Terror of the Shadow

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

They walked until the sunlight was nearly spent. Despite the anxious warnings from Aaron about the dark and Ilai constantly reminding them that they ought to return to the Kannebore before it got to be too late, Kol marched on. Every few strides, it seemed, he would stop and kneel down to the ground, practically resting his face in the sand as he silently inspected every divot or dimple he saw in the soil, hoping it might be a footprint.
    The day had brought them no such luck. Still, Kol marched on.
    The handheld radio at Kol's waist crackled to life. He looked as if he were going to ignore it for a few moments, but he pulled it off his belt and hit the communicator button.
    "This is Kol. Go ahead," he spoke into the device.
    "Hey, there, old buddy," a voice said on the other end. "They're recommending that we all check back in. How far out are you guys?"
    "Only a few miles," Kol replied. "How much has been brought back?"
    "A few sand boars. Scrawny things, though. And some others brought in a handful of edible plants and seeds, but not much else."
    "That's not enough."
    "Sorry, Kol, but it's gonna have to be. Captain's orders. Don't worry. We'll have some more time to hunt tomorrow. Plus some guys are trying to get the long-range scanner up and running. That ought to help."
    Kol hesitated to reply. He turned around on his feet, looking for any sign of movement on the horizon. But the only thing they could see through the rapidly thickening darkness was the bright beam of the signal beacon coming from the Kannebore. Finally, he hit the button again.
    "Alright. We're heading back now. Thanks for the call. Kol out."
    "See you soon, buddy."
    He returned the radio to his belt. Laban noticed that Kol's shoulders hung a little lower now, and his feet dragged through the sand.
    "Well, we may not have caught anything," said Aaron. "But I've certainly been through worse days on the Outland."
    "And the change of scenery is nice," Ilai added.
    "Let's just pray to Those Above that your optimism will let you ignore the emptiness in your stomachs tonight," said Kol.
"What's gotten into you, Kol?" Ilai asked. "Aren't you usually the positive one?"
"I'm just... worried, is all," Kol replied.
"Oh, we'll be alright, Kol," said Aaron. "We've got more than enough supplies in store—"
"It's not us I'm worried about, brother."
"How's that?"
"It's our brothers back at camp. I told the elders that it was a bad idea to take so many of our hunters with us. So few stayed behind..."
"They'll get along alright on their own, Kol," Aaron said. "What could happen? Ura-chan is a fortress! Nothing can get through that shield. Besides, no War'ack has been seen near the city in more than twenty years. I doubt the animals even know where we are."
Laban's heart skipped a beat. His feet froze where he stood. Ithtar had let him go, Laban thought. There must have been a reason...
"Maybe they do," Laban murmured.
"What did you say, brother?" Kol asked.
"Maybe... they do know where we are," Laban repeated.
Kol turned around. The concern he wore on his furrowed brow was visible even through the lenses of his mask.
"What are you trying to say?" he asked.
"When I was in the cave... I never had to fight my way out. I wouldn't have had the strength to anyway. Ithtar just sort of let me go. I figured it was so he could have someone to spread around more stories about him. Which worked, I guess. But maybe he had another reason—"
    Kol cursed under his breath. Laban saw Aaron and Ilai exchange nervous glances.
    "You think they tracked you," said Kol.
    "I don't know," Laban said, throwing his arms in the air. "I don't know how they would have. But I'm just saying... it's a possibility, isn't it?"
    Kol spun around, kicking up clouds of dirt. He rubbed at his temples with his thumb and forefinger. He stopped suddenly and pointed a stiff finger at Laban.
    "Oh, it's a possibility, brother," he snapped. "From what some of the other hunters have reported—and from what I've heard from you, Laban—this Ithtar is not just another mindless War'ack. They're getting organized. They're smart."
    "Should we send a team home to warn the others?" asked Ilai.
    Kol shook his head. "No time. Hopefully the Kannebore's com array can get a signal through to Ura-chan, but it would take a lot of extra power that we can't afford."
    "If it's time you're worried about," Aaron said. "I could run ahead of you all. I could warn the chiefs. We might be able to get a transmission through before nightfall."
