SWINE PLAGUE: Skirmish on Storm’s Wake Beach

Elyn Turne

299 S.P.

I.

The lifeless eyes of a rat king gaze up at us as I roll the grate to Highcrown’s sewer aside. A thin stream of putrid filth trickles through the bottom of the pipe. I hear the nasally whine of Ori from behind me as I light a torch. “Ugh, it stinks.”

“Just breathe into the cloth,” I tell her, “And make sure to hang on tight to Chiggin, you wouldn’t want to drop him in here.”

She gasps as though suggestion itself offends her.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

We take a route that leads up to the scarcely locked trapdoor of a tavern cellar. I use it frequently when jobs take me into the city. The clank of mugs and mirth of the hearth ring absent due to the lack of morning patrons

I crack the door and peek around, nothing but dusty wooden slats and barrels of mead and whiskey. After helping Ori up the ladder, we don our hooded cloaks. The disguises are necessary, as I’m forbidden from entering the city, something a lone glance at my face would reveal.

“Rien,” she whispers and tugs on my sleeve.

“Yeah?”

“Does Chiggin need a disguise too?”

I look down at the misshapen burlap fowl cradled delicately in her right arm, one of the button-eyes drooping loosely to the side.

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Okay.”

Once we slip out the back of the tavern we take a few alleys to the Holy Ward. I figured we’ be left alone up there, and looking like vagrants, dislocated itinerants, we’d blend in even more. At the center of the ward the enormous statues of the Sword and the Shield stand triumphantly over roaming groups priests. Kill Squads parade valorously down the streets. The crests of Deadwind, Nightfire, Faithborne, and Hatefury fly high in the wind.

Horns sound the beginning of the fanfare and we find a seat on a bench near the statues. I keep my hood low over my face, but allow Ori to take hers off so she can have a better look at the spectacle. The gryphon riders position themselves on top of the battlements and towers of the city. The magnificent beasts coil their back legs, preparing to leap from their perches. Ori points to one atop a tower near the Grand Cathedral, almost directly above us.

The trumpeting ends and the gryphon leaps from the tower and corkscrews upward toward the sun before diving back down and joining the others. The riders take on a V formation as they loop around the city, dropping fireworks that explode and shimmer and fall like sunshafts. I look at Ori. She sits with Chiggin on her lap, kneading him with excitement as she bites her lip. I watch the reflection of the fireworks in her blue zirconian eyes as the gryphons swoop and soar through the sky.

Crowds throughout the city cheer as the riders land across the various districts, one of which touches down nearby. Children begin to approach, and the rider, a portly old man with red cheeks and an elaborate mustache, allows them to pet his gryphon’s beak. Ori squeals as she turns to me, and I already know what she’ll ask. “You can, here, just let me hang onto Chiggin.”

She rushes over to get in queue. After taking her turn petting the beak, the rider gives her an apple to feed it. The creature plucks the fruit from her hand with a polite, deliberate peck. The rider then instructs her where she can pet it’s feathers. He doesn’t know it, but he just gave her one of the best days she’s ever had.

***

We exit the sewers and make our way up the hill onto the road descending from Highcrown. I light a cigarette as Ori runs off ahead, expending her pent up excitement. “Ori, do you have your whistle?” I call ahead. She turns and smiles “Yeah!” I have her wear one in case she gets lost. I wear one too. It hangs around my neck like a millstone.

I remove my hood and slick my hair back as the pure air rushes through it, free from the stench of all the rabble in the city. I tilt my head to the ancient trees above us, their leaves falling like gold coins. For centuries they’ve lined the road to Highcrown. It makes me wonder what life was like before the swine plague, when this road led all the way up north to the top of our island. I’ve heard it was an idyllic time, perfect in fact. “Until the Sword returns,” the old timers say, or even in the stories my mother would tell me. I don’t know, I’m almost 50, and there’s still no sign of her.

Ori and I arrive at the wheat field. Across this sea of gold at the back of the farmstead is our home – a shack the owner of this land rents it to us. I watch as she runs through the field, with grasshoppers jumping along side her like wild salmon. She looks so serene as she rollicks through the afternoon sunshine. The happiness she can glean from the smallest things makes it worth caring for her. I try to remember what being happy myself was like, but it’s something which exists so far in the past that they may as well be memories from another life.

***

When they took my left eye and ear, and carved the D on my forehead, at first it only felt like a misery of the flesh. But it became apparent over time something else had been taken from me as well. With the mark of the deserter, I was destined to traverse the isle of Tyragarde for the rest of my days as a freak and a scoundrel. I’d compare myself to a wraith or a phantom, but such entities have the mercy of being unseen. In a way that would be better, to shamble through an endless night lonesome but without scorn. Cruel as it is to worry about Ori in each waking moment, she’s the only person who looks upon my face without disgust or hatred. She’ll never call me a whore or a coward. To her, my past and fate are just as open as three decades ago when they sent me away to train for combat against the swine. Back then it felt like I had nothing to die for, nothing but myself. But now, I’d do anything for Ori. She did nothing to deserve her childhood abandonment and an ailing mind. She’s the only good thing that ever happened to me, which also makes her my greatest burden. All day, almost every day I think to myself: what will she do once this sickness kills me?

