Amish Vampires in Space (72 page)

He turned back to the black cave depths. It would take time for the trackers to cross the river, but even so, with his cracked ribs he would never be able to outrun them. Death waited within the abyss, he felt it in his bones. If they caught him now he'd never be more than a guard trapped in the stinking darkness of the skereta mines. If a warrior's death was his only escape, he would embrace it willingly. So, with his sokae held in front of him and his right hand pressed to the stone wall, Rathe took soft steps into the dark.

Guided by the touch of stone and probing with his blade, Rathe followed the winding passage of the cave. He strained for any sound other than the quiet click of his claws on the rocky floor. Time distorted. Each second drew out to eternity. Each step a lifetime. Yet it seemed only moments had passed since he'd left the entrance.

All at once the savage sound of two creatures locked in combat rebounded through the tunnel. Rathe froze in his steps, listening as the unseen beasts tore at each other.

And then words among the roars.

" . . . the only . . . "

" . . . abomination . . . "

It was too muddled to understand all of it, yet this was clearly speech.

Silence claimed the tunnels again, and for a moment the darkness seemed to deepen. Rathe remained still, barely daring to breathe. He waited for the victor to spring forward and rip him to shreds.

But death did not come lunging from the black to claim him. Rathe eased his way forward once more. He rounded a near corner and saw the glow of daylight illuminating an archway leading into a large cavern.

As he edged closer, Rathe could see a large hole in the ceiling spilling the sunlight across the cavern below. Flecks of ash dusted the beam. Two large forms lay on the red-stained floor below. His blood chilled as he recognized the species of the mangled bodies.

A Grakil Chae lay nearest, grey flesh shredded, its two thick legs splayed at odd angles. The noble warrior's long tail trailed away behind it, its clawed fist at the end stained with the blood of his enemy. His bulky head lay twisted at an unnatural angle. Two ugly gashes rent the back of the neck.

Beyond the Grakil Chae lay a beast out of Rathe's nightmares. A jerkrenak.

Many nights as a hatchling he had woken screaming as the vicious creatures hunted him down in his dreams. The Grakil and Jerkrenak were blood enemies, yet no jerkrenak had been seen this deep within the Empire for years. But there was no doubting what this creature was. Its narrow snout sported a long horn, and above the crushed lower jaw, Rathe could see one of the beast's killer fangs. Short, thick spines covered his body from the shoulders to the tip of his tail, from which four rear-arching spikes sprouted.

Rathe slipped into the chamber. Morbid curiosity pulled him closer to the carnage. He stooped over the corpse of the grakil. Even in death he could sense the sheer power the warrior had wielded in life. The number of grievous wounds that the body bore gave testament to his endurance.

A black protrusion from one of the gashes on the neck drew Rathe's gaze. He grasped the object and pulled it free. A fang a foot long glistened wetly in his hand.

"Be careful how yi hanle that, hatchlin'."

Rathe jumped back, grimacing as pain flared through his side. The muffled voice spoke with a strange, slurred accent. His eyes locked on the jerkrenak, now propped up on a foreleg, looking at Rathe.

"What's the matter? Yi never hird someone talkin' afore?"

"You're dead!" Rathe said, cursing himself internally for letting his guard down.

"Oy, we've git irselves a smart one here." A fit of coughing wracked the jerkrenak's body.

The light shifted slightly and Rathe saw the extent of the jerkrenak's wounds. A horrible blow had crushed the entire left side of the creature's face. Skin had been ripped away, exposing bone and an empty eye-socket. That the beast was alive, let alone able to form words, seemed impossible.

He looked back at the ravaged corpse of the grakil and noted the bloody trails in the ash-strewn floor that marked the course of the battle. "Jerkrenak, beast of slaughter." The name twisted on Rathe's tongue. "You are aptly named."

"Jerkrenak is what I am, 'tis not mi name." His remaining eye fixed on Rathe's.

