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Matabar. Chapter 25 - Fur and guns
🕑 Added 2025-01-18 18:25:00 +0000 UTC“Hello, Mother.
I’m writing to you from... Well, I suppose it’s silly to start a letter this way. But that’s how I’ll start it anyway.
I’m writing from Mart Borskov’s wagon. He’s a good man, even if he drinks a lot and talks even more. When it rains, he lets me wait out the storm under his roof.
When you used to tell me stories about the plains and steppes, Mother, I always compared them to Grandfather’s tales. How could the land possibly be flat from horizon to horizon, with only the sky for company? But now, as storm clouds rise in thick, rolling waves above me and the thunder echoes like shots from an old hunting rifle, I can see that you were right.
Here, deep in the steppe, I felt dizzy at first. Imagine it — there’s nothing there to catch your eye for hundreds of kilometers, and the occasional hill serves as a guidepost for travelers and...
Well, you already know this, obviously. Just as you know the local winds that carry the scent of grasses and fields. And how your chest swells with each intake of breath, and the fragrance of boundless freedom can intoxicate your mind.
Though, perhaps that’s Mart’s wine talking.
No, Mother, I’m not actually drinking. I know you wouldn’t approve.
We’ve been on the road for eleven days now. Everything’s fine, don’t worry.
I remember you warning Erti and me about the dangers of the prairies and steppes, but we haven’t encountered any bandits or magical beasts. Mart often says that the former are afraid of the Cloaks and the marshals, and that the latter likely fear Cassara. She’s a vampire. And though she always says her heart is dead, sometimes I’m convinced that I’ve met few people whose hearts beat more vibrantly.
Cassara always tries to help the settlers, and sometimes, she even plays with their children. They’re not afraid of her at all.
And you won’t believe it, but Mart’s been telling me all kinds of interesting things. He told me about how there shouldn’t be prairies and steppes here at all, but rather, a desert, like in the Holy Emirates of Al’Zafir. He claims it’s all because the Ley Lines on our continent run too close to the surface, changing what Mart calls the “magnetic fields.” I don’t know what magnetic fields are, but apparently, because of these changes, North and South are all mixed up for us. Winter should be in the summer here in the southern hemisphere, and summer in the winter. Like on the eastern continent. And in the Metropolis, there should be jungles, just like in Kargaam and Lan’Duo’Ha.
Can you imagine? Winter in summer, and summer in winter!
Mart sometimes says he’s been to rivers in these countries where the trees are so tightly packed together that you can barely squeeze a hand between them!
Incredible, right?
He says it’s all because of the Ley Lines and how they influence the climate and...
Sorry, I’m repeating myself. I got carried away.
I’m fine. I sleep, eat, sometimes ride out in patrols with the Cloaks, but we find nothing except the endless expanses of the steppe.
Yonatan — that’s the head of the Cloaks — is glad about that. So am I.
And the sky here, Mother, is beautiful. It’s not as familiar as at home, but still beautiful. Maybe that’s what the sea looks like?
I now understand why you sometimes missed these lands...
I miss you.
I love you.
Your son,
Ardi.
P.S. You’ll probably get this letter along with all the others, but... I don’t know how else to say it... may there be many.
P.P.S. How are you? Did you make it to Delpas? How’s home? How’s Erti’s health? Is everything alright?
P.P.P.S. I hope I can...”
“Damn it,” Mart clicked his teeth as he climbed down from the driver’s seat and into the wagon. “It’s pouring down like the sky itself is falling.”
Ardi folded the unfinished letter and tucked it into his travel bag. He pulled aside the canvas flap and looked up at the sky. The clouds above clashed like mighty black and blue waves, rolling over each other. A fierce storm slashed at the earth, the lightning sounding like whip cracks and pinning the grass flat with the booming crash of thunder.
The raindrops weren’t just drumming steadily against their meager roof; they seemed to want to pierce it straight through.
Mart shook off his leather raincoat, his hands trembling as he pulled yet another bottle from his bottomless suitcase. He yanked the cork out with his teeth and took several loud swigs.
“I won’t even offer you any this time,” he waved Ardi off.