***

We go inside and I begin to prepare dinner. I stoke the coals and add a couple logs to the hearth, then fill the kettle with some water from the well. Ori sits on our bed and rocks Chiggin as she hums him a nursery rhyme. Once she decides he’s asleep she tucks him into her side near the wall. The insects are beginning to call into the night; Ori drags a stool to the door then props it open to listen to the evening nightbugs, letting a cool breeze inside. As I wait for the stew to boil I watch as she looks up into the trees, the wind gently playing with her silken red hair. I often wonder to myself how she understands beauty. Is it the same as me? Through all the clouds in her mind, something still allows her the joy of a pristine autumn evening. Is that the soul? Is that what that is?

After we eat our stew I help Ori into her nightgown as we get ready for bed. I’m taking us fishing tomorrow, so we’ll have to awaken early. I light a lantern and set it on on the table, the flame softly crackles. The night is quiet, with only the relaxed call of nightbugs singing out in the field. A breeze whispers through the wheat. The occasional clack of hooves prattle by as people return home from the city. I draw the curtain of our window, then sit down on our bed where Ori is already falling asleep. She had a tiring day. I remove my eyepatch and place it on the bedstand next to the lantern, then extinguish the flame. We lay here in the dark.

“Ori,” I ask softly.

“Yeah?”

“Did you have fun today?”

She giggles and kicks at our covers. “I still can’t believe I got to pet one!”

“Was it as soft as you imagined?”

She thinks for a moment, “Softer.”

I yawn. I’m so tired, but a night’s sleep isn’t going to fix it. “I’m glad. Night Ori.” I close my left eye and see the maw which haunts my dreams begin to form. I reach over and squeeze her hand. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

When I sleep I always dream of the great maw which spawned the swine plaguing our Kingdom. Their hideous squeals gnaw at my mind, yet it’s never me they’re after. They want Ori, and it’s not just their insatiable hunger. I know they would use her to reproduce. Foul things, their existence in and of itself is an insult.

Death for me at this point an inevitability, but Ori, by my estimation, is only around 20. Barely a young lady. She doesn’t understand the profound, unrelenting evil which is reproducing by the thousands only a night’s ride away. We need a way off this island, but the Holy Council doesn’t let deserters leave. It’s a necessity we’re used as a lesson for abandoning the fight against the swine. Our humiliation is our punishment and our purpose.

***

I wake up to a dim light protruding through the curtain. I climb out of bed and slip outside, then walk towards the road and lean on a fence post as I begin to cough. As I spit out the last of the blood from my lungs I look up. I didn’t even hear him coming. The reddleman stands watching, a grin on his shriveled face. I clear my throat to address him.

“Yeah?”

He licks his cracked lips, even his teeth are stained red. “Was gonna ask, but it doesn’t look like you need any more of what I got.”

“Wouldn’t think so.”

He nods and looks at the sky. “Beautiful mornin’.”

“Sure.”

“Ripe for fishin’.”

I squint my eye, to see if there’s something I’m missing about him.

He continues: “You know the swine’s got the rivers runnin’ low these days. But not the lakes, how do you figure that?”

It’s not a mystery. “They only turn to shit what they can touch. They can drink from the rivers but not the lakes themselves. Goodness still persists on our side. Praise to the Shield.”

The reddleman chuckles, and undertone of cynicism in his breath. “True, true and true,” then points a crooked finger at me. “But not for you.”

I’d say he’s lucky I don’t stick a dagger through his smug grin, but I’m getting old. I have to pick my battles now, so I shrug it off instead.

“Not for me.”

He laughs. He’s a freak like me. I guess that makes him think we’re buddies. I give him a cigarette. He puts it behind his ear, and now it’s already red, like he absorbed it. It’s as if anything he touches is integrated into his being, like how any lands the swine occupy turn to waste. I watch him draw his cart down the road, the red dust from it surrounds his body, the sunbeams engulfing him in a crimson aura, a menacing sight against the radiant dawn.

When I return to the shack I find Ori still asleep. I stoke the coals and prepare a pot of water. As I wait for it to boil I sit down on the stool and sharpen my daggers. I can’t help but let my eye wander over to her bare neck.

“Could you do it if you had to,” I think to myself “If there was no other option, could you? Could you really?”

***

By midmorning we’re almost at Diamond Lake, a half hour’s walk from our shack. Ori trudges along side with Chiggin. I take a final drag from my cigarette and flick it away as we make it to the path leading down to the shore. The wind has picked up a little and whips at our cloaks.

It’s a slow morning, and the fish aren’t biting. I lean back on a stump, resting the rod across my knees. Above, the trees sashay in the wind, littering red and golden leaves like petals across the water as they fall. Ori pretends to have Chiggin eat the maple seeds, she pops her lips each time she has him peck at the ground. “Pip, pip, pip,” she goes. I rummage through my rucksack and check to make sure I have my fireblood potion. The yellow liquid inside swirls, whirlpool like, closer to bottled vapor in texture. If I ever need the strength to protect Ori, it’s there. But it cost me a year’s worth of pay, there’s no getting another one.

I find my cigarette case and pop it open, removing one I rolled this morning. When I give it a dry pull it tastes lightly of caramel. I strike a match and bring it to the tip, the paper crackling as it ignites. I breathe easier when the smoke’s circulating through my lungs, like I’m already part ghost. One foot in the land of the ethereal.

Calmness arrives with my first drag. If I weren’t running out of time I’d almost be obligated to come here every day and stay until evening. The short waterfall on the other side of the lake dribbles silently as the sunshafts paint it silver.

