13. Raiders in the night

This land has not seen evil yet

This is an installment in a serialized novel. To start at the beginning, go here or go to the Table of Contents.

The sounds of chaos grew loud as Hal neared the bonfires. The partygoers were running everywhere, screaming, and among them were many more creatures with knives and shortswords, yelling in some strange sibilant language.

In front of him, one of the creatures caught up with a fleeing man, slashing his stomach with a cutlass. The man fell with a cry. The creature looked at Hal.

And then the snarling creature was coming at him, striking at him savagely with the cutlass. Hal ducked away, stumbling, heart beating too fast in his chest. The creature was coming at him again. He drew in a deep breath, fingers tightening on the smooth oaken rod. As the creature struck, Hal swung the staff with a powerful low stroke, sweeping the creature’s legs out from under it. In the same breath, Hal was on his feet, bringing the rod down on the enemy’s face. He pried the cutlass out of its fingers, weighing it in his free hand. The weight of the blade was not unlike that of the sickle he used in the harvest. He looked up, briefly considering.

What he saw was not a battle–the wedding guests had been caught unarmed and unprepared, with too much wine in their bellies. Others at the settlement had been asleep. Several bodies laid on the ground near the bonfires, but now the strange creatures mostly chased the Enedram, who fled in all directions, cutting down any who tried to resist and letting the rest scatter. Other attackers emerged from the buildings and the visitors’ tents, carrying bags.

A raid– that’s what this was. Then let them take what they wanted and go, if only they would leave the people unharmed.

He heard a cry–there was Kraio, Mishath’s husband, trying to fend off an attacker with only his dinner knife. Hal ran. Kraio dodged a blow and sprang out of the way.

“Kraio!” Hal tossed him the staff and Kraio swung. The creature snarled, outnumbered, and ran off into the darkness with a strange slouching gait.

Panting, Kraio nodded at Hal. The look on his brother-in-law’s face was new– that of a man to a man.

“What’s happening, Kraio? What are those things?”

The man shook his head. “I don’t know. There was no warning– they came out of the darkness all at once. But there’s no time– the women and children ran for the main house. That is what we must defend.”

Hal followed Kraio, running in the darkness, sounds of terror all around. Then his foot struck something unexpected. There was a yelp from below as he fell, splayed on the ground, just managing to hold on to the cutlass without skewering himself. “What…”

“Hal?” came a small voice.

Kraio was running onward, but two small, wide-eyed faces were looking at Hal from near where he had tripped.

“Oweth? Semamra… what are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

“No,” said Oweth, “Well a little, from you tripping on me.” He rubbed his side. “Mother told us to run to the house. But then we saw one of those things in front of us and we got scared.”

Oweth didn’t sound scared. Hal glanced at Semamra– she was shaking, not saying a word. She held tightly to Oweth’s hand.

“Alright, come with me.” Hal got up, and Oweth moved to follow, but Semamra sat motionless. Without further discussion Hal picked up the thin girl, slung her over his shoulder, and loped toward the house, Oweth at his side.

They approached the large stone house. A mist had fallen, and it was difficult to see very far, but Hal could make out a group of men gathering in the small field among the shade trees that surrounded the house. He recognized Kraio in the group, as well as Broan, Esath, and Piria’s new husband. Several other men, cousins and friends, gathered as well. A couple held swords, but most held farm tools or kitchen knives. Broan seemed to be trying to take charge.

Hal pushed past the group and banged on the strong wooden door. “It’s Hal– open up!”

The door cracked open and his Mother’s face peered out. When she saw the children, she let out a cry, pulling Semamra out of Hal’s arms and taking her inside.

“Go on in, Oweth, you’ll be safe in there– we’ll protect the house.”

The little boy didn’t move. “I’m not leaving you, Hal. I want to help! I know how to be brave now. I can fight…”

Without waiting for him to finish, Hal picked the boy up and handed into the arms of Piria, who had appeared in the doorway. She still wore the copper ornaments and colorful robes of her wedding garb, but her face, so merry before, was serious now, and her forehead was streaked with blood.

Hal turned as the door was barred again. Broan was shouting something, but one of Hal’s uncles was also giving instructions. But before any plan was formed, there was a chilling, inhuman battle cry. Creatures emerged everywhere out of the surrounding mist, attacking with a ferocity that quickly turned the defense into chaos. Hal saw Broan take one creature down, tossing the it to the ground with his massive strength. Piria’s husband was trying to fend off an attacker with a mattock. Hal started to run to help, but he heard a cry behind him and turned to look. There was his brother Esath, cornered by an attacker twice his size wearing a black helmet. The pitchfork he had held lay on the ground. Esath moved to pick it up, but the creature struck first, dealing a devastating blow to the chest.

