Jarl, Tharus and Clyde stood below the broken stone cairn and stared up at Lonastasius in open-mouthed wonder. They watched in awe as he contemplated the blood red tablet in his hands. A loop of iron chain bisected the block through a hole at the top. The halter dangled and dripped more crud as the young lad fingered the links. Clyde had called this object a death stone, but the sea drover had picked it up without fear because he knew the symbol was connected to his new identity.
The totem was the same shape as a schoolboy's slate, the chalkboard ledger a lucky child might be given to practice their letters. But this tablet weighed over sixty pounds. The chain through the top allowed the wearer to carry the burden around their neck, as this monk had done. The relic purred and felt alive in Lon's hands. It was self-stabilizing, like a spinning top; he marveled at how difficult it was to turn the piece over. Only one side bore the mark; the gold symbol was inlaid perfectly in the exact center of the smooth surface. This was what he was now, as Jarl had rightly said. He was different.
Lon had seen this glyph when he was on the altar; it had fed him and repaired his body. He'd seen it flash and felt it ache. So he knew this sigil was part of his journey.
"That ssymbol... It'ss Varget." Tharus used the v-word like it was the highest insult.
"Yes, I think so," Lon agreed.
"I know so. It's called the sun that never rises," Clyde said. "That one we know."
The youth motioned his companions to step back so he could climb down safely.
"What does that even mean?" Jarl asked. "The sun rises daily..."
"What is above so is below..." Clyde started. He would have reiterated how this was the sphere that fueled the underworld, but he never got the chance.
"Bah. Riddles!" Jarl said. He waved dismissively at the healer who'd just nursed his wound and supplied the last of his cloth bandages. The grumpy lion tried to walk but winced in pain.
"Lonny pleassse pitch that thing into the fallss," the swampkin pleaded as he helped his bandaged friend. "It won't hurt anyone down there."
Lon raised-up the tablet and felt its weight. He looked down into the mist below. Then to his friends' surprise he looped the short length of chain over his neck and wore it like a medallion.
The object felt different when carried like this; it felt like a big dog asleep on his chest, and it made him feel different. He could hear it whirl and purr, and he felt it vibrate his being. The stone's great weight pulled down on his collar bones and the chain hurt his shoulders.
"This is brave. If he doesn't carry it away from here, then it will just keep killing," Clyde explained. "It's self-perpetuating. Whatever the bargain was you see, it will continue for eternity. It will forever murder all unsuspecting folks or curious animals that touch it."
"Nobody can touch it under the waterfall," Tharus reasoned.
"It won't stay down there. Such things have a propensity for always popping up again," Clyde said. "He's doing a brave thing."
"Bah," Jarl fumed.
"This relic... " Lon relayed. "It purrs like a pussycat and seems hard to shift. It keeps its own balance." He adjusted the chain around his neck and tried to find a better carriage point. Even now he wondered if he could carry it, and how safe that would be? "It feels like it's made of lead." He found it affected his balance as he struggled to walk under its weight. "I have no doubt that it's as deadly as you say," he held up the block on his chest to show the sign on the pendant. "This is what I saw when I was tied to the Altar."
Clyde went wide-eyed at the revelation. He stared thoughtfully at the device as though trying to comprehend some hard-to-forecast future outcome of this auspicious development.
"Think again fool," the big cat growled. "If you carry that murder stone you'll doom us all."
"How's that?"
"You heard him. Such things have propensity," Jarl said. "You have a decision to make. Take-on that load and endure its trial, or throw it away and let's all journey together toward our homes."
"No. I will carry it," Lon said defiantly. He'd already made up his mind. "You can follow me. Or go your own way."
Silence.
"I'll follow Lonastasius," Clyde said.
Jarl looked ready to say something even more insulting, but Tharus covered his mouth.
"Come on," the swampkin likely worried he'd be the one left behind to nurse the big cat through a cursed wilderness. "Jusst keep tha thing away from uss."
