May 31st Fantasy & Sci-Fi Deals

Weekly Deals & Stories from Joshua Landeros

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Chapter 2

Namu woke to the sound of bird calls and his stomach grumbling. The sun’s light poked between the pine trees, nearly blinding him when he first cracked his eyes open. As he often did on such days, he thought of his mother’s words the first time he’d inquired about his mutation. She had said that his eyes shone golden like the sun, and Vah Himself could only have bestowed such a gift. From that day, she had always affectionately referred to him as her “little sun.” Ever since his mother had contracted the Pale Tide, he’d slept under the stars while she stayed in the yurt. Sharing close quarters with an infected was how entire families were blemished. She’d initially wanted the reverse, but her son had stubbornly refused.

Namu flexed his fingers and felt a sensation in them despite the cold. Maybe Vah is looking out for me after all, and I’ve just been ungrateful. He took in a lungful of pine-scented air. It was time to get to work.

Their limited arsenal was hidden inside the very log his mother sat on by the firepit. Namu reached inside for his spear and quiver. Unfortunately, their refugee status made kymir or kaichin steel hard to come by. There was no forge within weeks of Naaman prefecture. What expensive weaponry there was in Naaman was brought in from the outside. Groups with even a single blade of kymir gem or steel often used it to take whatever they pleased from the weaker and ill-equipped clanless. Namu had crafted his spear tip and arrowheads from sharpened chert.

The teenage Sebelian peered through the yurt flaps. His mother was sound asleep. He decided not to wake her. She needed every ounce of rest she could get. As always, she kept a sack of their belongings under her arm as she slept on the fur blanket, just in case they should need to flee for any reason, she always said. Of course, he knew what she meant. In case they try to drive out the cursed aberration from even this land of rejects. Another crude spear lay close to her. With a silent goodbye, Namu left their campsite.

***

Namu traveled northwest, up the woodland hillside. Pine trees were in abundance, along with bushes as tall as he. Despite the prolonged cold, many of these had grown their springtime berries. The young hunter knew better than to partake. The pink berries smelled sweet, but ingesting even just a few would leave one horribly ill for weeks; the more one ate, the more persistent the sickness. He still remembered seeing a Sebelian child, not much younger than himself, lying dead in the forest with his trousers around his ankles. The dry, cracked lips on the boy told Namu he’d died of thirst, surely after weeks of vomiting and diarrhea. The body can only take so much. His mother explained that if one doesn’t replace what is being lost, one's darma is depleted, and the soul moves on.

The young man had firsthand experience with the fuzzy yellow-red berries. When he was eight cycles old, he’d ingested several handfuls without telling his mother. The consequences had been horrendous. His muscles spasmed before completely freezing. Within just twenty minutes of consumption, he had collapsed to the forest floor. He frothed at the mouth, unable to move even a finger. He’d only survived because of his mother.

Back in Giganato prefecture, she’d been known as Madam Pyri, one of the last freelance magic practitioners. While she commanded no actual magic, as the law forbade, she knew much about potions, elixirs, and natural remedies. After a week of choking down her bitter concoctions, the boy was on his feet again. His mother hugged him before slapping him hard. Even as his cheek went numb, she’d wrapped him in another embrace and sobbed into his small shoulders. Guilt flowed through him then just as it did now. It was his fault they were outcasts and, by extension, his fault she was infected with the Pale Tide. His mother was his temple, and he intended to pay her back a thousand-fold for her selflessness.

Namu trekked through the forest for hours. He kept a steady pace to conserve energy for when he needed it. The brush thickened the deeper he went, the long sleeves of his tunic constantly snagging on bushes or low-hanging branches. He worried about the state of his trousers; the breeze he felt through the fabric was beginning to feel almost unhindered, and he knew his mother could no longer mend them in her state. Nevertheless, he went on undeterred, treading even more carefully. What mattered right now was not speed but masking his presence. He sidestepped pinecones and avoided dry leaves as best he could. The only pause came when he found a clump of reeking brown pellets. Strider deer droppings, Namu recognized. Flies buzzed around him as he knelt to examine the pile. He used a twig to break it apart, identifying remnants of nuts and fruits. Fresh, too. Today just might be our day, Ma.

