The Facility, Eganene
All the noise in the valley was coming from around the corner. Carl could hear the clash of steel, the screams of dying men and then occasional burst of gun fire. His men were behind him. Some were his friends, the rest a group of Yillel that he had met in the woods. Last night at the meeting, they had decided to mix their groups. He hoped it had been the correct decision.
He jogged quickly, ignoring the sweat that dripped from his forehead into his eyes and fighting the urge to look at the woods. Veri lingered there, hidden with some of the Yillel women while she waited for his signal. The field smelled strange. Instead of dirt and grass, he smelled smoke and spices.
Half of his group peeled off towards to the open gate. They would prepare the way, clear a path for them so that they could enter together. He rounded the side and slowed, the men crowding close behind him, organizing themselves into a wedge. Their job was to engage the men who had left the gate.
The clearing was covered in thick purple smoke, the haze sitting in the wind unnaturally. A heavy sphere of it lay only a few hundred yards away while the battle was hidden in stuff. Carl stalked closer, letting his mind go blank. His eyes unfocused, seeing the broad picture.
Men fought within the mist, but the Yillel moved through it with relative ease. The smoke seemed to blur their shapes, while The Family men were left exposed. It surrounded the Dogs, hiding their opponents and obscuring their vision so that the stumbled and were separated from their allies.
Malachi touched his arm, his eyes searching Carl’s face, “We need to keep moving. The men at the gate will need our help.”
He glanced at his friend’s arm, seeing the ragged hole where a bullet had grazed him, “What about this smoke?”
Two women, Yillel warriors, spoke up behind him, “The smoke is harmless to us. Our little sister and brothers have set it to confuse our enemies.” She touched the band of chainmail on her arm. “This will keep us safe.”
“That solves that,” Malachi said.
But Carl put a hand on his chest, stopping him, “Look! Look there! I see something, flashes of light.”
“The witch helps us,” the prettier woman said. She had ribbons of brown and black woven into a a group of braids at the back of her head.
Several mounted men fought feverishly in the center of the battle. One in particular, a younger man, had two swords in hand. He was directing his horse with his thighs, his blades slashing left and right, clearing the area around him. Carl had never seen anyone fight like that before. It was like the beast knew what his rider wanted.
He turned his back on the battle. “Listen!” he said hurriedly, shouting over the din. “The smoke will not harm us, it obscures our enemy’s sight. We finish these Dogs and then rally at the gate.”
“Huzzah!”
Carl gave them a fierce smile and moved purposely towards the first band of smoke. The sword in his hand gave him comfort, and the Yillel women had been true to their word. As soon as his body entered the purple cloud, it parted from him, sliding away from his chainmail like oil from water. It billow about him like a protective shield, but he was able to see clearly.
Following the flashes of light, he stalked through the smoke. It was good to have some cover, but he would have preferred the forest darkness to this strange haze. Keeping an eye out for the witch, he squinted, trying to see movement, to see the tell-tale swirl of purple that would herald his enemies. The ground beneath his feet was wet and marshy like the forests around his home, the mud sucking at him with every step.
He wasn’t worried about the sound. Screams and clashes echoed on either side of him. Stealth was impossible on the battlefield. He needed to think like a warrior, not a Hunter. It wasn’t the easiest translation; his senses screamed at him to move slowly, to take cover, to wait.
But he could do none of those things. Time was important. Their group needed to neutralize the men outside the gate, so those on the interior wouldn’t be flanked. Working room to room inside the Facility was going to be hard enough. They had agreed that finishing any external forces was the first priority.
The smoke was thinning, the air growing cleaner and brighter with every step. The Dogs would be waiting for them in the open air, hoping to catch them unprepared. Carl slipped from the smaller pool of smoke expecting an attack. He could feel Malachi at his side, and Guyan and Sam materialized seconds later.
Clang! he was able to get his sword up in time, turning the man’s blade from where it was aimed at his heart. There were three men in all, Carl’s opponent striking first. The Dog swung at him twice and he gave ground looking for an opening. He backed into the smoke and it closed around him, the haze dissipating as his armor passed through it. The Dog followed, but the fog clung to him. The purple was darker and thicker around the man’s body.