He met the gaze, emboldened by the creature's mortal wounds. Rathe pointed his blade at the jerkrenak and stepped forward. "You murdered a loyal warrior of the Karn Empire!"

"Loyal! Hah!" The jerkrenak snarled. "Thir just usin' thi empire to fulfill thir own ends."

Rathe roared in anger. "The Grakil have served since the first Melgor's ascension. Their loyalty is beyond reproach."

"Ah, thi stubbornness of youth. So certain that yi know everythin'." The jerkrenak's head dropped to his foreleg and his voice softened. "Listen to old Durstin, hatchlin'. I was old when the saurn first looked to the stars. I saw thi Dread fill their hearts and I lived through thi Chaos. I've seen thi rise and fall of more Melgor than yi know lived, and have fought the Grakil since before I can remember. There be more to this world than yi know or see. Thi path that yir precious Melgor walks will lead this world to great peril."

Rathe snarled. "You speak words of poison—"

"Yea, poison!" Durstin's words echoed through the cavern. "Poison not meant for yi but the shroud that covers yir soul and entangles yir heart. My journey is near over, as it is with all my kind. The coming storm will sweep us aside. Our journey is complete and our destination at hand. But yir's is just beginnin'. Make sure yi know who yir guide is. There is only one true guide for this journey, and only one path."

"Your words are lost on me, beast." Rathe grinned at the dying jerkrenak. "I have heard the tales of your kind, speaking with a sweet tongue, luring the simple-minded into snares and turning them against their own. I have seen them myself, wallowing in their own self-pity in the skereta mines. Pitiful. Weak. Their wasting beliefs eating them faster than even the acid in their veins. Your 'guide' is doing precious little to light their paths."

Anger burned in the jerkrenak's eye. Rathe flinched away, then snarled in self-recrimination over showing his fear.

"Beware of belittling the guide! Yi know not of what yi speak. Yea, there are many who have lost sight of the way, wallowing instead in their own misery. Yet the guide is still there, waiting only for them to lift their eyes and follow. Others claim to follow the guide but are naught but mockeries, following twisted paths."

Wracking coughs shook the beast, echoing through the cave. When they passed his voice had softened again. "But it is not about them that yi should be concerned, for their paths are their own. Yir path lies ahead of yi. It is surrounded by storms and trouble."

Another fit of coughing tore through the jerkrenak's broken body, and a gush of blood issued from his ruined mouth. "Let my fang, that yi hold, bear testimony that I have warned yi. Seek the guide! Follow his way, lest yi bring the fire of the stars down upon us all. Do that and yir path to doom will be certain. My journey is done. I am home."

A final rattled breath issued from the beast and he lay still.

Those last words had been so soft that Rathe wasn't sure they had been spoken aloud. He stood above the dead jerkrenak, trying to shake its claim, but the message stuck, gnawing at his mind. Home? With a roar of frustration he threw the jerkrenak's fang away and swung his sokae, sinking the curved blade deep into the dead beast's neck.

As Rathe turned from the corpse a quiet whimper issued from one of the darker corners of the cavern. He walked toward the corner cautiously, letting his eyes adjust.

A male hatchling of the Barniks clan, not yet grown into his markings, lay in the shadow. His long flat snout gaped, sucking in shallow breaths. His eyes stared ahead in an empty gaze.

Rathe knelt down beside the hatchling, cupping its head in one hand as he checked for injuries. A startled gasp escaped his throat when his left hand passed the knee of the hatchling's right leg and felt only air. He felt the wound and could tell by the ragged flesh and splintered bone that it had been bitten off. Recently.

Rathe looked back at the dead jerkrenak. He'd heard rumors that hatchlings had been vanishing. He snarled. The jerkrenak must have been snatching away the young to feast upon them. The grakil had obviously picked up the beast's trail and followed it to this cave, then fought to save this hatchling's life, giving his own in sacrifice.

Rathe cursed the jerkrenak. He'd probably been hoping this hatchling would bleed to death before Rathe could realize the truth.

