image [https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/574524632b8dded535877035/118829f8-f047-4923-ad6d-0ae0b4efdf51/Sword+2.png]

2 - Terrifying The Townsfolk

* * *

Senesio

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I said, and gave a cheerful wave to the guards on the palisade. Always worth it to be in the good graces of the law—especially for those times when you needed to break it.

We’d caught the impaler on the western edge of the isthmus that was greater Lekarsos and our route to town took us now within shouting distance of the stakewall called Deadman’s Door.

I pointed back at the wagon and its hissing occupant as the guards looked our way, hands shading their eyes from the fierce afternoon sun.

“Try not to let another one in, yeah?” I chuckled. “Or if you do, at least tell me so I can get a head start on collecting the bounty.”

“Ancestors above. You actually got the beast,” the closest guard said. His eyes drifted back to Leon, then widened. No doubt due to the hog-viscera still clinging to the man. “Did it put up much of a fight?”

“Oh, an epic struggle to be sure. Most dramatic.” I crossed my arms, then gave the muscles there a bit of a flex. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, though.”

Leon scoffed.

“Anyway, you know the drill, boys. Drinks on me tonight,” I said. The guards cheered and I waved once more before leading Leon, the laborers, and our well-secured guest on the road back toward town. Though, calling it a road was being generous. More of a well-trodden dirt path, really.

As the Cyphite empire’s newest colony—and the only one this side of the Carritaenean Ocean—Lekarsos was, well, let’s say there was a lot of potential for improvement. It was far-flung, humid, and too much of the wildlife tried to eat you. That being said, it was better than the wilderness on the mainland—the Far Wild—which was far-flung, humid, and bloody near all of the wildlife tried to eat you.

The explorers who’d first landed there hadn’t lasted long, and those who followed didn’t fare much better. After two or three expeditions disappeared in the jungles, the rest wizened up. They established Lekarsos on an isthmus connected to the mainland only by a stretch of tidal flats. Depending on the tide, the flats were either waist-deep beneath the ocean, or a sopping, sucking stretch of mud and sand. In either state they were a pain to cross. That, in conjunction with Deadman’s Door, kept most of the mainland predators out. When it didn’t, as in the case of the impaler, well, those situations were dealt with by enterprising—er, generous—individuals like yours truly.

“Excellent work today, everyone. Truly excellent,” I said, spinning around to address the group. A proper leader always congratulated his team before himself. “Especially you, Costas.” I gave a fatherly nod of approval to the lead man pulling the wagon.

He frowned. “My name’s Marcos.”

“Since when?”

“Birth, I ’spose.”

“Well which one of you’s Costas, then?”

Silence.

“Never mind.” I spun back around and picked up the pace a bit.

Our path to town hooked northeast. It cut a swath through the subtropical jungle, as palm trees and sprawling live oaks loomed around us. The droning chorus of cicadas filled the air, occasionally punctuated by the chirping song of a bird or the distant call of a howler monkey. The trees above shaded our path but, even when spared the sun’s touch, the stifling air felt like walking through a boiling stew. But that was Lekarsos. And sweating was good, anyhow. Meant you were still alive.

A warm wind swept in off the ocean from the direction of Worst Beach, channeled between the hills that made up the southwest and northwest tips of the isthmus. Greater Lekarsos was formed by three such hills—the aforementioned two, and another in the east. The land between them was a bowl-shaped lowland of jungle, swamp, and occasionally some soil which was arable enough to fool you into thinking it might, maybe, with a little love and hard work, be good enough for agriculture. Inevitably, the only thing anyone could get to grow was palm trees, which made coconut soup and heart of palm the staple diet. Delicious meals, really. As long as you ignored what your taste buds told you.

The wind off the ocean dwindled as we reached the skyship fields and turned due east toward Lekarsos proper. Two of the miracle machines—not three years now since they’d been invented in the capital—were at rest in the fields. A crew was scurrying about on one of them.

“The Panagia,” I said, reading the name of the ship. “Looks like she’s readying for an expedition. Heading south, maybe? Off on an adventure into the Far Wild!”

Leon kept walking, offering only silence by way of a reply. Quite rude, really. He’d been in a sour mood all day. A strange disposition for someone who was about to collect a hefty paycheck.

