Khonkongha

The need-fire lasted three days and two nights.

In the light of the Hallower, life in the ghortos eased. The men spoke more softly, and the women relaxed more often. The children were slow to cause trouble, and their parents were slower to wrath. The animals allowed themselves to be driven or handled or guided. Cuts and stings and little wounds did not cause much hurt.

The water grew sweet. Fish swam into the nets. The snares did not always catch game, but there was always game every day. The women and children did not always fill their baskets with nuts and greens and other forage, but the ghortos was in no danger of starving.

With two fires to feed, the need for wood was never greater. Every morning I hauled off into the forest, and brought back as much firewood as I could carry.

The need-fire attracted the neighbors too. The day after the rite, they came to call with horse-drawn wagons. For wood, pelts and fish, they traded coins, tools, and honey. When they asked how the ghortos had built the need-fire, Omos simply gestured at me.

They had not asked whether I was a Godsworn, and I saw no reason to enlighten them.

A share of the silver passed into my hands. This I stuffed into my too-light purse. It was only a handful, but it was a start.

In the long nights, I wondered if the Godsworn would slay the great serpent before I earned enough silver to outfit myself for war. Slaying Kwei-beasts was, after all, what Godsworn did. If they had…

I would grapple with that day if it came.

There was also the mystery of Arta. Why had she come to me? What was she meant to do? I was not ungrateful for her help—far from it—yet the One does not send a shard of Himself to someone for no reason. Such a happening was so far beyond the known that there was no sekwa for it.

Late in the night, Arta herself offered no answers. She merely urged me to train.

That third night, there was no time to train. There were skins to dry, meat to smoke, fish to ferment, tools to fix, greens to dry, fresh rushes to scatter across the earth. When the work was finally done, bright light flashed through the windows. From the distance there came the sound of rumbling thunder.

When I peeked outside, a drizzle began to fall. The bonfire sizzled and smoked. Nearby, there came again the boom of a thunderbolt.

“Perkaus swings the Striker at last,” Keitan muttered.

“Maybe He strikes down the beasts of the Sky-Pillar,” Augus said.

“A man can hope,” Omos replied.

I could not.

The women shuttered the windows and prepared a bath. I took the chance to soak myself and scrub away the dirt of many days. When everyone had their turn, the bathwater was black as pitch. I gripped the tub and headed outside.

Lightning struck the Sky-Pillar.

As the rains pattered down, I blinked away the green-purple spots seared into my sight, and tossed out the water.

I dried myself down. I cleaned my gear. I placed the stake over the fire to cure some more.

The children nodded off. Their grandparents laid them down and settled in for the night. Then the rest of the adults joined them. I, too, lay down by the fire and closed my eyes.

Time passed.

Rain hammered against the roof. Winds howled through the fields and knifed into every opening. The longfire burned low and warm. I reminded myself to check on the bonfire in the morning. The covered smoke-hole would keep the rains from entering the house. As I drifted away, I heard the sound of distant thunder.

Not thunder.

Wood crashing down.

The piercing cry of a raven echoed in the hall.

“AWAKE!”

I sat upright.

Heart pounding, I looked about. Figures stirred in the soft darkness. Children muttered sleepily and rubbed their eyes. Unmarried men and women rolled about under their blankets. From upstairs, there was no sound at all.

[The need-fire is out!] Arta continued. [Arm yourself!]

[What is going on?] I asked.

Already I was throwing off my blanket and reaching for my gear belt.

[They come!]

From outside came a soft, sharp crack. It was like stone splitting apart.

I buckled on my belt. My hands found my axe and knives. Beside me, Augus shook himself awake.

“What are you doing?” he muttered.

“Something’s wrong,” I said. “Take your—”

Thunder rocked the house.

The front door shuddered. The walls trembled. In its wake, I heard the sound of claws scraping against wood.

“AWAKE!” I screamed. “TAKE YOUR WEAPONS!”

