The Prison-Caerns
"What's this?" Gillion asked. "A grave?"
Daiza lifted her head. She'd been staring at the ground, focused on
her next step, not her surroundings. She was so tired from holding
Syll up that she almost would've welcomed the horcha's tongue
now.
Gillion was pointing at a small mound beside the path. Without their
lantern, it was hard to see what composed it, but the slopes were
jagged with what appeared to be rocks.
"Some kind of caern?" she asked in a breathy voice.
"Perhaps they bury their dead outside of town," the little
man speculated. "I've seen that before. Some cultures consider
corpses unlucky and won't let them in town."
Daiza made no response. She'd seen it, too--but she was too tired to
speak.
"Better keep moving," Gillion said. "Those
tongue-lashers will be free of that ice any minute now."
They continued their desperate hobble to the lights. More caerns
rose up from the ground around them. The trees gave way to a wide
dead meadow littered with caerns. A few were marked with sticks and
tattered flags, but most were bare rock.
Ahead, they could see the torches better. They sat atop a
strange-looking wooden tower. It was about thirty feet high, with a
sort of skirt or flare, an outcropping of wood jutting out at a queer
angle about ten feet up.
"That's...some...strange...architecture," Gillion huffed
between steps.
Daiza squinted at the tower. "I bet...it's so...the horcha
can't climb it."
"You...may...be...right."
Just then, a stone tumbled into their path.
They stopped and turned to look at a caern.
"That's not creepy," Gillion said in a shaky voice. "Not
creepy at all."
With effort, Syll lifted her chin up from her chest. "Anyone
hear that?" she asked in a weak voice. "Like a scratching?"
Gillion cocked his head so his pointed ears could listen better.
"Yeah...you think rats got in there and are eating the...?"
Daiza stared in horror at the caern. "No, I think there's a
horcha in there."
"A what?"
"The things with the tongues. They're--they're a phenomena
called horcha. It means
'abomination' or, more accurately, a paradox. It's a sort of magical
curse. I don't know the exact type."
"So they buried them in there?"
"What else were they going to do with them?" Daiza asked.
"Even for a magus, it's difficult to kill one."
"Helluva a way to treat your women," Syll said.
"What?" Gillion asked.
Syll turned her head so her nose was just inches from his. "Didn't
you notice? They were all females that attacked us. Female corpses."
Daiza thought back to the horcha. Shuddering, she could
recall nothing but groping nails and fleshy black tongues. "It's
just a coincidence," she said. "Fifty fucking percent of
the human race is female. We just got lucky." She frowned. "Or
unlucky, depending on how you parse it."
"Keep tellin' yourself that," Syll said in a quiet voice.
"As for me? I say we don't trust anybody here with a dick."
"Maybe you should walk on your own now," Gillion said
testily.
The pale woman swooned in their grasp. When her eyes met Daiza, the
girl could've sworn she winked at her. "Still weak..."
Before Gillion could comment, a voice called out from ahead of them:
"Who goes there? Are you human or fiend?"
"Human," the diminutive man answered without irony. "Don't
shoot!"
"What were you doing in the Goorvould?"
"I don't know what that is," the little man cried. "But
we need help."
"Come into the light where we can see you."
"Stay alert," Syll said under her breath, head bobbing as
they carried her along.
"You sound like my sister."
Aside from a slight twist of her dark lips, Syll made no answer.
The three of them carefully hobbled into the warm aura of the
torches. A tall door stood at the base of the tower, banded in rusty
iron. To either side of it were carts overflowing with stones, parked
just far enough from the wall that they couldn't be used as a scaling
aid.
The three of them paused before the door and looked up.
Over the wooden skirt was a parapet topped in iron hooks and barbs,
manned by a dozen soldiers in mail with wide brimmed steel hats. In
their mailed fists they held polearms with spear-like tips and long
jagged crossbars.
One of the men--he had gray sideburns and a steely gaze, nodded down
at Syll. "What's wrong with your companion?"
"We were attacked. She was injured. Now let us in!"
Gillion demanded.
"Can't let 'em in if they're ill, cap'n," someone said in
a low voice to the gray-hair.
Daiza looked over her shoulder. "Hurry," she pleaded. "I
think they're coming."
The captain narrowed his eyes. "Get them in."
Behind the door, the latches and bars groaned. It was thrown open
and within seconds, the three wanderers found themselves in the dark
confines of the tower.
It reeked of rotting planks and lantern oil. Men surrounded
them--they could hear them move as they barred and latched the door.
But none of them spoke.
Daiza could feel the tension in them, feel their anticipation...
"Hi," Gillion said. "My name is--"
"Shh!"
The door suddenly groaned as a weight pressed against it, followed
by the scratching of many filthy nails. Daiza imagined those black
tongues, writhing against the wood just inches away...
Standing the dark with nothing but her thoughts, Daiza reflected
that the polearms these men used were designed like boar-spears: able
to pierce and opponent then hold it--or, if Syll was right, her--at
a distance. The process was straight-forward enough: pin the horcha
with the weapons then pile stones atop it.
Her theory was born out: a command was shouted from above and the
men shoved their new guests in a corner. Throwing the door open, the
soldiers charged into the night.
Gillion, Syll, and Daiza waited in the shadows of the corner,
listening to the men outside:
"Got 'er. Git that other one..."
"Hold 'er hold 'er hold 'er..."
"Watch it, Zvendi, that's one's fast."
"Hold 'er hold 'er hold 'er..."
"I think...yeah. Now twist and pin."
"Hold 'er hold 'er hold 'er....goooood!"
The rest was all grunts and muttering, with the occasional command
from the tower-top. This was the rock-laying phase, as they built a
caern over the defeated horcha.
For the first time since she'd seen them, Daiza felt something like
pity for the abominations.
"Here we go," Syll whispered.
Light cut through the darkness above. A lantern was held through a
trapdoor while the soldier with the gray sideburns descended a ladder
there. When he reached the bottom, he waited in the darkness until
the lantern was lowered to him by a chain. He held it up and studied
the three adventerers.
Two other men joined him.
"Shouldn't a let 'em in," one muttered.
The captain shook his head. "They're outsiders. The master'll
want to see 'em..."
"But--"
"And they're maidenfolk," the officer told him
sharply. "You know the rule: all tits go to the master."
Gillion looked over at Daiza. "That's never a good sign."
©2015 Christopher Beats. All Rights Reserved.
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