The fields around us gave way to jungle once again, but only for a span of two hundred or so paces. Lekarsos proper rose just ahead as the ground began to slope upward. The colony had been built atop the east hill. It’d started as a collection of rough-made, palm frond-roofed buildings. Now it looked pretty much the same, except the buildings stretched down the side of the hill to Near Beach where I could see the fishing fleet was back with its daily catch, docked in the surf. The fishermen were hard at work, buzzing around a makeshift cluster of stalls and fish-cleaning booths that’d been set up in the tree lines and shaded with sun-bleached canvas. The day’s work was well toward done already. Always best to start early in Lekarsos. That way you’d only be sweat-drenched and exhausted by the time you finished, instead of sweat-drenched and passed out from heatstroke.

Being on the sheltered side of the thin strip of land meant Lekarsos proper and Near Beach were spared the worst when tropical storms came raging in off the Carritaenean. It also meant everyone in town had a great view of the Far Wild. Though “great” was probably a word few would choose to describe it.

Near Beach didn’t open to the ocean, but instead to the brackish, confused waters where the Nostos River—flowing from deep in the Far Wild’s interior—met the Carritaenean. And on the other side of this half-fresh, half-saltwater mix lay the Far Wild. It was a lush fortress of green and brown, with ramparts made of palm trees and walls of vine and frond. An ever-present reminder of the danger that waited just outside this last bastion of civilization. Danger or, as I liked to think of it, opportunity.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Ah, Lekarsos. You beautiful, savage, untapped fount of potential. It’s good to be back,” I said as I led the group past the first of the colony’s buildings. They were scattered haphazardly on the slopes of the hill, but grew denser and formed into something resembling proper streets and alleys the higher you went. Our destination, the guidemaster’s office, sat right at the top.

All that was left now was to collect our bounties, then it’d be time for a meal and a nap before a celebratory night at the drink hall. I could almost hear the townsfolk singing my name, celebrating my victory over the impaler, when Leon suddenly stopped in the middle of the street.

He was fidgeting with his eyes, rubbing at the viscera now crusted in place.

“Ah, nothing a bath won’t fix, my friend,” I said.

“That’s not the point and you damn well know it.” He looked up at me with contempt in his eyes—or, I assumed it was contempt. Hard to tell through the crusted-on gore.

“I don’t care what you pay me, I’m never doing this again.” He shuddered. “I’m a biographer, not a piece of meat to lure in nightmare monsters.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. It wasn’t so bad. All you had to do was stand in the clearing and look appealing.”

“Look. Appealing.” Leon said the words like they’d been some kind of death sentence. Admittedly, the impaler hadn’t been named for its gentle demeanor, but if I let little details like that trip me up—well, I’d never get anything done.

Leon shook his head and swore. “I don’t get paid enough to deal with this.”

“Leon,” I said as I wrapped an arm around the distraught biographer. “My dearest friend, this isn’t about something as base as money. No, what we pursue is something greater. Something far more valuable.” I gestured out across greater Lekarsos, then up to the brilliantly bright sky above.

“We’re in pursuit of the exceptional, my friend.” I lowered my voice, tempting Leon to lean closer, to focus in order to hear every word. “Every hunt we complete, every victory we win, brings us closer to our destiny. One step nearer to achieving our wildest dreams.” I had him now and I knew it. I’d always had a way with words. Could talk a tortoise right out of its shell.

I leaned my head in closer so that Leon and I stared out to the same stretch of sky, then raised a hand, palm open and upwards as if proffering the very heavens.

“Dreams, as you know, cannot be bought. They must be earned—”

“I’ve heard this one before.”

“Come again?”

“This speech—you’ve used it on me before.” Leon shrugged me off. “And I’ve heard it for the last time. I need a bath. And a drink. And to never see your face again, except for when you bring my cut of this bounty.”

“Leon, no, no, no, my friend.” Had I so overestimated the man? I’d seen a spark of greatness in him, I’d been sure. A spark that, if nurtured, would grow into a blazing fire. I wasn’t going to let that spark go out. Leon’s future and fortune were riding on it and, more importantly, so were my own.

I set my face in my most concerned frown. “Think of the stories we’ve yet to tell! The fortune we’ve yet to earn! My friend, my dear, dear friend, there’s simply so much left to do.”

“And you can do it without me. We’re not friends, Senesio, and I’m out. Done.” He crossed his arms as a stern look of finality solidified on his face. “Bring my cut of the bounty to the drink hall and then I’m catching the next ship out of this ancestors-cursed place.”

I began to retort, to fight for the future I’d so carefully planned, but it was already walking away—or at least, a key part of it was. What good was a gentleman adventurer without his faithful biographer?

