Morn, Sir of Febla: 33 Xiven

The more Kayin ran up the stairs of the council building with Dhekk, the weirder it felt. Dhekk’s reaction left a sour taste in his mouth, the way he reacted like he knew what was going on when there was no indication of a mob before now.

The politicians in robes shouted for “Code Marguerite” and assigned various cardinal directions to one another, began speaking in codes as they planned how to calm the city and call the guards.

Dhekk shouted for Kayin to keep up.

“I’m running with a twenty pound bag on my back!” he spat back. Heaving, gasping for air when they finally reached the top, he was granted no rest.

The bricks and the height difference shielded the stage from the commotion outside. The crowds from before multiplied, rushing, shouting, anxious and angry at one another. It wasn’t quite a mob, but a sea of frightened people panicking.

“C’mon, this way,” Dhekk said as he pulled Kayin down the main road. The man held the hilt of his longsword with a hand to prevent it from swinging around and hitting anyone they squeezed by.

“—it’s not safe!” one woman screamed with tears in her eyes. She held a baby close to her chest and ran in the opposite direction that they now headed. Most people shoved and pushed at Kayin and Dhekk as they retraced their path to the entrance. They weren’t fighting one another on purpose, but Kayin watched more than a handful of people collapse at the pressure of people trying to escape.

Those that tried to remain still and get any sort of information about what was going on were either shoved to the ground, into the group, or off the road. Those not burdened by shock screamed, pounding on wooden doors to let them in, or ran to try another building to be let inside.

“What’s going on?” Kayin shouted. After breaking off into a side road, it seemed like the crowd thinned in these less populated areas. More people found their ways into buildings, either by the consent of the owner, or in a couple cases, by smashing open a window to climb inside.

“Go back!” a tall woman in a full-length dress shouted at them, waving for them to turn around. “You’re going the wrong way! Go hide!”

“What’s happening?” Kayin repeated.

“Peka!” Peka?

If it weren’t for Dhekk pressing him to keep moving forward, Kayin would have agreed with the fleeing citizen. People should run away from peka, not toward. Especially if they wanted to keep most of their shoulder muscles. Kayin still couldn’t fully put his arm over his head.

“Dhekk—!” Kayin reached forward and pulled at the man’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a mob issue,” he said, now withdrawing his sword from its hilt. The remaining crowd gave way for him, now, opting to crash into one another rather than his blade.

“I—I don’t have a weapon!”

“We’ll get you one. Come on, the sooner we get there and help, the sooner the council will—” An ear-piercing screech interrupted him; the sound made Kayin’s legs freeze. He’d heard, as a child, that peka were pack hunters, that they raided first in stealth, then loud and violent with battle cries like this one. This terrifying, world-shattering sound that Kayin heard in his nightmares too often.

“Wait!” He’d managed to get his legs to move when he saw how far Dhekk had managed to get. He pushed through the weak feeling in his legs as he shouted, “did you—did you have something to do with this?”

Dhekk cast a single glance over his shoulder. “No, but I’ll explain after!” Now that was a really strange answer. An answer that emphasized the side stitch from the effort of running this much.

As they raced along the dirt roads that led to the gate they came in through, Kayin tried to imagine how Dhekk might have lured a peka to attack Urbana—or why, anyway. To scare the council into allying with them? Was he going to claim that Xiven sent a peka to kill them?

The citizens left near the gate were either recovering from being shoved and trampled, or injured and attempting to hide behind walls and bushes, in wagons or panicking and trying to get into shut doors of homes. One person even crawled on his hands and knees, pulling himself forward by the slats of a house’s walls.

The loudest, most horrifying set of screams rang through the emptying streets, echoing off of the stones. Kayin’s heart dropped to the floor. There was more than one peka. He’d only ever seen one once before, but now he hesitated beside a home the moment he saw the looming, hairy beast swipe. The peka that he saw when he was no older than ten years of age must not have been fully grown, if these creatures were actually this big. Seven or eight feet tall, hundreds of pounds. Their claws that shot out their paws were the size of fingers, sharp and thick.

The commander that guarded this gate parried a swipe from the peka she faced with her sword, dodging out of the way just in time for the beast to knock off balance. It was taller than her by a couple feet, broader than three people stood together.

Kayin could almost feel the immense power the creature threw into its attack, the vivid memories of his attack rushing to the forefront of his mind. The ash, the sour stench of its breath. He white-knuckled the fence he stood beside, urging his heart to slow down.

“Kayin!” shouted someone from the side. “Kayin, drop your bag!” It took a moment for him to uproot himself, but when he took a few steps to the side, he spotted Karsarath crouching by a small, blue house. Beneath him, a teenage girl shook and sobbed over her stomach. Staining her white apron, her blood rushed and spilled onto the floor. Her sobs, even now, began to soften as her hands slipped to the floor.

“What are you doing? Move!” Karsarath continued when he stared. Kayin’s shaking fingers slipped under the straps of his bag, peeling them off.

