The Wizard Killer - Season One: A Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy Serial (4 page)

Smoothing down my beard, I find a few stowaway pebbles and twigs. I don’t know why, but I start chuckling. It feels good to laugh. Rubbing my face with my rough and dusty hands, I decide it really is time to get up. Yig, I would kill for something to drink or eat. My throat feels like a carn is crushing it.

Peeking up at the blazing sun again, it dawns on me that I need to be smarter. There’s no telling how long it’s going to take me to find some civilization or water. Pulling off my shirt, I wrap the filthy thing around my head.
 

I imagine what I must look like: a wild eyed, shirtless bandit with a long-barreled pistol. The blood-stained brown pants and shoes a beggar might throw away really add that special something. I stare at the long road I’ve already covered and think back to the carn and my sword. I shouldn’t have left that behind.
 

With an arched eyebrow, I stare at the eerie scenery: the weird, melted, brown grass, withered trees and dusty roads. There are some scorched outlines along the ground at the road-side, almost like reminders of buildings long gone. Licking my cracked lips, I shrug. I’m not up for investigating it. I’ve got one thing on my mind, the short sword.

Staring at the long road back, I get butterflies thinking about the carn. I was lucky to get away once, what are the chances I can do that twice? I’m certain that if I don’t go back for the sword now, I’ll have lost it forever. But the chances of finding food and water along the path back are zero. “GAH!” I scream at the top of my lungs. Instead of relief, I just get a scratched throat. I need to stop being an idiot.

Grudgingly, I start walking back to find my short sword. Every few steps I stop and rethink what I’m doing, and each time, I give myself a mental kick to keep going.

It’s afternoon by the time the long line of abandoned and broken levi-cars come into view. I approach carefully, shaking my pistol arm every now and then, as if I had to stop it from nodding off. There’s no sign of the carn. While I believe they’re nocturnal, you never know when one’s decided to pull an all-nighter. Like everyone, I’ve heard stories. Like everyone, I have no idea whether or not they’re true.

The sight of the levi-cars is even more unnerving in daylight. What looked like fairly straight lines abandoned reasonably peacefully, is far from it. Most are smashed into each other, looking like they were trying to break the line and get around the person ahead of them. Some of the ones in the ditch look like they were desperate to go anywhere, fast. Something must have descended upon them quickly.

I notice a lot of strange black mounds near the cars, each one about the size of two handfuls of dirt. They start a few yards before the first one, and radiate around them no more than a dozen yards.
 

My curiosity gets the better of me, and I crouch down and examine one. It looks like fused darkly-colored glass beads, but it’s got a strange odor. I stand back up and abandon the idea of finding a stick to poke it with or touching it. With my luck, there’d be a storybook demon inside. I find myself staring up at the sky again. Other than a few dense clouds in the distance, there’s just blue, blue and more blue.

With a sigh, I start searching the first couple of levis, not sure which one I was in last night. I thought it’d be easy, but memory is a weird thing. After searching my fifth one, I start to feel anxious. “Did that yig take off with my sword? What the yig would a carn want it for, a trophy?”
 

I give myself a slap. “Stop being an idiot. Just keep looking,” I tell myself. Hopefully, this time I’ll listen.

The sixth levi-car comes with an unexpected surprise. Strapped to the back of it is a damaged, but still sealed, woven traveler’s picnic trunk. It’s a big, brown rectangle of beaten-up beauty.
 

I cry with laughter as I confirm that the magical seal is still intact. Of course, I can’t open it, but fingers crossed, I can get it open the next time magic fails. Seconds have never felt like days so badly in all my life. I keep switching from fantasizing about what’s inside, to trying to brace myself for the massive disappointment I’m sure is lurking inside.

I try to search around some more for my sword, but like a moth to a flame, I can’t leave the picnic trunk. If I’m more than three steps away, I get panicky that I’ll miss my chance at opening it. The only thing to do is wait. I really hate waiting.