“No!” Hal ran, cutlass in in hand. The attacker had moved toward another target as Hal reached his brother and looked into the already lifeless eyes.

The tears blinded him as held his brother’s limp hand. He couldn’t move. He felt sick. But after a moment, he wiped his eyes and the scene before him came back into focus. The clouds had moved from the moon, and he could make out what was happening around him in spite of the mist. Broan was still holding his own, but it was not enough. Everywhere Enedram were falling, fleeing. Flames lit the sky from the direction of the tent encampment. The creature with the black helm was now at the front door, hacking at the wood. Hal thought of his family inside and drew a breath. Fighting off the grief and sudden hopelessness that made his limbs feel heavy, he made for the attacker at the door.

He was stopped as another creature lunged at him, a cutlass in each hand. Hal dodged the strike, then turned to deflect the onslaught of slashes. A feeling was rising from his stomach. This was the end– for him, for his family, for all of them.

The attacker lurched. An arrowhead protruded from the front of his chest– it had taken him straight through the heart.

Hal stood, uncertain. Bowfire, in the mist and darkness? He could hear hoofbeats, too. There were more shouts, mixed with inhuman shrieks. And then green eyes, shining faintly in the darkness.

Veyta? Was it the Mother and the boy she’d brought, or were there others? Were they attacking as well?

There was a loud thud as the door to the house fell. The black-helmed creature had kicked it in. But before it could push inside, a sword flashed from within. Slowly, the massive being fell. There, in the doorway, stood a tall figure. Hal’s father– face grim, beard shining in the moonlight, sword gleaming in his hand. He stood tall and firm, and for a moment Hal saw the man he had been in his younger years.

But at that moment, another creature leapt toward the old man. Hal’s father struck, but the creature deflected the thrust and darted in, pulled the old man’s head back, and drew its blade across his throat.

Hal couldn’t breathe. He stood frozen– but as he watched, a rider emerged from the darkness on a powerful, dark gray horse. In a second, the rider swung a long sword and struck down the creature that had attacked Hal’s father. Then the rider turned toward Hal, and for a moment their eyes met. He was a young man, but he sat his horse with easy strength. Dark hair flowed from his face in short waves. It was a handsome face, with green eyes that shone with a light that seemed to be something more than even the faint luminescence of the Sight.

Hal looked from the rider to his father, fallen across the threshold. The evening mist seemed to close in around him, but his stomach was filled with fire. Then he was running, blade out. Creatures crossed his path–he cut them down like grain, two of them at once. He wasn’t thinking, just reacting, striking, ducking, moving. There were green eyes, too, striking with lethal surety in the darkness. Soon no more attackers came. Hal stood panting and looked around. The battle was over, though flames still rose from the tent encampment as well as from the direction of Broan’s house, and he could hear groans and weeping. He fell to his knees and let his eyes close.

At the sound of hoofbeats, he opened them again. There were two riders before him. At their head was the Veyta man he had seen before. Behind him rode an even younger man, a youth no older than Hal. But his brow was dark, his expression cool and guarded. His eyes, also green, lacked the warmth of the other man. In one hand he held a bow of dark wood. The two men dismounted.

“You fought well, soldier.”

Hal looked around. He wasn’t used to being referred to as ‘soldier,’ but the man in front was looking at him with interest.

“I have never seen the like from an Enedram. What is your name?”

Hal stood, though his whole body felt heavy from exertion. “Haleth.” It was all he could manage for the moment. His mind seemed to be working too slowly to catch up with all that had happened in such a short time.

“Come, Haleth,” said the man, and without thinking, Hal followed the horsemen back toward the house. There was firelight coming from inside now, and the sounds of wailing. The door, hacked half to pieces, was closed now—Hal’s father’s body had been removed from the threshold. The Veyta approached, then stopped, waiting. Someone must have been watching from the window, because soon the door opened and Broan emerged, Kraio at his side. Selinuth glided after.

The Veyta men dismounted, and the man who had spoken to Hal bowed in respect. Hal noticed that the younger man, lingering just behind, did not. Broan nodded curtly in response.

“Who are you?” he asked gruffly, “And what is your business here?”

The man raised an eyebrow, “Quite a welcome,” he said, “for someone who has just come to your aid at what seems to have been a… difficult moment.” In spite of his words, his tone was composed.

Broan grunted. “All I know right now is that my father and brother are dead, and many others. I don’t know who you are or who you were fighting for or against in this cursed mist.”

Hal stepped forward wearily, trying to straighten his thoughts. “I saw them, Broan. They were fighting alongside us, for us. And…” he looked toward the silent young man, whose bow was now strung across his back, “they saved my life.”

Selinuth spoke now in his smooth tone. “I also saw this, Broan. Were it not for these men, all would have been lost here. We owe thanks to our Veyta… friends.”

