Terrors From the Red Mountain, Ch. 3: As Our Foe Flies
As Our Foe Flies
Continuing from yesterday’s entry, we have chapter 3 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
Blackpaw gripped his spear tight. The calloused skin of his palm creaked against the smooth wooden shaft, and he grit his teeth as he watched the fiend fly. Swooping low over the river, its dark form was lit from above by silvery moonlight filtered between the trees. Large ears, almost as broad as they were tall, looked like bulky horns jutting from its head. The mane at its neck, a scraggly and bushy thing, rippled in the moonbeams.
Underneath, gripped by an arm and a leg in the creature’s clawed feet, Old Scars struggled. His torch flickered as the beast dragged him along, almost snuffing as it beat its broad wings. For the briefest moment, Blackpaw was stricken by how strange the movement of its wings were. Like the terror soarers which nested near Three Lakes, the Red Mountain fiend spent a portion of its time gliding. However, the terror soarers moved their wings as birds did, beating them down to help pull their bodies into the air. The fiend moved entirely differently, making rolling motions with its limbs as though it were swimming through the air.
Realizing the strangeness of this, Blackpaw found his disgust with the fiends deepening. What an unnatural thing to be capable of, flying by swimming. Yet this was not the time to ponder such things. Beneath the creature, Old Scars continued to struggle for freedom. He’d lost his spear when he’d been grabbed. The weapon clattered through the trees and landed somewhere in the river below, likely to be dashed against the rocks and destroyed. He managed to keep that makeshift torch, though, and he made good use of it.
Loosing a deep throated bellow which echoed between the steep banks, Old Scars fought back. He twisted his silhouetted body and jammed the burning end of the torch into the fiend’s flank. The monstrosity keened, and Blackpaw grimaced. The cacophonous cry was like thorns in his ears! He could only imagine how much worse it was for Old Scars, but it didn’t stop the aging warrior. In the side, in the leg, at the place where the membrane of its wing met its body, he thrust that fire wherever he could reach!
The fiend slowed, beginning to wobble in the air. Stealing a glance at his brother, Blackpaw and White-eye each met the other’s gaze for the briefest of moments. Such was all that they needed for their mutual understanding to come through. Ever since they were boys, they’d been able to communicate like this. A shared glance. A brief look. A certain nod of the head, or just the right grunt and gesture. Little things which transcended their people’s simplistic language and ran far deeper than speech. This was instinct, a natural understanding built not only off their closeness as family, but the knowledge they’d built about each other as partnered hunters.
Gripping their spears tight, the brothers steadied themselves along the edge of the embankment. Then, with the shorter Blackpaw in front and the taller White-eye behind, they hoisted their weapons up, pulled their arms back, and Blackpaw started to run. It was a risky maneuver. The soil was loose and damp all along the embankment. This was made all the worse by the way the deep shadows of midnight darkened the jungle to near blackness. One wrong step, and Blackpaw could slip or trip on an unseen root or stone. Then he’d be sent tumbling into the river where he would likely die.
Despite these dangers, Blackpaw moved with neither fear nor hesitation. After all, his eyes were sharp, and the moon was full and bright. This was to say nothing of his own torch, too, or of the ones which White-eye and Old Scars still held. With all of these things to their advantage, the skillful brothers had all they required to take the opportunity before them.
Five steps. He would take five steps before hurling his spear. By keeping over the river, the fiend was better able to fly at speed. Though narrow in this area, the trees were far enough separated that staying low helped it avoid the leafy branches which would’ve slowed it down. This proved fortunate for Blackpaw and White-eye, because it also left the creature exposed. Clearly visible in the moonlight thanks to the thinner canopy above the river, the open air through which it soared allowed them the space needed to throw their spears and, hopefully, bring it down.
Blackpaw took those five steps and with a mighty yell, he pitched his spear into the sky. A few paces behind him, White-eye also launched his weapon, but after just three steps in his case. Grim determination set in their features, the brothers watched their twin spears arc through the air at the wobbling, shrieking creature. Suddenly its body stiffened and spasmed, and it started to fall.
Hurrying along the riverbank, Blackpaw watched with mounting dread as the bat-like beast dropped out of the sky. He feared that it might land in the water, where it would then be smashed against the rocks. No less than the fiend deserved, really, but that would likely doom Old Scars as well. Good fortune favored them this time. The fiend banked to its right as it careened out of the air. Crashing on the bank a short ways off, Blackpaw and White-eye were able to reach the twitching beast quickly.
The fiend reeked. Not only did its fur smell musty and thoroughly unpleasant, but it stank of blood and singed hair. Both of the spears the brothers hurled jutted from its back. Blackpaw’s had pierced it along its side, its tip buried deep where the thin arm that supported its wing met its torso. White-eye’s landed further in, puncturing into its chest cavity from the back. Given that it was twitching and made no move to attack or flee, the throw likely pierced its heart.
All well and good, but that told them nothing of Old Scars. Knitting his brow into a deep frown, Blackpaw looked about for a sign of the old man. He saw nothing in the water, heard no splashing, noticed no torch or body falling from beneath the fiend. Had he fallen in without their notice? Extending his torch hand out as far as he could, Blackpaw peered down to the nearest rocks which the water raged past. Still he saw no signs.
The fiend’s body moved. Jumping back, Blackpaw held his torch out defensively. Foolish, he should’ve made sure to get his spear back first. His tension relaxed after a moment. The bat-like monstrosity’s body wasn’t moving because it yet lived. Rather, it was that something, or more appropriately someone, was climbing out from underneath one of its leathery wings.
Caked in mud from the riverbank, Old Scars began pulling his way out from beneath the creature’s weight. His body freshly cut and bruised, he winced as he clumsily clawed through the damp soil to free himself. Blackpaw quickly stepped in to help him, with White-eye reaching underneath the fiend’s right wing and torso to help lift it up. Shaking his head, Old Scars grunted and used the back of his hand to wipe some of the mud off his face. Then he grunted to the brothers and gave them a gesture of gratitude.
“Mahwon lamowok sho pah,” came the voice of Cat Skull from the opposite bank.
Both Old Scars and the brothers turned to face him - Blackpaw with curiosity, White-eye with mild indifference, and Old Scars with utmost seriousness. Despite his own expectations, Blackpaw realized the rangy, stone faced black man wasn’t looking at any of them. Instead, he peered further down the bending riverbank to a space where the river grew wider, its steep slopes more shallow, and its waters calm.
They had found their crossing at last. In that moment, Blackpaw had assumed that Cat Skull’s alien words had been regarding precisely that. After speaking them, he led his eleven men down to those slower moving shallows and they forded the river to join the other three. What Blackpaw hadn’t known then was what Cat Skull could see from the other side, something which would go unnoticed until they met at that place where the river widened.
With the shores being further separated, so too were the trees. Standing along the bank of this languorous part of the river, Blackpaw found that he was able to more easily see the wide path it cut through the jungle. And that wasn’t all. Peering up above the canopy, he saw the Red Mountain looming in the near distance. Looming, and smoking.
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: 1,440
Total Word Count: 6,112
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:
That was a great throw, by both men. Old scars was lucky such accomplished hunters were around.
Old Scars is a tough sob. Keep it up! Looking forward to Ch. 4!