Light of Epertase 01: Legends Reborn (28 page)

Instead a child’s voice from behind the tormentors interrupted. “Get away from him,” the voice said.

The bullies backed away as if called by their mothers. The lead one wasn’t as tough anymore and he stuttered, “Elijah, w-w-we were just messin’ around.”

Tevin’s savior, the young Prince, did what even his own older sister could not achieve. He pushed past the bullies, took Tevin by his arm, and escorted him through the group to safety. As Tevin passed the other kids, he stood straight with his shoulders back and his chest out. He felt untouchable, special – almost brave.

Elijah assured him the bullies would not bother him again before running back to his sports. Tevin swore he would never forget what Elijah did for him that day.

Then Tevin’s dream slowly changed. The playground faded and darkened as if night had suddenly fallen. All the kids were gone, leaving him alone with the devils. Faces of bone floated in the air, surrounding him. At first he thought they might belong to the bullies but quickly realized the bullies were no longer there. The white skeletal faces cackled with screeches of pain. They shot toward his face like an arrow and he flinched, covering his eyes. Just as quickly, they pulled away. Again and again the faces streaked forward before fading back into the darkness. He couldn’t block them with his hands as they appeared between his corneas and his fingers. Even turning away did not escape them.

He remembered the terrors from before only this nightmare was different, more intense. The faces had never spoken in previous dreams, only howling in agonizing pain.

Until tonight.

One of them shrieked, “Teeeeevinnnnn,” then backed out of sight.

He held his breath. The demon’s voice was somehow familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it.

“We’re coming,” the voice tormented. At that moment, in all of his unconsciousness, he recognized the voice.

“Grandma?” he asked. “Why?”

Her skull shot in again with screams loud enough to hurt his ears. Before she could answer, he jerked himself awake.

His body was covered in sweat. He looked to the others, who were oblivious in their slumber – except for Siver, who still stared, seemingly immune to sleep.

The suns had snuck up on him while he was dreaming and the rain had turned to drizzle. He woke the others. They stretched, put their equipment on their backs, and continued their climb.

Siver approached Tevin from behind. “This is as far as I go with you,” he whispered. “If Rasi isn’t where we head, I am on my own.”

Tevin paused and turned. He raised his voice for everyone to hear. “You will not speak to me with such insubordination. None of you will. The great King has placed me in charge of this mission as he trusted my skills. If any of you want to go on your own, start from scratch, go ahead. You are not needed.”

He glared at Siver before turning and continuing his climb.

Siver trailed him again, but instead of yelling as he would probably have liked, he whispered. “I will stay with you for now but only because I feel we may finally be on the right path.” His tone, if not his volume, intensified. “But if you have wasted our time and the Princess is harmed, I will report your incompetence to the Queen at once.”

Tevin snorted and hastened his march.

As they ascended the mountain, the air became thin and choking. One of the soldiers, Brant, struggled to keep up. He stopped with his hands pressed against his knees. “Hold on,” he huffed. “I need to catch my breath.”

Tevin didn’t slow. He only shouted back at his struggling men, “Then you will be left behind.”

Brant didn’t seem to much like that prospect, especially since he wasn’t carrying the food packs, because he gulped in mouthfuls of air before marching on.

Homer sat in his wicker rocking chair on his front porch, fighting sleep. He wrapped his blanket tighter around his shoulders. Like a guard, he surveyed the landscape for any signs of movement until the suns set. Two days had passed since Doc told him about his guest, and he had been unable to sleep more than a few winks. He dreaded the possibility of such a big fella waking in anger, so much so that an old rusty knife set on a flimsy table at his side and every few moments he peeked at it just to make sure it was still there.

Homer had many doubts about keeping such a fearsome hulk in their home, but when he hinted they should somehow send him elsewhere, Irene made her compassionate opinion clear. So with no other choice, he was left with the distinct possibility that sleep would elude him until the mercenary was out of his home. Then he dozed off.

“
H
oney? Honey?”

Homer sprang from his chair and his blanket and fumbled for his knife, knocking it to the warped wooden floor. He blinked the sleep from his eyes along with the stupid from his head.

“Irene?”

“Our guest is awake,” she said softly. “I’m sorry for startling you.” She snuck back into the house while Homer gathered himself, rubbed his eyes, and then picked up his knife from the floor.

The house was mostly dark though a flicker of light came from the back hall and the room where Simcane continued his recovery. Homer squeezed past Irene and into the bedroom. The headboard was mostly hidden behind Simcane’s back and the sagging mattress appeared moments from failure.