A huge bulk threw itself against the door once again. It was locked and bolted, but the hinges screeched. I climbed off the bench and reached for my stake.

Too late.

Above the door, a dark shape ripped the leather shutters and burst through the window. Then a second, a third. Skittering across the rush-strewn floor, they made for the benches.

Then they saw the hallowed fire.

Caught in the sanctified light, they screeched as one. Legs came up to cover their eyes. I drew my axe in my right hand, my camp knife in my left, and rushed to meet them.

Each beast was the size of a large hound. Covered in chitin plates, they shone a wet black. Their bodies were round and sturdy, held aloft on six segmented legs. Eight eyes fanned across their faces. The front two legs, largest and strongest, ended in hook-like claws.

Khonkongha. Young ones. Which meant—

The closest khonkonghos leapt at me, claws outstretched. I faded back and swung my axe. The blade cleaved away its left claw at the joint. Green ichor sprayed from the wound. Mandibles opened again in a liquid scream. Black Kweinos spilled forth and burned in the fire-light. I rolled the axe in my hand and stepped and swung.

The spike pierced its armored skull.

The khonkonghos shuddered once, and went still.

Screams tore through the hall. Men and women yelled at each other. Ignoring them, I planted my foot on the dead creature’s head and wrenched the blade free.

A second khonkonghos snapped at my exposed leg.

I stumbled back. The claw missed, but I lost my balance. The khonkonghos rushed in. Closing in on my left, it lashed out with a claw once more.

My long knife scored its claw and warded it away. I found my footing again. As the beast turned, I crashed in and swung for the gap between its claw-leg and its neck.

The axe rent its brain.

Once more I ripped the axe free. Now I looked about.

Terror gripped the hall. Cows lowed and goats screamed. Men gripped spears and staves and shouted and stabbed at the beasts. Omos and the fathers ran down the stairs, weapons in hand. Now there were five khonkongha in the hall. And another one burst in through the window.

“HELP!”

To my left, a khonkonghos menaced an elderly woman and a girl. Its mass blocked my view. I leapt up on the empty bench and rushed over.

Its claws rose and fell.

Blood spurted.

My own axe rose and fell.

The spike found the soft spot between its head and body. Instantly it broke away and thrashed about. I freed my weapon and left it to die.

The heat and the light of the need-fire sent the remaining khonkongha screeching in pain. Screaming, shouting, the men thrust and thrust and thrust. Pained and enraged, the khonkongha pushed forward.

A khonkonghos charged up the stairs. Keitan and Omos spitted it with their spears. Two more rushed down the other side of the longfire. Men held them back with a desperate flurry of spear thrusts. In front of me, Augus and Guregnos stood shoulder to shoulder, shouting and stabbing at the last two khonkongha with their spears. The door shuddered again.

The Kwei-beasts slipped past the points and charged.

I shoved past the brothers and charged the Kwei-beasts.

Axe held at my ear, I weaved my knife through a storm of steel. Yet I was hemmed in on both sides by their spears.

“RAISE YOUR SPEARS! I NEED ROOM TO FIGHT!” I shouted.

The closer khonkonghos slipped beneath a shaft and came from my right. Its claw lashed low. I lifted my lead foot off the ground and swung my axe. The blade hooked the beast’s foreleg and swept the claw away. As I stepped back down I spiked its head.

The spears pulled back. The other khonkonghos came, circling to my left. With my knife I thrust and thrust and thrust, forcing it back. It clawed for my hand. I voided the blow. As its claws snapped back, I thrust into the gap, slipping beneath a shaft and between the retreating claws to find its eyes.

The beast fell back, claws scrabbling for its eyes. It tipped over the hearth and fell into the fire.

The need-fire roared.

The beast screamed.

“KILL IT!” I shouted.

Spears plunged into the fire. They came back smoking. Sweet, meaty scents filled the hall. The khonkonghos staggered out. More spears finished it.

