Terrors From the Red Mountain, Ch. 2: The Midnight Hunt
The Midnight Hunt
Continuing where we left off last Saturday, here’s chapter 2 of “Terrors From the Red Mountain,” my submission for the fantasy mega contest hosted by
, , and . Revisiting the brothers Blackpaw and White-eye, the stars of my previous primitive fantasy novella “The Claws of the N’longu,” this new adventure will see them pushed to the very brink as they attempt to reach the volcanic Red Mountain and save their kin from the flying terrors which stole them away.Chapter 1: Death Descends | Chapter 2: The Midnight Hunt | Chapter 3: As Our Foe Flies | Chapter 4: The Red Mountain | Chapter 5: Cat Skull’s Gambit
Torches were gathered, scavenged from the still-burning wreckage of the tilt-ups and lean-tos that comprised their hideaway. With them, Blackpaw and White-eye would once more tame that fire which was meant to keep their people warm at night. Those vicious flames, spurred to destroy by the leather-winged fiends, would now become the instrument by which they were found.
After meeting with Cat Skull and his warrior band, the brothers had hoped to find more from their tribe to join the hunt. Few remained who were of able body, and of those who were, many had been injured or maimed. Even so, they petitioned everyone they could find, man and woman alike. Alas, none had the spirit to join them, locked into states of inaction by either grief or fear.
Blackpaw didn’t fault them for this, though part of him did find it foolish and cowardly. Swift action might just see some of those captured be saved. If more were to rise up and come with them, their chances would be improved.
Yet there were no guarantees of success in this endeavor. The jungle was a dangerous enough place at the best of times. Deadly beasts, poison plants, festering pools, and the risk of infection were constant threats now made worse by the tribe’s decimation. Hearts were heavy, and hope was little. Blackpaw could see this in the faces of his people. Just as the terrors of Red Mountain stole many of them away, so too went their will to fight.
Old Scars, that stocky warrior which looked like a squat and aging version of White-eye, expressed his disappointment with a grumbling shake of his head. Like the rest of the warparty, he’d been hopeful that more would join their hunt. They, too, expressed their chagrin in a variety of ways. Shakes of the head. Mutterings under their breath. Open sneers down at the survivors, which made Blackpaw bristle when he saw them. Those were still his people, after all.
The sole exception to this was Cat Skull, who’s ebony visage remained as stony faced as ever. Commanding the attention of his disparate warband with a hard clacking of the butt of his spear, he spoke orders in that alien tongue of his. Neither Blackpaw or White-eye understood him, but it seemed like Old Scars did in spite of how very different their languages were.
The old hunter turned to the brothers, barking and grunting out a translation for them. They were all to take up the torches which the brothers had provided. Using them, they would stalk the beasts through the jungle by following the trail of blood left behind. With so many fresh and violent kills, some dead were sure to have been taken back to their lairs in the mountain. Alongside the injured living and what injured fiends there were, blood would’ve fallen in their wake. Blood which would reflect the light of their torches, giving them a trail to follow.
A decent plan, and at a glance, Blackpaw saw his brother agreed. Passing out the makeshift torches they’d gathered, the small band made its way back into the thick jungle. They started east, following the path of destruction the flying devils left in the low branches of the surrounding trees. When that was no longer usable, they started looking and scenting for blood.
One of the cliff dwellers was the first to spot it. Spattered inconsistently along the edges of a nearby stone, the viscous red fluid glistened in the torchlight. Leaning in close, Blackpaw sniffed at the quickly drying blood. It had a sour and earthy scent, rich with a metallic bite. Tilting his head back, he sniffed the air as he rose back up. Hints of that metallic odor lingered in the air ahead. He crept forward, holding his torch high. The warm light of its flame glinted off more scattered drops further ahead, these ones having fallen upon the skinny trunk of a nearby tree.
They followed this scattered trail for roughly an hour, alternately relying on sight and scent to lead their way. Near the end of that hour Blackpaw heard the rushing of a nearby river. Before much longer they stood along the crest of its bank, watching the light of their torches reflected in the cascading rapids below. They needed a way across - a felled log, vines to swing from, something of that sort. Trying to swim the waters was out of the question. The banks were steep and damp, easy to slip and fall from, and that was assuming they could cross the violent waters in the first place. Entering the river more than likely meant being dashed against the rocks and drowning.
Cat Skull and his people searched around for a means to cross. As they did, Blackpaw and White-eye also scanned the area, but not along the ground. Instead, they cast eyes upwards, to the trees and their long branches. The two of them could make it across if they climbed. They were good with trees, skilled at climbing after so many years using them to scout and set up ambushes for their hunts. Would the same hold true of the others?
Blackpaw turned to Old Scars. “Ogoh rohk?” Can they climb?
The old brute looked up at the trees himself and frowned. Patting his own chest, he gave an answer in the affirmative. However, when he motioned to the rest of them, he expressed uncertainty.
To Blackpaw’s mind, that left him with something to consider. If only some of them could climb and jump their way across, would it be better for them to do so and try to find a way to bridge the river? Or should they travel along its banks and try to find a safe crossing further up? Downriver wasn’t much of an option. Though they couldn’t see it from here, all of them could hear the roar of a waterfall nearby.