Ori sits down next to me and shows me Chiggin. “His eye fell off.”

I look at him as I take another drag. “I can sew a new one on when we get home.”

She fidgets when I say that. “Well, I wanted to ask you something.”

“What’s that?”

She pets Chiggin, then looks at me. “I kind of like him with just the one.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes him more like you.” She gives me her bright smile.

I feel the urge to point out why likening myself to a chicken is more ironic than she knows, but she wouldn’t understand the metaphor anyway. That’s the problem with living in a doomed world – it’s made me so cynical I can’t appreciate a compliment when my best and only friend gives me one.

I chuckle and smile back to her, scratching Chiggin on the head. “If you say so.” Then I consider it a little more. “But we’re not gonna go and give him an ear.”

II.

In the following days, fall rains begin to flood the countryside. I mainly spend my time patching holes in the shack, keeping our bed dry and the colder nights out of our sheets. I try to play cards with Ori to keep her entertained, but since she can’t understand the more complex games, we usually play the ones where someone wins based off of luck rather than strategy. Alternatively, we play the games she makes up as she goes. Sometimes she says I win, and I go along with it. It’s sweet of her.

It’s late afternoon when there’s a knock on the door. “Ori,” I tell her, “Why don’t you see if Chiggin needs anything?”

She nods and takes him over to the bed while I answer the door.

“Miss Rien,” His amber eyes flicker like embers in the rain. “Toliver,” I reply. I move to the side to let him in. He nods as he removes his hood and sits down at the table. I click open my cigarette case to offer him one. He takes it and rolls it between his fingers. “Gotta love a woman who can roll a good smoke.”

“What do you got, Toliver,” I say to move things along.

He strikes a match and lights the cigarette. “Something good.”

“How good?”

“Might punch your ticket out of here good.”

I look him in the eyes. The face of a weasel, but we haven’t had any mishaps yet. “Must be risky,” I say.

He shrugs casually and takes a drag. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Alright, go on.”

He leans in, tracing imaginary patterns on the table. “The Holy Council knows it’s only a matter of time. Most of them are already shipping their wealth off to Rebirth Island, which means-” his voice trails off and he nods at me.

“Not too much is tied down at the moment.”

He grins and continues. “Better part is, our beloved Holy Councilor Uranda is already gone. She’s off negotiating refugee gigs with the Esethye and Pluffie. But her estate, on the other hand, isn’t completely packed up.”

“You better have a damn good plan,” I tell him.

He smooths his hair as he leans back. It’s black, like mine, albeit without the gray. His hairline is where mine might have been 20 years ago, around the time when they butchered my face. “I’ve been casing it. Two guards, they change shifts at midnight. We go out the back after we’re done.”

“Any hounds,” I ask.

“That’s the best part. Hounds give her the shivers, won’t be a mutt in sight.”

“Traps?”

“I got that covered.” He flicks the cigarette into the fire. “So, you in?”

I look across the room at Ori. She lays on the bed, holding Chiggin in the air above her. “Psheew, Psheew,” she makes flying noises, then brings him to her breast and hugs him.

I return my gaze to Toliver. “Yeah, I’m in.”

***

The wagon approaches, my way into the city. Two lanterns rattle as the wheels drag along in the muddy ruts in the road. The driver halts the duo of horses, looking down at me as a drop my cigarette. “Alight of night,” he says.

“Grace of the moons,” I reply.

He nods his head. “Climb in back, then.”

I pull the canvas tarp from the bed. Hay bales and just enough room for me. I climb inside and let the driver know I’m ready. The wagon lurches forward, and we’re off. I lay on my back and look up. A drizzle prattles softly on the tarp, bringing the last of the leaves down with it. Their silhouettes litter the yellow light above me. I try to calm my nerves by taking deep, steady breaths. “Just another job,” I tell myself. If this goes well it will be the last one, and I can finally pay to have us smuggled off this island, find a future for Ori. Then I can finally die, but only then.

***

I can tell we're in the city. The ride grows bumpy as the wheels rattle on the cobblestone streets. The chatter of people, nighttime merchant stalls selling various oils, potions, trinkets. Elixirs of malice, of healing, of sacrifice and light. Cards and seals offering to give power over the dark code of the universe. Other races from far off lands offering exotic drinks and foods, drugs, alien plants and taxidermied beasts, erotic drawings of Esethye women. All short cuts and answers materialize under the veil of night.

My job of no exception. I feel the wagon come to a halt, and the man lifts the tarp. I sit up, grunting, as I find myself in a stable. “Miss Rien” I hear behind me. I pull up my hood and turn to find Toliver leaned against the wall, his legs crossed as he casually flips his dirk. I nod at him. “Where’s our locksmith?”

“On her way,” he replies.

I light a cigarette. “Her? What happened to Barro?”

“Got caught spying on the chambers of one of those lady Kill Squads… While they were bathing.”

“Can’t be doing that.”

“No, very ill-advised.”

“What’d they do to him?”

Toliver grins. “One of the sisters impaled the poor bastard through the groin, the long way.”

“Miserable way to go. But I guess he played a stupid game and won an even dumber prize.”

Someone hops over the stile of the stable. “Ah, good to see you. Rien, this is Kerry, Kerry, Rien."

I nod. She’s a little thing, can’t be over 25. “Lass.”

She nods. “Ma’am.”

Knows her place, good.

“Shall we?” says Toliver.