It was easy to see him, to gauge his movements. Carl stepped forward, dropped low to the ground and took out the man’s legs. He finished the job, driving his sword into his heart. The whole thing lasted only seconds.
He ran, hurrying back to his friends. One man was already down, and Carl saw the flash of Malachi’s long daggers sever the last man’s head from his neck. The rest of Carl’s group appeared from the smoke, reorienting themselves and finding their position.
The main battle was right in front of them. Screams and clangs filling the field with sound. They needed to do this together, to hit the Dogs with a wedge and break them. He took a breath and yelled, calling the men to his side.
And then they were running, thirty men yelling at the top of their voices. All their fear, all their worries, exploding out into the morning air. It erased all thought. There were only the men in front of him, the murderous monsters he had come here to kill. Most were fighting inside the smoke, but a group had hung back, were waiting at the edge. Carl lifted his sword, his hand squeezing the leather pommel.
Lines of fire swept by on either side of him, the passage marked by a rushing sound that eclipsed the noise of battle. Carl flinched, but kept running, his feet churning the ground to mud. The flames took down two men in front of him. One minute they were alive, turning towards the Carl’s men, and the next, they were falling. He saw the burn wounds in their backs, charred black ruins the size of his fist. The cauterized hole was burned straight through. Hopefully, the witch had good aim.
Inside the purple smoke, men screamed and died. Carl sought out those he had seen on horseback. There were only three of them now. Of those that remained, there was an old man with a forked beard, a woman wielding a bow, and a younger man with a golden beard. They were protecting the wall at their back, giving the men behind them time to climb the grappling ropes.
It was there that the Dogs were concentrated. He counted ten men, although it was hard to get an accurate figure. “To me,” Carl shouted, fighting his way toward the horses.
“Huzzah!”
He knew little of the Yillel, but he approved of their battle cry. He ran into smoke, seeing the shapes shifting in the purple shadows. It parted for him as he ran. It was a strange experience, almost as though he brought with him the wind to cleave it in two.
The three mounted warriors were engaged. The woman was using her bow to pick off the men on the wall while the golden man swept his blades to either side of his mount. Carl saw the horse rear, driving its hooves into a Dog’s chest.
Suddenly, a man spun out of the smoke beside him. His clothes were all black, the buttons on his coat sparkling in the light. Carl dove to his right, rolling so that he came up at the man’s back. Gunshots detonated.
For a second, he couldn’t move. His ears rung with the sound, his damaged hearing making the noise bounce through skull. The man began to turn, tracking him, but Carl rallied. He slammed his feet into the muddy ground and rose up, driving the point of his sword up into his opponent’s stomach.
Behind him, Malachi and Guyan were occupied with two more men. Carl picked Guyan’s Dog, slashing into arm while the boy finished the job. Carl wanted to say something, to tell him he had done the right thing, but there wasn’t time. If they both survived this fight, they could have the heart-to-heart the boy had been avoiding.
Malachi killed his man and they began moving again. Carl took the lead, Malachi, Guyan and Sam his deadly tails. They killed four more men before they reached the horses. By then, the floor was littered with the dead. Carl chose his steps carefully, avoiding the bodies, and the wetter pits of blood and mud. Above him, the climbers that had survived had crested the walkway and disappeared.
Goldenbeard’s horse was wounded, a bright red gash opened on its muscular chest. While Carl watched, the man scrambled to his feet on the back of his mount, paused for only the slightest moment and then jumped down into the purple smoke. Instantly, the haze parted for him, revealing two Dogs.
Both men were armed, one with a sword and the other with a gun. As Carl ran to help, he saw Goldenbeard strike the Dog with the sword. From all that he had seen, he expected him to kill his man in one blow.
But the swordsman was a fighter. The two locked into battle, the clashes and clangs coming faster and faster as they whirled. The Dog with the gun was forgotten. Carl knew what Goldenbeard was thinking, how the world shrunk to nothing. It would be all he could do to turn away his opponent’s blade, to find an opening to counterattack.