Judging by the stillness underfoot, the caravan had stopped for a break. Not surprising, considering the fact that the rain had turned into a downpour in the last half hour. It could wash out even the most solid ground, and in places like this, you could not only get stuck, but — may the Sleeping Spirits help them — break a spring, or worse yet, a wheel.
“I don’t remember Matabar being as strict with alcohol as the orcs,” Mart said, shaking the bottle as he sat down on the chests.
“Mother,” Ardi answered the unspoken question with a single word.
“She’s very religious?”
“Not exactly,” the young man shrugged. “But she believes in the Face of Light and tries not to break the commandments when possible.”
“The Face of Light and his commandments,” Mart snorted. “He’s spawned so many denominations that you can’t keep track of them. Some allow alcohol, some don’t. Some permit polygamy, others same-sex relations. And some... build churches on the bones of unbelievers.”
“And who are those people...?”
“The Enario Theocracy,” Mart grimaced, digging through his chest before pulling out two maps. One of them showed the nations, similar to the one that had hung on the wall in Ardi’s school, though with slightly outdated borders. The other was a mess of climate zones, forests, rivers, glaciers, and swamps — this was the map Mart would use whenever he was trying to explain the connection between nature and Ley Lines to Ardi. “Look here.”
Mart, pulling off his wet gloves with his teeth, traced his finger along the paper.
“South of the Ralsk Mountains, below the flow of the Eva River. That’s where the Enario Theocracy is,” Ardi looked at the tiny sliver of land that, on the school map, had usually been shaded over. “It’s a nasty little place no one in the Empire likes to talk about.”
He had a point. Ardan did recall seeing only a few short paragraphs about this place in his history book.
“But why-”
“Because we got our teeth kicked in, back in the day,” Mart laughed. “Sure, the Castilians and the Selkado helped, but that doesn’t change the fact that we got demolished. Those fanatics held their defenses for a month against what was then still a young, not-so-established Empire. And then, well, the Incident of Lady Talia put an end to all expansion in that direction.”
“What incident?”
Mart took a swig of wine, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and rolled his eyes toward the heavens.
“Oh, that rural education of yours... They reformed the curriculum, added new subjects to match the city’s standards, but I bet your teachers still covered three topics each?”
“Two,” Ardi corrected.
“Two,” Mart snorted again. “Ever heard of Sergeant Mendеra?”
“Only that, thanks to him and his unit, Gales managed to steal the special flame from the Fae, which helped them win the war.”
“Well, if we gloss over a few details, that’s pretty much how it happened,” Mart nodded. “Anyway, Gales grabbed a bunch of land and became an Empire, but at that time, it hadn’t fully established itself or consolidated its power in the provinces. One such province was, you guessed it, the border with Enario.”
“But why-”
“I’m not a historian, at least not in the common sense, Ardi. Nor a politician. How should I know why the Empire needed that forsaken scrap of land?”
Ardan glanced at the map again. He couldn’t see any critical importance in Enario’s location, either. But, as Mart had rightfully pointed out, they weren’t historians or politicians.
“For a couple of years, the Empire was just settling in, and then they decided to send Mendеra with his unit, and Lady Talia, to Enario. The idea was to restore relations,” Mart chuckled and tapped the map with his fingers. “The result: Lady Talia disappeared without a trace, Mendеra was killed by his own men, and instead of restoring relations... see that gray zone in the north, right next to the mountains, and that other one to the south?”
Ardi squinted at the map. Indeed, if you looked closely, you could spot two gray splotches.
“Those are the Dead Lands.”
“The Dead Lands?”
“Fucking Angels, kid!” Mart exploded. “What do our taxes pay for? For you to go to school and not learn a damn thing?”
Ardan frowned. His schoolteachers may not have had university degrees, but they’d taken their jobs seriously.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Mart waved dismissively. “The Dead Lands is a general term. Some call them the Cursed Lands, the Forsaken Lands, the Wastelands, or whatever. Look, there’s another one on the Dancing Peninsula, on our border with Olikzasia.”
Ardi followed Mart’s finger and spotted a third splotch.
“There are quite a few scattered around the world. But the Imperial maps only show ours. If you ask me why... I... I don’t know what I’ll do, but don’t ask!”
