Terror of the Shadow

CHAPTER NINETEEN

All the hunters gathered around, forming a sort of informal council in the dark belly of the Kannebore. It was a tight fit, but they made do.

"We can't stay here," said one hunter, offering his opinion. "We can have the Kannebore packed and ready to leave in only a few hours—"

"Well, we can't just leave, can we?" interjected another. "We need at least three more days in order to collect barely enough food to feed everyone back at the city."

"He's right!" cried yet another. "I've worked too hard out here in the hot sun to just pack everything up and leave. I say we stay and fight!"

"It's time we put the War'acks into their place! The only reason that they've spread so far is that we allow them to!"

"This is exactly what I've been saying for years," said a grey-haired man whose beard completely shrouded his mouth. "We've been too passive towards these monsters. They've proliferated out of control. It's time to take a stand! Force them back! Let's reclaim Malkuth as our own!"

His words were met with spontaneous cheers and applause.

"While I agree with your sentiment," Kol spoke once the shouts had died down. "The Elders of our tribe, whom I will sustain and obey, have been very adamant against open war with the War'acks."

"This would not be a war, Master Kol," one man said. "They're War'acks. They aren't capable of that. They don't know how strong we are. It would be a few days of slaughter, and then they would retreat back into their caves. It would be years before we see another War'ack face again."

"With all due respect," Kol continued. "I don't think you know how strong they are. The War'ack I was introduced to earlier certainly gave the impression that they were preparing for war. Especially now that we've killed one of their own."

"If they are already preparing," said another. "Then what difference will leaving Riverbottom make? Besides effectively showing the War'acks a big white flag."

"Malkuth should never surrender," someone added.

"I must agree that war may be inevitable, brother," said Kol. "But if we can avoid unnecessary loss of life as long as possible, then I am willing to take any action to do so."

"Are you really trying to put worth on the life of a War'ack, Kol?"

"Above anything, I am most concerned for the lives of my own brethren," he replied. "But yes. Those Above would have us respect all life on this planet. If blood does not have to be shed, then I will not do it."

"I'm with Kol on this one," said Aaron. "We have our culture and they have theirs. If there is a way for both our peoples to coexist in peace, then we should follow that. One of their men is dead now, so it won't take a whole lot to anger them. I say we leave."

"And so they chase us back to Ura-chan, claiming that every little piece of land they set foot on is their own!" the bearded man cried. "Regardless of whether or not it is known Malkuth land! How long are we going to allow this to happen? Will you let them drive us out of our city?"

The cargo bay erupted into a frenzy of shouting and yelling, amplified a hundredfold by the confined space. If any logical evidence for an argument was mixed in with the cries, Laban couldn't tell. It was all just noise now to him.

From his place next to a pile of empty crates in the back, he silently slipped away. He found the staircase that zigzagged upward and started climbing. When he had reached the passengers' quarters on the second level, he kept climbing. He climbed up into the top level that he normally had been restricted to go. But no one was here to tell him he couldn't be here. So he kept climbing.

The end of the stairway eventually disappeared into the darkness above him. Laban's foot fell through the air, expecting another step where there was none. After a few minutes of blindly fumbling along the walls, he found the switch to turn on the light.

The hallway he found himself in was narrow, cold, and metal—the same sort of decoration that prevailed throughout the Kannebore. There were signs on the wall that Laban assumed gave directions to help in navigating this maze, but he didn't know. He had never been taught to read them.

Laban looked left and right down the hall. The way to the right seemed to stretch on forever, with several other small hallways and doors extending out from the sides. To his left was a large, sealed doorway marked with another sign that Laban imagined told him to keep out. He went that way. A button to the side of the door flashed with a little red light. He pressed it. The light turned green and then the heavy, mechanical locks made a loud clunk as they slid out of place. The metal door split in two. The halves slid aside, hiding in the walls.

Laban shielded his eyes from the bright sunlight that streamed in through the now open door. He had found, as far as he knew, the only windows in the entire Kannebore. He was in the cockpit. There were only two seats, but they had high backs and plush cushions and looked very comfortable. Laban sat down, admiring the wide, gleaming control panel before him. His eyes wandered over the myriad buttons, levers, and switches that must have controlled an incredible number of functions throughout the machine.

His eyes eventually drifted to the enormous windows, with glass almost as thick as the Kannebore's metal armor. The view that they provided was absolutely, positively serene. The low morning light cast an orange hue across the desert, scattered by the fluffy, cotton clouds that hung near the horizon. Nothing on the Outland stirred, making the whole thing look like a masterfully crafted painting.

But it was all spoiled because Laban knew that there were demons out there, hiding, but ready to strike, thirsting for nothing but Malkuth blood. He wished he could enjoy the view, but he couldn't. The Outland wasn't beautiful to him because the Outland meant nothing but death.

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