“Aye, let’s get this show on the road.”

We slink out of the stable and proceed toward the Holy Ward, where Councilor Uranda’s estate is located. Staying in shadow, evading patrols, Muertia new, Nocturne but a crescent, the lack of moonlight gives us more shade. More concealment.

The estate comes into view, with two guards standing at the gate. With the chambers of Kill Squad Nightfire directly across. “Something goes south,” I whisper. “Forget the guards, the sisters would be on us in a split second. Plus, we don’t even know what they do. What if they’re infiltration specialists?”

“I’ve cased it. They patrol at night. Probably on the front lines as we speak. But that’s why we get in, and get out,” Toliver says. “We’re looking for items we can carry quietly, we don’t need goblets and coin jangling about. Councilor Uranda’s relic collection is told to be the largest in Tyragarde. We want teeth, fingers, toes. She has to have dozens blessed by the Sword and Shield themselves. Small pieces.” Toliver checks his watch. “It’s almost time.”

We approach the fence, the clamor of armor comes into earshot as the guards approach. As they converse, we hop over and sneak over to the side window in shadow. Kerry begins to work on the latch as we keep watch. “Bollocks,” she whispers, “no good, this one’s trapped. We’ll have to try the second floor.”

A trellis in the backyard leads up to a balcony, we climb it, trying to make it creak as little as possible. Once on the balcony, Kerry tries the door. “Also rigged.” She looks around, “Hold me out to the window." 

We hang onto her as she leans out over the balcony, painstakingly working the lock with one hand. Finally there’s a click. Once she’s inside she disables the trap and opens the balcony door. Toliver holds a lantern as we begin to search the Councilwoman’s chambers. Scrolls, seals, and correspondence litter the shelves and desks. I preliminarily begin to load her various perfumes and cosmetics into my bag. “Over here, Toliver whispers.”

Inside the closet, he points to a chest. “This has got to be it.”

He holds the lantern to the lock mechanism as Kerry begins to scrutinize it. “Elementary,” she says. “It’s attached to a mechanism which,” She looks up. “would drop something.” She cuts the wire, and begins to work.” “Almost got it,” she says, until it clicks.

I hear Kerry screaming. “Oh shit!” I hear Toliver croak. I turn and look, she convulses on the floor, the skin of her face melting, dissolving, I can't tell for sure.

Downstairs the door slams open. “Halt in the name of the Sword and the Shield!”

I look at Toliver and draw my daggers. He shakes his head. “I may be a scoundrel, but I am not without honor. I know why you need off of this place. Go.”

He musters a smile, shaded in the lanternlight, a visage of him I’d never seen. "But this means you owe me one."

I nod and slip out back. As I climb down the trellis, I can hear more guards approach.

I make for the tavern I use to enter and exit the city, stepping into a corridor as more guards rush past me on the way to the estate. I wait for several minutes, as the commotion dies down. Then I make it to the tavern, pretend I’m in need of a toilet, and slip back out into the night.

I wade through knee deep water as I leave, then I’m free. In my stinking clothes, I trudge back to our cabin. I got away, but as did my opportunity off of this island. With Toliver arrested, I have no remaining connections, no more leads. I’m out of time, out of energy, and out of ideas. Shield protect, that is all I may pray for.

III.

I sit before the fire smoking a cigarette. Ori’s skin softly glows in the moonlight cascading through the window as she sleeps. Flecks of ash like motes of light fall from the sky. The hoot of an owl rouses me from my seat. I sneak out the door and stand outside looking up at the heavens, and despite the pouring ash the night is cool and the moons gleam viridescent like untapped primordial gemstones. All of the torches lighting the road have blown dark, and I can see the owl perched atop one of the extinguished sconces the same color as the moons. It cocks a head at me and casts itself into the night, heading southeast toward the far harbor of Storm’s Wake.

I awake as a bell sounds in the distance. It comes into earshot accompanied by the urgent trampling of hooves. Not the ungainly clamor of the swine’s cloven hooves, someone’s riding a horse – and fast. I hear the crier: “Beware! The swine have breached the bulwark! The swine have breached the bulwark!” His voice fades “Beware!”

My blood freezes. Ori squints as she awakens from the commotion. “Rien, what’s going on?” My mind is moving quickly. “Get dressed, hurry.”

She grumbles into her pillow.

“Now, Ori.”

After I pull on my boots and trousers I fasten the belt which holds the sheaths to my daggers. Upon donning my cloak, I check to make sure my backup dagger is prepared – a springloaded stiletto concealed under the left sleeve. By now Ori is mostly dressed. “Get your boots on,” I tell her.

I pack whatever I can fit in my rucksack. Food mostly, some flint for a fire, a canvas tarp and some woolen blankets. I stuff some cookware into Ori’s pack, but mainly things I can risk losing. Finally she’s dressed and has her on her own trench coat. “It is the pig men?” She asks.

I turn and rest my hands on her face. “Ori, I need you to listen to everything I say. Can you promise?” Tears begin to form in her eyes as she looks away from me. I gently turn her back to me. “Can you be strong for me? For Chiggin?”

She looks down at him, then back up at me. I kiss her on the forehead and give her a hug. “It’ll be alright.” 

She wraps an arm around me, and I can feel her other squeezing Chiggin. “Promise?” Her voice is muffled in my coat. I promise her. She’s never done a wicked thing. Goodness has to be on her side, and hopefully mine, if only by association. The Shield protects. The Shield protects.