Namu arrived at a creek. The water was little more than ankle depth and clear as crystal. Namu cupped his hands to drink. The taste was exquisite. He considered stripping off his smelly garments and freshening up in the cold water for a moment, but he pushed it from his mind, remembering why he’d come. The boy found a small hiding spot between a pine tree and a large bush. He used a four-pronged branch on the ground, placing it atop the bush and a nearby branch, then covering it with smaller branches and a layer of leaves. Namu hunkered beneath it as he had practiced countless times.

The woods were silent but for the merry twitters of birds and the occasional frog’s croak. He waited for what felt like forever, his shadow creeping slowly from his left to his front. He leaned down on his hands when his legs and back grew sore, moving as slowly as possible so as not to make a sound. The flowing water of the creek was enough to lull him to sleep. Though he knew he had to remain vigilant, he briefly gazed at the sky. It was especially vibrant today, with only a handful of puffy white clouds drifting lazily across the blue expanse.

The placement of the sun told him how much time had passed. He’d risen at the crack of dawn, but already the sun was well past its zenith. The afternoon heat was pleasant but foreboding; it spoke of the possibility of another wasted effort and grumbling stomachs for his mother and him. If he didn’t catch something soon, his mother would have to prepare whatever meager supper she could forage.

Just as he was prepared to give up, Namu returned his gaze to the creek. His heart skipped a beat. Could it be? He rubbed his eyes, inadvertently smearing dirt around them and slowly wiping it away with his sleeve. Has Vah seen my plight and shown me mercy?

Just thirty meters away, on the opposite bank, was a lone strider deer. Its broad antlers curved forward, tapering to a sharp point and hanging over its snout. Its nose and ears twitched nervously. The cautious buck scanned the area before it got anywhere near the water. Namu’s heart began to beat out of control. He calmed himself with meditative breathing, another lesson from his mother. He nocked an arrow and aimed. The deer was practically head-on from his position, but he held off for the perfect shot. He wanted to land his arrow just a few inches short of the shoulder crease. At this angle, he’d be sure to pierce the heart.

The deer sniffed the air before finally lowering its head to drink. He could already imagine the shoes he could make for himself out of the hide. Somewhere behind him, a twig snapped. The deer popped its head up and glanced around erratically. Vah damn it! Namu loosed his arrow just as the deer ran off into the forest.

The boy cursed under his breath, wishing ill on whatever animal had passed by, and alerted his target as he rose from his crouched position. His back was stiff, and he cracked his neck. He only had four arrows, one now gouged into a tree on the other side of the creek. Namu slung his bow over his shoulder and rolled his trousers to the knee. Reclaiming his arrow was the priority now. Before he could dip his toes in the frigid water, a loud and obnoxious voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Going for a dip, are we?”

Namu felt a shiver run down his spine. He turned and saw four Sebelian men approaching. They were dressed in shabby tunics and trousers, every bit as stained and worn as his own. Like himself, it was evident they had not washed in some time. Moreover, the four men were infected with the Pale Tide. All appeared to be in much worse condition than his mother. The youngest, with fluffy, wiry hair clumping from lack of grooming, was missing his ring and little finger. Stained bandages were wrapped around his hand. Another had skin nodules all over his arms, up his neck, and on his bare scalp. A few had been scratched aggressively, leaking blood and pus to form a sickening concoction on his flesh.

The oldest, evident from the bags under his eyes and thinning salt and pepper hair, seemed untouched until one noticed the bloodied bandages concealing his nose or what was left of it. His marred face did nothing to hinder his derisive, toothy grin. The last of them, off to Namu’s right, held a spear with a kymir tip, the blood-red gem finely crafted to a sparkling point. The poor man was in the worst shape of the lot, with dirty cloth concealing his entire face. His ripped-up sleeves had provided the bandages. What little skin could be seen around his hazy eyes was blistered and scabbed over.