    "Can you make it alright on your own?"
    "I've got two legs, haven't I?"
    "Go," Kol said with a sharp nod.
    "See you back at camp, friends," Aaron said. He turned on his heels and began sprinting back towards the beacon.
"We'd better get moving ourselves," Kol said.
"I—I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier," Laban stammered. "I didn't realize..."
Kol put his hand up. He sighed. "Don't worry, brother. It isn't your fault. Whether they were tracking you or no, we still would have picked you up and brought you home safe. Malkuth don't leave each other behind."
Those words should have been comforting. He heard the words that Kol spoke, but he wasn't listening. His mind wasn't here. It was back in Ura-chan, in that tiny second-floor apartment on the edge of town. His mother would be there—worried sick about him, he was sure. If the War'acks came, that flimsy wooden door would provide no protection. And with her one leg, she would be positively helpless, especially since he was here, so far away. Laban's mind began to unearth the horrifying images that he had so long tried to bury. He imagined Ithtar standing over her, grinning a toothy, yellow grin, silently running his fingers over the bloody edge of his knife...
    The wind shifted direction. The soft gusts of cool, twilight air carried with it an oily, acrid smell that seeped through the crevices in Laban's mask. He quickly reached up and tightened the straps, worried that the poisonous air might not be completely shut out.
    Kol signaled wordlessly for the group to stop. His head swiveled around for a few moments. He reached up and pulled the gas mask off his face.
    "What are you—" Ilai tried to say. Kol held up a finger over his lips to silence him. Kol sniffed at the air, drawing a few deep breaths through his nose before replacing the mask and fastening it securely over his face.
    "You smell that too?" Laban asked.
    "Yeah," Kol muttered, barely more than a whisper.
    "What is it?" Ilai asked.
    "Silver Nightwatchers," said Kol. "There's no other smell like it. There must be some feeding nearby."
    "Are they dangerous?" Laban asked.
    "Very. But their meat is also very good. I don't think they're far."
    "The sun is getting low," Ilai said. "Are you sure we'll make it back to the Kannebore on time?"
    "We'll make it. It shouldn't be too far off our path to the southeast." He indicated the direction. "But be quiet. Tread lightly. The nightwatchers are very sensitive to vibration."
    "I've heard stories," Ilai said as they started walking. "They say they've got more teeth than a sawblade. If one of them latches onto your leg... well, it's time to say goodbye to that limb."
    "W–what do they look like?" Laban stammered, now a bit nervous to be moving towards something capable of turning him into mincemeat.
    "Like an earthworm," said Kol. "But their bodies wide as a tree trunk and their skin as thick as the bark."
    Laban tried to swallow his fear.
    "So... what do we do when we see one?" Laban asked.
    "We shoot it," Kol said. "Now, no more talking. I think we're getting close."
Laban still had more questions. But the fear of being discovered by the Nightwatchers outweighed his curiosity. He held his tongue.
    Laban's eyes darted about. He cursed the bulky gas mask for limiting his range of vision so much; he had to spin his head around wildly just to get a good view of his surroundings.
    He lifted and set his feet down in the dirt as softly as he could, practically walking on the tips of his toes. His heart jumped at every little tremor he felt beneath his feet, waiting for some monster to jump out and pull him under the sand before realizing that the movement was probably just his imagination. His hand was never far from the grip of his pistol.
    Listening through the noise of his own shallow breathing echoing in his mask, Laban became aware of another noise carried on the wind. It started out as a distant flutter, but slowly grew into something that made Laban's stomach turn a full circle. It was a sound that he had become acquainted with during his stay with the War'acks. It was a horrible, sucking, slurping noise—the sound of flesh being ripped from bone.
    Laban stopped before Kol even had the opportunity to give the signal. Kol retrieved a set of macrobinoculars from his bag, allowing him to peer through the fog of thickening twilight.
    "I can see two of them," Kol whispered. "But there could be more beneath the surface."
    "How far?" asked Ilai.
    "Forty, fifty meters. How's your aim?"
    "Not too bad."