“Stupid scorpions, stupid far wild, stupid edge of the map suicidal nonsense... ” Leon turned a corner and his voice faded, leaving behind no trace of him but a lingering odor of disappointment.

“Well great,” I said, as much to myself as anyone. Now I needed a new biographer. And it didn’t take a detailed survey of Lekarsos to know the place wasn’t exactly brimming with lettered individuals. Maybe I could ship one in, though? Write to the Scholars’ Society back in Cyphos? Or maybe the Imperial College? But no. Who was I kidding? Not just any lettered individual would do. Of course not. I needed someone special. Someone with that spark, that... what to call it? That—

“Senesio! What the hell is that thing doing in my town?”

“Ah, Elpida Petros, my favorite guidemaster!” I puffed out my chest and broadened my smile as she approached. “Always a pleasure to see you,” I said. People don’t remember what you say so much as how you make them feel, and I had a feeling the guidemaster would be pretty pleased by my snaring the beast that’d been stalking Lekarsos’ outskirts. She’d been the one to place the bounty on it, after all. I gestured back to the wagon. “My present to you: the Impaler of Lekarsos.”

Her eyes flicked to the wagon, then back to mine, smoldering like a fire burned down to the coals. Hot still, but hiding an altogether fiercer heat beneath.

“Your present is disturbing the peace.”

“Oh, ah.” I looked around to find several townsfolk looking on in terror. “Well, perhaps if they see the monster in the flesh they’ll realize it’s not so monstrous after all?”

Somewhere off to the side a child started crying.

The fire in Elpida’s eyes stirred as she gritted her teeth.

“You come in here, terrifying the townsfolk,” Elpida growled. “This look like a slaughter yard or the main street of Lekarsos to you?” She waved away my attempt at a response, then took a long swig from her ever-present flask of rum. Flavored with the toxic powder from ground-up gorgam cane, the drink was fatal in large quantities. In smaller doses, however, it merely induced a mild lethargy. Probably the only reason Elpida hadn’t strangled me yet.

She’d just celebrated her fortieth year, but I didn’t have any illusions about the woman’s strength. Or her ferocity. Might’ve even been a match for myself—in her prime, anyway. Years as a guide in the Far Wild had left her with an intimidating physique, as well as a latticework of scars. They ran across her face, arms, and likely the rest of her as well. Milk-white lines, sometimes smooth, sometimes jagged, they stood out all too well against her darkly tanned skin, and told stories her words never would.

“You drag that cursed thing all the way here just to stare at me?” Elpida said, pulling me from my thoughts. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, you know that, right?”

Trouble? Ha. I had to stifle a laugh at that. Some might call me trouble now, but one day, when historians wrote of the early years of their greatest hero, they’d know this is where it’d all begun.

Their texts would speculate about my mysterious upbringing—everyone loved a mysterious upbringing—as a caravanner’s assistant on distant trade routes. They’d reminisce about my regal mustache, similar to those favored by the far westerners, but surpassing them in every way. They’d wax poetic about my fine, black hair. Curly, light, and perfect for blowing dramatically in the wind. They’d recount with awe my manly sideburns, grown out to my cheekbones and shaved in the fashion of spear points.

Yes, the historians would immortalize my daring, my devilish good looks, and my whip-like wit. They’d write many things of my rise to kingship, but there was no doubt they’d all agree: everything had started here, with this gentleman adventurer who looked like trouble.

“Look, Senesio,” Elpida said, and now her eyes were tired. “I don’t have time for... ” She gestured to me, then the wagon. “Your nonsense. You captured the impaler, so thank you. Now stop panicking the townsfolk. Kill the beast and collect the bounty from the trading post like always.” She ran a hand over her scar-filled scalp, fingers brushing through the bald patches where the hair wouldn’t grow back. “I’m far too busy right now.”

Busy? That gave me pause. Busy didn’t happen in Lekarsos. Something was up.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance? Surely one of my many talents would be well-suited to the task?”

“You’re literally the last thing I need to be dealing with,” she said, and now the usual bite was back in her voice.

“If you’re referring to that, uh, fire, ma’am,” Marcos said, “we were definitely hunting the impaler on the other side of Lekarsos when it, uh, happened—”

I cut him off with a gesture and a hiss. Idiot.

Elpida narrowed her eyes at him, then me, but didn’t say anything.

I gave her a reassuring smile, then turned back to the laborers to shoo them, and the wagon, away.

“Come on, boys. Off to the trading post we go.”