The Wizard Killer - Season One: A Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy Serial (2 page)

I search the clearing, certain that I left a cache of supplies, decent clothing… maybe weapons? It feels like the type of thing I’d do, but there’s nothing. Was I killed unexpectedly? I find that hard to believe. Same place as last time, and I left nothing. Who else would have known to come
here
, of all places?

Pacing about, I glance at my wrist and wonder. Maybe I’ve been dead long enough that someone just happened upon my stuff. Biting my lip, I decide best to give up and move on. No telling if anyone’s going to come through here soon.

Walking over to a boulder, I climb up to get a good look around. The clearing area is smooth, glacially-scrubbed stone. As though there would be a storybook giant buried under it. A few determined plants are eking out an existence in the sparse soil, but life doesn’t seem to really start until the edges, a hundred yards away. To the west begins the forest of leafy trees, and to the east is the mountain. To the north and south are just rocky plains.

I glance up at the sky, and give myself a mental push to head west. I suspect I won’t have to traipse through the forest for long before I come to a road. Giddy joy breaks out on my leathery face. The thought of gritty, noisy civilization never seemed so wonderful.
 

About an hour or two down the road, something comes into view. Not feeling particularly brazen, I decide to move along the tree line rather than stay on the road. Though the trees aren’t packed in tightly, some cover is better than none at all.

As I approach carefully from the sides, I see it’s a charred carriage of some kind. On its back is a metal tank that’s partially intact. Closing my eyes for a second, I nod as something breaks through the inner fog. “Levi-cars… right.” I’d forgotten about the levitating carriages and other luxuries of life. What I wouldn’t give for a working one now.

Scanning about first, I approach to investigate. Clearly there had been bandits or some form of attack once upon a time. Given the look of the levi, it looks like it happened a while ago.

It’s an elongated levi-car, its chassis entirely made of metal. It looks like something punched right through the roof, and a quick examination shows the insides are charred. Whatever decorated the interior is burned, fused or melted. It’s like some wizard or acolyte managed to set off a fireball from within it. That would have taken some serious skill, not to mention a brazen disregard for self-preservation. I can’t see any signs of bodies or remains, though it’s possible they’re part of what’s fused to the metal.
 

Rubbing my hand along the inside, I can still sense mana residue, which confounds me. This can’t be that old, then. Maybe a few weeks at most.
 

Curious, I put my blade down and give the metal carcass a shove. Double checking that I don’t have any unexpected admirers, I give the carriage a more serious push. It moans but doesn’t roll. Refusing to give in, I put everything I’ve got into it and laugh as it finally tips over in a puff of road dust. There is a classic panic-box underneath. It seems that someone else is just as paranoid as I am when they travel.
 

The lock gives way with a sharp hit from the end of my sword. “Hello my beauty,” I say, carefully lifting a sleek pistol out and marveling at it. A dark blue engraved line runs along the edge of its long barrel to the end of the handle. It fits like a glove in my hand. I point it at a tree, staring down its barrel, appreciating the perfect weight. The design looks familiar, even the feel. I wonder how common these are. Judging by the craftsmanship, I’d say it cost a small fortune.

I laugh, a man with a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, a man of two eras. I wish I had a way to strap them securely to me, I can already feel my hands starting to cramp. “Wait…” I stare at my arms, holding them outstretched. “Where the yig are my tattoos?”

episode three

Like an idiot, I stand there in the middle of the dirt road, turning my forearms back and forth, as if my tattoos will suddenly reappear.
 

My head keeps shaking and my mouth keeps saying no, as my mind contemplates whether or not there’s more than a foggy memory at play. Shooting a quick glance at the sky, I’m annoyed that there’s nothing but wispy clouds, but I have no idea what I’m looking for.

Turning back to the road ahead, I notice some kind of scratches along the ground that lead to the wreckage. The jagged grooves aren’t anything I recognize, nor is the spacing between them. It looks like something moved side to side as it advanced and then stopped ten feet before the levi.
 

I attempt to follow the grooves but quickly lose them, so I return to the wreckage and try again. I fail a second time. Crouching down, I run my fingers through the grooves, expecting them to tell me something, but there’s nothing. Glancing about, I realize I’ve got no instinct or intuition giving me a hint. It’s like I can’t track anymore. Chewing on my lip, I stand. “What the yig can this body do?” I ask myself.

Snapping twigs draw my attention to three figures moving slowly in the underbrush on the north side. I shoot a quick glance to the south. It looks like I only have company on one front.

I try pulling the hammer back on the pistol, but it won’t move. I turn it over, wondering where the bullets go. The only thing I see is a little switch, moving it back and forth doesn’t open it up or anything. I could kick myself for not having checked it out properly as soon as I found it. The yigging thing could just be ornamental, put there to screw with the poor idiot who was ambushed and went for it.
 

With a steadying breath, I figure I might as well bluff. My new friends shouldn’t be any the wiser, at least at first. Along with the short sword, I feel the odds are still in my favor.

I watch and wait as they slowly advance. It dawns on me that the three shambling, shadowy mounds in front of me are too close together, almost like they want me to step forward and focus on them. I quickly glance over my shoulder and see a much bigger one making its way towards me at a steady clip. Swiftly, I move south so that I can see them all at once. The big one immediately slows down.

