Pilgrimage (9 page)

Griffith scooped up the rifle and looked it over. He had no clue how it worked, but, as he stared at the weapon, the pieces of his hastily put together plan fell into place.

Clunk
. The sound of something heavy pressing on the iron doors tore Griffith from his thoughts. Gathering his focus as quick as he could, he shot his will at the shining dust. The lights died all at once. Griffith slunk back towards the corner of the shed. Something black, the size of watermelon but the shape of a hand pulled at the shed door. Griffith watched it, fighting to stay silent as his fear mounted as a whimper in his throat. The metal groaned, the door swung away. All Griffith saw was its silhouette, outlined by the warm, golden glow of light from the front windows of the house. The
thing
hunched forward to peer into the shed. One limb still held the door and the other steadied its massive form on the door frame. Griffith pressed further back into the corner. If he could have, he would have pushed himself straight through to the other side and started running. Whatever it was, it couldn't get through the door but one of its massive arms could probably still reach him from outside. Griffith watched it, searching the black mass for eyes or a face. He stifled each breath, exhaling and inhaling slow and quiet. The creature lingered at the door. Was it staring at him? Griffith couldn't tell.

Whatever it was grunted and shifted, standing up straight. Standing upright, the creature completely blocked the door. It lingered for a few seconds, then turned, and stomped away. Griffith crept to the door, holding the rifle tight to his chest. He poked his head out and scanned the yard. Empty. He couldn't hear anything but the movement and voices in the house. Keeping to the soft grass, Griffith crept to the side of the house and peered down the side. He caught another glimpse of the enormous creature as it stepped over the paddock fence and waded through the cattle. A little quick thinking and a lot of luck had saved Griffith, but he didn't know for sure if, or when, it would come back. And the problem of Thomas and Georgia's home invaders hadn't gone anywhere, either.

Feeling slightly more confident, Griffith returned to the front yard and stood on the driveway. He gave the rifle another once over and gripped it like he'd seen in the movies. Right or wrong, it didn't matter; the gun was empty. Maybe. Probably. Griffith hoped it was empty. He shoved the stock against his shoulder and aimed at the living room window, sighting along the barrel. Now all he needed was the right spell. That required more effort.

Griffith needed a distraction. He needed to get the attention on him long enough to give Roland an opportunity to put the invaders on the defensive. If he could convince them they were under fire, that would do it. Griffith thought back to his basics. If he tried, he could hear his master's voice, as clear as it had been years ago.
Magic is no more than your will forced on the world. Thought becomes desire, desire becomes need, need becomes command and the magical energy inside and all around us carries your will. The hard part is channelling both the energy and the thought. Emotion or even faith can fuel the energy but only focus can fuel the thought. No focus, no magic. Do you understand?

Griffith focused. He slipped into his thoughts like a hand into a glove, blocking out the world. Focusing was the easy part. The spell was there, in his mind, ready to go.

Find your Focus, Griffith. Sorcerers have tools to work their magic. The Focus is different for every sorcerer, sometimes for every spell. Power fuelled by rage might be focused through the sorcerer's clenched fists; many sorcerers wrap words in magic and speak their Focus.

Griffith felt his thoughts, his will, bubbling inside him like a pot of water over a flame. He felt the energy in his gut, where it always began, and it grew, spreading through him. He let it. When his whole body felt like a balloon ready to pop, he breathed that energy out in one placid breath. Griffith stood serene, feeling the unlimited power flowing around him like an electrical mist. The magic surrounded him, still buzzing, still pulling like a tiger on a chain. He gave that energy purpose and shape – a shattering window, the sound of gunshot.

With one final thought, he unleashed the spell and his will became reality.

The gun vibrated in Griffith's hands. The spell went off with the sound of a gunshot. The window shattered.

*****

The whole room turned to face the window. Roland saw Griffith standing in the open, staring like a rabbit in a spotlight.

“Who the hell is that?” The man with Thomas' gun shouted. Another gun shot. Roland leapt to one side of the window and his two captives leapt to the other.

