The Vitalis Chronicles: White Shores (16 page)

He hadn't seen any people since he'd left the Cave. He didn't want to. He was afraid of what he might do. The rifle of the boy he had killed was slung over his back, along with a few ammunition pouches and a collection of rations he had dug up before fleeing west. They'd lasted a long time; he didn't have much of an appetite.

Ardin stumbled on a small clearing between soaring peaks in the Northern Range. At its center was a large lake, flat and still. It was ringed by lush trees and the snow-capped summits of the dramatic mountains and glaciers that fed it. The glassy water reflected it all, making it difficult at moments to tell which was reality and which was the duplicate. He sat on a fallen log at the water’s edge and dropped his gear. Head in his hands, he rested.

There were no more tears to cry. He had wept enough, though he wasn't sure if he was done grieving or had simply hardened his heart. It didn't matter much to him now, he just wanted the pain to leave him be. He breathed lightly, listening to the silence that encapsulated the scene. He'd made it a long ways into the mountains, farther than he had ever been. Ardin sighed as his eyes began to lazily scan the shoreline in front of him.

Small fish drifted along in the shallows, unwavering as if to conserve energy in the cool mountain waters. How fish wound up in a place like this was beyond Ardin. He'd never really thought about it before but he found it strange now.

His gaze slowly worked its way out into the lake as he thought about fish and admired the glistening reflections of the mountains. They seemed to go up forever; so steep he doubted even the most nimble of mountain goats could make a home on their slopes. They were treacherously craggy and awesome; their presence inspired wonder and implied the greatness of whoever had designed them.

Ardin's brow furrowed. There seemed to be some sort of pattern to the shadows on the southeastern slope of one mountain directly across the lake from him. He looked up from the lake to study the real thing. It took him a while to find them again. There was indeed a pattern a third of the way up the side of the ridge; it almost looked like large windows. His curiosity piqued, the young man grabbed his gear and stood slowly while keeping his eyes locked on the mysterious windows.

He started slowly around the lake, working out landmarks on the slopes around his target in case he lost his spot. It took him the better part of an hour to make it to the other side. He gave up his staring contest with the mountain after the third or fourth near-faceplant as his foot seemed to have a knack for finding hidden roots.

After a few minutes he found the windows again. They were somewhat larger as he had closed the gap by a couple of miles. Partially obscured by trees now, he could see that they weren't windows at all but ornate pillars and arches of some sort of terrace or open hallway in the side of the mountain.

He put his hands up above his eyes to shield them from the now setting sun. It was getting harder to see them in the lengthening shadows, but he was increasingly certain there were more openings across the face of the mountain. He had enough time, he figured, to make it up to them before the sun set. If not he could at least make camp along the trail he would soon blaze. He tightened his belt and began to enter the forest when a sharp pain struck his brain like knife through his temple.

He spun around as if he'd been physically hit and crumpled to the ground on his hands and knees, head down, breathing hard. He could hear her – the girl. She wasn't speaking, but she was in distress. It was as though Ardin could make it out it as clearly as if she was screaming for help. What the hell was happening to him?

He stood up with a strong sense that he should head due south through the valley that opened below. It was as if the compass that had been spinning in his head finally got its bearing and refused to budge. Ardin Vitalis forgot all about the windows in the mountains and began to run.

It took him another day and a half to get through the valley, but he soon found himself in the foothills south of the Range. He couldn't stop running, the intensity of her call had only grown and a strange energy seemed to give him strength to carry on through the night. He waded through another stream, gun and pack over his head, and entered the breezy forests of aspen and birch trees he had heard so much about.

The White Forests, they were often called for their most obvious attribute. Long grasses surrounded and caressed their tall white trunks in the breeze. The leaves rustled as if in a pleased response. The ground here was more even; the hills high but rolling gently.

Ardin turned right and headed west through the trees when he heard the first explosion. It was soft, a resonating concussion that bounced among the trees and died off in the wavering grasses. He picked up his pace, running towards sounds that everything inside him wanted to flee from.

Jumping over fallen logs he could hear the concussions increasing in frequency as he closed the distance. Then he saw them, two men in camouflage covered with grass and twigs. They were running away from him, and they were fast. Much faster than Ardin.

He didn't mind at the moment though; the last thing he really wanted was to run into one of them.
Follow them.
The itch returned, burrowing through his skull.
Kill them both.

Ardin shook his head as if he could dislodge whatever the source of the voice was. He was about to grab his head when his heart jumped in his chest. She was in terror and he could feel it. As if under compulsion, he took off in the direction he had seen the soldiers running. It coincided perfectly with the compass in his head.

The place looked like a war zone. Half-exploded tree trunks stood or lay decimated all around him. To his surprise he was keeping pace, maybe even gaining on them even as the trees sporadically obscured his line of sight. A strange sense of elation kicked in: the hunt was on. Ardin ran even harder, the hot energy coursing through him as if he would lift off the ground.

He felt free somehow, almost happy as a grin crossed his face. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but he was starting to feel disconnected. They were sure to hear his approach soon; he was making a real racket. Maybe he should slow down and –

“Hey assholes!” he heard himself yell as he dropped to a knee and brought his rifle to bear in a smooth motion.

The two soldiers dropped as well, taking cover and disappearing before he could take his shot. What the hell was he doing? His heart was racing in his throat as he frantically scanned the area the soldiers had just occupied. Oh God, what was he doing?

The thought no more than crossed his mind when the first bullet tore through the tree to his left. Splinters and chunks of bark flew at him as he covered his face with his left arm, but he never heard a shot. He hoisted the gun and dove to his right, away from the tree as another bullet whipped through the grass where his head had just been. He rolled and came up with his back against a larger tree trunk. Silence.