I stepped back and looked about. Keitan and Omos had finished the other two Kwei-beasts. There were no more khonkongha to our backs.

Then the door shattered.

The mother khonkonghos barged inside. The doorway could admit a cow. She could barely squeeze her enormous body through. Her claws were swords, and her plates large as trenchers. Caught halfway between inside and outside, her legs scrabbled for purchase. She screeched in rage.

I tried to stow my blades. My hands forgot their skill. Cursing, I threw the axe at her. The steel spike clanged off a plate. With both hands, I wiped off my knife and returned it to its sheath.

“What do we do?” Augus shouted.

“Kill it!” I replied.

I grabbed my stake. The mother khonkonghos wriggled back and forth. She pushed a third leg through the door, then a fourth.

“FORM RANKS!” I shouted. “ADVANCE!”

I placed myself between and behind Augus and Guregnos. Aiming the stake at the khonkonghos, I marched on it. My own bulk pushed the boys forward.

“FORWARD! FORWARD!” I roared.

Past the longfire, the men flowed into a ragged line. A wall of spears marched on the Kwei-beast. She twisted herself around, bringing her humongous claws to bear.

“FORWARD! THRUST! STRIKE THE EYES!” I shouted.

I thrust for her face. The men followed. Screeching, the mother khonkonghos covered her head with her claws. Emboldened, we stepped and thrust, and thrust, and thrust.

The mother khonkonghos forced the rest of her body into the hall and screamed in victory.

She scuttled around to face us. With a giant claw she shielded her face. The other hurtled at me.

I sank my weight into my right foot and swung my stake upward. Fire-hardened wood smashed the claw aside, opening a line.

I thrust.

Hardened point sank into soft flesh. Voices rose high. Fire-light flashed. Breath surged.

Thunder.

The Storm blew her head open. Ichor sprayed away. Instantly the body went slack. The huge mass slumped over.

I slumped over.

Then came a long, keening wail.

“Oswa! No! Wake up! Oswa!”

We rushed over.

Over in a corner, Oswa’s grandmother, Arla, cradled her close. Oswa was the one who had come out to greet me when I came to Omosghortos. Now she lay cold and pale in Arla’s arms. Blood spilled from twin holes in her chest. Her eyes fluttered. Her jaw went slack, and from her open mouth dribbled a stream of red.

“Healer! We need a healer!” I shouted.

“We don’t have a healer,” Omos muttered, his face grim. “Not for a wound as terrible as this.”

“Oswa!” Arla wept.

My strength fled me. I was ready to fall. I had to hold on to my stake to stay upright. Still, I sucked down a Breath, circulating it throughout me, then held out my right hand.

“Give her to me,” I said.

“What?” Arla exclaimed.

“Give. Her. To. Me.”

The elder held out the dying girl. I held my hand over her wounds.

I Breathed.

The Storm came.

There was light. There was thunder. Fingers and palm shook and seared. There was the smell of cooked meat and burning linen.

Oswa screamed.

When my sight cleared, I saw that her wounds were burned black. The holes were closed. Oswa coughed, her lungs heaving. Dark blood spewed from her mouth. Then she coughed again, and came up dry.

“What did… you do…?” Arla whispered.

In softer voice, I answered, “I sealed… her wounds.”

She sobbed. “Thank you. Thank you, mighty Godsworn!”

Groaning, I sank into an empty space beside the elder and placed the stake at my shoulder. The stink of burnt wood and flesh filled my lungs.

“Take Oswa… to healers… Verdwer. Hagra,” I said.

“We can’t leave until the morning,” Omos said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Can’t… let her… sleep,” I continued. “Keep… awake.”

“How?”

“Hold. Work. Sing.”

“Oswa,” Arla chanted, rocking back and forth. “Oswa.”

The men went to work. They checked on each other, the women and children, the Kwei-beasts. Then they brought out their tools and fell upon the carcasses, singing as they worked.

I held Oswa’s hand, and Breathed.