Ardi nodded. He was well aware of his tendency to bombard people with endless questions for which answers were rarely found.
But if he couldn’t talk about that, then Ardi would ask another question:
“And they’re called Dead Lands because...?”
“The name doesn’t say enough? They’re dead, as in… dead! And when I say ‘dead,’ it’s not a figure of speech. God made a real fucking pile of shit there. And in that shit, the nastiest creatures you can imagine lurk. Compared to them, the magical beings created by the Firstborn for their war against Gales seem like cuddly, fluffy bunnies.”
Ardan remembered the mountain troll he’d fought as a child. It hadn’t seemed like a bunny to him, let alone cuddly and fluffy.
“And all of it because of Mendera’s unit. They messed up something with the Ley Lines, or whatever. Since then, these sores pop up around the world from time to time. Sometimes, they can be healed. Sometimes, they can’t,” Mart rolled up the map and stuffed it back into its tube. “They tend to have demons, dark mages, and not the kind you’d find in Makingia, but real scum. And all sorts of mutants, too. There’s no end to it. Go ask Yonatan about it.”
“What does-”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Mart interrupted him again. “The leader of the Cloaks is probably the most standard mutant I’ve ever seen. And I’d understand it if he were a descendant of those bastards Gales once spawned. You have no idea, kid, what Star Magic can do when not bound by state regulations against inhumane experiments,” Mart’s last two words were delivered in a mockingly official tone. “But Yonatan isn’t a mutant’s offspring... No, he’s something new. And those super-soldier experiments were supposed to have been closed long ago and...”
Mart cut himself off, glancing from his bottle back to Ardi, and suddenly frowned.
“Forget everything I just said,” he muttered, covering himself with a blanket. “And forget we even talked about it... Damn wine... It’ll be the death of me...”
There was a knock on the side of the wagon.
Mart jumped, clutching his bottle, and pressed himself against the chests.
Ardan moved closer to the makeshift “entrance” and, untying the curtains, pulled the edge aside. A spray of cold mist hit his face, and a sharp wind whipped through his nostrils.
“Get ready, boy,” Yonatan barked. “There’s work to be done.”
As Ardi pulled on his coat and hat, securing the belt with his revolvers, the head of the Cloaks kept his gaze locked on Mart, who was doing his best to pretend he didn’t exist.
“And try to keep your mouth shut, mage,” Yonatan added briefly as Ardi jumped to the ground, letting the rain pour over his face.
Given the loud hiccup that came from Mart in response, he’d taken that comment to be a threat aimed at him. And who could blame him, considering Yonatan’s keen hearing and the fact that he’d probably phrased it that way on purpose...
Wading through ankle-deep mud on the rain-soaked road, they reached a group of people, among whom Ardi spotted Ertas Govlov. Alongside him, huddling under less-than-great leather raincoats, stood several other men from the ranks of the settlers. They all looked sturdy, with weathered faces (as much as could be judged under the downpour) and hands that were far from delicate.
Most of the Cloaks and marshals were also present.
“Twenty-two people,” Yonatan summed up, patting his horse’s neck. The beast shook its head in discomfort — the rain was pouring in under its saddle. “You’re sure about what your boy saw, Ertas?”
The head of the settlers nodded.
“By the river,” he pointed into the darkness of the night. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a thunderclap, revealing the area. Govlov was pointing straight toward their intended route. “A Wanderer. Seems injured.”
Ardan, almost like he was imitating Mart, let out a loud hiccup at that. Wanderers were one of those stories parents in the villages and hamlets of the Foothill Province used to scare children so they wouldn’t wander too far into the steppe.
They were echoes of the war between the kingdoms of Ectassus and Gales. And even though over half a millennium had passed since then, the remnants of those events still haunted much of the western continent.
Especially those remnants like the Wanderers. Their real name had been lost to history, and they’d earned their current title because of their massive size and the fact that their footsteps could be heard even kilometers away across the steppe.
“Damn storm,” muttered one of the Cloaks. Ardi didn’t know him well enough to remember his name. “That’s probably why we didn’t hear it.”
And as if to confirm that he was right, another bolt of lightning flashed, followed by thunder that hammered their ears.