***

We head up the road to Highcrown, our boots sinking into the mud. My first instinct is try the sewers into the city, and possibly sneak onto a departing ship. The island looks to be abandoned. There’s no holding the swine past the trenches which kept them at bay, their numbers now overwhelming enough to the point in which it’s likely they just spilled over onto our side, like termites or locusts.

As I expected, the nonstop rain has left the sewer impassable, the pipe isn’t even visible above the drainage pit. Past Highcrown, one road snakes southeast to Storm’s Wake. Gryphon riders pass over the wall saddled with their satchels of bombs to slow the swine’s advance, and to give everyone time to be evacuated. I know it’s the end times. If they’re not bothering to send Kill Squads, the plan is to regroup on Rebirth Island. I stop and consider whether I should send Ori into the city alone. No. She would get lost. Storm’s Wake it is.

***

We trudge along the road under a torrent of rain, barely keeping warm as the wind blows us forward like ships caught in a squall. “Why are we going there?” Ori asks.

“We’re gonna see if we can find a boat.”

“Where will we go if we find it.”

“Anywhere you want.”

She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell she’s giving it thought.

“You don’t have to know right now,” I tell her. “Just think about it.”

I thank the Shield she doesn’t ask what happens if we don’t.

By noon the rain has weakened and we stop to rest and have a snack. We find a relatively dry spot under a maple tree. I sit against the trunk as Ori kneels down to wring the excess water out of Chiggin. I take the time to roll a few extra cigarettes while she nibbles on some dried fruit and crackers.

We’re on the road again and by evening we arrive at the village of Hareshire. The customary animal sounds and clacking of farm equipment are eerily silent. After passing through the gate we see why. Empty houses, chairs, tables, and cookware all litter the streets. “Rien,” Ori asks, where is everyone?”

“Stay close,” I tell her.

Necrotic wind rolls through the street, accompanied by the nauseating, overripe stench of blood. Mostly bare, the trees creak as their branches are tossed from side to side. A lone chicken wanders out from behind a house, looking just as confused as we are. It pecks at the ground a few times, then disappears back behind the house. Before I can grab her shoulder Ori’s already running ahead after it. “Dammit Ori,” I mutter as I pick up my pace after her.

Once she makes it to the house she clutches her face and screams. I run ahead and draw my daggers, yet find the origin of her horror, and a putrid stench as well. The carcasses of cattle and horses are strewn about in the stable, festering in the muck. Ori starts to cry and buries her face into my breast. “Why,” she repeats between heavy sobs, “Why?”

I wish I could help her understand, but there’s no real way for me to explain it’s better than being eaten alive.

***

We never found where the chicken went. It’s getting dark and camping here is better than anywhere in the woods. We find a house with warm coals still on the hearth, and I manage to get a fire going again. I find the carcass of a chicken and pick it up to examine it, the blood in the stable stinks, but it was cold enough so that the meat should be fine if I cook it.

I sear the chicken with some pepper and fat I found in a larder a few houses down. Ori doesn’t realize where meat comes from, so without the feathers or the head, the raw carcass I brought in may as well have come from a tree. This is good, because otherwise I don’t think she’d eat meat.

After dinner we sit near the fire in our smalls while our clothes dry. Wrapped in wool blankets, I retell stories about a great irenic King who ruled over Tyragarde long before the swine. “What happened to the King,” Ori asks when I finish. “Did he die?”

I look into the fire and shake my head. “No truly great King ever dies,” I say. However, he fathered two great twins, that’s our Sword and Shield. The Sword went away to find us help, and she’s been gone for quite some time.

Ori tucks her knees under her chin. “How do we know when she’s coming back?”

There’s no answer as to how this story ends. I try to remember what my mother used to tell me. “She carries Light. A Light that dissolves the thickest of mists and pierces through the blackest of nights.”

“What does the Sword look like?”

I can feel Ori’s eyes fixated on me as I walk over to the fire and ignite a match from the flames, then bring it to the tip of my cigarette. I exhale a plume of smoke as I sit back down next to her and drape the blanket over my brittle shoulders again.

“I’ve heard she’s the most beautiful, noble Queen to ever exist. Same as the Shield. They possess a pulchritude which is almost imperceptible.”

“Will we ever get to see them,” she asks, dreamily.

“You, perhaps, not me.”

“Yes you will.”

“Why do you think that?”

She stays quiet for a moment. “You say it all the time. The Shield protects. And you’re the best person ever besides he and the Sword. So you will be okay.”

She isn’t wrong, that is how the story goes. The Shield Protects. And I put faith the stories about the Sword are true, if not my own sake, for Ori's.

***

In the morning I wake up to the wind pulling a shingle off the roof. It clacks against the house as it prattles to the ground. I decide to let Ori sleep a little longer, and get up and change into my gear after dropping a couple fresh logs on the coals of the hearth. After going outside and hacking up a spot of blood, I go back inside to wake her.

We step outside to be met with a gust of frigid wind, the first of what truly bites like winter. Overcast skies menace above, and a light hoarfrost dusts the barren canopies of trees. The mud below our boots has the consistency of gravel, making it easier to traverse. As we exit Hareshire a voice calls over to us. I reach for my daggers, then spot who it is.

The reddleman sits on the edge of his cart, watching us with an obtuse smugness. “Yeah?” I say to him.

