Chapter 1

  Three of them stood diligently in a line, awaiting the Shepherds final words before they would part ways.

  They had always known their paths would split, but knowing can still feel like an unseen turn when at the crossroads.

  Three of them stood, still wearing their old titles earned in remembrance of their former sins, labels bought with suffering paid by their opposition.

  Devils they had been, and hell they had wrought.

  Three of them stood filled with mournful sorrow, a striking irony as their missions were that of inspiring hope.

  Yet pain can be a savior, if you let it.

  On a cliff's edge they had made their stop. Dry grass browned by the sun, crooked trees with weathered bark and dusty stones covered in gritty sand all fought to make this shelf their home.

  A small fire crackled in between them and the Shepherd, the sputtering embers melding with the sound of the ocean crashing against the cliffs below. They had made their way, or rather climbed their way, up towards the jutting rock. This was the place for their final goodbye. First a physical exertion and now an emotional one.

  The Shepherd was an artist of sorts, symbolism and metaphors were the tools of his trade, every act a lesson, no matter how trivial.

  The climb showed them that this quest would be toilsome. The ledge itself showed them danger would always be close at hand. The campfire a final sanctuary before the encroaching darkness pressing down on them.

  They were the fire, just as she had been all those years ago.

  For Mother Maria, this heartache she felt was a milestone.

  In her past she never felt pain, not emotional at least.

  At most she had felt disappointment and disdain, always with a touch of revulsion.

  Or rather, those were the feelings she had hidden her hurt behind. And for many years, that's how she had lived. She was now old and gray, but she never felt more alive.

  Cruelty brings a numbness to the soul, and Mother Maria had been very cruel indeed. And even though she could never repay the debts she owed, she had been given a chance to tip the scales of balance towards the virtuous side.

  And this dejection was, in a way, a sign of her own goodness. A sign that she could finally care for someone. That she could finally love someone.

  “Do not fret, my friends.” The Shepherd spoke, as if he knew her thoughts. Their thoughts.

  “The final hour of what has been is upon us, and the time to part our ways is here. But if all unfolds, we will meet again, in the end.” He smiled.

  “And in our hearts we shall be together, in every hour.”

  He had the warmest of smiles. A smile filled with genuine love, and it burrowed deep into every beholder.

  A warmth radiating brighter than the fire they had before them.

  He took the time to hold their hands, one final time.

  To mark the end of what had been and the beginning of what was to come.

  He took a step back, holding them with his gaze a while longer before he spoke.

  “Does anyone have any final questions? Any final worries?”

  Mother Maria shook her head with a smile.

  “There are no further questions, dear. We've been over this countless times. The only step left is to actually get it done.”

  “Yes, yet life tends to repeat itself, and I am nothing but a product of life. Please indulge me one last time. Has everyone studied their routes? Their marks? Their contacts and who to avoid?”

  “Aye, our mission's clear as raindrops in the sky, friend.” Gregory the pale giver answered. Gregory, an old mercenary with the bearings of a soldier and the eyes of a cutthroat. Oh, he exemplified his trade well. And thanks to his past, they now had a bunch of hired hands to protect them on their venture.

  “Good, and the guardian. Who will tend to it?” The Shepherd asked.

  “I will keep the raven, Bé a?ag Dyi?, as I will travel the furthest away from here." Opa’a Serpent's breath patiently replied, as if he hadn't answered the same question a hundred times already. Opa’a was one of the Rose men. A short, red-skinned people that usually possessed curved horns and long tails that ended in tufts of hair.

  “It will try with all its might to get to me. We cannot let it.” The Shepherd warned, also for the hundredth time.

  “I know, Bé a?ag dyi?, and I will shelter the bird with all of mine.”

  Opa’a always called The Shepherd “Bé a?ag dyi?.”,

  “The sun marked in blue”.

  The Shepherd smiled at the barely waist-high man.

  “Then I am without doubt.” His gaze returned to all of them. “My heart fills with pride for every one of you. And I hope you too are proud of yourselves. Ensure you remember your worth when the foulness of this world rears its ugly head and tries to pull you under. Ensure you remember what you’ve made yourselves when your faith starts to waver in what we’ve set out to do here. Ensure you remember us when it gets painful. For make no mistake, the cost shall not be small or without woes. But we do what we must. For the cause is worthy.”

