called back. “But I’m not sure how!”
As the grub ingested more blood, the thin skin of the grub began to harden further and the small patches of chitin grew ever larger. The group of warriors, still averting their eyes, were unable to see that their window to act was becoming ever smaller.
The bearded warrior quickly looked over his shoulder and slapped himself in the face. He appeared to be fine even after risking the noise. “Restrain me if I turn!” He screamed.
“How can we do that without removing our hands too?” Eyes screamed back.
It was too late, the bearded warrior removed his hands from his ears and turned his eyes towards the grub. The rest of the quartet watched the warrior nervously for any signs that they needed to flee. However, it appeared that he was unaffected.
Upon seeing that their comrade was fine, the other two also removed their hands. Maeve looked on in horror and her mind raced with what she could do if the warriors turned on each other.
“Wonder why we’re fine,” Tongue commented, scratching at his ears.
“Don’t question good fortune,” barked Beard. “It only creates the opposite.”
The melee blocked a direct path to the grub. Instead, the bearded warrior hoisted up a javelin and aimed it at the spirit in the center of the procession. His body gave off a warm glow as he centered his focus and fired the projectile forward. It split the crowd and punctured the grub, traveling through to pierce the other side.
A dark ochre liquid oozed out of the hole left by the javelin and onto the ground. Tiny white maggots writhed in the muck before going still. The sound from the grub stopped but most of the fighting continued to rage on. The loss of the noise did nothing to halt the animosity and bloodlust that the volunteers already felt towards one another. Dead bodies continued to pile up around the grub.
The grub slowly spun around to locate the one who harmed it. Its false eyes met with the warriors that were unaffected by its noises.
“Not Jerv!”
The screech pierced the procession. Blood gushed from the ears of some of the fighters closest to it and they collapsed. Those that were in the path of the grub were crawled over without thought and coated in the sludge that still spewed from its wound.
The three warriors frantically threw javelins at the grub, their arms lighting up and cracking the sharpened sticks with speed. However, the false face of the grub was surprisingly hard and the weapons only stuck tip deep in the tough flesh. Some lucky strikes created horizontal rips in the grub’s skin and more liquid poured out but the grub’s pace forward was not slowed.
Eyes shouted a command at Tongue and pointed towards Maeve. Before she knew it, she was grabbed and taken away from the fray. She wanted to fight back out of instinct but was too terrified to remove her hands from her ears. In truth, she was feeling relieved that she would not be forced to stay during the most dangerous part of the fighting. Her mind was torn between the joy of seeing her friends again and the crippling guilt of leaving everyone else to die.
Over the shoulder of the warrior that was taking her up the trail back towards the lake, she saw the light of a torch. It weaved through the melee and directly towards the grub. It connected with the side of the grub and a scream caused the warrior to stumble, bringing both of them down to the soil. Maeve’s hands went loose from her head and her ears were exposed to the sound of combat once again.
A flash of light and heat of intensity that rivaled Ortus obliterated the cloudy gray of the morning. A cacophony of screams both living and dead penetrated Maeve’s ears, making her feel ill from the overstimulation.
Then nothing.