He looks up at the sky, unbothered by the wind. “Beautiful mornin’.”

I shake my head. “Gonna have to disagree.”

A puzzled look forms on his face. “How come?”

I shrug and pull at my cloak. “Self evident, I think.”

He hops off his cart and holds out his arms. “But we won.”

“What?”

The reddleman scoffs and shakes his head, as though something were obvious. “The whole damn lot of them are headed off this island. All the bastards who mocked us, scorned us,” he laughs. “They’re no better than us now. Their two little cities they so desperately clung to, their land and their steads, it’s all gone. May as well be pig shit now.”

“Uh huh,” I say. “So are we.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. That’s just the price of revenge.”

“Killed and eaten by the swine,” I ask him. “Everyone suffers and loses what they have.”

He holds out his hands, as though bargaining with me. “But what about us.” His voice hisses, and he grabs hold of my tunic.

I draw my dagger and hold it to his nose. “You are not my friend, reddleman.” He starts to back away, meekly. “We may both have lived as cynics and cowards, but I’m not going to die as one.”

His brow darkens, then he smiles. “Does your idiot here know how the swine make new ones?”

I gesture to Ori to follow me, and we begin to walk away. I turn to him one last time, pointing my dagger towards him. “You’d be wise to watch your tongue. Next time you try and speak to me, I’ll cut it out myself.”

I hear his cackles as we depart. His figure remains there as a flurry begins to fall, red and almost festive. The trees and villagescape fade, but he remains.

***

By evening we can see the ocean. The air blowing in from the west carries a hint of brine with the warmth of the south seas. We make a camp at the top of the hill here, and the sunset cascades gold to pink. Towering evergreens arch through the sky, pitch black before the disappearing shoreline. Roaming whitecapped waves glimmer alabastrine as they crash upon the beach like fated stars. All the universe above and we’re brought before nothing but a stretch of impending waste. Skeletons in the sand, dust on cosmic shores. Trapped in a conflict beyond our knowing, the Mad God with a taste for misery unleashed these Mawspawned swine, gazing spitefully upon our realm through a glass of malice. If Storm’s Wake is our last stand, so be it.

***

There’s no hurry to depart in the morning. I use a monocle to survey the city of Storm’s Wake. The harbor lies deserted, drawbridge closed up tight. As I scan north I spot the reddleman’s cart, but no sign of him. Curious if he’s found something I could take advantage of, we head down towards the shore.

The path is treacherous and takes us most of the afternoon. The road twists and backtracks through wild trees and crumbling rock. We pass several overturned wagons picked clean of supplies, a fresh makeshift grave near one. Yet still, beside the reddleman, we have yet to spot a single soul on our journey here. It has been oddly peaceful, as though we’re placid observers of an abandoned world, solitary wayfarers merely drifting from one realm to another.

Once we’re at the bottom of the hill we stop to eat and regain our energy. Storm’s Wake is still a distance away, and I’d like to see what’s at the reddleman’s cart before it gets dark. Down the road I see the smoke from the fire, now beginning to merge with the evening mist. Rotten clouds roll in from the north, loaded with foul rain from the dead shores in the Swinelands.

We approach the smoldering fire, dust from the reddleman’s cart surrounds it. I kneel down, and a blinding flash erupts from the coals. I hack up dust, and hear Ori cry out nearby. Wiping my eye, my surroundings are blurred. “Ori,” I call, “Are you okay?”

I hear her coughing. “Rien,” she calls.

I pour some water from my canteen in my eye, and my vision improves. Staggering over to Ori, I pour some water in her eyes as she whimpers. Then I hear him cackling.

He emerges over a rock, my vision still blurred, he’s stark naked, but covered in red from head to toe. I spot a rusting short sword in his hand.

“Crazy old bastard,” I growl at him.

He dances around manically, circling as I keep myself between him and Ori.

“You see the sky,” he says as he prances forward and back, his weapon still drawn. “They’re coming.”

I keep my weapons pointed to him as well, speaking slowly. “Then lets get, the fuck, out of here.”

He laughs again, “You know well as I do there’s nowhere left to go. Ships’ve all set sail, my friend. It’s just me, you, and your idiot.”

He takes a swipe at me, and I retaliate, our blades flashing sparks in the waning light as they connect. Wind begins to stir the sands around us.

“So why not try,” I make a counterattack, “There could still be a boat.”

The reddleman briefly gestures at the storm. “Because this is destiny. This is justice. We are the last of our Kingdom. Us the scorned. I am King, you Queen, and your idiot the Heir Apparent.”

I dodge his forward slash. “I’d sooner have Tyragarde purged from time than continue as a Kingdom in your will.”

He rolls to the side as I attempt to cut his throat, cackling soon as he’s out of my blade’s reach, almost losing his composure. “It’s not us who will start anew. Our bodies are of little use now. Your idiot is the one who will sire hundreds more of their young.” He pauses as his eyes gloss over. “It will be beautiful.”

I take this as my chance and lunge forward, planting my daggers in his chest. He grunts and drops to his knees, and looks me in the eye, still grinning. “Either way,” he says, “they will take the idiot, and claim their rightful land.”

I scrape the old bastard off my daggers with my boot and go over to check on Ori. She looks on despondent at the reddleman’s corpse. I realize it’s probably the first she’s seen one. “Don’t worry,” I reassure her, “he was a bad man.”

Her arms are shaking as I help her to her feet.