  He paused to let them absorb his words.

  “You are deserving of the love you are given.”

  Then his embracing smile dropped, a shift in the night. The rose men oftentimes had a keen vision, especially in the dark, and Opa’a Serpent's breath was no different. In the warm light of the fire, a sheen could be seen covering his eyes, like that of a cat.

  He was peering out into the sparsely set shrubs and twisted wood that surrounded them, and The Shepherd had his focus on the red man.

  “What is it? You see something?” The Shepherd asked.

  At first he did not answer, simply gazed seemingly at random into the blackened night. Then “We must move.” The horned man said, low but definite, a whisper of command.

  Mother Maria did not however, she slowly shifted her eyes towards The Shepherd instead.

  He was about to speak when a distant horn sounded, a haunting wail sending shivers through Mother Maria's spine, as it could only entail trouble.

  The horn blew from the beach below, the beach where they had landed earlier in the evening and had met up with their hirelings.

  “Shit. That's Croaker's horn.” said Gregory, still familiar with its boom after all these years.

  “Go!” Bellowed the Shepherd as he picked up his pack, and with no more goodbyes, he headed out into the gloom.

  The three of them turned to the path opposite of where The Shepherd had set out to and hurried into the void as well.

  Mother Maria could not help but feel the irony, such an unceremonious parting to such a ceremonious moment, hell, a ceremonious lifetime, while the light from the fire faded as they pushed down the slope.

  “What did you see, man?” Gregory the pale giver asked, clearly thinking of the more pressing issue at hand.

  “Neregoths, brother. They went after Bé a?ag dyi?.” Came the reply from the front, as Opa’a was leading them with his keen vision.

  Even though Mother Maria knew that The Shepherd was far more capable in most regards than they were, she could not help but feel a twinge of worry.

  But this was no time for doubt.

  They bounded down the steep hillside, catching themselves against boulders and trunks as they scrambled forth.

  What had taken them half an hour to ascend had merely taken them moments to descend.

  They crashed onto the seashore, the sand catching their now scraped and bruised bodies. Sucking in ragged breaths, they were trying to get their bearings.

  Further down the dunes a makeshift campsite was illuminated in torchlight. At the edge of which the blackened silhouettes of men stood in a broken line, assailed by twisted shadows emerging from the darkness, both colliding in chaos.

  Yells of different meanings rang out. The cracking of command, the dissonance of disorder and the shrieks of suffering, merging with guttural growls, hollow hisses and coarse croaks.

  Then a movement in the side of Mother Maria's eye caught her attention. In stunned horror she watched one of the creatures come snarling out of the darkness.

  It loomed tall despite its hunched frame as it stood on two bow-legged limbs. The arms stretched long, almost touching the ground as a giant clawed hand wielded what looked like a crude short spear in the night.

  She opened her mouth to give warning, but before she had the time, the thing let out a demonic screech. With a violent jolt it charged them, weapon held high above its broad head as it thundered through the night.

  Mother Maria had managed to produce her dagger and had raised it, more out of instinct than hope, to shield any incoming blows as the beast bore down. But Gregory had already stepped in front before the impact.

  Entering the creature's path, he goaded the creature to strike at him. The fiend arced its simple weapon, but it only sank into sand as Gregory had slipped aside with one light step, drawing steel as he evaded the attack. The pale giver answered with his blade as he struck cleanly and swiftly, piercing the fiend right in its throat. As he withdrew his blade, a spurt of blackened blood followed suit, darkening the sand as it showered down.

  The creature reared back with guttural growl, making Mother Maria grasp to cover her ears, and flailed its clawed hand in blind rage at its assailant. Gregory, however, was too fast. With another step he had moved out of the brutes' reach and with a third he closed the gap right after, slashing the thing at the fold of its knees.

  The creature collapsed, blood flowing from its ruined neck. But even before it had fully embraced the stained sand, Gregory had managed to produce a cloth as he began formulating a plan.

  “Okay, this is how we will raise our banners.” He started, a little winded but calm and collected.