Inexplicably, I start feeling pressure in my chest. I break into a sweat, my heart starts pounding. My breathing speeds up and I’m feeling jumpy. Is this excitement all it takes to make me fall apart? Nothing’s happened yet! I’ve dealt with much worse than this, haven’t I? I start yelling at them, more to distract myself from endless questions than anything else. “Come on, let’s get going. I don’t have all day.”

They gradually get close enough for me to see that they’re covered in ratty, brown blankets. Bits of worn boots or clothing peek out as they move. A smaller one trips on a hole in the road, and its covers fall off. Yig, it’s a kid. Can’t be more than ten, and probably hasn't ever seen a bath. What the yig is this, a family trying to rob me in slow motion?

Immediately, I point my pistol at the little guy and catch a glimpse of the medium-sized one flinching. “Hello mommy,” I say with a sneer. They don't react. Something's wrong. The kid just puts his blanket back on, and they keep inching forward. I notice that there’s a hole in the blanket near their faces, and its darkly stained below it.
 

As they close in, I hear them muttering to each other in a bizarre, guttural language of slurping and smacking sounds.

Suddenly, my chest feels like something is swelling in it. Yig, it’s hard to breath. I flex my fingers, while trying not to lose my grip on the pistol. My head’s bobbing with every sharp intake of breath. “Stop advancing or I’m going to start shooting.”

“No,” says the big one, with a voice so deep that he sounds like a mountain moving. He straightens up, his huge arms now visible. He is enormous and broad. Yig, he must have been nearly doubled over as he approached. In one hand is a well-worn hand-axe, looking like child’s toy. The other hand is a huge clenched
 
fist. In a slurred voice, and dragging out each word, he says, “Give... things.”

I take a few steps back. “I’m keeping what I have, thanks. Now get out of here, before I start shooting.” I’m gritting my teeth and blinking hard to ignore the pain. I feel like my chest just wants to burst open. Glaring at them as they stare back at me, each waiting for the other to make a move. As the pain sharpens, my head bobs for a second, and the big guy leaps at me.

episode four

The big guy’s hand-axe swings unexpectedly close, as I barely manage to get my cold molasses of a body out of the way. I try to stab him with my short sword, but I nearly fall over instead. What the yig? I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. The big guy takes advantage of the moment, and with a solid slap from his free hand, he sends my sword flying.

Suddenly my legs are pulled out from under me. The two smaller ones immediately climb on to my back. The pain inside me is making me dizzy. It’s like my heart’s being crushed and my pistol arm is on fire.

The medium one latches her fingernails into my pistol hand. I scream, but refuse to let it go. If I lose that, I’ve got nothing.

Glancing up, I catch the big guy winding up to bring his fists thundering down on my head. Blinking past the pain, I shrug the small ones off and roll towards the medium one just in the nick of time.
 

She and I roll and tussle. She keeps trying to bite my face, and I keep trying to put my pistol in her face to make her back off. Her eyes are wild and furious, I can’t remember encountering people so raw and savage. I need a new strategy. She reaches for my eyes with those fingernails and I go with my gut instincts. I head-butt her, stunning her but in trying to scramble to my feet I fall back down onto all fours.
 

My head’s spinning, my chest is screaming, and then a wave of nausea rides in on top of everything. I bite my lip hard to keep me focused on the present. As a second wave of nausea hits, I realize what’s happening: magic’s failing.
 

Glancing up, I see the big guy and the rest of his family stagger for a moment, thrown off by the lack of magic in the air. Their magical disguises melt away. Their skin creaks like old leather as it tightens, their eyes hollow, and one by one, they turn at look at me in a portrait of horror. The big guy roars, immediately followed by the others.

 
“I freaking hate ghouls.” Taking a step backwards, I wobble, my arm jutting out to try and stabilize me. My vision starts to narrow and flashes of light start appearing. What the yig is going on? “No!” I yell at myself. “No freaking way I’m getting eaten. No way!”

As the big guy jumps at me, I point my pistol square at him and pointlessly pull the trigger. Suddenly all my pain and anxiety rushes from my core, through my arm, and out the pistol. In a fiery flash of blue, he drops. The kick-back is significant, but swiftly putting up my second hand to steady my aim, I drop the other ghouls without a second thought. Then, as suddenly as it came, the nausea passes and my heart is no longer trying to kick its way out of my chest. Magic is restored. Was all that connected? What the yig?

I run my hand through my hair, shaking my head in disbelief. “What just happened?” I stare at the pistol and then quickly scan about for any more of them.
 

Confident that I’m alone, I slowly approach the fallen ghouls. With my pistol pointed at their heads, I give them a nudge with my foot, and inspect the flaming wounds. It looks like they have been hit by flame strikes, as the wounds go clean through the body, are burn-sealed, and the edges have a small amount of blue flame.

Looking past them, I see two newly-splintered trees at the forest edge. “Freak me blue and call me a yigging idiot… How the yig did I do that?” That’s when the lovely smell of the dead ghouls hits me, and I lose whatever it was I still had in my stomach after all this time.

After pulling myself back together, I find my short sword and take a last look at the bodies. The good news is that I’ve survived; the bad news is that I don’t know if I can do it ever again.

episode five