Yes... It was hard not to hear a twelve-meter-tall beast covered in thick muscles and skin that had once served as armor. Of course, that had been the case back when people had used bows, crossbows and spears instead of revolvers and rifles. But, as Ardan had learned well among the mountain trails and northern marshes, misfortune rarely came alone.
And if such a cruel storm had overtaken them, it was no surprise that a Wanderer had hidden in its shadow as well.
“Is it a big one?” Marshal Kal’dron asked.
Standing next to him, Marshal Elliny, small and almost invisible compared to the grim-faced men around her, radiated a piercing, calm confidence. It was a sharp contrast to some of the others who had gathered with them.
“My son said it’s about eight meters,” Ertas replied. “But in this downpour... And the beast is lying in the river, so it could be more.”
Some people cursed, while others whispered prayers to the Eternal Angels.
“Nearly a fully-grown specimen,” Yonatan shook his head. “Even if it’s injured — and that raises the question of who or what hurt it — it’s still better if we avoid it.”
“We’re nearly out of water,” Ertas reminded him.
“You’re standing in the rain, damn it,” spat Katerina, an unusually skilled sharpshooter, as Ardi had come to learn. “We’ll gather plenty. Enough to make it to Presny.”
“Katerina, remember our deal?” Yonatan’s eyes flashed.
“I wasn’t joking.”
“Then let’s adjust the terms — just stay quiet.”
“We’ll gather the water,” Andrew agreed, tipping his hat and letting the pooled rainwater spill onto the ground. “But leaving that thing behind us... For those of you who aren’t locals, let me remind you of this fact: a Wanderer’s sense of smell is keener than any hunting dog’s, and its hunger is constant. If we don’t just bypass the river but detour deep into the steppe, we’ll be able to avoid it. Otherwise…”
“How long will that take?” Ertas asked, visibly tense.
The marshal began counting on his fingers.
“Eight days, maybe ten. That’s to make sure we don’t cross paths with the monster again,” he answered. “But, Mr. Govlov, once we’re deep in the steppe, there’s no guarantee that we won’t encounter another Wanderer, bandits, or other beasts. Smaller beasts, perhaps, but just as unpleasant.”
The settlers’ faces sank. No one wanted to face a Wanderer, a creature they’d most likely feared since childhood. At the very least, they had spoken about it in spine-chilling stories before going on any journey into the southern lands.
But veering off their current route so drastically, especially without any guarantees of avoiding other dangers, wasn’t exactly a great alternative. Even the presence of the Cloaks and a vampire — though Ardi doubted most of the settlers even understood who or what Cassara really was — wasn’t a foolproof guarantee of safe passage. While their mere presence would ward off petty thieves and smaller creatures, larger gangs or more fearsome beasts, on the other hand...
“The rain,” Tevona suddenly whispered. “That’s why the Wanderer is resting in the river. If not for the rain, it would’ve smelled us long ago and attacked.”
“Tevona, you’re doing it agai-”
“Wait, Kal’dron,” Yonatan interrupted, turning toward the girl. “Go on, Marshal Elliny.”
She nodded at him and turned her gaze toward the river where Ertas had pointed.
“The wind is in our faces, and the downpour, the storm... I believe Mr. Govlov’s son wasn’t mistaken, and the creature is seriously injured. Otherwise, it would have followed him back here, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”
More curses echoed, and someone gripped their weapon tighter. The thought that a young lookout could’ve led trouble directly to their camp seemingly hadn’t occurred to anyone until now.
Ardi, for his part, saw no reason to weigh in with his own thoughts. Not because Yonatan had threatened him earlier, but because everything had been clear from the start...
“If we strike first, we have a good chance of taking it down. The fangs, claws, blood, and hide of a Wanderer are worth a fortune. I think the settlers — and we ourselves — could-”
“Are you out of your mind, girl?” Marshal Kal’dron snapped, his mustache quivering like an angry insect’s antennae. “Fangs, claws... Attack a Wanderer! Have you lost your damn mind? That’s...”
“I like it,” Yonatan grinned and clapped Tevona on the shoulder. “Kid, if you ever get tired of wearing a marshal’s stripes, drop me a note. We always welcome people with guts.”
