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Chapter 32: The Spilling of Blood
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“All beasts and monsters of the Greater Worlds are born with an affinity for Rei. These are distinct from the common animals, livestock, and insects whose rei is like the majority of men, present yet dormant, a low burning candle; these Rei-Beasts, like the seven higher races and the humans, have learned to harness their rei for devastating feats of strength, speed, and power.
Their adaptations and abilities, much like our own cornucopia of unique uses for and manifestations of rei, are limitless. It is for this reason that one must never underestimate a rei-beast; though one member of a given species may be capable only of augmenting their naturally preexisting strengths, another of their kindred might possess unknown, unpredictable, and unrelenting power.
Generally, rei-beasts seem to inhabit geographical regions amongst others of their near peers, however as viscerally exemplified by the late Tactics Instructor Nem-Nuin, apex hunters may lurk in any location, regardless of trend or expectation.” ~ From “A Practical Guide to Rei-Beasts, Familiars, and Fen” by Lucia Dorathel, Familiar Master Instructor at Protectorate Post-Advance Academy – Zarza Branch.
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Graknul raised a hand from his spear, making a fist in the air. Raxar’s squad stopped, the tinkling rattle of bone against bone, a soft constant sound that accompanied their march, quieted. Graknul met the eyes of the snilbog riding Hayde, a new member of the Sparasida Calvary who he hadn’t spoken much to. Poor bastard didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into, Hayde’s riders never lasted more than a few weeks. The snilbog nodded at him, gestured forwards with his spear, then swept it in a 30-degree arc. He squeezed Hayde’s cephalothorax, and the spider sped silently up the tree, quickly disappearing into the looming shadows high above.
Graknul turned away, shouted over his shoulder.
“Raxar, get them into formation; L-shape, archers and pikes. Krayznak is posting to our front.”
Graknul knelt behind a root, surveying their position. Their trackers had meticulously traced the humans’ path from their settlement and determined their most likely rout back through the forest. Night would turn to daylight soon and unless they stayed in the cave for another day, they’d run into his troop upon their return. Advanced scouts had given reports on the location and situation of the humans; somehow, they had managed to kill the Forest Llorts that had guarded this section of Amar’s territory for decades.
He had hoped that they’d have died, and he’d be done with the filth, but incredibly they hadn’t just survived, instead they’d killed the llorts themselves. Graknul reviewed his plan, their information, their numbers. The dim light of the early morning, the shadowy crevices between roots, under branches, and high in the trees made for easy concealment. He’d even ordered Krayznak to bring all three of their Sparasida; they couldn’t lose. And yet…. The snilbog scout’s description of the wound that’d killed the second llort—a gaping hole half the size of its head—and the gruesome gouges and burns on the Elder’s skin, his dismembered leg, the ruined stump of his thigh: Graknul twisted the spear in his hands, forwards and back, his razor teeth gritted.
He sniffed the air, the blank, too-clean scent of the forest an assault on his nose. He missed the caves. If he killed these humans, this rei user—the distinctive intoxicating smell of unfiltered, unrestrained rei drifted from the direction of the clearing, detectable even from hundreds of meters away—then maybe he’d earn a spot in Barr Amar’s Mountain Fortress. He growled: a high, throaty sound, a whine of anxious anticipation. He’d crush these vermin and bring their heads to his General.
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The relief of leaving the dreary atmosphere of their campsite to explore the cave had given way to excitement when Logan and Tarn had discovered the llorts’ treasure. That excitement had turned to joy, and even laughter at Tarn’s antics when they’d named and tamed the baby llort. They had found an abundance of loot, more than Logan would’ve ever expected; they’d fulfilled their goal, and that had felt great. He’d been elated, the success of their mission providing him with a huge surge of serotonin the likes of which he’d never before felt, save for his first experimentations with Mikey’s magic.
Now, however, as they began their trek through the cave to rejoin the others, Logan’s momentary glee fled and was replaced by worry and doubt. What if Ryan, Huck, and Synec were attacked while they were gone? They could’ve missed a side tunnel in the cave; any number of monsters could be hiding in the darkness, unseen, waiting for the group to split up before staging an attack. Would Synec be able to fend them off alone? Would they be able to protect Huck?