  “We all know the stakes and how we cannot stop. Not for anything.” He continued as he wiped his steel with the fabric. “And none of you are fighters. I will stay with the men and send these villains back to where they spawned.”

  The creature still twisted and gurgled snarls, sand sticking to its horrid form as it thrashed, black blood spurting from the opened throat with every struggle.

  “We move into the camp. Gather your gear in haste, and then we will make sure you get out of here.”

  She wanted to protest, and Opa’a was on his way to when The Pale Giver continued.

  “They are faster and stronger. If we flee, they will hunt us down one by one. Not a good way to go. No, if we stay here, fight them, grind them down into the sand, we will have a chance.

  And if anything were to happen, we’ll regroup at Mita’s Merging, just as planned”

  She watched the thing in the sand while The Pale Giver spoke, its movements sluggish, its growling growing quieter.

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  Then it stopped, releasing a final wet sigh sputtering through the wound.

  Mother Maria lifted her head. She did not like the idea, and she could tell Opa’a didn’t either. But they knew Gregory spoke the truth and couldn’t object.

  Instead she said, “Remember, if I'm not there with you. Use the side tunnel, you'll find the key in the flame.”

  Gregory nodded.

  “We do what we must. For the cause is worthy.” He cited.

  Then turned to march on the camp.

  They both followed while they too cited, “We do what we must. For the cause is worthy.”

  They entered the makeshift campsite, which by now had started taking its toll.

  Torn cloth flapped from poles that were now leaning in various directions. The base had not been built with defense in mind, and it now suffered for it.

  There had only been a dozen or so burlap tents raised, but finding their way through this now maze would not be easy. As they peaked through the first flap, they found two mercenaries were helping a third. He was lying in the sand that was sticking to the blood that covered his leather jerkin.

  They removed the simple armor, revealing a great gash across his chest.

  “Ah shit. Croaker.” The pale giver breathed with pity as he approached the people he used to command.

  “Captain.” The man in the sand saluted, still lucid despite his condition.

  “How bad?” Gregory asked the men who were now trying to bandage the wounded hireling.

  “Large cut but not too deep. But then again, those are Neregoths.” One of them answered.

  Gregory turned towards Mother Maria and Opa’a. “Goes without saying, but do not get injured by those demons.” He paused, then glanced at Opa’a with a quick “Sorry” before he continued. “Bastards carry a mean poison, and they get it on everything.”

  “Aye,” the man in the sand added. “A nick and you’ll soak your shirt with blood within the hour. A proper cut and you'll leak like a whore for coins. This night’ll be shit." he sighed. “Now get it over with.” He groaned as they raised him to his feet.

  “Rinsing the wound helps, but a real cut, like that one, will have to be burned.”

  One of the men was heating a knife with a torch.

  Gregory put a hand on Croaker's shoulder as they led him towards one of the tents. The man shot him a sideways glance, then jerked his shoulder back confusedly.

  “I’ll be right, Captain.” He mumbled, backing off, all the while blood was dripping, staining the sand.

  Gregory shook his head.

  “I..” He started hesitantly.

  “I need to get to our gear.” He finally forced, leaving what he actually wanted to say behind.

  One of the other mercenaries pointed beyond the skirmish and destruction.

  “There. Your things were untouched last I saw.” he responded.

  Then a stray arrow whistled past their skulls, all of their heads turning as it flew by.

  The arrow hit, then bounced off, as the mark had been one of the creatures skulking to their side.

  As their eyes all perceived the beast, it awakened.

  With a shriek, it leapt at the nearest unfortunate soul, that being the man heating a knife with a torch.

  It swung a simple pick, some damaged piece of metal sharpened to a point fastened to a piece of drift wood, in an arc. It connected with the man's head as the creature collided with the mercenary, both tumbling in the sand. The weapon had broken apart with the impact, the split wood fell to the ground, whilst the metal part was stuck deeply in the man's skull where he lay still, oozing red into the sand.

  That sent the remaining mercenaries, including Gregory, into a rage.

  As they descended on the brute, Mother Maria could feel Opa’a grabbing her hand, guiding her to follow.

  “They can handle this.” He reassured her as he tugged her along. She was following first with indecision, then with certainty, as they ducked their way past the skirmish.

