Ascendants of Ancients Sovereign (Worlds of the Crystal Moon, Book 1) (32 page)

Rising from his crouched position, George looked beyond the outlet. There was a drastic drop in elevation that caused a temporary lapse in concentration. The movement of the water was fierce and created a powerful sound. He shook his head and turned his attention to the rock beyond. Jumping seemed possible, yet intimidating. The gushing torrent would kill him if he fell, but if he did not jump, he would be left vulnerable to whatever was stalking him.

George removed a torch from his pack and lit it with an old cigarette lighter he had in his pocket when he was taken from Earth. He tossed the torch to the rock beyond to offer additional light to the landing area, counted to three and then jumped.

When he landed, he collapsed, cried out and grabbed his right ankle. He rolled into a seated position and removed his boot. Keeping the corner of his eye on the forest and his head lowered, his face was unable to hide his anguish. He was sure that whatever was stalking him could see the concern on his face, and his weakness had to be penetrating the dusk like a beacon.

He rubbed his ankle, put his boot back on, wincing as he did, and tied it tight for support. He stood and tried to take a step, careful not to put too much weight on his foot. But he fell again and grabbed his ankle. Reacting like a wounded animal, he groaned as he fought the urge to scream.

As the sun split the horizon, shadows lengthened. Then, as if a switch had been turned on, a loud, horrifying roar filled the air. Out of the forest, a large, dark figure made its way toward him—slowly at first, then faster as the beast began to run.

George hobbled to his feet, put his weight on his good leg, and then clenched both fists. His heart pounded out of control as the thumping footsteps grew louder. Once the beast was close enough, it launched into the air. But before the monstrosity could land on the first stone, George corrected his posture and balanced his weight on both perfectly good ankles.
Man, I hope this works,
he thought. His injury, a ruse to flush out his attacker, was no longer needed. Raising his right hand, he screamed, “Stop!”

The beast landed on the first stone and prepared for his final spring that would send him crashing into his prey. His legs uncoiled, but three of his four paws remained trapped on the stone. The weight of the beast’s upper body continued forward as his free paw bridged the gap. The cat swiped at George’s legs, grazing one of them with his claw and sending the human spinning toward the edge of the stone he was standing on.

The unbreakable spell of the snare scroll George had used on the first stone when he knelt caused the beast’s weight to pendulum forward into its surface. The creature’s face smashed into the boulder before the rest of his body. One of his legs, his neck, and the lower portion of his jaw crunched on impact, filling the air with horrid cracking sounds.

Despite the beast’s advance being halted, the damage had been done. George’s legs had been swiped from under him, and he was now dangling from one of the jagged protrusions of the boulder’s exposed face above the unforgiving rapids that crashed against the rocks below. He struggled to pull himself up, the rough edges of the stone were cutting into his forearms. It took every last ounce of his strength to save himself, and as he got his leg up and over the edge, he rolled over the top to safety.

With George’s chest heaving to catch his breath, the massive creature let out a cry of pain so deafening that he had to cover his ears. George stood and retrieved his torch. Looking down at his leg, he noticed the lower portion of his right pant leg had been shredded. The material was saturated and blood was flowing from three gashes that had opened on the outside of his calf. The wounds were wide, but not too deep. The beast’s claws had hit their mark and his leg burned like hell.

George reached for his pack, rifled through it and searched for anything to stem the flow of blood. There was nothing other than his Gucci shirt.
Damn it! I should have thought about first aid,
he thought.

He ripped the left sleeve off the garment and used it as a tourniquet, but the flow was too much. He tore off the right sleeve, and still the cloth was not enough. He needed another plan.

“Damn it!” he muttered. He turned to look at the torch. “I can’t believe this. This is gonna suck.”

After removing the saturated sleeves from his leg, he reached under his opposite pant leg and pulled a dagger free of its sheath. He held the blade in the flame until he was sure the steel was hot enough. He took a deep breath and placed the glowing surface on top of each gash to cauterize the wounds. His skin sizzled and his hair singed. His screams and the smell of cooked flesh filled the air as he christened the rocks with the undigested remains of his meager dinner that he consumed while working his way to the pool.

He wiped the tears from his eyes and turn his attention back to his injuries. He held the torch close. He had not gotten it all. A portion of the middle gash was still bleeding. He lifted his head toward the sky and shouted his disgust, “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me!”

He took a few deep breaths between curses, and then he placed the blade against his skin again. He suffered until he was sure the cauterization was complete.

It took many long moments to calm his nerves, but eventually, he turned his attention toward his attacker. Although the failing light made it hard to tell, George could see the sheer size of the massive feline.

The cat was enormous, and his moans filled the deepening blackness. With each cry, shivers crept down George’s spine, and it was a long series of moments before his battered nerves allowed for clear thought. He crawled to the edge of his rock to get a closer look, biting down as he suffered through the shooting pain his movements caused.

The giant cat’s free paw lifted to strike, but the pain the movement caused forced the beast to retract its primal weapon. A single claw grazed the surface of the rock. That was all it took. The magic trapped the limb.

George realized the beast was immobilized. After a few erratic swings with his torch to entice another strike, he was sure the creature was safely bound. This newfound confidence gave him the courage to get a closer look.
Holy hell,
he thought as he leaned out across the gap as far as he could.
That damn thing has got to be about 18 feet long.

He contemplated jumping to get a closer look, but the wound on his leg felt as if it might make the jump impossible. After thinking it through, he tossed his pack beyond the cat’s haunches.