Huck.
His arm a ruin; his son a wreck. He’ll never shoot a bow again, will he? Would Huck still be able to work at the mines? Maybe as a supervisor, or something? He wouldn’t be able to use a bow, or that Warhammer, that’s for certain. Would he still be able to join them in crossing the Sukos?
Of course he will. It’s Huck. He’ll be fine. We’re not going to leave him, anyways.
Logan thought of Ryan’s glassy expressions, his tears, his stillness, the look in his eyes: distant, dead. One doesn’t have to die for their life to end, he knew that well enough. Logan’s eyes stared into the nothingness beyond the firelight, torch held overhead as he walked before Tarn leading the way back to camp. They didn’t speak this time; they hadn’t spoken about it, but they both felt the weight of the air, the tenseness of the moment. Something had shifted. Their temporary distraction had ended, and now they had to face the reality of their situation.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Huck was hurt, bad. And Ryan was unstable. Synec had recovered enough to walk, but he was beaten and battered, barely hanging on. They all were. Even after his potion, Logan felt the ache in his sides, the stabbing pain of his ribs, the weariness that clung to him like a weighted vest and clouded his mind like a fog. They needed rest. They needed to get back to Woolam.
Waiting any longer wouldn’t fix Huck’s arm; nothing that they had access to could do that. The safety of their party was his responsibility, and he didn’t trust the cave: didn’t trust the clearing. Dead things brought vultures on Earth; he didn’t want to think about what they brought here. They had to leave. At least it’s nighttime; my vision has gotten better in the darkness, and I know Synec shouldn’t have any trouble tracking at night.
Their footsteps rang too loudly in the cave, and Logan didn’t like that they had to walk slower on account of Tarn’s extra burden. Maybe we should’ve just left it. We’re not responsible for it just because we killed a monster, are we? Isn’t it just a monster too, anyways?
He shoved the thoughts away. If he was in charge now, that meant that he had to hold himself to a higher standard. Moral grey areas were not the expectation that he wanted to set; he’d make a better precedent. He had to set the example for Ryan, had to show him something better.
Images of Alex’s adolescent face beside him, contorted in fury as they sheltered in their bedroom sitting against the wall, listening to the sounds of their mother’s beating welled up inside his mind.
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He pushed Logan’s arm off of him, staring daggers at his older brother, enraged, and accusing. “Why don’t you do anything, huh? Why do you just sit here and listen? Why Logan? Why do you let him do this to her?”
Logan hung his head, staring at the floor, his fists balled, jaw clenched. Alex shoved him, his shoulder rocking backwards, twisting his body to the side before returning back to straightness.
Don’t react.
He looked up at his younger brother, eyes sad, pleading. “You know why, you know wha—”
“SHUT UP! All you do is make excuses! You’re just scared, scared and weak.” Alex’s eyes seethed with hatred, with contempt, with longing. Longing for a loving family—for a father that didn’t… It’s better not to think about it. Let him take it out on you. It’s okay.
Logan reached out towards Alex, who slapped his hand away. A crash sounded in the other room, punctuated by a strangled scream, gasps for breath, then a repeating cracking sound as Adam, their father, pummeled their mother. Alex’s head snapped to the door, and his body tensed, then began to visibly shake.
“Alex,” Logan said softly, reaching out again and touching his brother on the wrist, wrapping his fingers around it gently. “Don’t… okay?”
“YOU FUCKING WHORE, UNGRATEFUL BITCH, NEVER DI—”
Their father was cut off, his tirade devolving into a surprised shout. Logan, their mother and his namesake, was fighting back. Tears began to pour down Logan’s face, welling up in his eyes and slipping down his face as his chin quivered. They both knew what happened when she fought back; that’s why she’d made him promise to keep Alex in the room. He pulled Alex towards him, wrapping his arms around his brother’s smaller body, hugging his back to his chest. This time Alex didn’t resist. He cried, sobs racking his body, and turned into his brother’s embrace, burying his head in his shoulder.