The Family man was reloading, his hands fumbling with his weapon as he tried to watch Goldenbeard’s fight. Carl hadn’t stopped, but now he ran faster, driving his legs into the mud. At this distance, if the man reloaded, he could shoot them one by one from close range.
Malachi was beside him. He could feel his friend’s presence. They had fought together enough times that this had become natural. Carl wanted to look back, to see if Sam and Guyan were behind him, but he didn’t dare.
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Fifty feet and closing.
On his left, the other mounted fighters were leading Goldenbeard’s horse away. Perhaps they could see Carl and his men were coming to help.
Forty feet.
Blasts of white light took down two men Carl hadn’t seen, their bodies falling out of the purple smoke. He leapt over them, ignoring the jolt of fear that threatened to make him stumble. The man had loaded the final bullet into his six-shooter and spun the wheel.
Goldenbeard was hard pressed. The man he was fighting was no average warrior. Their blades moved too fast to follow, flicking through the air and leaving nothing but streaks of reflected light in their wake. Carl didn’t know how Golden beard kept up, his arms moving faster and faster, parrying and countering every blow just seconds before it connected with his flesh.
Close enough, Carl could see the Dog’s clothes, the fine quality of his armor. Goldenbeard was fighting one of the Family’s elite, one of the Brotherhood. He had never seen one of them himself, but it appeared their reputation was well founded. The man moved unnaturally, as though he had majic in his sword.
Goldenbeard would have to deal with him alone. The Dog with the gun was lifting his weapon, his fingers pulling back the hammer. The man took aim, but he was struggling to find a good shot. Goldenbeard and the Brother were moving too fast and the Dog didn’t want to hit his partner.
Carl burst from the smoke, aiming not for the Dog, but for his gun. The weapon discharged just as he hit it. Carl kicked it away and slid into position, his back to Goldenbeard. His ears rung with pain. The last shot had been too close, blasting away what little hearing he had left. The world’s sounds were reduced to a high pitched screeching noise.
It felt like something was torn inside him. He pitched to the side, but managed to keep his feet.
The Dog pulled a knife from his side, and Carl straightened, smiling at him. Wounded or not, he would see this man dead. The Dog was a gunslinger, not a fighter. Carl would cut him down.
He watched the man’s face, smelled the piss that ran down his leg. He was going to kill this man, for his dead friends and all the girls the Family had tortured. Inhaling, he brought his sword up.
Something hit him from behind, hit him hard. Carl’s legs went out from under him, and he fell sloppily, coming down on his sword arm. Before he had a chance to right himself, The Dog’s head hit the ground beside him, the arc of blood spraying red into the sky. Carl recognized Malachi, saw his friend standing over him.
Goldenbeard must have lost.
Malachi had killed the man with the gun, but now he and Guyan were fighting for their lives.
Carl tried to roll out of the way, to move without unbalancing his friends. They seemed to dance, shifting about in the mud as Carl tried to get his equilibrium. It had to be his damaged hearing, the world lifting and slipping as though he were drunk. He felt someone grab his arm.
It was the horseman with the forked beard, his eyes raking over Carl’s face, his mouth speaking words Carl couldn’t not hear.
He let the man pull him up, to lead him away from his friends. He would be no help to them now, nothing but a liability they would have to protect. The man took him to Goldenbeard’s corpse. The man was young, much younger than Carl had expected. The memory sparked. He did know him!
This was the young Hunter he had spoken to so many weeks ago, the one who he’d met in Faenella. Carl had told him to speak to Jamison, to look for Bounty work.
He realized the old man was trying to tell him something. Carl watched him put his arms under Goldenbeard’s shoulders and pull him a few feet. Then, he pointed to the woods behind them.
The old man wanted him to drag him into the woods.
There were two problems with that. One was that Carl was having trouble keeping his balance as it was. The second, was that Goldenbeard was dead. He had a hole in the side of his head, a bleeding gash where a bullet had ripped through his scalp above his ear.
Carl could see the white of bone. The boy’s blood covered the side of his face and colored his tunic red. And it wasn’t just the bullet wound. Strange blue scars crisscrossed the side of his neck, raised like worms burrowing under his skin.