With that said, he cast a theatrical, disapproving glance at the crowd around him.
“Here’s the plan, settlers!” Yonatan’s voice boomed, effortlessly drowning out the rolling thunder. “My squad doesn’t have time for detours, so we’re not changing the route. If you want to go around the river, be my guest, but you’ll do so without us. And if you believe four marshals can protect you from all the steppe’s creatures,” the Cloak smirked and spat on the ground, “then may the Face of Light be with you.”
The crowd started muttering, discussing, arguing, and cursing. Ardi could feel the air thickening with the scent of fear, despite the heavy rain and storm. And he couldn’t blame the northern settlers for their hesitation.
It took real courage to cross the Alcade Mountains directly rather than waste months detouring around them. But a Wanderer...
Ardi wiped the rain from his face, the wind whipping sharp droplets across his skin.
“We’ll go with you, Cloak,” Ertas stepped forward. “But if-”
“If what?” Yonatan cut in, his gaze sweeping over the group. “I have no idea if everyone will survive or if someone will die. But I’ll say this: if you use your heads, do what I tell you, and don’t piss your pants, you’ll have a decent chance of making it. And afterwards, you can tell your grandchildren how you took down a giant beast in the steppe.”
The settlers murmured amongst themselves, hurriedly untying the horses from their posts. Ardi, meanwhile, pulled out his revolver and loaded the sixth round. As the cowboys on the farm had taught him, when working, it was always best to keep the chamber directly under the hammer empty. After all, there were plenty of stories about people shooting themselves in the leg or losing toes.
A flash of lightning illuminated the scene, and in the reflection of a nearby puddle, Ardan caught a glimpse of Yonatan.
“Kid,” the Cloak said, his voice heavy.
“What?”
“Where the hell is your damn staff?”
Ardi clicked the revolver’s cylinder into place and glanced back toward Mart’s wagon. His grimoire and staff, protected from the rain, were hidden inside.
“What kind of mage, in the name of the Face of Light, goes around without their staff?”
“I-”
“Enough with the excuses,” Yonatan cut him off sharply. “Though, considering how you fought Gleb, maybe it’s for the best that you don’t have it,” he mounted his horse, and for the first time, Ardi noticed that not only was a rifle strapped to his saddle, but also a saber. “Stay with the group. If I see you wander off, I’ll shoot you. Got it?”
Now Ardi understood why Yonatan had brought their “valuable cargo” along on this particular hunt. Not because he needed Ardi’s help or expertise, but because he wanted him under close supervision.
“I didn’t hear you!” Yonatan barked.
“I got it,” Ardi nodded calmly, mounting his horse. He ran his hand along the mane of his mare, calming the anxious animal.
“Cassara,” the Cloak called out.
The vampire and her horse, almost gliding through the darkness, materialized beside Ardi.
She and Yonatan exchanged looks, and without another word, the Cloak spurred his horse, charging into the rain. The rest of the riders followed shortly after, with Ardi and Cassara bringing up the rear as they rode into the storm.
The black sky seethed with rage, the thunder rumbling like the tolling of angry cathedral bells, and the rain, relentless and cold, poured down in thick sheets, drenching the prairie in a silvery deluge. Among all this chaos, the silhouettes of two dozen riders were mere pinpricks racing through the darkness.
Horses, their eyes wide and nostrils flaring, galloped forward, their hooves sinking into the muddy earth and flinging around thick sprays of mud with every step. The riders’ faces, despite the rain, the biting wind, and the monster waiting for them by the river, were determined. But beneath that mask was fear, lurking in every heartbeat and every jab of their spurs.
The air around them thickened as the stifling weight of fear grew so tangible it felt like a familiar, sticky hand was ready to reach out and grab them. Each bolt of lightning, each clap of thunder, seemed to feed that fear, casting fleeting, sharp shadows of the people racing into the unknown not by choice, but by necessity.
Their coats, heavy with moisture, flapped and danced in the wind, like the wings of birds lost in the storm.
The wind lashed their faces like a ravenous wolf, and the rain soaked into every crevice, whether it was a collar, pocket, or boot.