    "Take 'em out, brother," Kol ordered. He never for a moment removed his amplified gaze from the hungry Nightwatchers. Laban strained to see through the darkness. Amid the wind-blasted stones and scattered vegetation, he thought he caught a glimpse of the writhing, silvery masses, feeding on their prey.
    Ilai grasped the handle of his collapsed energy-staff. A sharp, metallic clink broke the silence as it extended into its full, operational length. He tucked one end under his arm, pointing the other downrange. Ilai trained his eye down the slender metal shaft, aligning the sights to his target. Though his own hand quivered, Laban noticed that the end of the energy-staff stayed as steady as the horizon.
    Finding the space between breaths, Ilai hit the trigger. The staff shuddered with a quick burst of energy. A white-hot beam pounced across the desert, lighting up the night for a fraction of an instant. It exploded angrily against its target, met with dying screeches of pain. Another shot was fired. Then another. The unearthly screams of the worms sent shivers through Laban's body. Then there was silence. But neither Kol nor Ilai moved from their spots. The unwavering barrel of the energy-staff hissed and sputtered smoke, seemingly proud of its kill.
    "I think I got 'em," Ilai muttered.
"I don't see any more movement," Kol whispered. "Let's move in."
    As they approached, the blurry shadows before them began to take shape. Laban could feel his breath getting faster and faster, but he couldn't do anything to slow it down. His heart pounded against his ribs.
    The silvery, slender bodies of the Nightwatchers lie in contorted, tangled piles beside what little remained of their supper. Laban gawked at the endless rows of razor-sharp teeth that lined their circular mouths. He also noticed a sizable crater that had been carved out of each of the worms' bodies by the energy-staff's blasts. Laban tried not to imagine what sort of damage might be caused if the target had been human...
    "We'll drag this one back tonight," Kol said, indicating the smaller of the two. "Then we'll follow our trail back in the morning to get the other one."
Kol set to work. He fastened the end of a rope to a large, metal hook, which he plunged into a Nightwatcher's leathery flesh. He gave it a sharp tug, ensuring it was secure.
    "Dear god..." Ilai muttered.
    "What is it?" Kol asked.
    "Look," said Ilai, pointing at the bloodied corpse between the two worms. There wasn't much left besides a few gobs of flesh still clinging to bone. They realized for the first time that these remains were human.
    "One of ours?" asked Kol.
    "Impossible to tell," Ilai replied. "If it isn't, then we might have a problem on our hands."
    "You really think it's War'ack? The borders of their territory is almost a thousand miles North of here."
    Kol shrugged. "We've been wrong before. Our friend here is certainly aware of that."
    Their conversation melted into the background. Laban stared down into the empty eyes of the skull on the sand. His insides turned and twisted themselves into knots. His head started to spin. Even though the night was silent and still, Laban's mind suddenly filled it with all the the memories that still haunted his nightmares. He remembered the nest of skulls that he had been forced to make his bed. The smell of blood filled his nostrils. The glare of Ithtar's blade flashed bright in his eyes...
"Laban," a voice said. That was Torreck's voice. It called to him like the voice of a ghost.
"Laban," Torreck called again. "Why did you let me die?"
"I... I didn't..." Laban stuttered. "I tried. I tried to help."
"I died, Laban. And for what? A rock?"
    "I'm sorry..." Laban sobbed. He tried to speak, but the words died before they reached his lips.
    "Laban... Laban..." the voice continued to chant. Slowly the voice changed into something different. It was deeper now—older. Laban could feel his body swaying to and fro, like a leaf driven by the wind. Ithtar's horrible, cackling laugh slowly faded from his ears. The swaying stopped. With some effort, Laban moved his hand, feeling the rough sand passing through his fingers.
    "Laban!" the voice said. He opened his eyes. Kol's masked face hovered over him, silhouetted against a backdrop of stars. He held a firm hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him awake.
    "Laban?" Kol repeated. "Are you alright, brother?"
    His head was swimming, trying to put together exactly what had happened.
    "Torreck..." he mumbled. "Torreck... I'm sorry..."