Max Elliot caught a whiff of something foul.
The stench was carried along by the cool desert breeze, whistling as it skidded along the rough canyon walls. The smell juxtaposed against the fresh air to which he was accustomed.
Standing on the edge of the township of Vigilance, Max peered out into the evening twilight. Ahead, he could make out torches on the winding path leading up into the town, their light dancing against the rock walls jutting up into the sky.
Six oxen pulled a rickety old cart with a worn blanket covering an enormous bulging object set atop it. Several men walked alongside it, forming a traveling caravan. There was one man whom Max instantly recognized from his gait and frame. His uncle Oren walked at the lead holding the largest torch, guiding them home.
Max’s heart leaped. The huntsmen had returned. His father would be back. But where was he? Max’s eyes darted as he sprang to his feet. The darkness made it hard to pick out members of the group. What was it they carried in the cart? Whatever it was, it smelled awful. The pungent smell became thicker the closer the group came toward him. Hopefully not another rotten corpse.
The last time the huntsmen had scavenged a rotten corpse, half the town turned in sick. They survived just fine. Living in the Wastes made for a hardy breed. But it wasn’t pleasant.
“Max?” Oren shouted as they moved forward. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” Max said, excitedly. “What have you got there? Where is Father?” He’d always wanted to become a huntsman, just like his father and uncle. A few more years and he would be one too. But the Wastes were a dangerous place and it took a good degree of strength and skill to survive, and much more to come back with food for others.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
As the cart pulled forward, curiosity writhed within him. Surely his father hadn’t split from the group?
He waited. The townsfolk were beginning to gather nearby, eager to meet the returning band that slowly neared the edge of town. The stench had caused a few of them to cover their noses, but they couldn’t help wondering what the hunt had brought back this time.
The caravan halted at the forefront of the township of Vigilance. A crowd of three dozen people by now had amassed to greet them.
Oren raised a hand, drawing their gaze. “I suggest you turn away the eyes of young children,” he said, firmly. Oren had a commanding tone. Strong yet kind. “It is for the best.”
Several townsfolk sheathed the eyes of their young, while most sent their children back into their homes. One or two ignored the suggestion. Oren himself was too old for that sort of thing by now. And besides, he very much wanted to know what was in the cart.
"I'm afraid we haven't brought food today, but something far more dangerous," Oren said, his eyes darting toward the object
What could it be? Max wondered.
“Show us,” a burly man said from the crowd. It was Mayor Hendricks. “You’ve woken nearly half the town. If it isn’t food, then what is it?"
Not true, Max thought to himself. It was dark but most people wouldn't be asleep. Most of the daytime was shrouded in darkness in Vigilance as well as the rest of the Wastes.
“Very well,” Oren said, nodding. He reached for the cloth blanket covering the cart. In an instant, he pulled it back like a dagger from a sheath.
The crowd gasped.
A woman nearly fainted. Max’s stomach lurched. His mouth gaped in shock. It couldn’t possibly be.
A child cried near the back of the crowd. The babe’s shrill scream rang in Max’s ears. Didn’t Oren just say to take the children away?
The men unloaded the object, if one could call it an object.
It was an enormous, demonic head nearly as large as a dozen men. It had massive curled horns, hundreds of fanged teeth, and two bloodied, burning eyes.
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