Ardan gritted his teeth — unnecessary words at such a time could cost a rider their tongue. Occasionally, he patted his mare’s neck and squinted up at the sky.
Finally, they crested another hill and halted in a small hollow near the riverbank. What had appeared at first glance to be a small island nestled in a wide bend of the river was, in reality, a living creature.
The beast’s chest rose and fell, its noisy breaths reminiscent of the whispers of a summer forest disturbed by particularly fierce winds.
The Wanderer lay on its side, facing the opposite bank, its back to the riders. The wind blowing in their faces, the rain, and the incessant thunder provided such perfect cover that the beast, renowned for its sense of smell, hearing, and sight, hadn’t noticed them at all.
Or perhaps the reason they had been able to get so close was its large wound. They could glimpse it every time the river’s waves receded, revealing a part of the Wanderer’s right side, the side on which it lay.
Green blood trickled into the river, causing it to shimmer in the flashes of lightning.
Whoever had given it that jagged wound had come close, but had ultimately failed to disembowel the monster.
Yonatan raised his hand and flicked his wrist a few times to signal them. The riders immediately recognized the gesture and rode closer to him.
“The plan is simple,” he said quietly, and those closest repeated his words to those farther back. No one dared to speak at full volume, even though they were still a hundred meters from the river. “We’ll split into three groups of seven. Katerina, take the high ground at three o’clock.”
“Got it, commander,” she nodded, removing the cover from the scope of her rifle. “Can I use-”
“No more than two,” Yonatan preempted her.
Katerina nodded, reined in her horse, and began climbing the slope in what seemed to be a random direction. But recalling Yonatan’s instructions, Ardi envisioned them at the center of a clock, realizing that Katerina was moving toward the direction where the clock would read “three.”
It took less than a minute for everyone to divide into groups. Ardi found himself in a group with Cassara, Tevona, and four settlers.
“Only move along the riverbank, and only against the current,” Yonatan continued once the teams had formed. “Aim for the knees and don’t worry about hitting the mark. Fire, pull back from the bank, reload, and go again.”
Some of them stole uneasy glances at the sleeping beast. Even from this distance, it looked so enormous that their minds refused to believe it was real, struggling to chalk it up to tricks of shadow and light.
“Our goal is to bring the beast down,” Yonatan twirled his revolvers and grinned. “And then Cassara will finish the job. Right?”
The vampire, instead of replying, tipped her hat. The settlers, still not quite understanding who or what the blonde beauty truly was, exchanged puzzled looks between her and the monster.
If he hadn’t known the truth about Cassara, Ardi would’ve also been surprised to hear that plan.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Yonatan steered his horse around, facing the river. “Shall we dance?”
Without further delay, the Cloak spurred his horse forward. His group followed, the second squad headed out after a few seconds, and finally, with that same calculated pause, the rearguard that included Ardi moved into action.
His heart was pounding so hard in his chest that it felt like it would burst through his ribs and run off on its own. His stomach was twisted into a tight knot, and a nauseating lump rose in his throat. His hands began to tremble, and his legs squeezed his mare’s sides too tightly, causing the anxious creature to absorb his unease as well.
Rain lashed his hat, lightning flashed, thunder roared, and Ardi charged toward the beast. Just like the mountain troll, the Wanderer had stepped out of ancient stories and was now looming before them in all its terrifying glory.
Feeling as though he might pass out at any moment, Ardi grabbed hold of the gift from Atta’nha that was hidden under his clothes. The small wooden totem — a figurine in the shape of an old oak — dug into his fingers, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his hand. He wrapped himself in that pain as if it were a warm blanket, shielding himself from the cold claws of fear.
Breathing became a little easier, and his vision cleared. At that moment, Yonatan, leading the charge, raised his revolvers and fired toward the beast’s legs. The bullets cut through the air, striking the creature’s flesh, and chaos erupted.
The Wanderer stirred, as if confused by what had just happened. But then, following Yonatan’s lead, the other riders opened fire. Bullets rained down on the beast, and what had once seemed like an island suddenly came to life.
The creature roared, and despite enduring a hail of bullets and being surrounded by clouds of gunpowder, it began to rise. Its broad, green, blood-soaked wound glistened in the flashes of lightning. The monster stood nearly eight meters tall, casting a vast shadow over the landscape.