  They slipped by a couple of fighters occupied in a melee, only to find themselves in the line of fire of a twitchy mercenary with a flatbow. The same one who had loosed the earlier shot.

  His draw was clearly faster than his perception, but luckily, he held.

  “Careful now.” He said, lowering his bow as he finally recognized them not to be a threat.

  “Bastards everywhe– ” He was interrupted as the ground started trembling. All eyes turned towards the source, beyond the tents, finding a giant approaching from the shadows, looming over the canvas rooftops.

  It was one of the Neregoth, but this one was at least three times as tall and a lot wider than the earlier encounters. It had a wooden trunk raised as it barreled forth, its movement both heavy and quick at the same time.

  “Fuuuck!” The bowmen snarled, drawing out the curse as he drew another arrow.

  Mother Maria gave Opa’a a wide-eyed look, an expression screaming “How are we supposed to survive this?”

  Opa’a responded by squeezing her hand as he was dragging her along, a reassurance that brought clarity to her nerves.

  Right, I can doubt when I'm done.

  She turned just as they were about round the corner to their own shelters, observing how the giant, now with an arrow to one of its eyes, plowed through the burlap, bringing the trunk down towards the archer.

  He tried to evade, but the mace came too fast and too hard.

  A spray of sand erupted with the impact as it landed with a loud thud, the archer crushed beneath.

  She jerked with the impact, forcing herself onwards. She did not want to see the results.

  At last, they came upon their own tents.

  Opa’a’s stood to the right, hers straight ahead.

  They looked not too damaged as they were on the backend of the campsite.

  Except hers had caught fire by the back.

  Opa’a’s hand slowly slipped from hers as he pushed towards his tent and she towards hers.

  “I will see you in just a moment.” He said.

  They shared one final glance before parting ways.

  One last comfort, one last distant embrace, one last goodbye.

  She entered her shelter. Burning wood was smoldering in the sand against the scorched cloth, tipped from one of the scones.

  Smoke was filling the tent but at least her pack was untouched by the licks of flame, laying ready where she’d left it.

  Swiftly, she scooped it up, shouldered it and shuffled back the way she came.

  Finally, one thing tonight that went smoothly.

  That was when something came crashing through her way out.

  It came hurling through the sand in a cloud of dust and trashing limbs, coming to a halt before her.

  It lifted its head, revealing a toothy maw dripping with red.

  She began taking a couple of steps back.

  The Neregoth, however, composed itself quickly, and with a shudder through its hideous body, it bolted towards her, flailing its elongated arms as it charged.

  She bowed to the side as it lunged past her. It barely missed her, instead catching her pack, making her stagger but still keep upright.

  As she regained her balance, she turned towards the burning corner at the back, still smoldering away.

  Through the fire, like old times.

  She made a sprint towards the burlap wall that still, but barely, clung together. The beast, confused in the smoke, managed to snag some of the tents cloth wall with its spiked back.

  She burst through the ashen canvas just as the Neregoth reeled back in a desperate try to get loose from the textile’s grasp, but only managed to drag the whole tent down with it, the overlapping cloth quickly catching fire.

  The thing let out a harrowing wail under its burning grave

  Now, you shall be the fire.

  She stumbled out into the night again, coughing smoke.

  She looked behind her at the chaos, only growing by the minute.

  Ahead of her in the shadows she saw nothing but blackness.

  She forced herself to move, to leave everything behind her, as she had been ordered.

  And when her feet began to move, she did not stop. She broke into a sprint, away from the beach, into the night.

  She did not stop when she entered the glade at the shoreline’s edge.

  She did not stop when the forest swallowed her, trying not to collide with any trees in the slightly shifting hues of black.

  She did not stop when her foot caught a root, twisting it badly.

  She pushed through darkness, fear and pain for a long while.

  And when the ragged breaths became too heavy, forcing her to slow, she only slowed to a jog.

  She kept at it deeper into the night, deeper into the woods, deeper into the isolation.

  She could hear nothing but her heartbeat as she stumbled through the low trees, exhausted with pain shooting from her foot and then, suddenly, her feet were not touching the ground anymore.

  It had given way for a steep bank into a shallow stream, strewn with creekbed stones.

  The drop was not far but slamming against the rounded rocks stole her breath, sending the world spinning.