“Who the hell cares? Just shoot him!” Another of the invaders - Richard, someone had called him - said. He wore mismatched shoes and Roland could see speckles of white hair in his black beard.

“Right.” The gunman stepped out and took aim with his own rifle.

Roland watched him lock his eyes down the sight. The other one watched Griffith with a bloodthirsty grin. Nobody was watching him.

Roland lunged at the gun and yanked it up, just as the gunman fired. Richard sprung at him. Roland turned, using the gunman to block his advance. At the same time, he pulled the gunman in close and drove his knee up into the gunman's crotch. He felt the man's grip loosen.

“Son of a bitch,” he groaned.

Roland twisted the rifle. The stock swung around, hitting the man in the mouth. The gunman stumbled and fell. Richard came in swinging. Roland pressed the barrel into his chest. Richard stopped.

“Think carefully, now.” Roland pushed and Richard stepped back, lifting his hands out to the side. Roland stepped away, giving himself a safe distance. Roland hadn't fired a rifle in a long time, but his hands found all the familiar spots. Roland pulled the bolt back and the spent cartridge flew past his hand. He felt himself flinch slightly as the mechanisms fell into position. He knew he was lucky that he hadn't jammed it in the fight.

Richard smiled and lowered his hands to his side. “Alright, you got the jump on us. Well done.”

“You want to try me, ass hole? I
will
shoot you.”

“I bet. But there's still four of us and you don't know who you're messing with. You going to shoot us all with one bullet?”

Roland didn't answer. He knew a stalemate when he saw one. He glanced from Richard to Thomas and Georgia. The farmer looked worried. Georgia looked like she was about to faint. Thomas held her and comforted her. Everything had gone to hell. What the fuck was Griffith thinking? And where had the kid gone now that he'd kicked this hornet's nest?

Out of the corner of his eye, Roland spotted movement at the door. He spun and levelled the rifle at the movement. The other home invader, Roland had heard his name as Larry or Garry, stopped in the doorway.

“Who gave the tough guy a gun?” Larry asked.

“I helped myself. You and your friends were just leaving. So fuck off.” Roland said.

“Fuck that. I was hoping I'd get to tear you up.” Larry stepped into the room and rolled his shoulders. He turned his neck side to side. Roland heard the bones crack. Larry looked as if he was stretching out, preparing for a fight. Was he serious? Didn't he see the gun?

Larry grinned and stood by the door. Roland waited for his sad attempt at a boxing stance – ass-holes like him always thought they were boxers.

But Larry didn't move – instead, he started to change. Roland caught it in his peripheral vision. Larry's arm grew until it burst through his jacket sleeve. The skin turned grey, and thickened like an elephant’s hide. His fingers sprouted razor sharp bone claws. The change spread up to his shoulder and down his leg. Larry looked as if he was on the verge of laughing. His bones crunched and his skin stretched in ways that looked agonising. But Larry kept on smiling. Roland felt his dinner climbing into his throat.

“Fuck this.” Roland fired. The bullet ripped through Larry's shoulder. Blood sprayed the wall behind him. Larry stopped smiling. Nobody spoke or moved. Except Roland. He yanked the bolt back and spun towards the other two. He fired the next shot blind. The bullet pierced the wall. This time panic set in.

Larry screamed. His body stopped changing, leaving him lopsided and off balance. He stumbled, trying to keep on his feet. He gripped the bleeding wound with his massive, awkward claws. Roland chambered the next round. Larry threw himself down the corridor and stumbled in a mad dash for the back door. The last sorcerer in the room, still bleeding from the nose after Roland had hit him, grabbed Georgia and yanked her off the couch. He drew a knife from deep in some pocket and pressed it to her neck.

“No!” Thomas roared and shot to his feet.