To White-eye, the answers Old Scars gave were enough to set his mind. He pushed his way past his brother and the old hunter, tucked his spear under his torch arm, then used his now free hand to begin climbing. Blackpaw shrugged and followed suit. It was just like his elder brother to be decisive in his actions. Fortunately White-eye proved to have good instincts over the years. His chosen courses worked out for them more often than not.
As they reached the first branches that extended over the river, Blackpaw heard grunts of effort come from below him. Old Scars was following after them. He pointed this out to his brother, but he only got an incurious grunt in return. White-eye was too busy calculating his jump to worry about anyone else.
Old Scars had soon perched on a branch a short ways beneath theirs. Holding his torch out, he also peered out over the river. The first branches that reached out far enough over the raging waters for them to possibly make the jump were about halfway up the tree. More branches further up also jutted out, and a few of those reached even further than the one the brothers had perched upon. They were also skinnier and less likely to support their weight. Looking at them, Blackpaw saw that they were healthy enough that they probably wouldn’t break if they climbed higher, but once they got too far out they would quickly bend and bow, stealing their momentum and making the leap that much more dangerous.
He’d been considering this when he heard the shuffle and pat of feet beside him. White-eye was making his move, and the tree’s broad leaves rustled as the branch wobbled with his movement. With his broad feet and thickly muscled limbs, White-eye didn’t appear the type to be agile enough to perform the feat. Yet he maintained that swift and balanced run all the same, and right when he took the first step that made his chosen branch start to bow he crouched low and sprang like a tree frog.
Seeing White-eye’s burly form sail through the air was quite the sight. With his broad, tree trunk-like chest and massive arms, he looked more like a hurled boulder than a leaping man. Even so, that didn’t diminish the surprising grace of his movement. His strong legs, amplified by the springing force of the branch, launched him in a long and shallow arc which saw him easily able to grab hold of the branches from an equally tall tree on the opposite bank. Then he swung and dropped his way from branch to branch until he stood facing the warparty from the other side of the river.
Blackpaw followed soon after. Steadying himself by taking hold of the branch over his head, he turned his feet outwards at an angle. Doing so would allow him greater stability when he started to run, giving him greater contact with the tree’s relatively narrow limb. Looking out ahead and not daring to peek down at the churning river, he sucked in a deep breath, let go of the branch above him, and ran.
His gait was awkward. The outward turn of his feet forced him to make slight outside swings with his steps so that he struck the branch with the middle arch of his foot, as opposed to the ball or heel. Despite the clumsy appearance, which drew nervous glances and murmurs from the rest of the hunting party, Blackpaw was well practiced in this unusual form of balanced running. His steps were precise and swift. Then, just as his brother had, he knelt low the moment he reached the point where he felt the branch bow under his weight. Tucking his arms in tight at his sides, Blackpaw practically balled himself up into a tense spring of muscle.
All at once, he let that captured energy go. Springing with his feet and throwing his free hand out at the same time - he still had his spear tucked under his torch arm - he launched himself forward. In all, the motion took him no more than a couple seconds to execute. Gliding through the air along the same shallow arc his brother cut, he felt that air beat against his face and ripple through his long, oily black hair. Below him the river rushed and roiled, its rough surface catching the light of their torches and making them look like ripples of embers.
Blackpaw grabbed the nearest branch with his free hand. The other he tucked even tighter against his body, until he was able to find solid purchase with his feet. Then he began climbing down, following the same branch to branch path White-eye had. Within a few short moments he, too, was on the other side. Looking to his brother, the pair traded self congratulatory nods between each other. Then they set to searching for any nearby trees they could topple or vines they could swing on to help the others across.
As they did this, Old Scars was readying to make his leap. Blackpaw heard the branches rustling above them. Leaves and shreds of bark fell, silhouetted by the moon at first, and then illuminated by the light of his torch once close enough. The branch bowed as the old hunter reached his own jumping point, evidenced by the creak it gave.
Without warning, something crashed through the trees. With grunts of surprise, both Blackpaw and White-eye looked up. Silhouetted against the large pale moon, a black shadow with wings splayed wide swooped from the cover of the nearby trees. With an ear piercing screech, the fiend soared over the river! With a beat of its leathery wings, it snatched Old Scars out of the air!
Thank you for reading the first chapter of “Terrors From the Red Mountain,” my entry to the Warrior Wednesday/Sword & Saturday Mega Contest being hosted by
and in partnership with . Chapter 3 will be made available Tuesday, Jan. 28th.Chapter Word Count: 1,954
Total Word Count: 4,672
Chapter 1: Death Descends | Chapter 2: The Midnight Hunt | Chapter 3: As Our Foe Flies | Chapter 4: The Red Mountain | Chapter 5: Cat Skull’s Gambit
My first novella, In the Giant’s Shadow, is available for purchase! Lured to the sleepy farming community of Jötungatt by a mysterious white raven, Gaiur the Valdunite soon finds herself caught in a strange conspiracy of ritual murder and very real nightmares.
Purchase it in hardback, paperback, or digital on Amazon now:
Definitely thought the branch was going to break. Looking forward to tomorrow's installement!
Was that a bat-man or terror soarer who monched Old Scar mid air?