At first glance, the beast resembled a bear: it had a massive, muscular frame supported by thick, powerful limbs, and its body was covered in thick fur, which shimmered in shades of dark brown and black.
But everything else about it — its long torso, all that tangled, matted fur, those fangs, and that elongated snout — resembled something more akin to a canine.
The Wanderer roared again, pushing off with its front legs and assuming a hunched posture, standing on its hind legs but bending so low it almost touched the ground with its massive arms.
Two yellow eyes blazed with wild fury. The creature’s roar was so powerful it easily drowned out the thunder and caused several horses from the first and second groups to rear up, breaking away from the others.
Without a word, the riders continued to squeeze their triggers, orange muzzle flashes illuminating the night. The bullets whistled through the air, most missing, but a few struck home, embedding themselves in the beast’s matted fur.
The Wanderer growled, and, clenching its fist almost like a human would, it brought down one of its massive forelegs, aiming for the riders. Despite its titanic size, it moved with surprising speed, though it still wasn’t enough for it to catch the galloping horses.
The riders jerked their reins, scattering in all directions. The monster’s “fist” slammed into the ground, sending dirt flying into the air, then its long claws popped out, carving deep furrows into the bank.
Ardi, pressing himself low against his mare’s neck, felt chunks of stone and earth fly past mere inches above where his head had just been. He spurred his horse on, pulling the reins hard as the beast leaped forward, going over the upturned earth.
“Come on, you bastard!” Yonatan shouted. He’d already emptied both of his revolvers and was now brandishing a rifle. He fired, then deftly cocked the lever, spun the weapon in his hands, and reloaded before firing again. “Try and take us, demon spawn!”
The Wanderer, which was being pelted by bullets, lifted its head, bared its fangs, and roared again. Slowly, trembling with pain, it lumbered up the riverbank, following the riders. Each of its massive paws left behind ravines in the earth and sent geysers of mud flying into the air as it reached for the fleeing horses, but it couldn’t catch them.
The riders, following Yonatan’s orders, kept moving against the current, not veering away or splitting up. As a result, they constantly stayed on the side of the creature’s wounded flank, preventing it from landing a direct hit.
At that moment, a bolt of lightning tore through the air again, and this time, it was not a vertical strike, but a horizontal one. Its source wasn’t the heavens, either, but the slope where Katerina had situated herself.
A yellow beam struck the creature’s knee dead on and bloomed into a bright, unnatural flower of fire the color of the midday sun. A split second later, the deafening blast followed.
Whatever kind of round Katerina had just used, Ardi — and most of the others — had never seen anything like it.
The Wanderer bellowed in pain and fury as blood and chunks of its flesh splattered into the river, revealing white bone beneath. It turned toward the source of the blast, but the hail of bullets from the riders distracted it once more.
“Hey! Did you forget about me, you bastard?!” Yonatan’s laughter rang out as he shouted, his sharp tongue seemingly unconcerned about the fate it might meet. He continued firing his rifle, the crack of each shot punctuating the night as he skillfully worked the lever to reload it. “Come on! Follow us, you beast!”
And the Wanderer, turning back to the first group, resumed its climb against the current. In the darkness ahead, Ardi could make out the spot where Yonatan was luring the monster.
The river, in an upcoming bend, narrowed to a point where the current created a cascade of rapids that would pose a significant danger even in calm weather. And in a storm like this... Ardi doubted that even a healthy, fully capable Wanderer could keep its footing there, let alone one so grievously wounded.
The deafening gunfire filled Ardi’s ears, the muzzle flashes blinded him, and the enraged monster, swatting at the riders, sprayed its shimmering blood in all directions.
This hunt, which had only lasted less than a minute, already felt like an eternity of unbearable tension. The riders frequently veered off course to reload, and by now, they had nearly depleted their ammunition belts.
Finally, the beast, having turned the riverbank into a scarred and ravaged landscape, found itself on the very edge of the rapids.
Just as another yellow beam lit up the night, Cassara drew her sword. But then the creature suddenly froze, lifting its left foreleg to shield its wounded knee from Katerina’s shot.