While he had been thinking, the old man had ripped a strip of his tunic off. He knelt beside Goldenbeard and tied the cloth around the hole in his skull. Perhaps the man was his son. Carl looked back into the smoke, trying to see his friends. He felt bad for the old man, but there was nothing to be done. Dead was dead.
The purple haze waved and rolled around them. It seemed thicker than it had before, as if it had grown in strength, or as though someone had set more fires. Carl needed to get back to the woods. He had to find Veri, to help her do what must be done.
The old man was shaking his arm. Two children stood beside him, having appeared in the last minute. Both were little girls, with wide eyes and ribbons in their hair. The man mimed carrying Goldenbeard again.
Carl shook his head. Even if he couldn’t hear, he could still speak, “He’s dead. I need to get back to the woods.”
“Carry him. Drag him,” the man said, and this time Carl read his lips.
He hadn’t known he could do that.
“The children will help you. Get him to the witch. She may be able to help you, too.”
Carl frowned. If the witch could help with his hearing, then it was worth a shot.
Decided, he sheathed his sword and bent down, pushing his arms beneath the man’s shoulders. He wouldn’t be able to carry him, not with his balance like this, but he should be able to drag him.
It was painstaking work. The children guided him, their hands on his arms, pushing and pulling, helping him to navigate his way through the purple maze. He wanted to draw his sword, to protect them, but he couldn’t do that and drag Goldenbeard. Instead, his back was exposed and images of death filled his head.
The children stopped him, laying their hands on his chest so that he looked up into their eyes. As they pointed behind him, Carl saw that he had made it.
The woods were filled with women and children. All those who hadn’t gone into battle were grouped at the edge, armed with knives or carrying clay pots. There had been shards of pottery all over the battlefield. They had been the ones to make the purple smoke.
The women were talking, not to him but to one another. He turned in a slow circle, trying to understand what was happening, to figure out what they were trying to say. The girl at his arm was shaking her head. He knelt down beside her, gesturing at his ears.
“They are singing,” the girl said as Carl read her lips. “The mourn for the dead and dying. They are sending their souls to the gods.”
“Which one is the witch?” he asked.
It was strange in the silence. Carl stood in the shadow of the trees, turning this way and that searching every face. Without the sound of battle, he was lost. He was alone among the hundred Yillel.
Where was Veri? Where were the women he had left her with?
Behind him, several healers had gathered. They had stripped the boy of his make-shift bandage and were cleaning his wound. Carl put his shoulder against the nearest tree, steadying himself. He needed to get back to his friends, to find Veri and end this madness. He needed the witch to help him.
Thankfully, he did not have long to wait. He saw the women turning, saw them looking to the field. Their eyes grew wider and they took a step back before checking themselves. A vortex of purple smoke sped towards his position. Carl felt the urge to pull his sword, to crouch and ready himself.
Instead, he knelt beside the boy and waited. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, and he was fairly certain that was only his imagination. The woman resolved out of the smoke, running to throw herself on Goldenbeard’s chest. She was ancient and her blue eyes brimmed with tears.
The children fled, hiding behind their mother’s skirts or the nearest trees. All except the child who had fetched Carl. She kept her spot, her eyes glued to the witch.
“Help him,” the girl said.
The old woman shook her head.
Carl had spent time with the sick and dying. The witch looked beyond frail, her skin seeming on the edge of translucence so that he could almost see her skull beneath.
“I’m spent,” she whispered, her white hair dropping over her face like a veil.
The child knelt beside her and lifted up her chin with a dirty finger. “This Hunter brought him back here. He is injured, too. There is a little witch. I think she could help you.”
Surprise wrenched the woman’s face, “Bring her!”
The woman was exhausted. Carl understood that she had been battling out there since the everything began. She needed Veri to help her.
“Veri!” he called. His voice was strained with panic, although could not hear it. “Child! Veri! I need you!”
He saw the women on the mountain turning to look behind them. They had dressed Veri in new clothes. She wore a white dress that emphasized the darkness of her skin. Her hair had been brushed, the curls tamed with colored ribbons that trailed behind her back. Several other children followed her.
“Veri!” he called.
