The seven thunders, p.17
The Seven Thunders, page 17
“I thought we were monster hunting,” said Duma.
The flyway suddenly plummeted downward.
“Woo-hoo!” hooted Hermium. Tayori joined him.
“Where’s this go?” asked Tayori.
“Out. According to the map,” said Hermium. “Somewhere over the Bridge of Winds. Whoa. Look at that . . .” Hermium slowed. In front of him, set into the wall, by means, yet again, he did not understand, a long glass window that followed the curvature of the flyway looked out onto Glimmeroc’s steeples and slated black roofs and the full expanse of its groomed grounds. “Look! It’s Airjocks Gym and Four Winds Field,” pointed Hermium.
“You can see the Bridge of Winds over there. That’s so cool,” said Tayori.
Duma shrugged as she gazed out the window.
“Oh, come on,” said Hermium. “Even you have to admit that this view is cool.”
“You know what would be really cool,” Duma said sarcastically. “Monster hunting.”
“Party pooper,” said Tayori.
Hermium stared into Duma’s green eyes. She smelled like lavender today. “She’s right,” said Hermium, consulting the map.
Out of the flyway and through the atrium with statues and busts and peonies Hermium led them. They flew back the way they came and down the hallway the map said would take them to where fangists hid. The corridor grew cramped the further they went in. Their shadows stretched as fewer torches lined the walls. The air, stale. Monster territory, surely.
“I think we should walk from here,” yelled Hermium, sheathing his wings.
Hermium noted how the walls were less keep stone and more earthy rock. “The map says we’re close. Careful. The ground is really uneven,” pointed Hermium. “Tay, grab that torch.”
“There. A door,” said Duma. The door was big and metal. Duma searched but there was no key nor keyhole to be found.
Tayori set the bag of bear traps down to help her. “Maybe there’s one of those wind thingies,” he said, illuminating the door. The door, however, was unmarked. Its frame and hinges as well. “Well, I’m out of bright ideas,” said Tayori.
“There has to be a way in,” said Hermium, pacing back and forth in front of the door. He asked his suit, but it offered nothing different than what they had already tried. The fangist, it was in there. He knew it according to the map. “Son of a thunder!” yelled Hermium, kicking the door. “Open up!”
Hermium dropped his duffle and pulled out the Woe. He spit in his palms, looked at Tayori and Duma, and squared his legs to swing. “It’s a hammer, right? Let’s see what you got.”
The Woe struck like an explosion, blasting the heavy metal door off its frame and hinges and into the black beyond, where it crashed hard against stone. Rubble fell to the floor like an avalanche. Dirt and dust coughed into the passageway in billows. A single skull rolled to Hermium’s feet.
“A skull, that can’t be good,” said Tayori. “Handy that,” he said nodding at the Woe Hammer in Hermium’s hand.
“Felt like lightning,” said Hermium, breathing hard.
“It’s a wielder,” said Duma. “Did you expect it to be ordinary? The Hammerhands would be horrified if they knew you treated their wielder with such disrespect.”
Hermium’s eyes flared. “But I’m not at the Hammerfeld, am I? I’m here, at the Fourth, like you. And Fourthers, in case your know-it-all brain has forgotten, have Aeriatises, not enchanted hammers. It’s not disrespect. Why get attached to something when it’s only going to be taken away?”
“But it hasn’t yet,” retorted Duma.
“Hey look,” pointed Tayori.
Inside, lights flickered dimly through the tempestuous haze.
Hermium stopped Duma from going in. “I’ll go first.”
She sighed. “If this is because I’m a girl—”
“No. It’s not that,” assured Hermium. Tayori handed him the torch. “Take the Woe,” Hermium said to Tayori.
“You know it only moves for you, mate,” said Tayori.
Hermium nodded and took a deep breath and, with the torch in one hand and the Woe in his other, he stepped inside.
“Are you okay in there?” said Tayori.
“Guys, you have to see this,” yelled Hermium.
Duma latched the crossbow’s string just to be safe and rushed inside to find Hermium standing in front a crumbling wall of skulls. Her mouth was agape, speechless. The other half of the wall littered the floor along with the scattered pieces of bone from crushed skulls. Others, still intact, poked through the earthy debris like forgotten sentinels. The metal door in the corner had crumpled like tin.