After what feels like two hours, I start to worry about what’ll happen if the sun goes down, the carn comes back, and magic’s still humming along. I can’t fathom abandoning the trunk. Staring at the blood stains left behind by the carn, I remember they have great memories and will hunt down those that have wronged them. I’m sure I’m high up on that carn’s list of people to revisit soon.
 

I pace back and forth in front of the trunk when it finally dawns on me, I’m an idiot. I can cut the straps and drag that beauty around with me. Provided I find my sword, I should be able to open it when the time comes.

Glancing up at the sun, I figure I have more than enough time to get safely away. And if magic drops while I’m getting myself organized, I should be okay.
 

With a renewed sense of purpose, I scramble about until I finally find my short sword. I find its tip poking out from under a levi-car, just enough to catch my eye. It makes short work of the straps and I start dragging it off. I keep telling myself its full of treasure, but at the back of my mind, I’m afraid it’ll have a body, or worse, be empty.

episode eight

I stop myself from biting at the woven trunk a third time. My lip is still bleeding from the last stupid attempt. Frustrated and unable to help myself, I scream and punch it. I’m lucky I don’t cut my knuckles. I really need to stop being an idiot.
 

It’s been a few hours, and I’m tired and starved. Rubbing my dirty face, I walk around the trunk. I keep telling myself it’s just sitting there in the middle of the dusty road, that it’s not actually mocking me, but part of me doesn’t agree. “Come on!” I yell it and then the sky. Finally, I throw my hands up and slump down beside the trunk. Leaning against it, I stare out at the bleak surroundings.

It doesn’t take long for the landscape to start making me angry, with its deceptive hills offering hope and promise on the other side, only have more scorched earth instead. My leg’s bouncing with impatience. I stop short of telling it to stop, realizing every time I talk to myself I’m probably taking another step closer to the cliffs of insanity. To distract myself, I yell at the few clouds that float by. They ignore my taunts… cowards.

Finally, I feel it happening, that nausea in the pit of my stomach. With tears of joy, I spring to my feet and snatch my short sword out of the ground, tossing my pistol aside. I check twice to see that the seal still has its magical shimmer, not wanting to accidentally have my blade bounce off again and stab me in the face or something. Dying by my own hand in the middle of nowhere is not on my list of things to do.

Staring at the seal, I wait, my leg bouncing maniacally. My fingers twitch as fantasies about what’s in the trunk keep going through my head: maybe it’s got a feast or maybe a flying machine.
 

My nausea hits its peak, but the seal doesn’t look any different. “Ah…” I glance around, not sure what I’m looking for. “Screw it! I’m going for it!” I yell, tears rolling down my face. Licking my lips, I carefully slice my sword right through the seal. I stab my blade into the road and thrust my arms up in victory. “YES!”

Clapping my hands together, and with a huge grin on my face, I take hold of the lid and pull, the whole trunk moves as one piece. “What the?” I put it down and stare at the seal. It’s untouched. “It’s
got
to have a crystal battery, but where?” I turn it over, finding nothing. “There’s no telling how much mana it has left. YIG!”

With a mighty, two-handed heave, I pull my short sword out of the ground, cursing myself, and cut the seal again. Right before my eyes, I watch it re-seal. “What kind of yigging idiot made this yigging thing? GAH!!” I drop my sword and run my hands through my hair as I pace about. As the sensation in my stomach starts to ease, my anxiety just goes up and up.

I kick the trunk, screaming. It rolls with complete disregard. “GAH!!” I pull at my hair and beard, feeling myself teetering on the edge of madness.

“Something, there’s got to be. Yes!” I pick up my sword and jam it into the seal, and then I kick the hilt for everything I’m worth. The trunk goes end-over-end, and my sword flies off.
 

I hop around screaming, clutching my bleeding foot. After finding my sword and stroking the etchings at the base of the blade, I sigh in relief as the wounds heal. Cursing myself, I have to use both hands to pull my blade out of the ground. Turning back to the trunk, it’s unharmed and worse, unopened.