-
The mounds of rubble behind the roc's nest were alive with shorebirds of all sizes. Lon had no doubt these flying fowl were also airborne killers who'd grow into monsters like their mother. None of the avian antagonists overhead seemed overly large at present, but they were really mad. They screamed with anger because they hated being hunted in their own habitat. The young lad looked back and saw how there was indeed a boiling mass above and behind, just as Jarl had described. They clustered there in growing brigades ready to dive and hammer unguarded shoulder blades.
This was the bird's realm and they were unwelcome guests. The residents had worked hard over many years to make their roost unfit for any other beings. An inch-thick carpet of creamy white dung covered the ground and dead fish heads could be seen all around the stone piles. The whole area exuded a pungent stench. The rubble strewn roost was coated with goose-down from centuries of summer nests and each sudden flight produced a flurry of fluff that soon covered the four fugitives.
"Group tight," Jarl commanded. "Lonny you walk ahead." The veteran arranged the company whereby he walked backwards with his arms around the necks and shoulders of Clyde and Tharus who lifted the injured cat to take his weight. In this way the four intruders made a square. They had one pair of eyes and one free arm available to defend each direction as they moved. Clyde was on the left and he watched the river, while Tharus was on the right and scanned the eastern slopes. Each supported the big cat who kept his eyes on the sky behind. In this way they passed through the aviary without incident despite the birds' airborne intimidations.
The Pillars loomed-up over the promontory ahead and Lon picked a path toward the gap between the granite peaks. As the leader, and with the Death Stone chained around his neck, it fell upon him to find the way forward. He went first and hoped the others would watch his back.
Just as he'd imagined, the river ran fast between the mountains and there was a rubble strewn causeway in-between. But several unsafe water obstacles prevented the party from following the stream directly. In search of a solution, he studied the ground. After a moment's pause he spied a footpath which continued-on toward menacing crags. It wasn't until he got closer that he saw how crude stairs had been chiseled into the rock.
The quartet climbed single-file up the riser until they found themselves in a flat canyon that stretched for several miles between the tooth-shaped Pillars. A stiff breeze blew through the gap. The four refugees moved slow and scrupulously maintained their square
It was noon and cloudy and the birds continued to circle. The river thrashed through a deep gorge on their left and the sound sent shivers down Lon's spine. He knew that to fall into that trench would bring certain death for there'd be no escaping that torrent. Anyone caught in that scar would surely get sucked away and carried out over the waterfall. Ahead was more rubble and the beginnings of a rock-meadow. On the horizon between the cliffs was a dark green haze that hinted at the possibility of an alpine forest.
After some time, the birds dissipated and Jarl shrugged off Clyde and Tharus to walk on his own two feet. The crew crossed another stony plain and everything looked the same until they spotted a split rail fence.
When they came to the feigor-made boundary, Lon admired how evenly the wood was severed. He bent over the rails and sniffed the bark before deciding it was pine and some of the cleanest timber he'd ever seen. The trees certainly didn't grow anywhere near this place as the ground under their feet was solid rock. These rails had to be hauled here by someone who lived deeper inland.
"Ssomebody livess up here," Tharus pointed out the obvious as he slithered under the well-built fence. The barrier stretched from cliff to cliff with an opening beside the river gorge.
"What are they fencing-in?" Jarl wondered, "or what are they trying to keep out?"
"And what shape are these animals?" Clyde easily slipped his girth between the top and bottom rails. Lon followed him but he had to take it slow with his deadly cargo. He crawled through the defense work and found a dirt path on the other side of the barricade. Now it felt like they were trespassing, although there was no way around.
The crew sauntered through some spectacular scenery as more fertile soil returned to the ground under their feet. Shrubs grew by the river. A sizable mountain stream on the western slope created a mesmerizing cascade that tumbled down and melted into the mainline crevice. The trail they hiked snaked through broken terrain but was flat and always led north. The peaks of the mountains that surrounded them disappeared into the clouds.
"Lon look," Clyde pointed at fresh boot prints on the muddy ground and the white-haired lad crouched to inspect the tracks. Jarl also hobbled close and peered over the clues.
Tharus walked ahead to crest the hillock and see what lay behind the rise. "Over here!" He cried.