“Whoa. I’ve read about this place,” said Tayori with a reverent hush. A circle of crypts surrounded the skull wall. Tayori grabbed the torch from Hermium and pushed back the shadows to reveal that they were, in fact, inside the mouth to a labyrinth of catacombs. Skulls with hardened wax dripping from their sockets were integrated into the tunnel’s stone walls. Tayori was in awe of it and explained to Hermium and Duma that they walked among Glimmeroc’s dead, and that the skulls on the wall belonged to Fourthers beheaded in the Great War.
“Fourthers in life. Fourthers in death,” he read from one of the inscriptions.
Suddenly the ceiling above the damaged entryway gave way and collapsed to the floor. They were trapped.
“The way out is blocked,” Duma said coughing. “Now what?”
“Help me move these boulders!” Hermium said frantically. “Use your wings.” Hermium flapped as hard as he could, as did Tayori and Duma, but the weight of the rocks and boulders was too much. “Arg!” he yelled giving up. “They’re too heavy. There has to be a way out that way.” Hermium pointed the torch in the direction he meant, towards the darkness.
“If I was a monster that’s where I’d hide,” said Tayori, swallowing.
“Well, we don’t have a choice, do we?” said Duma.
Suddenly, a terrible clinking noise came from Hermium’s bag.
“What the Tartarus is that?” said Duma.
Hermium opened his duffle in a rush and pulled out the severed hand. It rattled wildly and clawed at the glass frantic to get out.
“That can’t be a good sign,” said Tayori, looking back into the pitch black. “Did you hear that?” he said.
“That was a growl,” said Duma.
“More like several growls,” replied Tayori. “Uh, Herm, you might wanna ready that Woe.”
“I have something better,” said Hermium. Hermium set the Woe down.
“What’s better than a Woe?” said Tayori in disbelief.
Hermium reached for his duffel and pulled out the shock sticks and turned the crank. The shock sticks sparked. “Let’s see how you like this. Where are you?” he said towards the dark.
Duma heard more growls coming from down the tunnel and notched an arrow, seeing a plethora of yellow eyes. Tayori saw them too and ran and set the traps and put fire to the remembrance torches in front of the circle of crypts to provide more light.
The shock sticks sizzled with bits of lightning dancing on their surfaces. “I’m not afraid of you,” Hermium shouted down the tunnel.
The growls grew louder. A beast emerged. It wet its lips and sharpened it claws. It approached like a predator. But there were other sounds behind it. Other hungry stomachs.
“I thought you said there was just one,” said Duma, not sure where to point the arrow.
“Herm. This is not good,” hollered Tayori, backing away. Hermium had them back to the skull wall.
A fangist alpha emerged from the tunnel; its eyes cruel and yellow. They were the eyes that had hunted Hermium in his dreams since his send-off day. The alpha snarled at Hermium. More fangists separated from the shadows. Hermium touched the orbs together and forced them to spark. The alpha bellowed and unleashed a few of its fangists, while the rest waited, saliva dripping from their fangs.
The leading two fell to Tayori’s bear traps, and they were trampled by those behind them. Duma let arrows fly and pierced several in the heart and wounded some in the legs. It bought Hermium no more than seconds. He flew into the air and wielded the shock rods like clubs and punished the fangists with electricity as they jumped to bring him down. He let out a great war cry that echoed as he watched them writhe in pain, howling, and unable to move. The alpha roared in response and halted the attack. Those that could returned limping to its pack.
“What are they doing?” huffed Tayori.
Hermium landed and sheathed his wings. “I don’t know,” he said, catching his breath. “Something’s wrong with the crank. The sticks are losing their charge. Duma, how many arrows do you have left?” She threw the quiver down at his feet and showed him one.
“What do we do, Herm?” asked Tayori. “There’s no way out.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” said Hermium, grasping the stone as if for answers. Hargus flashed in his mind baiting his fishing pole. “Want the whopper. It’s all about the worm.”
“What’s he doing?” said Duma.
Hermium stepped towards the fangists with both hands in the air. “I know you want me!” he hollered. Hermium looked back at his friends.