His voice was dry and scratchy as he asked, “Where am I?” Homer was shocked at how gentle he sounded.

Irene stepped toward him. Homer reached for her shoulder, grabbing only air. “Don’t get too close, honey,” he said.

She glared at him and mouthed, “Stop it,” before sitting on the edge of the bed. “You are with friends.”

He looked around the room with uncertainty.

“How do you feel?” she asked while taking his hand.

“Tired,” he answered. His stomach rumbled. He lifted his eye to her. “And hungry.”

Irene smiled. “I’ll make some breakfast,” she said with a warmth only she could give. She mouthed, “Be nice,” as she passed Homer and squeezed his forearm for emphasis.

Homer leaned against the doorframe and stared through tired, bloodshot eyes at the hulk of a man. “I’ve heard about you,” he said. Simcane raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard what you do. For a living, I mean.”

“Yeah?” Simcane scratched the back of his head.

“I need you to tell me something with honesty. Are my wife and I in danger?”

Simcane stretched his arms above his head with a grimace and a moan. He licked his cracked lips. “Not from me.”

He tried to swing his legs over the edge of the bed but the pain must have grabbed hold because he winced, coughed, and laid back. Homer rushed to his side and put his hand on the big man’s shoulder. He felt guilty for his apprehensions and judgments. “Relax,” he said. “You don’t need to go anywhere right now. You are our guest and you need to rest.”

Simcane closed his eye. “Thank you, friend,” he said before drifting back to sleep. Homer snuck out of the room, retaking his guard position on the front porch. He was amazed that such a hard, awkward rocking chair could be so comfortable and within moments was asleep again.

D
awn. Irene shrieked loud enough to wake the dead, or at least Homer. He tumbled from his chair again and grabbed his worthless knife. He raced into the house. Irene stood motionless in the bedroom doorway, her tray of food scattered across the floor. Homer nudged her into the hall while crowding past.

“Who are you?” he shouted. “Why are you in my house?”

The early morning suns shone through the gap between the curtains. The stripes of light landed on a stranger who sat in the corner chair next to Simcane’s bed. The ceiling crawled with blood-red tentacles unlike anything he had ever seen. With a cautious eye to his ceiling, Homer stepped forward as any man would to protect his home. He lifted his knife.

“Wait,” Simcane yelled.

But it was too late. One of the straps lashed out, swatting the knife from Homer’s hand with enough force to knock him against his hand-crafted dresser.

The intruder rose to his feet with an intimidating glare as if egging Homer to come at him again.

Simcane motioned for Homer to stay where he was. “Is that you, Rasi?” he asked.

Rasi nodded once.

Simcane told Homer that Rasi wasn’t there for him, at least he didn’t think so. Then he asked Rasi, “You ever think of knocking?”

Rasi stood silent.

“Rasi, you’ve scared these poor people.”

Rasi’s stone face said he wasn’t too concerned.

Simcane sighed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. Not since the war, I believe.”

Rasi nodded again.

“Are you looking for Princess Alina, as well?”

Rasi nodded a third time.

“I didn’t think you were up for mercenary work.”

Rasi stared, emotionless.

“Well, if they haven’t moved her yet, I think she is in the Lactnee building in the warehouse district. Give me a moment, I’ll go with you.”

Rasi walked toward Homer; Homer flinched. Simcane swung his legs over the edge of the bed and grimaced again.

Rasi ignored him as he continued through the doorway. Simcane shouted after him, “Those savages keeping guard over her aren’t to be taken lightly, my old friend. There are at least three of them and they are as hard as iron.”

Homer shielded Irene as Rasi and his strange tentacles crammed past before disappearing through the front door.

Homer rushed into Simcane’s room, Irene on his heels.

“You have just met the legendary Rasi,” Simcane said. “As you can see, he is a man of few words.”

Something sparkled on the chair where Rasi had sat. Irene hurried to it.

“What is it?” Homer asked.

“Silver? Two bits?” she answered with a puzzled look.

Alina awakened on her moldy mattress, gaunt and hungry. The natural hue of her skin was gone, leaving an ashy, sick tone. Over the last week or more, she had developed a cough, left four fingernails lodged in the dirt walls, and could no longer tell if it was day or night or how long she had been in the hole. The small chunks of raw deer carcass that she was given every few days was not enough. She had lost all fight, along with any hope of being rescued. Her fate was written – these creatures wanted to steal the Light of Epertase and she was powerless to stop them.