When the others climbed the mound they saw a dead Crol stretched on the ground in a wide messy blood puddle. The bounty-hunter's corpse was cut with parts missing. He'd been an elite guard once; he still wore a mangled cuirass. His armour had been cut away and his body had been eviscerated by something with really sharp claws. One foot was missing entirely and the blade had traveled clean through the bone; the top half of his leather boot remained on his leg stump.
"Bird got him?" Tharus guessed at the manner of death. Jarl turned and stared at him incredulously. Then he shook his head no and offered more learned analysis.
"Cut apart like butchers' meat," the veteran pointed at the strange footprints in the soil. "Something else... really strong, very sharp blades..." he mumbled, and his voice trailed off ominously as he studied the footprints.
There was evidence of a struggle as the Crols must have tried to defend themselves. A small tree beside the gorge was splintered. The sapling's freshly shattered trunk looked like it'd been struck with a heavy stone and its top was gone. Lon wondered if he'd seen the branches go over the waterfalls a few hours ago.
There were blood pools on the ground and not just around the body; there were deep footprints and red puddles everywhere. Clyde pointed to a broken javelin with its bright metal point pushed flat. The weapon's shaft was splintered the same way the crab had done. It takes tremendous strength to snap an oak pole like that and so Lon knew the monster was huge. The dead soldier had been savagely mauled, but he wasn't the only victim. Blood trails marked where at least two other companions had run-off or been carried away. There was only one body here and a quick search revealed nothing useful. His armor was ruined and even his boot was damaged.
"Come on," Lon led his companions forward again. They followed the blood trail until faded. Either the sufferer's wounds had dried or the soldiers had died or they'd tried to cross the river. The dead Crol depressed him, not because he mourned the death, but because of what the corpse represented. The fresh cadaver meant they hadn't outrun their pursuers, and worse, an enemy force now waited ahead. It also meant something else. A monster lived here and it hunted all feigorin regardless of their flag.
After another half mile, over more knolls and hillocks, the saplings matured, and the grass grew more plentiful. These verdant slopes could grow crops or pasture animals Lon thought, but there was no sign of any livestock. A hedgehog's shrill whistle startled the travelers. The woodland creature was hidden nearby and must have spotted them for it issued its sternest warning, but when they looked about nobody could find any sign of the animal or its burrow.
Clyde pointed up to eastern mountain ridge, and Lon, Jarl and Tharus followed his noble finger to find terraced fields on far away hills.
On the eastern slope were green patches which looked like native crops. Many of these distant plots had little green bushes set in well-ordered rows. This was agriculture. Those plants could be tea trees or clothing dye or something that only grows at high altitudes. These native farmers would likely trade some of their harvest for basic supplies. Lon grew optimistic.
As the four explorers sauntered closer they saw how the holdings were enclosed with stone fences and how a tall watchtower guarded a motley array of tents. Their settlement was just below a plush treeline and the eastern peaks towered above. Their conical houses were covered in goatskins, and as tall as they were long. From these huts Lon thought he heard female voices joined in song. He stopped the walk and made everyone listen. But when the company trained their ears to catch the gentle notes they heard something else...
Aieee! A single blood curdling war cry sent shivers down Lon's spine. This was followed by a cacophony of other warriors' voices and high-pitched screams. It was a call-to-arms and it echoed across the entire region. The young lad could see a dozen or more respondents hurriedly mount animals that'd stabled in their homes.
The residents of this mountain valley rode goats! The tribal force mounted a queer cross between a black shaggy pony and a mountain ram. The young lad would have laughed aloud if it wasn't so terrifying. The hearty beasts had gruff beards and short black horns. The animals stood four feet tall at the shoulder and he noticed how the riders held their scruffy manes like carriage reins. They moved fast and covered a lot of ground real quick.
"What are they?" Tharus asked. He'd clearly never seen anything like this before.
"Are these the Seakin?" Lon looked to Clyde.
"No," Clyde said.
"They're wildkin," Jarl said, "Same as we have in Lambspetal." Then he looked to Tharus and clarified, "north of the Moba."
"Is there any reasoning with them?" Lon asked.
The lion merely shrugged as he studied the distant riders.
"They're probably not cannibals," Clyde observed. "They'd surely eat their pony goats before they tried any of us." His eyes lingered on Jarl and Tharus who did resemble edible prey.