“Goodspeed, no,” said Duma.
Hermium turned and faced the alpha; his eyes were mad and desperate. He reached for the Woe Hammer and swung it at the alpha, but the fangist, too quick for the inexperienced maneuver, knocked it out of Hermium’s hand. The Woe spun head over hilt and disappeared into the dark.
Prodded by his suit, Hermium pulled out the stone that was hidden in his pocket. His suit told him through images to fist it in his hand. Hermium squeezed the stone. It began to glow. The air around him swirled. Light leaked from between his fingers. The remembrance torches in front of the circle of crypts flared angrily. The candles inside the eye sockets of the skulls worked into the tunnel walls lit with fresh flame. Fangists began falling to the ground, burned from the inside. The alpha howled and released all its fangists to attack. Hermium held them at bay with a shield of fire, but it weakened as he weakened, and then fell apart into floating embers as he collapsed.
The boulders that blocked the way out suddenly exploded into the room as if set by munitions. In the demolished threshold stood the dark silhouettes of a standing bull and an enormous tiger. The tiger, albino-white striped black and ferocious, attacked the fangists without hesitation and used his massive paws to clear a path so the bull could hoist Hermium onto his shoulder.
Hermium barely held on to consciousness and his breathing was labored. “Who are you? What are you?” he said wheezing, while looking down at the bull’s tail.
“That’s not important,” snorted the bull, angrily. “But you are.” The bull gored a fangist and finished it with his hoof. “Come here, you two.” Tayori and Duma ran to the bull. “Rwaa. You know where to meet me,” said the bull.
“I will see you among the pillars of the sacellum, brother,” replied the tiger. The great tiger cut down more members of the pack and strode towards the alpha. He quickly found it to be a worthy adversary. They battled fiercely. And soon the tiger limped.
The brave tiger backed away and gathered himself, the alpha licking the tiger’s blood from off his claws. Undeterred, the tiger attacked again. But in his weakened state and his divine powers lost to him, he was no more powerful than an injured tiger of this world. The stronger alpha wrapped its arms around the wounded tiger’s chest from behind. The tiger roared in pain as the sound of his ribs cracking filled the catacombs. “Go, brother,” the tiger said, weakly growling. The alpha glared at the bull and snapped the tiger’s neck and dropped him to the floor in a heap.
The bull snorted fiercely and looked away and ordered Tayori and Duma to hold his arm. They disappeared in a whoosh of light.
“Where are we?” said Duma, retching on the balloon boat’s deck boards from evanescing.
The bull grimaced, sensing his brother death, and undid the tie lines. “Far enough away to be safe,” he said irritably to the persnickety girl.
“And where are we going?” Duma demanded, looking over the rail as the inhospitable bull pulled in the gangplank.
“Farther away,” snapped the bull, pulling the lever to fill the balloon with more air. “Look to your friend,” the bull instructed her. “He’s not well.” The larger boy was standing off by himself, visibly shaken.
“What’s wrong with you, boy, are you afraid?” said the bull. Tayori nodded and wiped his chin of vomit. “You should be afraid,” said the bull, matter-of-factly. “We should all be very afraid.”
Good. He’s stirring,” said the bull. “Find him something to eat,” he said to Tayori. Duma moved to bar his way. The bull snorted in her face and went up the stairs and shut the door to the hold.
“Slaver,” yelled Duma through the door’s plank slits.
“Harsh, don’t you think?” said Tayori. “He did save us.”
“Then why keep us down here?” snapped Duma.
Tayori stood up from Hermium’s side. “Watch him,” he said, sighing, looking about. “You’ve heard him muttering. He’s afraid we’re being chased. Something about Hermium using the stone.” Tayori rifled through empty cupboards and found mushy fruit and moldy potatoes and a stale heel of rye bread.
“That’s not the only thing he mutters,” Duma said snarkily.