Namu’s throat ran dry. Though the man with the wrapped face was the only one with a large weapon, he took note of the sheathed daggers on each of their hips.

The Sebelian with the missing nose, whom Namu ascertained was their leader, released a wheezing but hearty chuckle.

“The little bugbear looks positively rattled! I reckon he’s ready to piss himself!”

The man with the skin nodules met Namu’s gaze and stepped closer. Namu took two steps back.

“What ya gawkin’ at, freak! Huh?”

Namu looked down at his feet for a moment. He considered running, but the quartet had already formed a half circle around him. To his back was the slow-moving creek. The youngest sidled over to Namu’s left. Though Namu tried not to stare at his missing fingers, the similarly aged teen caught his furtive glances and glared at him with eyes full of malice.

“I can’t stand the mutant’s eyes!” He looked at the other three. “This bastard is the one who’s cursed our flesh! The unclean spread defilement everywhere they go!”

“I-I had n-nothing to do with that,” Namu protested feebly. His utter terror made his throat close around the words. He schooled himself to composure just enough to manage a more forceful retort. “My ma likely got it from your lot.”

“Shut your filthy mouth, freak!” yelled the one with the skin abrasions. His rage burned hotter than the other three combined.

Namu raised his spear to the amusement of the four. Their chortles and pointing drove his legs to wobble.

“I think he means to threaten us, boys,” the leader mocked with a venomous grin. Now, he stepped closer than all of them. So close that the tip of Namu’s spear touched his chest.

“Something tells me you don’t have it in you. Prove me wrong. Stick me like I’m that deer you were fixated on.”

The leader held out his arms—the other three watched silently, like tame hounds awaiting their command. Namu’s heart was ready to rip free of his sternum. He felt his rock spear tip tapping into thick muscle. There was no breastplate to get in the way, only a threadbare shirt. Namu had never confronted another human being, not even so much as a squabble with another child. All fifteen cycles of his short existence had always been just him and his mother. Now, a fight had found him. In the face of it, he froze.

The leader gently touched the haft of his spear and wordlessly coaxed Namu to lower his weapon. He turned to look back at his gang with a small smile. None stepped forward; soon, the leader’s eyes were on Namu.

“I can see right through you, boy. Those golden eyes don’t hide a thing. Born here or not, the stink of the law is on you. I bet your mother taught you that in a proper prefecture, a Sebelian doesn’t take what isn't his, whether it be a bit of ass or a bag of coin. He hunts for his clan, works as a blacksmith, or whatever servile occupation he’s taken up. Me and my comrades subscribe to a much simpler mandate. The one rule that existed before all others. Before the Mystic Order, chieftains and courts mucked everything. Do you know what that rule is?”

Namu’s body felt cold despite the warm rays of the sun. His fingertips and toes were nonexistent. All he could think to do was slowly shake his head. The leader laughed heartily and then tousled Namu’s hair. He was rough, but Namu felt his muscles loosen slightly. The leader leaned forward, practically whispering. His bandages had slid up to reveal a hideously exposed hole.

“We follow the Law of Might.”

Quick as a viper, the leader rammed his forehead into Namu’s nose. The blow sent him falling backward into the creek, cold water splashing around him, soaking his clothes. Warm fluid ran freely from his nostrils. Namu suddenly felt driven to retaliate and swung out wildly with his spear. A boot slammed into his chest, knocking him to his back. He immediately felt the rugged leather sole pinning it to the muddy bottom. The spear flung from his hands and splashed into the water. Before Namu could think of how to retaliate, the fellow teen and the man with the revolting skin held down his legs and other arm. The one with the concealed face merely watched in silence. The way he held the spear made it more like a prop than a weapon. He looked bored as if he had played this role too many times. Disturbed silt formed a dark cloud around the struggle, seeming to taint the pure water around them.