Holding the torch high, he studied the area. Once he had his spot, he rocked back and lunged forward. As he landed, the wound caused his leg to give. He stumbled forward and came to a tumbling end on the broken body of the beast. The cat thrashed as the torch sizzled against its fur, and its wicked cries filled the night.

George scrambled to a small, secluded spot on the stone. The pain in his leg was excruciating, and he needed to pull himself together. By the light of the torch, he took what was left of his shirt and let one end drop into the water of the pool. Once the cool, damp material had been applied to his wound, he felt a little better.

He stood and stared at the cat. He moved the flame around to get a better look.
Amazing! The snare scroll actually worked!
he thought. He could not believe it was only a few short moments ago when he read the words of power from the parchment. The sight of the creature was impressive. The power the magic possessed to stop such a beast had to be tremendous.
I can’t believe this magic crap works. This is awesome. Abbie would be scared to death right now.

As he held the flame up, he could see the beast had different shades of brown fur. Its broken leg was bent beneath its body in a horrific position.
This thing must weigh a ton.

The cat continued to moan as George limped around it, wincing with each step of his right foot. The beast’s lower jaw was mutilated. It looked fake and hung awkwardly to one side. Both of its fanged teeth had broken, and they were laying on the stone not far from its head.

George’s mind was beginning to fight the reality of what had happened. He thought he was ready for anything the world had to offer, but this was the first series of moments in which anyone or anything had wanted to end him.

He remembered seeing this sort of beast in a children’s movie he had watched with Abbie not long ago. He remembered the cat having similar teeth. “I thought you were extinct!” he shouted, hovering over the animal. “What else does this place have to offer?”
I don’t think anything here is normal! Mages! Magic staffs! Treasure maps … and now, extinct beasts!
He shook his head.
It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t freaking matter! Bring it on!

He kicked the saber in the gut as payback for his wound. The pain of the impact caused the cat to cry out and sent George back to the edge of the rock to dip his shirt into the water to help soothe the throbbing in his calf.

The human had never felt more out of touch with reality than he did now, and he was losing control of his emotions. As he shouted a new set of fresh curses into the night, his exploits were being observed by yet another set of hidden eyes.

Again, George moved in close. During this series of moments, he would take a new approach. He tortured the beast with his torch.

The cat tried to defend himself, but he could not.

George watched as the beast’s fur sizzled, and its flesh fried. The saber went from an angry growl to agonizing cries. George’s heart was growing colder with every moan the beast made. He resented the attack on his life, and lowered the torch onto its body again, feeling no remorse.

Soon, the torture of the flame was not enough to soothe George’s need for vengeance. Reaching toward his hip, he drew his sword. He whacked the flat of the blade against the fractured bone that protruded from the cat’s leg.

The beast wailed.

Smiling, he whacked it twice more. He reached down and twisted the lower portion of the saber’s broken jaw. He tugged and enjoyed the beast’s suffering. George had never experienced this kind of demented pleasure.

“Here, kitty, kitty!” he taunted, poking the point of the blade into different parts of the cat’s anatomy while savoring its cries. He was careful to make sure the point entered deep enough to draw blood, but not deep enough to puncture a major organ. He did not want to kill his enemy yet. The torture he was administering was far too enjoyable to stop.

“Payback’s a bitch!” he shouted. “You tried to kill the wrong guy!”

He limped over to pick up the bloody teeth from the rock and then mounted the beast in a straddled position, groaning from the pain in his leg. He then lowered the teeth in front of the cat’s pain-filled eyes and jeered, “I’m going to make a necklace with these. I’ll tell my baby girl how delicious you tasted tonight.” After pushing the points of the cat’s teeth into its neck, George leaned back and shouted, “Here kitty, kitty!” A wicked laugh followed, chased by another pain-filled groan.

He slid off his furry chair and circled the beast again, poking it some more with the point of his blade. With each step, he continued to scream, “Here, kitty, kitty! Oh, here, kitty, kitty! My pain is your pain!”

Becoming bored, George raised his sword above his head and plunged it through the cat’s neck, ending the saber’s life.

Leaving the sword buried in the beast’s throat, George released the handle and leaned against the cat’s body. He opened his pack and removed his old pair of pants and used them to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He took a moment to breathe, allowing his heartbeat to slow down and the rush of adrenaline to stop before he stood.

He studied the bloody scene.
“Damn! Good thing the animal rights people aren’t here.”

Methodically, he severed all four of the beast’s legs to release the creature from its unseen bonds. Amazed at the beast’s weight, despite its missing legs, George had to cut the saber into 12 smaller pieces before tossing them from the rock to the ground.

Gathering some wood from the forest, he built a fire near an old tree trunk that had been pulled close to the shoreline. The piece of deadwood provided the perfect place to sit, and it was evident it had been placed there some seasons ago. A fire pit had been dug close to the log, and most of the ash inside the hole had blown away.

As he removed the rag from his wound and dipped it into the Pool of Sorrow, his senses were triggered. Something was not right. His gut feeling was telling him to be aware. He realized he was not alone and needed a plan.

George returned to the pile of meat and cut the large chunks of bloody flesh into smaller pieces. He put them into a pile, saved a few choice cuts to cook for dinner and then sat on the log. The now-experienced slayer of giant cats figured the flesh would serve as a distraction for any aggressive beast that might come along.

The night carried with it a slight chill, but the fire provided warmth, and it kept the area dimly lit. He had collected enough wood to keep it burning hot, tall, and strong until morning. His brief period of Boy Scout experience told him the flames would act as a deterrent for most animals, and with this knowledge, he smiled with satisfaction.