Lon watched the wildkin cavalry advance over the hilly terrain. They'd rise and shout, and then disappear down into the next dip. A moment later they'd rise whooping on another hillock and then vanish again. Atop the third and final ridge the enemy split apart to cover all escape routes. They clutched short bows and lances.
A large figure in a rusty red coat led the horde. His face appeared lupine, that is to say, he looked like a wolf. He clutched a tall wooden staff upon upon which was set a bleached white skull ringed with blue bird feathers. He led the vanguard in a tight column as he advanced.
Lon looked about. The enemy could not cross the river. The rock cut was too deep, and the water gusher ran through the gorge too fast for their goats to ford. But of course Lon and his friends couldn't cross either...
"Tell us, should we fight? Or run?" Jarl asked the white-haired youth in a manner that suggested he had an opinion.
Lon was inclined to run. But where? He ran his eyes along the riverbank until he spotted a sturdy wooden bridge some distance ahead. It was on the same course they currently trekked. They could make it there. "We'll talk to them, once we're on the side," he pointed at the slender transit as he ran. He didn't look back to see if the big cat approved.
The four travelers sprinted toward the wooden causeway and Lon saw the chasm below was narrow and exceptionally treacherous. The river ran fast over the rough rocks under the catwalk. The log-bridge spanned a gap ten feet wide and because it was built on such sturdy wooden beams it appeared totally safe. The construct even had a waist-high rope line on both sides.
This was a good strategy Lon thought; it was a naturally formed pinch-point. He hoped Jarl had the same idea. Anyone that had ever been to soldier-school would recognize this as a good place to try and defend against overwhelming odds. These goat riders would not follow the fugitives across the span. Even if they did, they'd have to attack in single file and such a head-on assault could not be accomplished on goatback. But if there were decent archers among the pack then their group would have to fall back to the rocks and shrubs beyond. It would be a desperate struggle over there. Another batch of ideas for that contingency flooded his brain.
As they ran, all escapees looked for stones they could throw, or sticks they could wield in their own defense. Jarl stopped and traded his walking stick for a sturdier piece of wood that was in their way. Clyde considered the cat's discarded club better than the one he carried, and so he picked it up and tossed the branch he'd brought thus far. Tharus cradled half a dozen stones to his breast. Everyone expected to fight for their lives in a moment's time.
The lad could hear the wolf-faced general's rusty red coat jingle as he rode his goat. He could see it was composed of hundreds of thumb-sized copper leaves. The leader raised his skull and feather staff and his followers screamed defiance.
The sturdy beams didn't sway or even creak under his feet as Lon carried the Death Stone over the pass. He didn't hesitate or dawdle once he'd decided to cross. There was no time for indecision. A leader had to be fearless and he felt good about this plan. The bridge was well constructed and he never doubted its integrity despite the drop and certain death that would occur if it failed. Once he was safe on the other side, he called for the others to follow. One at a time, all of the renegades crossed over the raging river. As they waited for Clyde, who came across last, he realized they'd been trying to cross this creek for two days.
Once everyone was safely across, Lon searched for ways to unseat the bridge. Nobody had a knives to cut ropes, so he searched the ground for stakes to pull out. He reckoned that if he could wreck this crossing point on their end, they'd be untouchable. The furry foes would have to ride for miles to find a ford. But he could find no foundation anywhere on this side.
Then to Lon's surprise the sturdy construct rose-up all by itself. It pivoted upwards because it was raised-up by their pursuers. Instead of hurling spears or loosing arrows, the wildkin riders recovered sandy ropes and executed a well-rehearsed stratagem. The wolf-faced leader supervised others who reached down and pulled the lines. The narrow pass was rigged. What looked like a simple catwalk was really a drawbridge!
One courageous buckaroo took two ropes in his muscular arms and spun around backwards on his goat. He leaned back and hooked his elbows under his billy's horns and spurred his mount forward to raise the contraption in a perfectly choreographed maneuver that left no doubt in Lon's mind it was all part of someone's master plan. The lad realized then the wildkin were not trying to catch them, or kill them, but only sought to banish them across the river, and he could only wonder why?
Was this where the feigor-eating beast resided?