The Wizard Killer - Season One: A Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy Serial (7 page)

I stare off in the direction I think Ania went. “You’ll be back some day, won’t you? How many of us are there out here? How many wesleks are you going to run into?” I can’t figure out why she wanted me to come along. Maybe she was planning on leeching from me? Can she actually do that? I remember her touching my forehead and raise my rough hands to feel it, wondering if there’s a marking or something.
 

I remember something… with the Old Man… I look at the ground, squinting. There was a Wizard and he touched me, draining me. But I recall the pain and agony, and then that moment… that moment where I pulled his energy into me. I look down the road where I last saw Ania. “Did you know I killed him? That I’m a wizard killer?”

episode fourteen

With a guttural yell, I heave the crashed levi-car over. It lands with a crunch, and sits there on the ground, a tired, beaten up lump of metal. I rummage through it, retrieving my map and taking a strap I can use as a belt. It’ll keep my short sword at my side instead of in my hand. Funny how little things can feel like a luxury in the right moment.

I hear a squeak and turn to Randmon, who’s on my shoulder. “Good to know you’re okay.” Seeing him, I feel a bit guilty for having lost track of him in all the action. Part of me wonders if he was on my shoulder all along. I give him a little rub on his furry brown back. He’s smiling, I know it.
 

Hanging my head, I mutter, “I must be going crazy.” I give Randmon a sideways glance, chuckle and add, “Yeah. At least the weather there is good.”

I scout the area quickly for the carnu, then circle back to the levi. Chewing on my lip, I recall a bit of how it works. I hunt around for the engine panel, finding it on the back. It takes me some time to figure how to get the scratched up, protective cover off. Putting it down carefully, I sit and stare at the marvel behind it. There are three blackened discs, lined-up beside each other. The sapphire tubing around it has cracked, and the cloth webbing that connects everything is scorched brown in places. “It must have sparked and burned when we crashed.” I run my finger along the mana-residue-covered webbing. “Probably already had some cracked tubes from the previous crash into the tree.” Rubbing my forehead, I attempt to pull something helpful from the molasses of my mind. I almost have something and then it’s like it disappears, as if magically pushed away.
 

Glancing up at the sun, I know that I’ve already pushed my luck with how much daylight remains. I lay the map out on the ground and lean over it. The notation’s not familiar, and the landmarks drive me crazy. Twice I climb a tree, trying to get a better sense of where I am. According to the map I should have passed through a small town, but maybe I was asleep in the levi when we went through it? The best I’m able to do is get a rough idea of where I might be, and maybe which direction I should go. Folding up the map, I tuck it into the back of my pants, then make sure I’ve got my pistol and sword.

I look back at Dila and the guy I drained, immediately curing any sense of being hungry. I feel like I owe them some kind of apology. It’s one thing if you mean to double cross people, and another if things just crash and burn. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t think it was going to work out this way. May you be well on your journey.” Staring at the ground, I think about what happened for a moment, and then my hands do a wave that seems to come naturally but I don’t recognize. Just who am I?

Taking a few steps, a worry hits me. Ania could show up with some friends and cause me real trouble. Maybe I should hide the bodies? No, I don’t have time. Plus, there’s the levi and it’s not going to be easy to hide. Best to just get moving, and fast. I’ll deal with Ania if and when she shows up. For all I know, it could be years before I see her again. Hopefully, I’m just one more person on her hate-list. But the carn, that’s different. That’s two encounters with the scarred one, and as the saying goes: there’s never a second without a third.

Looking up at the dark sky, I decide it’s best to try and sleep in the forest, hidden as best as I can be. I find an old oak tree whose roots create an alcove below it. Breaking the trunk into three pieces, I use them to shield me from obvious view. Given the distance from the road and the foliage around, hopefully I won’t wake up to another kick in the head, or worse. With a reluctant sigh, I try to relax with my body as contorted as it is, and fall asleep.

The wet chill of morning comes too quickly. Rubbing my face and scratching my beard, I finally come out of my hole and stand. My joints and muscles ache, but I’m alive. “Time to get moving.”

By the time I come to a wooden sign post, the sun’s drooping lazily in the sky. Like a kid seeing dad return from months at sea, I run to the sign. I don’t care that the words are too faded to read, it’s got an arrow. I pull out my map and confirm it’s the right direction. “Maybe we’ve got some luck after all, Randmon.” I check my shoulder, he’s gone. Probably crawling around on me somewhere. He’s a weird little guy.

Coming over a hill, I smile as I see rectangles of color and recently sowed fields. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” A barn comes into view and I yell and punch the air in triumph. But as I get closer, I realize its back side is burnt, and it’s empty. A farm house comes up next, but that looks like a giant smashed it with a tree, if giants existed.

Sighing, I keep going. After a sparse forest, I come upon grassy fields to the south of the road and bare field to the north, with some crops growing in the distance. To my surprise, there’s a person moving. He’s wearing a large brimmed hat and clearly working.

“Hey!” I yell, waving a hand. Instead of waving back, he looks up and stares at me. I’m too far away to see clearly, but a chill runs through me. I glance around, catching sight of a few others standing in the field, all of them looking at me. I tighten my grip on my pistol and start moving again.

Given that they haven’t run at me already, I’m fairly certain they’re not ghouls. Mind you, there are more than a hundred other, worse things they could be. Part of me just wants to turn around and leave, but stubbornly I keep going. Maybe they’re just normal people working. What type of an idiot would run screaming from normal people and into the flaming arms of carnu? Maybe they even know the way to Banareal. They’ve got to have heard of it.