Broan turned toward him angrily. “How would you know what happened, Selinuth? Where were you while my family was being slaughtered?”

Selinuth raised his chin. “It is our family now, Broan.” But he did not answer the question. Instead, he turned back to the horsemen, returning the bow that Broan had not. “To whom do we owe our gratitude?”

The man nodded. “I am Vishtarsa, son of Sevishar. And this is my brother, Vishkiva.” The younger man made no reply, simply watching the exchange carefully.

It was quiet. The men had heard these names before– at least the first. But at that moment the door burst open, and Hal’s mother stood framed in the light. Silhouetted like that, it was impossible to see the expression on her face or any sign of the weeping Hal had heard through the door. Only her stance was visible. She held her head high, standing strong in the doorway. Hal’s heart throbbed, thinking of his father standing there, alive, what seemed like only moments ago.

The Enedram men parted as she walked forward and bowed with the propriety owed to guests. “Please excuse these men and their lack of manners. You find us at a difficult time.” Then she turned her hands palm up before her, speaking with formality. “Welcome, travelers. Come, drink and wash and be refreshed in our home, and eat to restore your strength.”

Vishtarsa touched his forehead in the Veyta sign of acknowledgement. “We will rest under the shade of your tent and the power of your sword, clan leader.” Hal couldn’t tell if his mother looked surprised at this– the Veyta had unfamiliar customs–but Broan looked confused, and still angry.

“It would be wiser to continue this conversation inside,” Vishtarsa continued. He looked around. Hal wondered if the man could see more than he could in the darkness with those faintly luminescent green eyes.

Hal tried not to look at the blood on the threshold as he followed Kraio through the door. Inside, the large house was full. Most of the wedding guests who had not fled into the wilderness had found their way here early in the raid or after the beasts had been slain. But despite the number of people huddled throughout, the house was filled with a heavy quiet, broken only by the sounds of moans and soft weeping. Several wounded lay in the main room. Hal spotted Piria moving efficiently around the house, her usually merry face drawn, ducking in and out of rooms, stopping here and there to exchange quiet words with a few others who were tending the wounded. His grandmother was there too, with a grim expression, holding a sniffling Semamra on her lap. But where…

“I bid you come first,” said his mother to the strangers, “and pay your respects to the dead.”

Vishtarsa nodded, following her as she led them through the house to a room in the back, round in shape. This room– in daylight, the tall windows looked out over the winding stripe of green fields, stark against the desolate wilderness on either side. And in the distance, the mountains, visible on clear days in all their ascending layers, even to the tips of the twin giants that stood behind, perpetually snow-covered. Hal’s father had loved this room, and had resisted Hal’s mother’s persistent push to turn it into something more useful than another place to eat breakfast, or sit in the sunlight and drink tea.

Now the shutters were closed, and makeshift barricades still blocked the windows. No fire had been laid here, but candles lit the faces of the dead, laid on the floor around the perimeter in hasty reverence. In the center of the room, Hal’s father was laid on a rug, and near him lay Esath, his third son.

Hal followed as Vishtarsa looked at the scene and laid a hand to his chest.

Without thinking, Hal pushed past the strangers and his mother until he stood before his father and brother. He fell to his knees in the middle of the two. There had been no time for washing, for clothing them with the ceremonial garments. The evidence of violence was fresh in the blood that covered their bodies–yet their faces had been cleaned and wore expressions of repose. Hal took his brother’s hand first. Oh Esath! He had always been so unlike Hal, each finding the other baffling and frustrating–they had quarreled often. And yet, Hal could not imagine a world without Esath there to quarrel with. The hand felt cold and strange–there was no rhythm in it, only silence. He held the hand close to his face, then laid it back across his brother’s breast.

He turned then to his father. The lined face, still and lifeless, was too much for Hal. “Oh Father,” he groaned, “who will tend your garden?” And he threw himself across his father’s bloodstained chest and wept. After a time, he sat up slowly. There was a rhythm to the weeping, to the grief. With a broken voice, Hal began to sing, slowly– an old Enedram song, a lament for the dead.

When the song had faded to silence, Hal rose and looked around. His mother, the other Enedram, and Vishtarsa had left the room. But the younger Veyta man remained, watching Hal intently. Something in his expression seemed to have changed. But before Hal could speak, the young man turned and walked silently from the room.

Hal left the room as well, drifting down the hall, until he heard animated voices coming from one of the chambers to the side. He looked in. Broan was there, pacing back and forth in agitation. Kraio and Selinuth sat, the one looking weary, the other pensive. Vishtarsa sat as well, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. His brother stood near him, arms crossed.

“...but how did they take us without warning?” Kraio was saying. “There were two men on watch, and they say they saw nothing.”