  She dragged in a heavy breath, not sure if anything was broken as her entire body screamed in agony. She dared not let out more than a whimper though.

  Her mouth tasted of iron.

  Slowly, painfully, she began to move.

  First just her arms, then the rest of the body followed, as she crawled through the shallow water, washing relentlessly against her body as it passed, to the other side.

  She hauled herself up the bank across the stream, rolling onto the forest floor.

  As she rested on the cool ground her body finally began to catch up to her.

  Her breathing steadied, her heartbeat slowing.

  Her battered muscles relaxing, her pain reducing to a dulled throb.

  Her senses began perceiving her surroundings in full, as she didn't spend all her mental capacity forcing her forwards.

  Darkness had just started receding, the sky starting to show color in the distance. Dawn was approaching, she noted with a weak smile where she laid, facing the heavens.

  That meant she had runned for hours, she realised.

  Or at least stumbled.

  An echo through the trees interrupted her.

  A deep, guttural croak, tapering off towards the end by dragging an inhale through gravel.

  “Worok-chyyy!” It resounded, one time, two times, three times.

  And further away came the answer “Worok-chyyy.” three times back.

  She had heard the same meaty scraping at the beach.

  Neregoths.

  “They are faster and stronger. If we flee, they will hunt us down one by one.” Gregory had told them.

  Now they were hunting her, hounding her through the woods, though the sound was far away still.

  Yet, given her state, it would not be long until they catched up to their prey.

  She slowly rose to a crouch, making her body ready to stumble forth again. Though she knew she needed more. Something. Anything.

  She eyed the creek again, something churning in the distant corners of her memory.

  Fragments from countless hours studying her route.

  Then it hit her.

  With a groan she started limping upstream, along the waterside.

  It seemed luck was with her that night after all.

  Around a bend, passing what must’ve been an old landslide, she found what had made her memory rouse.

  The thing in mention was no more than an old stone bridge, weathered and uncared for, crossing the small creek. But it made her heart beat in excitement.

  In her memory, she’d recalled a small stream with a small bridge on the maps. This not only meant she’d been stumbling towards the right direction all this time, it also meant..

  She turned to where the path snaked its way forth, up along a hillside, at the top of which another relic sat lonely and left for the elements.

  An old tower reached for the first blue of the day, high in the sky. The Sundial it was called.

  Mother Maria couldn't help herself but to breathe a sigh of relief, as she wobbled on weak legs.

  She hurriedly hobbled up the path, her resolve reawakened.

  How she’d made it all this way by shuffling step by step through the trees was hard to grasp, but the revelation was more than welcome to her.

  As she mounted the ridge, emerging next to the husk of a tower, both wind and relief greeted her aching mind.

  For The Sundial had been a vigilant sister, standing tall over the cradle, ever watchful over her sibling who was resting peacefully in the distance. Mitas Merging.

  Her torches still visible as dimly blazing dots in the ever brightening twilight.

  Civilization was near.

  With relieving tensions she managed one step before a call came, bringing the tension all back.

  Traveling from down in the wooded valley, up along the hills, through her spine, sending shivers all over, the familiar hellish cry came crawling.

  “Worok-chyyy.” It resounded.

  With that, she staggered along, keeping an eye on her tail with every strained step.

  Down the other side, halfway to the town, her rescue, she managed before she suddenly froze. A strange outline against the, by now, light colored blue sky, watched her from atop that hill she’d just descended.

  With a hastened pace, she began to drag herself forwards again, not daring to take her eyes off the thing.

  Beside it, another one emerged, joining the outline, and another, and another. First, there were a few, then several. The several turned into a pack and the pack lots more.

  Then the horde came for her, stampeding down the hillside.

  In a frenzied swarm they came and she was slowing more and more, every hurried step ripping and tearing at her sinews as she forced herself onwards, closing in on her mark with every push but so were her pursuers.

  She began wailing in agony as her ankle pulsed pure torment up her leg.

  The closer she came, the closer they came.

  Where's the tunnel? she asked herself over and over again, desperate for an answer.

  Closer.

  “Please, not yet.” she begged through gritted teeth.

  Closer.

  Let me do right by them, first

  Closer.