“You fucking whore… you worthless, cheating bitch. You fucking dare,” smack, a scuffling sound, the coffee table sliding against the wood floor, “to hit me,” smack, smack—their mother cried out, but was cut off.
“I’m not going to be disrespected by you,” the wall beside their door reverberated, shook with the impact of their mother’s body against it. They heard her fall to the floor, and Alex drove his head harder into Logan’s shoulder, his fingers digging into Logan’s arms and back. Logan rocked back and forth, rubbing his hand in circles on his brother’s back, cradling his head, covering his ears with his arm.
Smack-thunk, smack-thunk, smack-thunk.
His mother did a good job of mopping the hardwood floors of blood, but there was no hiding the cracks in the drywall where her head dented it inwards. They all knew this game, this routine; they all knew who’d be next. Like a familiar play, Logan knew every beat, every line, every scene; their family were practiced actors, each with a role to play. Tonight had happened countless times, each with some subtle change or variation, but all following the same familiar outline.
“Alex,” he whispered into his brother’s ear. “Get in the closet, okay?”
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Logan approached the campfire, returning his torch to his inventory. Huck waved his hand and called out.
“Heya there Logan—” He was cut off by Logan’s beaming smile and the impact of his body as Logan rushed up and hugged him, squeezing him tightly. Huck winced but tried not to show the pain on his face. Logan quickly released him then backed away, realizing that squeezing the man who’d just lost an arm and had been tossed around like a ragdoll by a giant llort probably wasn’t the best idea.
“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean— I’m glad you’re awake.” Logan couldn’t keep the smile off of his face, however, as he stared at the big man sitting up in is blankets beside the fire.
“It’s alright lad,” Huck said, recovering and looking up at Logan with a glint in his eye. “You know, you’re smile is rather disarming,” he said with a sly grin and a wink.
Logan just stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. He even heard Mikey chuckling faintly in his head, noticing that it was the first time he’d heard anything out the Celestial in quite a while.
Ryan sat beside Huck, hugging his arm, and looking up at his dad’s big, burly, bearded face with a look of hesitant relief, and a reserved worry. He was clearly still on edge, but at least Huck was awake now. That ought to ease him some.
Tarn sidled up, depositing the llort against a large rock. “This is our new friend, his name’s Pug,” Logan said, gesturing to the llort infant.
Ryan and Huck’s eyes widened, and Logan watched Ryan’s jaw set and his eyes turn cold with rage. He started moving a hand towards the knife at his belt. “We found him in a cradle with the llorts’ treasure. Judging by his size he has to be a baby; I can’t imagine he’s more than a few weeks old. He can’t have killed anything yet, and Tarn wants to raise him.” Logan emphasized the bit about not having killed anything, hoping to ease Ryan’s anger. I’d be angry too; I can’t blame him.
Huck nodded, his face grim but understanding. He didn’t ask any questions.
“We need to move. Who knows what attention we drew with all the noise from the fight; staying here isn’t safe. Huck, how are you feeling?”
“I’m alright lad,” Huck said, his voice strained, then looked up into Logan’s eyes and nodded, as if he was acknowledging something. His leadership? “About as good as I can be. Took Ryan’s potion just before you got here, it helps a bit. I agree with you, we should leave.”
Logan nodded back at him. And just like that, the torch had passed hands. No long conversation, just a mutual acknowledgement. The weight on his shoulders, despite Huck’s condition improving, grew heavier.
“Where’s Synec?”
“Out scoutin’. Said he’ll be back in a few minutes, just checkin’ around the entrance, makin’ sure no one followed us in here.” Huck gazed around the dark cave, a maw of eerie darkness. “I don’t like this place. Did you find the antlers?”
“Oh yeah. Them, and so much else. I don’t think we’ll have to hunt at all after this. One trip to Tarik to sell some things, stock up for the trip across the Sukos, and we’re good. I’ll bring something back from the llorts, a tusk or the club maybe, and we’ll convince the village to join us.”
Huck nodded again, satisfied.
Logan looked around at them: Ryan and Huck sitting together by the fire, father and son reunited, Tarn leaning against the rock beside the llort. These were his people.
“Right. Let’s pack up and go home, we have a long hike ahead of us.”