A stifled cry drew his attention back to the hatchling. Rathe grabbed a handful of ash and pressed it to the leg stump. The hatchling screamed, then fainted. Satisfied that the bleeding was stemmed, Rathe scooped the youngster into his arms. As he did so a glint of light caught his eye. The jerkrenak's fang lay propped against a small rock, its glossy surface reflecting the dim light.

Rathe smiled. Capture meant nothing now. Let them come. His sokae stood with its blade buried in the jerkrenak's neck. His torn side and cracked ribs could bear testimony to a fight with the wounded beast. And this fang would be a great trophy. It could be the means by which he finally proved himself worthy of serving in the Imperial Army. Maybe he could even use it to gain a place in the Sokojae tournament when his training was over.

He retrieved the black spike, his mind whirring with the tale he would tell of slaying the beast and rescuing this hatchling. Just two more years in the mines to complete the training regimen, he could endure that much, then he would be free to show the Empire just what he was capable of. The cage he'd felt his society trapping him in fell away as the grand vision of his future unfurled itself before him.

Yet in the back of his mind a voice wormed.

Yir path to doom will be certain.

1

Sokojae

Rathe stood on the observation deck of the transport and listened to the dark northern sea beat a steady rhythm against the massive ship's pontoons. Brimstone, mingled with the sharp bite of salt, nipped at his nostrils. Just beyond the horizon, steam, ash, and smoke, painted with the fire of the sunset, belched into the evening air while the faint rumblings of the volcano died on the wind.

The crash of heavy equipment and a chorus of curses drew Rathe's attention to the cargo deck below him. The wind and the waves muffled the words of the crew as they prepped for docking in the morning. Rathe watched them struggle with a loose cable, then walked to the far side of the observation deck, thankful that no one else remained topside. He leaned against the railing and stared at the coming storm.

Among the seething clouds, dozens of blites rode the volatile air currents. Held aloft by egg-shaped gas sacks, the plants' feathery tendrils whipped in the wind as they leeched water and minerals from the smoky air. The blites comforted Rathe, conjuring memories of his early years watching the great plants congregate around the volcanoes near his home.

His gaze drifted from the blites to the darkening sky above. As violent and primal as the volcano's anger had been, it was but a pale promise of the nightly keestol that would soon wash the sky in a myriad of colors. Rathe remembered when he had taken the jeweled sky for granted, but the three years spent in the black depths of the skereta mines hoping for this day had given him a new appreciation for the nightly display.

All at once the keestol surged across the sky, as if in defiance of the raging below. Refracted light danced in mesmerizing chaos veiling the night. Rathe drank in the sight, the unbridled colors mirroring the turmoil within him.

Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the shimmering curtain rolled on to the east, chasing the setting sun, until only torrid clouds remained.

And stars. The cold stars.

Rathe stiffened under the starry glare. He knew the legends of their wrath. Though he publicly dismissed them, fear tugged at his heart. A disquieting whisper that some truth lay in the tales—that his race had yet to find forgiveness for some ancient affront.

Lightning bathed the world in chill light. The storm broke. Several blites exploded, their sacks ignited by lightning. Seedpods shot from the burst sacks into the night with a crackling whine. The burning pods crisscrossed the sky with trails of fire until snuffed by the sea. They would ride the currents until deposited on a distant beach to take root.

Strong winds whipped the sea into a thrashing fury, and the great vessel started to pitch. Rathe closed his eyes and let his body fall into the rhythm of the rolling ship. His powerful tail wove to maintain his balance. How far he'd come since that day in the cave. He spread his legs wide and threw his arms out to welcome the downpour as it crashed over the deck. Warm rain, muddied by the ash and dust in the clouds, streamed over his dappled skin and calmed his spirit. The musky scent of wet earth filled the air.

Rathe savored the feel of the pounding water. Each drop massaged more of the tension from his muscles. He tapped the bony ridge that ran along the top of his snout with his claws. The rhythm blended with that of the rain and helped him focus on the task ahead.