She ran to him, and he picked her up carefully. The child felt good in his arms. he held her tight for a moment, glad she was safe. This was not the time to equivocate. He was sure about what he was asking her to do, but he didn’t like it. She was powerful. She could stop the Family’s madness, end the torture and murder that went on in that hellhole. But she was just a child.
When he set her down, he realized she had been trying to talk to him. “What is it girl? I can’t hear you. My ears were injured.”
The girl frowned, reaching up to touch his face. Her fingers came away bloody. He’d ruined her dress. Streaks of mud and gore now stained the front. He wasn’t sure if any of it was his.
“Do you think you can help me? Like you did with the headaches?”
Veri tugged on his hand, directing him to sit next to Goldenbeard’s corpse. Her face was serious, all sign of happiness and innocence erased by her task. The witch, too, looked intense. As soon as Veri had him where she wanted, the old woman grasped the child’s hand and put a necklace into her palm.
It was a silver amulet, the green stone in its center dull and old. He wondered if it was powerful, if it would help. Majic and witches were beyond him, but he trusted the child. If she could help him, if she could bring back his hearing, stabilize him so he could walk without pitching over, then he could help his friends and secret Veri into the Facility.
The women around him started moving, forming circle after circle with the witch, Veri, Goldenbeard and himself in the center. He didn’t want to look away from Veri, but he couldn’t help himself. The women knelt, bowing their heads. They were not still. Instead, they swayed gently, the sunlight dappling the backs of their heads through the trees.
He could see their lips moving, too. Either they were singing or they were praying. Both were good in his opinion. He could use a little bit of godly intervention right now.
The witch had her head down, as well, and her white hair was loose around her face. Carl hoped she was sane. She didn’t look it. She had hold of one of Veri’s hands, her old fingers grasping tight, pushing into the child’s flesh.
The girl didn’t seem to notice. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line as she waved her free hand over Goldenbeard’s body. Every few seconds, she dipped her fingers down to touch his face. Whenever she did this, she also touched Carl’s cheek. Her hand was wet, and he imagined their blood mixing, transferred from one to the other again and again.
He began to feel drowsy and closed his eyes. He imagined he could her the women singing, that there something happening to his ears. The dirt under his hands was warm, the air around him growing dense with moisture. It was like being in the middle of a forest days and days into a drought. It was the moment that was building, the sky darkening with pregnant clouds, the wind picking up, the air feeling like each breath was half water.
It was growing more difficult to to breathe, his lids so heavy that he couldn’t have opened them if he tried. He was on the ground now, resting beside Goldenbeard’s body. Veri’s hand still touched his face, but the movement was jerky, the contact fast and rushed. The forest had grown darker around them so that the light hardly filtered through.
He was tired, unbelievably exhausted. The march to get to the Facility had been long, and he’d killed a dozen men before he had been injured. Carl was used to physical exertion, but what he was feeling was something more. It was like the energy in his body was being sucked from him.
No, Veri wouldn’t hurt him. He was sure of that.
But there was pain. It had been growing in his ears, a dull throbbing sensation that had been focusing into a sharp, prolonged stinging feeling. It grew worse every time she touched him. On the other hand, the man’s body was growing warmer. Carl was leaning against him, his arm resting on the Goldenbeard’s arm.
Something popped in his ears and Carl flinched, fighting the urge to cover them with his hands. In rapid staccato it happened again and again. Carl’s body jumped with the sensation, the muscles in his neck and shoulders bunching in pain. Goldenbeard was seizing, too. His torso was flailing against ground, his armor hitting Carl as he fell back down.
Carl tried to open his mouth to ask Veri what was happening, but realized he was no longer in control of his muscles. His arms and legs were weak and unresponsive, his jaw locked so hard that he could taste blood in the back of his throat. The pain in his head was growing every moment, and he tried to open his eyes.
Nothing happened. Only his mind worked, his body catatonic, his limbs loose.
The pain grew worse, extending far past anything he had ever experienced. It was worse than his sword wounds, sharper than a bullet hole. This pain was in his ears, centered in his head. It felt like lightening hitting the same spot over and over.
He fought to stay awake as long as he could, but eventually he could take it no more and lapsed into unconsciousness.