“Come on Ori, we have to go. Do you have Chiggin still?”

She nods. “What’s an idiot?”

I turn back to the reddleman. “Him. Let’s go.”

***

We continue along the beach, thunder rolling in behind us. Lightning flashes as a drizzle begins to pelt our cloaks. The thunder picks up, until it begins to sound more ominous, more alive. Then comes the trampling, and we turn.

Our backs to the sea, a heavy rain begins to fall. Crimson clouds churn low in the sky, bellowing the oncoming winter’s fury. And with it, a band of swine marauders advance forward, taking their time, a sentient smugness to their movements. They eye Ori with a wicked hunger. I feel a hatred unlike anything I’ve known. I roils up from my gut and burns in my skull. A hatred that could shatter this island into pieces and fracture the distant mountains across the sea.

“Ori,” I tell her, “Go hide.”

“Rien-”

I turn, gently, yet forceful.

“Now.”

She runs across the shore, the sloshing of her footsteps fade into the rain. I uncork the fireblood potion, releasing a plume of ochre vapor. It reeks like sulfur, making me gag. The leader of the swine belches a thundering squeal, prompting me to chug it.

After it sears down my throat a gurgling, boiling sensation forms in my stomach. It spreads outward from there, like I’ve swallowed a fistful of embers, and blood like magma flows into my veins, engorging my muscles. The swine advance forth, and I draw my daggers, spinning them with finesse and confidence between my fingers.

“Alright fuckers, let’s do this.”

The first of the pack charges me, and I sidestep with a grace I haven’t felt in decades, eviscerating the beast before it knows it’s already dead. It squeals, not so much in pain, but surprise as it collapses and writhes on the ground, it’s thick, putrid blood staining the water. I spit on it’s convulsing carcass and turn to the rest.

Two more lumber forward, a big, juicy bastard, and then a smaller, wretched one. I meet them in the middle and immediately stick the small one up through the jaw, releasing a hot fall of blood that runs down my hand. As the bigger one swings an axe down towards me, I backflip out of the way. It stumbles forward, and in it’s vulnerable state, I plunge both of my daggers into it’s swaying belly. It yowls as I rip outward, slicing through it’s intestines. More shit than blood slops out of it’s upended guts. It moans with deep, guttural grunts, then collapses snout-first into the water.

Several more in the pack charge me, and I catch one with a clean slice to the neck. Decapitated, it’s head continues forward despite it’s torso swinging wildly in the area where I struck it. My serrated dagger then finds it’s place in another’s skull. I plant my foot on the beast’s gut to yank it out, and the teeth bring half of the brains with it. Dozens of chunks plaster my tunic.

Footfall behind me, I feel a tug at my cloak, and a warm sensation down my back. I wheel around and slash at a face, catching it’s snout. The severed nose falls into the water and squirms around in the brine with a peculiar awareness. Meanwhile, the pig howls a garbled squeal, clutching it’s face, allowing me a clean incision down it’s torso, and a new batch of fresh guts and shit slither into the advancing tide.

Another tries to get me in the back again, yet this time I take cover behind it’s dying counterpart’s body, and the oaf’s blade gets stuck in it’s skull. I then maneuver around to the back where I plunge my twin blades into it’s neck, and pull backward. It spins as it falls, causing ribbons of blood to bathe myself and the other oncoming swine in sanguine chaos. I find a glancing blow on one, causing it to reel for a moment while I dodge another’s attack. I then stick one dagger so far up it’s arse it pukes up a mass of liquefied shit, and lets forth a garbled scream. It waddles as it flees, and the teeth of my dagger grab hold of it’s intestines. They stream out of it’s rear like sprawling Hellworms emerging from the void. I’m forced to cut the guts loose with my off-hand dagger. The other swine has recovered, and I duck between it’s legs, planting my blade solidly at the base of it’s groin. As that one squeals and hobbles away, the last of the pack attempts to bring a flail upon my head. It shatters my off-hand blade, but stops the momentum of the ball. I slash the pig’s bicep with my main hand so forcefully the tendons erupt from it’s arm and lacerate my face.

The flail it was wielding drops in the sand, and I grab ahold of it. As the it tries to gore me with it’s tusks, I roll aside and jump on it’s back and wrap the chain around it’s neck. It begins to gurgle, and the immense strength of the potion ripples through my muscles. I yank on the handle, and pull until bastard’s eyes pop into the water. They make a deep thunk as they’re dislodged, like an uncorked whiskey bottle.

A roar bellows behind me, the alpha of the pack. It’s breath stinks from here. Combined with the cries of the dying swine, this place looks and smells like a slaughtermill. The tide flows red with blood, and above the rain has yet to cease, crimson and hateful as ever. The alpha storms forward, and I charge it to get better footing, the waves now tall as my shoulders.

It’s strength is immense, swinging a morning star which would require both hands of any normal man freely above it’s shoulders. As I advance forward away from the tide, it swings the ball through the swell effortlessly. Once on good footing, I ready my dagger. I know I need to take out it’s limbs to stand a chance, even with the potion. It’s relentless as I dodge it’s attacks, barely gaining any footing before it swings the mace at me again. Deep swaths are carved it the sand with each missed attack, which instantly fill with water. Each time I try to land offense of my own, it dodges with uncanny agility. I wonder how long the potion will last, how long I can keep this up.