Throwing a glance every now and then to the sides, I count twenty or so people working, all of them showing the same reaction. Maybe no one’s just walked up to this place in a long time.
 

I come up to several buildings clustered together, eerily empty of people. “Welcome to the center of town,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head. Standing there, I slowly notice that there are indeed people around, it’s just they are standing so still, and in tight clusters, all of them dressed so plainly, that they blend right in to the faded gray wood of the buildings. There’s probably a dozen… no, more.
 

Sweat’s rolling down the middle of my back and making my pistol hand slick. I wipe my hand on my filthy, sweaty shirt, roll my shoulders, and crack my neck.
 

They’re all just staring at me. No one’s whispering or pointing, they’re all just standing there, staring. It worries me that I’ve got no pressure or pain inside. Forcing a swallow, I keep my head down and walk.

One of the buildings I pass is boarded up, another looks like a general store of some kind but I can see its shelves are empty. What type of place is this?
 

Spotting what looks like a tavern, I head on over. If I’m going to have to fight my way out of this, I might as well get a drink and give them some restricted quarters. For some reason, I look down at my forearms hoping to see my tattoos have returned, but they haven’t. I still don’t know why I’m doing that, or why their return would help me. The Old Man would just tell me to rely on myself, not superstitious symbols or magical protection enchantments. For a moment, I wonder if I should have just stayed where I’d come back to life and waited. Maybe someone had provoked me to wake up and was coming back to get me; maybe it was a coincidence that magic failed and I woke up. I give myself a slap. That type of doubtful and distracted thinking is not going to help me.

I push open the door of the tavern and step in. It’s dusty and poorly lit, with perhaps ten patrons inside. They aren’t dressed like the people outside who wore the simplest of farmer clothes. These all seem to have their own style and personality, though they all need a wash. Maybe they’re wanderers like me.

An old guy with a grizzled face gives me a scowl from a table about six feet away. Two women in dirty brown cloaks are playing cards on the other side of the room. They stop to give me a glare. One of them has dark hair and a pained look on her face. A group of six put their glasses down in unison and look at me, but they don’t flinch or say a thing. Weird group of customers. Licking my lips in the silence, I realize that when I opened the door, there wasn’t a single person talking. The hair on the best of my neck, as soaked and filthy as it is, stands up.

I lift my gaze to check out the ceiling. It’s all exposed wood beams, some of which are sagging badly. Sunlight’s poking through the sorry roof in several places. The building’s definitely seen better days, but I’m willing to bet it’s not going to come down anytime soon.
 

With my pistol pointed at the floor and my other hand innocently at my side, I slowly make my way up to the bar at the far end. Sighing, I rest my arms on its dingy, black railing, my pistol still firmly in hand.

On the wooden shelves behind the bar are mostly broken and empty bottles. A few here and there show hopeful signs of having some type of liquid comfort. Good thing I’m not fussy.

I catch a glimpse of someone moving behind the bar at the other end, and watch without turning my head. It’s a woman, wearing a brown and grey dress.
 

“Are you looking to cause trouble?” she asks, leaning against the bar.

I raise an eyebrow, as it seems a weird thing to say. Turning to look at her, I lose my words for a minute. Half of her face appears to be covered in black ash or paint. On the light side she’s got a bright, brown eye that’s glaring at me, on the other side I’m not even sure there’s an eye. Her long hair’s a filthy, matted black.
 

Without thinking, I take a half-step back. Everyone in the room twitches and I say in a slow and easy voice, “No. I’d just like to get a drink; maybe have a bite to eat. Then go.” I nod at the bottles. “Looks like you might have something.”

She nods at my pistol and then locks her gaze on me. “You can’t have weapons like that in here. Bringing them into our town uninvited is asking for trouble,”. Her voice is wrong somehow. She doesn’t sound like a bartender, more like someone pretending to be one. I glance over my shoulder at the patrons, no one’s moved. They’re all just looking at me. Scratching my cheek, I stare down at the railing. My guts are churning, but it’s nothing to do with magic or mana. Tapping my free hand’s fingers on the bar, I bite my lip while I find my words.
 

“It’s a scary world out there,” I reply. “I’ve been traveling for a while and came upon your village. Like I said, I’d like something to eat and drink, and then I’ll be happy to go on my way.” I rub my temple trying to get rid of images of crazed religious types who might want to sacrifice me to their pretend gods. There’s a memory rumbling around having to do with something like that.

She does a weird sideways head motion that unnerves me. “You’re going to have to hang the pistol on the wall there by the front door. The sword you can give to me.” She puts her hand out, the one from the light side. I notice the other one’s curled up and tucked into her chest. Staring at her face, I’m not sure it’s pain she’s feeling. It’s almost like she’s concentrating. Looking her up and down, I’m pretty sure she’s nothing like Ania, but something’s definitely not right with her.

There’s no smile or emotion in her face. My vision wanders, looking for where the door that’s not the front door could be, because otherwise she wouldn’t have said it like that. It never hurts to know where the exits are, especially when you’re considering blowing the whole situation up. Tilting my head down, I sneak a peek back at the patrons. This time I catch the glint of a blade from one of the cloaked women. There’s a barrel showing itself from beneath the old man’s folded hands. Looks like they’re thinking of taking it to the next level too.
 

As I turn my back to lean on the railing, I see we’ve got extra company. Over a dozen the folks from outside are now gathered at the front door. I lick my lips and nod my bowed head as I reply. “Sorry, lady, I can’t do that.”

episode fifteen