“I can’t take this.” I crumple to the ground and cry, my head in my hands. My nose oozes and my mouth is gummy and pasty. I’m gazing at the vicious trunk when I notice some engraved symbols shining on the seal in the sunlight. Taking hold of the seal, I rotate it until it’s lines look like clouds. “Why not?” I try opening it. The lid moves a little, but enough that the seal isn’t a concern anymore.
 

Laying down, I get my fingers and feet under the lid and put my back into it. The trunk rips open, the lid coming clean off and the few contents fly out. I dive for a fist-sized red bobble.

Laughing and crying, I whisper to it, “Hello apple.” I turn it around delicately on my grimy fingertips. It’s lumpy with green and yellow patches in places, but perfect. I sniff it. A smile cracks across by my face as I relish how it even smells like food.
 

I sit there in the middle of the road, not sure what to do, coveting my prize. A sadness falls over me as I realize that if I eat the apple, then I’ll be alone again; my hunger and the apple will be gone. “That’s messed up,” I say, giving myself a slap. “Come on, shake off that stupid thinking.”
 

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot something small moving. Tossing the apple, I dive for my pistol and point it at the tiny brown thing, my heart beating a mile a minute. “It’s just a freaking mouse…” Summoning the remnants of my once powerful self, I snatch the little mouse up by its tail and stare at it. “Not so terrifying now, are you?” Shaking my head, I drop my pistol and lay the mouse on my hand. “How did you survive in that trunk?” Glancing about, I laugh. “Maybe you’ve just been living out here, but if you have, then you’re probably going to try and kill me like everything else I’ve run into.” I squint intently at the mouse. “Are you a him or her? Let’s go with him.”
 

He wiggles his nose in the air, and then turns his head away from me.

Frowning, I put him on the ground in front of me. I lay myself on the ground, prone, and stare at him.

The mouse stares back, and offers a delicate squeak.
 

I look at the apple and nod, not sure if I’m imagining things or if I somehow understood something. Without hesitation, I bite off a small piece and gently put it beside the mouse.

“Here you go. Oh, you’re welcome, Randmon,” I say with a smile. I rub my head wondering where the name came from, and why I’m talking to a mouse.
 

Watching the mouse inspect the chunk of apple engrosses me. After sniffing and moving around it, then sniffing it some more, he decides to give it a nibble. Satisfied, he gobbles it up.
 

A sense of freedom washes over me, and I bite into the apple with a ridiculous amount of force, nearly slicing my tongue in the process. Closing my eyes, I let the rich sweetness and bitterness play on my tongue, and revel in the joy of having something to crunch and swallow. Before I know it, I’ve eaten it, core and all.

The mouse looks up at me, and I feel guilty. “I’m sorry, Randmon. That’s all I’ve got.” Why am I talking to the mouse? Hey, I forgot about the other stuff!” Rubbing my hands together, I get up to check out the other treasures that had spilled out of the trunk. There’s a folded wad of thick paper that looks like a map, an empty coin purse, and an odd steel canister.
 

I stash the map, ignore the purse and shake the canister next to my ear. It makes an encouraging whooshing sound. Glancing back at the trunk and then at Randmon, I figure that the enchantment on the trunk must have kept everything suspended, similar to how my sword works for preserving me.
 

Feeling both ends, I finally find a part that turns. I scream as water starts to spill out. Flipping it over, I splash some into my mouth. Sealing it back up, I dance about like a triumphant idiot until I lock eyes with the mouse. “I didn’t know! Have you seen one of these before? Anyway, there’s still some in there. Don’t worry.”
 

Afraid I’ll spill it all, I carefully turn the lid. I pour some into my hand and let Randmon get his fill. The rest quickly disappears into me.

I lay back, still in the middle of the road, and gaze up at the late afternoon sky. Putting Randmon on my chest, I chuckle as he snuggles in. “Life’s not so bad.” I yawn, feeling the full weight of my exhaustion. Glancing to each side, I figure I’ll just catch a quick nap; it’s not like there’s anyone around.