“Back off!” The sorcerer shouted. Thomas stepped away. Roland could see fear in Georgia's eyes. He looked to Thomas and saw the same terror written all over him. This wasn't a normal day at the farm. After Larry's little exhibition, Roland could imagine how the emotions must be piling up for them. The sorcerer ducked low and closed his eyes. Roland saw his expression change to one of intense concentration. Roland aimed high and fired. The sorcerer recoiled. Roland readied the gun on him again. If the sorcerer had been casting a spell, the gunshot had successfully broken his focus.

“Let her go and get out,” Roland said.

“Put the gun down, first.”

“Not happening.”

“Then I'm keeping the bitch. She'll cheer Larry up, for sure.”

“Damn it, let her go!” Thomas cried.

“Make him put the gun down.”

“Let her go, ass-hole!” Roland ordered, keeping the rifle level with him. The sorcerer stayed down behind Georgia and backed away, dragging her with him.

“Don't worry. She'll only suffer for a few hours. After that, she's dog food.” The sorcerer waited until he was in the kitchen before he turned and ran for the door, dragging Georgia with him.

Roland took off running after him.

Griffith stood dumbly on the porch, scanning the field. The first two home-invaders had disappeared into the tree-line on the other side of the paddock. With that big thing creeping around, whatever it was, he had no desire to go after them.

The last one came crashing out of the kitchen door and sprinted past him, dragging Thomas' wife with him. He ran straight into the cattle paddock, through the hole his friends had broken in the fence. Roland followed a second later, rifle in hand. Realising he'd been left in the dust, Griffith charged forward. He rushed through the fence and smacked into a cow. The creature gave him a displeased glare and pushed through the herd away from him. The displaced cows rearranged themselves and one began pushing against Griffith. Griffith moved out of its way only to find himself boxed in.

A gunshot rang out and a startled cow began stomping a circle around Griffith. Griffith jumped out of its way and ran alongside a line of cattle. Behind him, disturbed cattle began filing out of the paddock, towards the house. The distressed cows formed an ever-changing labyrinth. Openings closed before Griffith could reach them and paths around the cows suddenly changed direction as the animals reorganised themselves. Griffith halted a moment to orientate himself. There was another shot. Something or somebody yelped in pain.

“Where are they?” Griffith shouted. He tried to climb on the back of a cow to get a better look. The unhappy bovine stomped and shook. Griffith lost his grip before he could properly mount the animal fell. The angry animal pushed through the herd away from him.

Griffith landed in a small clearing at the edge of the paddock. His whole right side was hurting but his head had hit something soft and fuzzy. A moment later the man pulling Georgia came bursting into the clearing. He stopped at the fence and started climbing. Roland came into view a second later.

“Don't move!” Roland ordered. The man pulled Georgia in front of him and held her there by her neck.

“How many shots have you got left? You know you almost hit her? The farmer won't be happy when he sees what you did to his cow.”

“I only need one shot.”

“I bet you could kill us both if you fired from there. Go on.” Roland and the man went on trying to stare each other down.

Griffith lifted himself up. A low growl caught his attention. He followed the sound and met the gaze of a hungry looking dog. The feral beast had dark, matted fur and had twisted its blood-soaked muzzle into a frightening scowl. Several broken teeth accentuated its razor sharp canines. Griffith pulled himself away from its stare just long enough to see that he had landed on top of a dead bull. Blood and gore poured from the animal's opened ribs. The bull hadn't just been killed, it had been eviscerated. Long gashes across its body oozed blood and intestines. Griffith's focus snapped back to the dog. Slowly he began to lift himself, all the while staring down the vicious mutt.

“Uh, you guys...” He said. Roland and the man weren't paying attention.

The animal lowered itself, as if threatening to pounce. Its jaws trembled with a constant growl.

“Guys...” He tried again.

“What is it, Griffith? Kind of busy.” Roland said. The dog lowered. Griffith turned his head, looking for an opening to flee. He realised he'd taken his eyes off the dog too late and he heard a croaking bark. Griffith spun back to face it. He saw the dog latch onto the man's arm and tear him away from Georgia.