Terror of the Shadow

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Laban's eyes wandered over the dead sands of the Outland. The western horizon looked completely ablaze, glowing with brilliant shades of orange and red. The red sun bid its final farewells before its descent into night.

From this perch atop the perimeter wall, Laban could see for miles and miles. But there was nothing to see. There was only the endless sea of rolling dunes. It seemed so open and free. There were no walls to keep them in. They could ride and explore as far as they wanted, and yet the Outland was their prison. Laban just hoped that it would never become their graveyard.

Laban thought back to what his mother had said to him before he had again been stolen away from his world. He needed to retrieve the stone. That line played over and over in his mind. He had been so distracted that he never went to visit Aristarchus in the strange garage. He wandered around the streets, not even paying attention to the directions he was taking. He thought about nothing but getting back home. He needed to. He couldn't survive another day in this poisonous trap. Eventually, Laban found the ladder that led him onto the walkway atop the city's walls. So there he sat, hoping that the wind that blew through the sands might carry him away, too, back to the place he belonged.

He stared out at the horizon. That thin line seemed impossibly far away, and yet the War'ack cave that he had been imprisoned in was many times further. How would he ever get back there? He certainly wouldn't make it on foot, especially alone. He didn't know the way or enough to survive alone on the Outland. He would need someone to take him there, but no one would ever be willing to venture so near to a War'ack stronghold. He would be trapped here unless he could suddenly learn how to fly.

Fortunately, Laban knew someone that might be able to teach him.

Aristarchus had seemed quite confident in his machine. If he was telling the truth about it being some sort of aircraft, it wouldn't be unreasonable to think that he would be able to pilot it across the desert and drop himself right next to Ithtar's cave. The plan was perfect: he could use whatever weapons it had—because a Territe war machine must certainly have weapons—to level any resistance that he came against. When he found Ithtar, he would not hesitate to kill him. He would pry the seer-stone from his dead hands, just as he had done to him many months ago in the heart of that very same cave. The plan was perfect.

A low, distant clap of thunder echoed over the Outland. The cold, dead air of twilight bent and twisted the sound so that it felt like it was coming from every direction at once. Laban stood and scanned the horizon for any sign of an approaching dust storm. He saw nothing. The air was as calm and as dead as it had ever been.

The thunder continued, only it grew louder now. It began to sound like the beating of a thousand drums, marching to some unknowable rhythm. It grew and grew in intensity until it seemed like the noise was right on top of them.

Laban's looked down the edge of the wall as far as he could see, far off to his right. A dark figure suddenly emerged in the distance, running parallel to the wall. He appeared to be running incredibly quickly; his long, dark robes fluttered and waved behind him. As the figure approached, Laban realized that he was riding some sort of four-legged animal. He was soon followed by another mounted figure, and then another. Was he being chased? Laban wondered. Are they just more wanderers, seeking shelter?

More and more of these dark figures emerged from behind the wall, the hooves of their beasts creating a thunderous symphony as they beat against the sand. The men were whooping and hollering as they rode along next to the wall. When they drew nearer, Laban could see that they brandished weapons; pistols and rifles and long, bent swords decorated their belts and the saddles of their beasts. These were not desert wanderers. These were War'acks. And an entire army of them was on their doorstep. The sea of black robes and pointed spears seemed to flow endlessly from around the corner of the wall. Their mounts were diseased looking things; their flesh was grey, hairless, wrinkled, and covered with boils. The animals reared up, gnashing their teeth and adding their vicious wails to the cacophony. The War'acks cheered their horrible war cries along with them and fired their guns into the air. The noise would have been heard through the entire city. Laban looked at the War'acks' faces. They were painted red with blood. Some of them looked back up at him, shouting and making obscene gestures in his direction.

The river of War'acks soon surrounded the entire city. The warning alarms and bells rang through all of Ura-chan, mixing with the horrified screams of the citizens as they ran for shelter. Laban knew that he should climb down from the wall, where he was naked and exposed, but he couldn't take his eyes off the spectacle. He hoped that the shield around the city would be enough to protect him.

He noticed some of the War'acks below had pushed through the crowd and had situated themselves against the wall. They carried buckets of red blood and, using crude brushes, began to mark the wall. From where he was, he couldn't see what they were writing but he could guess at what it was. Whatever it might be, it wasn't good.

"Get down, boy!" a voice called, this time in a language that he understood. Laban looked up to see a group of armed Malkuth guards running towards him along the same walkway.

"Get off the wall!" the guard called again. "It is not safe here!"

"Yes, sir," Laban said, moving as quickly as he could on his shaking knees. He slid back down the ladder and onto solid ground. Looking up, he saw the guards take defensive positions against the wall, aiming their rifles and energy-staffs down into the crowd of War'acks.

A dull thump thump thump mixed with the roar from outside as the men pounded on the wall. The guards above shouted things like "stand down!" or "we will open fire!", but they could barely be heard. Laban figured that the War'acks wouldn't have understood their language anyway. Whether or not they did, they never quieted their wailing war cries or stopped their drumming on the wall. What had been only noise began to change and coalesce into something more rhythmic. The War'acks began to chant all together, repeating the same word over and over.

"C'korra... C'korra... C'korra..."

"Do not fire," Laban heard one of the guards muttering to his companions. "Be steady, but hold your fire." The others nodded in agreement.

The chanting and drumming continued. Soon it enveloped all other sounds. The city had turned into a cage, and the War'acks outside were grinning and jeering as they rattled their prisoners inside. He knew that the cage could break open at any minute, and the War'acks would descend on them with a ravenous hunger such as Ura-chan had never seen.

Laban stumbled backward, fumbling for the first open door he saw. Even inside, the thin walls did little to dull the noise. He sat down on the dusty floor in the furthest corner, pulled his knees in close to his chest and covered his ears. He gently rocked himself back and forth. This was his only escape.

"Please let me go back... let me go back... please..." he chanted to himself, hoping that his mother might still be able to hear him across dimensions. He prayed that Those Above might see their fear and come to their rescue. But the War'ack chants continued on for what seemed like hours, with no sign of stopping.

"C'korra... C'korra... C'korra..."

The noise pounded loud in Laban's ears. He guessed what it might mean.

"War... War... War..."

Laban felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He gasped suddenly and turned around, but there was no one there sitting with him in the cobwebs and the dust.

He heard a voice. "Laban," it said. It was Torreck's voice. Laban clapped his hands over his ears again and buried his face in his knees. The tears were flowing freely now.

"No..." his voice squeaked. "Please. Not again. I'm sorry, Torreck. Leave me alone."

"Laban," Torreck's voice called through the ether. "Laban, you know why they are here, don't you? They came because of you. You did this, Laban. You let me be captured. You let me die. You led the War'acks back to the city. You have trespassed on their land again and again. So many people will suffer and die. And why? It is all because of you, Laban. Innocent women and children, even your mother, will face indescribable horrors because of your foolishness and your cowardice! Don't bother praying. Those Above will do nothing for you. You deserve every bit of this punishment that you will receive."

Laban shot to his feet. "Leave me alone!" he shouted. "Get out of my head!"

"Goodbye, Laban," Torreck said, ignoring his pleas. "For now. I will probably be seeing you again very soon."

"Get out!" he screamed, pounding his head in fury.

Weakness suddenly overcame him. His tensed muscles relaxed. He slumped down onto the floor and curled up like a child, using his arm as a pillow. He wet the floor with his tears until his pain was numbed by the blissful nothingness of sleep.