It tries an upward swing and I backflip away, narrowly avoiding my skull. Yet as I land, my leg gets sucked into one of the trenches carved by the mace, and before I can fully retaliate, the ball strikes me in the ribs, sending me sailing into the tide.

My ears ring as I try to regain my senses. I’ve lost my dagger. As I sit up, I bring a hand to my ribs. A crater now exists in my side. The swine alpha trundles toward me. It’s enormous hooves march through the crimson swell. It looks down at me, as if admiring it’s kill. This is my chance, I activate the spring on my hidden stiletto, and stick the fucker right in the bladder. The beast grunts and goes wide-eyed, dropping the weapon. I remove the blade, and reeking piss erupts from the wound like a rancid geyser. I slash it’s heel, and it drops to a knee. I cut the other, and it tumbles backwards into the water. I spring forward and try to wrap my hands around the neck, but it’s too thick.

There’s fear in it’s eyes. Has this thing ever contemplated death? It holds it’s breath as it grabs onto my wrists. I grit my teeth, and begin to slide my hands upward to it’s eyes. I think of Ori, I think of the swine’s filthy hands ripping at her clothes. I want this thing to suffer, I want it to know agony. It takes all of my fingers, but eventually I work them into the orbitals. More blood clouds the water as I wrap around the eyeballs. I squeeze them like hard boiled eggs, causing them to pop. They explode with such force that air bubbles rise to the surface, accompanied by a puss-colored humor. It opens its mouth to scream, finally beginning to drown. It thrashes below the surface, scratching my arms and tearing my sleeves, abdomen rumbling as it shits itself. But I don’t waver, I hold it there, shoving my fists as deep into it’s eye-sockets as I can, clawing around inside, ripping and gouging at whatever soft parts I feel.

And then it stops, and there’s just the rain and the shore. A drizzle now, the tide pulls the swine and their foul entrails out to sea. Good. Let the waters of this world cleanse their cursed existence. Let the seabirds perch and feed upon their bloated and festering corpses. Let the fish devour and mulch their bones until they’re nothing but the scum plastered upon derelict rocks in the middle of the sea.

Then I hear Ori’s whistle and look up. It comes from a long, snaking piece of driftwood a distance upshore.

I find her there, shivering, clutching Chiggin in her arms. She looks up to me, relief on her face.

I drop to my knees and kiss her forehead, hugging her. Then I see her clothes covered in blood. My heart drops. “What happened, are you hurt?”

She looks at me puzzled, then covers her mouth and points.

I look down, and remember the hole in my side. Something protrudes from it each time I breathe. I cover it with my cloak. “It’ll be alright,” I reassure her as I sit down. “Just let me rest.”

There’s nothing left at Storm’s Wake. Everyone’s gone, and I’m out of ideas. I don’t know what else to do.

“Ori,” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Could you take a look at the ocean out there?”

She looks at the horizon. “Why?”

I ready my dagger. “Did you think about where do you wanted to go?”

She nods. “Where do the gryphons come from?”

I eye her neck. “Somewhere better. Somewhere without swine.”
She nods as she pets Chiggin. “I want to go there.”

The rain has stopped, and now the ground grows warm from all the blood I’m losing. I have to do it now, before I pass out. A tear clouds my vision. My final act, I can't let them take her.

“Rien!" Ori stands up and points.

I look over, an emerald light pierces through the mist. I blink, trying to adjust my vision. The light grows stronger. Using the driftwood to pull myself to my feet, I feel for my whistle, but lost it in the fight. “Ori,” I tell her, “blow your whistle.”

She pulls it from around her neck. With all her breath, she blows, and a bow emerges from this mist. She blows again, and again, and then, the ship runs ashore with enigmatic grace.

“Come on,” she says as she wraps an arm around me.

We arrive at the port side and a ladder is flung down to us. A beautiful woman donning golden armor adorned with skulls peers over the side, her emerald eyes shining through the dark. “Ahoy,” she calls.

I give a casual salute with two fingers. “Go on up, Ori.” She begins to climb.

I use the last of my strength to climb aboard. When I spill onto the deck I notice the lack of blood running from my wound. My veins have gone dry. The woman with the glowing eyes nods to the helmsman, who himself breaths verdant light into a lantern near the wheel, and the ship smoothly backs into the water. Ori collapses next to me, sobbing. I look up to her and wipe the tears from her eyes. “Don’t cry,” I tell her, “I promised you it would be alright.”

The woman keels next to me, resting a hand on my chest. She’s so strikingly beautiful, the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen. Her physiognomy is noble, redolent of an erudite wisdom only acquired from lifetimes of journey and adventure. And then there’s her immense size, it’s difficult to fathom, she must be 10 feet tall. The heat from her body radiates through her gauntlet. Before I can ask, she nods and gives me the answer.

“It’ll be okay.”

An immense burden releases from my chest as I realize who she is.

“You’re the Sword. In the bones. Am I dreaming, am I dead?”

She smiles down at me. “Indeed I am. And no, you are very much alive, I’ll personally see to that.” I feel her hand on my chest, radiating warmth, a semblance of strength returns to my body. I take a breath, the clearest I've ever felt, then exhale, and a small glow emerges with it. She returns to the helmsman. “Rebirth Island, fast as she’ll go.”

She looks at me again, her eyes so radiant, so full of Light. Yes, I am peering into the soul of Divinity. Goodness incarnate. I can feel Her Holiness pumping through my veins. 

“We have a Kingdom to reclaim.”