“I don’t have a weapon!” he shouted back. Almost as if answering him, Dhekk appeared on the other side of the fence, his characteristic bright light encompassing the iron-wrought bar on the corner. In an instant, he pulled a short sword, and called for Kayin to catch it. “Oh—thank you!”

“Go on, get out there!” Even though that was the absolute last thing he wanted to do, Kayin couldn’t help but jump into the street at Dhekk’s command. “You, too, Sarah! That kid’s not going to make it.”

“That’s not—”

Kayin held his short sword with both hands, eyes wide, and started toward the road with uneven and jagged steps. Without the weight of the backpack, he moved much faster, felt more wind against his face. And now that he ran into the afternoon light toward the sounds of struggles, he could get a clearer view of what was happening.

About half a dozen peka overwhelmed the small force that heckled them just a couple hours ago. The guard that spat at them lay, a useless lump, atop his companion right beside their tower. The guards from the other tower took turns swinging their swords, respectively, to distract three more peka.

Other beasts screeched and braced themselves behind the other stone tower, waiting, watching. Arrows flew by, sticking into the ground, keeping them in place. Growing, prickly weeds sprouted from the ground right behind them; in a few moments they would be tall brambles to pin them. Small, consistent volleys of one or two arrows showered either side of the tower to keep them at bay; archers, Kayin supposed, poised on a roof nearby. Cigam and archers, a deadly combination.

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Without another thought, Kayin rushed toward the two guards fighting against the three peka to try and even the odds.

His nerves vibrated through his hands; head on a swivel, his feet heavier than lead, Kayin held the short sword in front of his belly, just the way Karsarath instructed, and prepared it for a swing.

Another screech deafened him, causing him to crumple in on himself as he jabbed up toward the lumbering creature. His iron sword dragged through the flesh of the peka’s swinging arm, interrupting its upper-swipe.

And, just as Kayin had stolen its attention and drawn its attacks toward him, he took several steps back in its shadow, forcing it to turn to face him. When his sword slid free of the peka’s matted fur, he pulled it back with a shout. His body moved on its own accord, reciting memories from lessons he had long ago. Return the swipe. Keep the blade moving. Watch the claws. Shuffle the other direction, keep backing up.

Eventually, Kayin had to hold the sword up to try and stop the creature’s blow. Despite blocking it, his face tingled as he watched the claws miss by mere inches. The force against his blade—the peka must have been in absolute agony, from the amount the metal eased into its muscle—but it still pushed forward, more enraged than in pain. Kayin caught his weight on his back foot, shocked at the power displayed. This peka didn’t care that it was wounded. In fact, now that Kayin could pull his blade back and thrust again, he saw several other slice marks in its hide.

Somehow, he managed to push back against the force of the peka’s next swipe. His arms trembled from the sudden force; however much he tried to push back, the beast was taller, wider, stronger, must have weight three times he did. It had a distinct advantage at pushing him around. And so, in a moment of desperation, Kayin released his resistance: he stepped to the side, pulling back and away from the peka’s attack to let it slip to the side. It stumbled forward in confusion, and Kayin brought his blade up and stabbed down toward its now exposed back with all his might, shoving through the force, the fur, the squelching until his hands holding the hilt met with the sticky, bloody fur of the peka’s back.

He fell forward with his attack; the beast crumpled into the plume of dirt, and Kayin went with it. He clattered on top of its back, eyes shut to try and shield from the dirt kicked up into the air. But he knew he couldn’t stay like this; he rolled over with one hand still gripping the hilt of the sword, but had to rise and use all of his weight to pull it free from the thick flesh of the peka. As the blood flung from the wound, off his sword, another rush of massive weight shoved back at his blade. He hardly had time to register that if he hadn’t pulled his blade out at exactly at that time, there would have been nothing to stop this new attacker.

He slipped in the dirt, unable to get proper footing. Kayin kept his sword up, but fell back on his leg, dropping to one knee. The resistance lifted, and when Kayin opened his eyes, he watched the tip of a sword pierce through the chest of the peka that now faced him. It retracted into the ribcage, spilling rivulets of viscera, and in the next moment, this peka collapsed on top of its fallen comrade with a pathetic whine. In its place stood Karsarath, who held out a bloody hand for Kayin to grasp.

Exhausted, knee stinging from the force of falling on it, Kayin accepted his help and rose to his feet. Karsarath was fast at returning to his perfect form, spinning toward the next charging peka to point his sword right at it.

The advice Karsarath gave Kayin a couple days ago came to life: As Kayin swung toward the peka to get it to raise its hands, Karsarath stuck his blade upward to the creature’s chest, through its stomach as far as he could. When the peka retreated, he brought Karsarath with him, unable to dislodge the blade that now stuck on the other side of its sternum. The beast swung both arms now toward Karsarath, wailing in a sob-like scream. Kayin shouted for him, and brought his own blade to the creature’s left arm in an attempt to distract it. He was successful at least in that, but Karsarath released his grip on his sword and ducked down and out of the way of the other.