Hermium groaned and opened and closed his eyes. They adjusted slowly. A dirty lantern shed its light weakly. He had a terrible headache and visions of a hooded figure with silver hair laboring over a strange book lingered with him when he wasn’t also seeing a phoenix rise from its ashes. He winced; his arm felt afire, but he could see no flames nor hint of smoke. He tried moving. He couldn’t feel his legs. He tried again and they tingled like all they needed was waking, as if he had slept on them awkwardly and somehow choked off the blood flow. Up above his head, the sound of hooves clomped and an angry voice came through the floorboards, railing at sails and how they should be better at catching the wind and at a balloon and the need for speed. The rest was muddied by frustrated grumbling, but “mortals” and “stupid way to travel” were definitely part of the rant.
Tayori placed a hard piece of bread into Hermium’s hand and told him to eat. He looked at it confused, with no appetite, dropped it on the floor and grimaced as he shifted on the pile of burlap bags labeled Sarassii Subavi that was his bed. The exotic roasted beans from the subavi farmers of Sarass crunched against his legs and made his head swim further. Duma stared at him with a firm look. “Where are we?” Hermium whispered, lightly massaging his temples.
“Easy. We’re on a balloon boat,” said Tayori, coaxing him to lie back down.
“Mm,” groaned Hermium. “How long have I been out?” He searched around his legs for his medicine pouch of Lymbic Syrup, and then realized that it was back in his room on his bathroom sink. “Mm. The room’s spinning . . .”
“Three days. The winds have not been kind,” said Tayori. “Isn’t that right, Duma?”
“How would I know when we’re stuck in this cellar!” she shouted up through the slats.
Angry grunts and snorts from above accompanied the sudden drop of the boat. “You just had to anger him, didn’t you,” said Tayori as he grabbed onto a post. The hull pitched left. Cupboards spilled open. Barrels fell over and sloshed a foul grog on the floor. The angry voice cursed at a valve that he accused of being ill-constructed and petered to grumbling as the ship righted and their descent slowed.
“Hey!” yelled Duma. “We’re in here, remember?” She pounded on the door to the hold and then turned to Tayori. “Any ideas on what he is that don’t involve New Briny Journal of Supernatural Phenomenon?”
“I think . . . he’s one of the enlightened ones that you hear about in Triune liturgy,” said Tayori.
“A demigod?” scoffed Duma. “As rude as he is? No. I don’t believe it. He’s a brute for the Brigand Brotherhood. Look at the way he’s dressed in his armor. We’re probably headed right now to one of their slave camps.”
“Duma, we traveled by light. Not in light, by light,” stressed Tayori. “I’m pretty sure a brute for the Brigand Brotherhood can’t do that. He’s a demigod. And I would have you know that the New Briny Journal is a very credible publication.”
Duma pshawed.
“Who’s a demigod?” said Hermium, massaging his forehead.
The bull opened the door to the hold in a rush. “You,” he said, pointing to Duma, “At the rail. I need eyes on our landing.”
“Why? So I can see what sick slave trader you’re selling us to?”
The bull snarled and yanked Duma out of the hold with one hand. “Get him up on deck now,” he said glaring at Tayori.
Hermium winced as he pushed off the subavi bags with his hand. It was blistered red but he couldn’t remember why. Everything hurt. “Easy, Herm,” cautioned Tayori.
Hermium pushed Tayori’s arm away and negotiated the ladder up to the deck on his own. He shielded his eyes, squinting, and stepped onto the deck amazed at the eggplant-shaped, netted balloon that ran the length of the ship. The black bull, with the hands of a man and one broken horn, stood behind the helm and barked at Duma to be clear at which way he should correct. She signaled left, and then right, looking over the side. The rigging ropes whined as he adjusted. Hermium grabbed the mast for balance. The front of the ship yawed downward as leaves and branches scraped the hull. They descended into strange trees, scaring bright-snouted leaper monkeys off their branches, and landed with an ungraceful thud on the ground. The bull threw anchor.
“Ouch,” said Hermium, slowly removing his hand from the mast.
“That hand needs medicine,” glowered Tayori.
“Do I look like an apothecary?” snapped the bull, muttering weird words as he set the gangplank portside and then jumped on the rail, peering for a clear view of the horizon past the trees.
“Is that code for your slave buyer so he knows he’s dealing with the Brotherhood?” dug Duma.
“Call me slaver again and I will gore you with my bad horn,” replied the bull. He jumped down from the rail and muttered something foreign just above his breath. “I alerted my brothers to our whereabouts. They will be here soon.”