He hoped that his prey-turned-predators would make more noise, call out to him to surrender, anything to let him know where they were. His hopes were dashed, however, as he sat listening to the eerie silence of his impending death.

Why this was happening was still beyond him. He closed his eyes, rifle butt resting in his lap, barrel pressed to his lips. He prayed.

Ten o'clock, two o'clock.

Ardin's eyes popped open,
What?!

Ten o'clock, two o'clock.
The impression was as clear as if someone was speaking to him.
Twenty yards for the one, fifteen for the other.

He swallowed hard and knew what he had to do. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the assault rifle and closed his eyes. He'd never shot anything other than his father's hunting rifle.
You'll know what to do.

He smiled again, his writhing nerves contained somewhere near his stomach.

He could see them now in his imagination or something like it. He watched them taking up their positions behind cover. There wouldn't be much of a target exposed. He would get one chance, one shot for each of them. Ardin wasn't sure how he knew this, but it made sense.

He exhaled slowly, the calm of the forest standing in stark contrast to his situation and yet reflecting his newfound peace. The grass brushed lightly against his forearms, a bird off in the distance dared a quiet chirp. He opened his eyes again, clear and bright.

Ardin twisted to his right, planting his left knee and dropping the rifle into place. He fired the first shot without checking his aim. A spray of blood puffed out of what appeared to be a growth on a tree.

He spun back to cover as the bark was ripped off the tree next to his head. Continuing the motion he brought his gun to his shoulder as he cleared the other side of the trunk and fired at the top of a small boulder. His shot was rewarded with another large puff of blood that drifted into the breeze as the soldier’s head, camouflaged into the grass, was flung back by the impact. Ardin froze in place, his breathing now matching his heart rate.

The whole thing had happened in near silence. It would have surprised Ardin, who had never heard of guns firing quietly before, had he noticed it through the blood pounding in his ears to the rhythm of his heart. Moments passed before his stomach knotted and he lowered his gun. They were dead, both of them.

Ardin Vitalis felt sick suddenly. The clarity that had been given him hadn't left, but he couldn't help but feel like his mind was clouding in the midst of it. What was happening to him? He clenched his eyes shut as the voice worked to break through his moment of self-actualization. It wanted him to move but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He fought back, head twisting as his face contorted subconsciously.

Gritting his teeth, Ardin grabbed the sides of his head and pushed back against the voice. Wishing it gone, hoping he could somehow get rid of it. And then he saw her: the girl, her fear, her uncertainty. His heart sank into his stomach as if to release it from its knot, and suddenly he found his strength again.

She was close; it felt as though she were moving towards him now. He stood and began to run, avoiding the corpse of the second soldier as he made his way through the trees.

Ardin jogged down a small hill and slid to a stop. He no longer knew where to go. It was as if the clarity of his sense of direction was suddenly removed.

His idea of where she was hadn't been clouded, it was gone. He looked around, and not certain of what to do he continued in the direction he had last sensed. As Ardin jogged farther he felt his sense of unease grow. Something was wrong, the farther he ran the less he felt the energy that had been coursing in his veins. He continued running until he stumbled upon a draw that ran uphill into a steep ravine and down around a corner into the foothills beyond.

It looked almost like a dry riverbed to Ardin, and it posed a problem. For whatever reason this was a crossroad. He knew it, and he had no idea which way to turn.

Then he heard them: men grunting and yelling from up in the ravine. Ardin threw himself down and crawled back up the direction he'd just come from until he was hidden behind an outcropping of small boulders. No sooner had he lain in the grass than three men walked into the stream bed behind him.

“Why have I always gotta do the lifting?” complained the thick one. It looked like he was carrying a duffel bag full of gear on one shoulder and something else on the other.

A skinnier one with sharp eyes walked behind him just off to his right. He was carrying a strange stick that looked like it was glowing on one end.

“Because you're so dense,” he said, smirking to himself as the thick one floundered.

He was already thin, but having shed his textured camouflage he looked doubly slender in the strange, nearly skintight uniform he wore. It looked familiar, and yet Ardin was sure he had never seen anything like it.

“How could something so light do so much damage?” the thick one continued. “I mean I can almost lift her with one hand, and she killed all of us!”

“With the unfortunate exception of present company.”

“What?”

“Let's go,” the tall one in the lead turned out of the creek bed to his right and away from Ardin. “We don't have all day. If Tash and Ren made it they’ll be ahead of us by now.”

They continued to talk and jostle as they made their way through the woods. Ardin dared a peek as they crested the gentle rise and began to disappear into the trees.

The thick one was carrying a girl! Her long dark hair waved to and fro between her arms as she swayed over his shoulder. Ardin didn't need to see her face; he knew her in an instant.

But he didn't know what to do; the certainty that had so mysteriously come over him had been replaced by a vague sense of purpose and a growing feeling of disquiet. He knew what he had come here to do but no longer felt like he could manage it on his own. He slowly picked himself up, watching for any sign of other soldiers but strangely certain that there were none. It sounded like he had unwittingly finished off the last of their crew.

Ardin started to walk, picking a path that would keep a safe distance from the men. The slope rose a bit higher under his feet than it had for his prey, and he hoped that they wouldn't veer too far to either side. Soon he could hear them talking again; it seemed for a moment like they had stopped walking.

Ardin slowed, picking his way carefully through the trees until he could just barely see them. They had placed the girl on the ground and tied her to a tree, the strange glowing stick stuck in the ground by her feet.

He couldn't really make out what they were saying, but it wasn't long before they cut her loose and began walking again. It appeared like they were disagreeing over something. Ardin's gut twisted as the girl was hoisted up again and roughly carried farther into the forest. He wanted to do something but wasn't sure what he could do to overpower three soldiers at once. He started walking again, keeping just within earshot of the killers.