The peka fell to the side, limp and pathetic. One set of claws lashed out weakly toward Kayin, but missed as the others grabbed for the hilt of the longsword in his stomach. While it fell, Karsarath got to his feet and held out his hand for Kayin’s sword. He offered it without a word, and the man used it to stab the peka’s neck into the ground with a loud, violent crunch.

Panting, Karsarath pulled both blades out and returned Kayin’s sword to him. The splattering of blood against the road almost sounded like rain.

The scene grew quiet when one last screech died out. Kayin looked up to watch the swaying form of the last peka slump against the tower, a fifth arrow in its chest. The archers perched on the roof of the nearby home started to climb forward and drop down onto the street, and Kayin looked around to see that the commander was the only one left remaining of her team.

Too late did other heavy footsteps of armed soldiers arrive, clad in metal armor with crossbows and shields. From around the back of the right tower emerged Dhekk with his own sword, absolutely covered head to toe in blood splatter.

“No!” shouted one of the approaching soldiers. Kayin watched out of the corner of his eye as one of the dozen reinforcements sprinted toward one of the fallen soldiers by the tower. He collapsed to his knees to try and tend to his friend, but as Kayin took slow steps to convene with the others, he could see a distinct mark of peka teeth right on the exposed part of the neck.

The sight, the rusted and sour scent, made Kayin’s stomach hurt again. The soldiers weren’t the only ones to have fallen; people in simple and casual clothes, one even holding a rake, littered the edges of the city. People that were undoubtedly caught first in the peka’s raid, before they announced their attack.

The sword was too slippery, too heavy to keep holding unnecessarily. Kayin let it slip out of his fingers and clatter onto the ground as he took stock of the people around.

A couple soldiers remained where Kayin first hesitated and met up with Karsarath, standing beside the bloodied body of the villager caught by a peka’s attack.

“Good work,” panted Dhekk. “But stop losing my swords.” Kayin was hardly aware of how he bent down to pick it back up.

The silence of the scene lasted only a moment more. Kayin rested forward with his hands on his knees, struggling to gather clear breath amongst the dust and dirt. He stared at the floor, at the pattern of blood that slipped from his brow, and ignored the sounds of people shouting and screaming for one another, recognizing bodies of neighbors and lovers.

“My baby!” That voice was familiar. It caught Kayin’s attention, and he turned around to see Tempur, holding up the skirts of his robes as he rushed toward the girl Karsarath had pulled to the side of a building.

More people began to return to the scene of the battle. Dhekk used his shirt to wipe away the blood on his skin, advised Karsarath and Kayin to do the same as the recovered. He and the commander exchanged quiet words, sorrow, gratitude for aid.

“How did this happen?” Kayin asked Karsarath as more and more people flooded into the scene. Karsarath shrugged.

“I was literally—” He pointed to the other side of the tree line. “I was literally taking a nap right there when I heard them approach. I ran toward the guards to warn them, but they didn’t take me seriously. I think the peka, somehow, understood what I was trying to do, and launched their attack right there.”

“You!” From behind them, Tempur approached, shaking, crying, pointing at Karsarath. “It’s you! Your curse! You did this!” Karsarath seemed just as utterly confused as Kayin when they exchanged glances.

“I didn’t do this,” Karsarath said, gesturing to himself. “I tried to warn the guards when I saw them coming.”

“What’s going on?” Dhekk approached the trio with outlines of smeared peka blood still bright on his forehead.

“This—!” Now joining the hysterical Tempur were a couple of the other council members that spoke with him: the skinny man and the woman named Constance. “This is all happening because of your curse!”

Dhekk shook his head, seemingly just as confused. “This wasn’t the result of a curse.”

“Enough! Enough of this!” was the councilman’s response. He threw his hands up; even the skinny man from before put a hand on his shoulder to calm him; it was superficial, though, as even he stared at Karsarath with the horror and disgust that Kayin felt for peka.

The man murmured, “Tempur, we will address this tomorrow. Come—come this way. We must—”

“M-my daughter….”

“We are sorry for your loss,” Dhekk said, though his tone didn’t really sell it. “As we said we would, we did everything we could to help. Your commander, here—”

“Enough,” Tempur repeated through a sob. “M-my girl….”

Constance put her hand on Tempur’s other shoulder, urging him to turn around, as she looked to Dhekk.

“This isn’t the time. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

“This happened—” started Tempur again, even though he twisted around to follow the urging of his companions, “this happened because we let him live here without Cigam. We’re being punished—! This isn’t the will of—this is the will of the Gods! This was a warning!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Karsarath uttered, but the people of the council walked away.

The soldiers, the commander, and all the citizens that returned to their homes gave Dhekk, Kayin, and Karsarath a wide berth, leaving a small carving of the road for them to stand and attempt to digest what just happened.

Dhekk let out a tight sigh.

“If they say no because of you, Kathy,” he said as he turned to Karsarath with a glare, “I might kill you.”