“They were probably drinking,” said Broan, his voice too loud. “Who was it? They deserve a whipping, if not worse.”

“Two of Selinuth’s nephews,” said Kraio. “but they struck me as reliable lads.”

“I don’t trust men I don’t know,” said Broan gruffly, “especially from a family of wellers.”

Selinuth spoke slowly. “Are you accusing my men of betrayal?”

“Maybe not betrayal,” said Broan, “but you still haven’t accounted for what you were doing during the attack. Maybe cowardice is the right word.”

Selinuth stood, eyes flashing coldly. “You should think before you speak, farmer– I’ve heard nothing but foolishness coming out of your mouth tonight.”

Vishtarsa had been listening to the exchange with a nonchalant expression. “Perhaps,” he said, “no one’s watchmen are at fault here. I have seen this before.” All eyes turned to him now.

“There have been reports of raids, attacks from these creatures, all across the plains. You have probably heard some news of it. It has been mostly Enedram villages, but some Veyta settlements as well. My men and I have been pursuing them—but these creatures are… slippery. They seem to appear without warning, striking unprepared targets. And then just like that,” he motioned with his hand, “they are gone. Tracking them has been nearly impossible.”

“Then how did you know they would be here tonight?” Hal stepped forward from where he had been listening in the shadow of the doorway. Broan looked annoyed at his presence, but Hal wasn’t a boy anymore–he had a right to be a part of this.

Vishtarsa turned, and the corners of his mouth raised slightly. “Being here tonight,” he said, looking at Hal with that strange, intense gaze, “must have been destiny. We were passing by on the way to another settlement, and we saw the fire from the burning tents. This is the first time we’ve caught them in the middle of a raid, before they vanished.”

“Was your other man killed?” asked Hal.

Vishtarsa raised an eyebrow.

“I saw three pairs of green eyes out there.”

At that moment, there were sounds of commotion coming from the front of the house. The Veyta man smiled. “I believe,” he said, “that my other ‘man’ is at the door.”

As they again crossed the bloodied threshold, the firelight streamed through the entryway. A young Veyta woman was there, on horseback. She looked striking in the flickering light, a haughty expression on her face as she sat her tall black horse, smooth black hair flowing around her leather-clad shoulders, bow across her back. In the firelight, it was hard to tell with what shade of green her eyes shone.

And there by her side, led by a rope around its neck, was a strange greenish creature, its long teeth exposed.

“I see you got your prey,” said Vishtarsa.

“Always,” said the young woman, dismounting.

“May I present my sister, Heyeh.”

“Yaheyn, daughter of Sevishar,” corrected the woman, without bowing.

Hal could see the family resemblance. She stood with the aloof arrogance of the younger brother, and her eyes burned with the intensity of the older. But any further introduction was cut short as the creature let out a sibilant cry, struggling against its bonds.

The woman pulled on the rope, choking off the creature's cries and forcing it to its knees.

Vishtarsa approached, looking it over. “We’ve never captured one alive before.”

The creature made a garbled sound, and the woman yanked on the rope again.

“Wait!” said Hal, stepping forward. “Did you hear that?” The creature made the garbled sound again. Vishtarsa looked at him questioningly. “I think it’s trying to speak,” said Hal.

Vishtarsa gestured to the young woman, who loosened the rope around the creature’s neck.

And then, as everyone remained silent to listen, the creature spoke–voice raspy and broken, but in the common tongue.

What came out of its mouth was a cascade of insults and foul words, some of which Hal hadn’t heard before–even from his cousins.

Vishtarsa raised a hand and struck the creature across the face.

“So you speak, do you,” he said, thoughtful. “Then tell me, what do you call your kind?”

It was hard to decipher the expression on the creature’s face– was that a smile? “Sprana” it said.

Vishtarsa looked momentarily disconcerted by that reply. Hal was confused as well– was the creature playing some sort of game by using the Veyta insult? Or could that possibly be what these things called themselves?

Vishtarsa quickly regained his air of calm authority. “Well then, sprana, your brethren are dead. If you answer me well I will free you to live your wretched life. Tell me, how did a horde of evil things like you approach this settlement tonight without being seen?”

There was a strange hissing sound, which Hal realized was laughter. “Evil things,” it said, “evil things are coming. This land has not seen evil yet.” And the creature lost itself to its hissing laughter, shaking with it in some kind of madness.

Vishtarsa sighed, considering, then in one smooth motion he drew his sword and plunged it into the creature’s chest. As he drew back his sword, the creature fell with a final hiss, but all else was silence. Then Vishtarsa knelt and carefully cleaned his blade on the dead creature’s clothing. And without a word, he turned, sheathing the sword, and walked back into the house.