The flower of fire bloomed along its forearm, burning away its matted fur and searing the flesh, exposing the bone beneath, but it didn’t topple the beast.
For a moment, the riders hesitated, and the creature, as if relishing the pause, roared louder and more ferociously.
“Fire!” Yonatan shouted. “Fire, damn it! Shoot, you bastards!”
And the riders fired, some using revolvers, and others rifles. They were no longer aiming for its legs, but just firing wherever they could. Many shots missed, and some even went skyward. The adrenaline, the frantic horses beneath them, the storm, and the rain — none of these were ideal conditions for accurate shooting.
“Danger... Hill...” Ardi suddenly heard the voice of the Wanderer as it spoke in a broken form of the language of beasts.
The sticky tendrils of fear gripped Ardi’s chest, choking him, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the hill where Katerina, lying on the ground, was desperately trying to reload her rifle.
The Wanderer’s legs bent at the knees, its paws sank into the water, and its tail thrashed against its sides.
Ardi yanked on the reins, forcing his horse into a sharp turn that nearly broke the mare’s legs. He dug his heels into her sides and loosened the reins, sending the animal into a full gallop.
And at that moment, the Wanderer, sending waves crashing as its massive body leaped into the air, crossed nearly half the distance between itself and Katerina with a single bound.
It landed with a thud that made the ground quake as if a volcano had awakened beneath the earth.
People shouted behind Ardi, but he wasn’t listening. Bullets whistled past him, and he didn’t know if they were aimed at him or the Wanderer.
He just spurred his horse onward, praying that the beast wouldn’t be able to make a second leap, that its injuries to its belly and knee would slow it down... but whoever had created the ancestors of this creature had clearly known what they were doing.
The Wanderer, roaring with such ferocity that even the thunder seemed to shy away from it, crouched again.
Katerina, who’d finally reloaded her rifle, peered through the scope and fired, but the Wanderer, sensing something, leaped again, and the yellow beam shot high into the sky, missing its mark.
Time seemed to slow as Ardi watched the enormous beast, a black blur against the stormy sky, soar toward Katerina.
The woman who had come to Ardan’s home. Who had played a part in the events that had led to his grandfather’s death, in his family being split in two parts, and his own captivity.
But...
He also clearly remembered how, during that month in the Ranger’s house, she had always brought him extra food. How she had argued with Gleb whenever he’d tried to cause trouble for him. How she had laughed often, cheered him up several times, and told jokes — stupid and often incomprehensible jokes, but jokes nonetheless.
Once again, Ardi found himself torn in half — one side wishing the Wanderer luck, and the other hoping not to witness Katerina being reduced to a bloody pulp.
Drawing in as much air as his lungs could hold, and not knowing what would come of it, Ardi shouted in the language of beasts, pouring every ounce of his will into the command.
“Halt!”
The Wanderer jerked in midair, flailing its massive limbs awkwardly before crashing to the ground mere meters from Katerina. The monster, turning its eyes toward Ardi, met his gaze and whispered hoarsely:
“Why... help... you... them?”
Ardi, despite speaking just a single word, felt as though he had been wrestling with Guta all day long.
He didn’t have the strength to reply.
The creature shook its enormous head, turned back to Katerina, and raised a paw to strike her — but it never got the chance to do so. A fountain of blood sprayed into the air.
Cassara’s cloak flared behind her, wide and dark, like wings. The vampire, her long saber drawn, stood directly in front of the Wanderer. She was a small, almost tiny figure, facing off against its monstrous bulk.
The beast growled, trying to swipe at her with its remaining front paw. Free from the water and striking with its healthy side, it moved with the speed of a lynx. But its blow only created a gust of wind and scattered the dirt.
Cassara, rising into the air, her face expressionless, cold and serene like a cloud, landed on the creature’s snout, her saber poised before her, and drove it straight through the monster’s skull.
The Wanderer hadn’t even had time to comprehend what was happening before Cassara, pushing off from the beast, flipped through the air. Two large revolvers appeared in her hands. They were far larger than anything Ardan had ever seen before.
Shot after shot rang out, the bullets all following the same trajectory and hitting the exact same spot — dead center in the Wanderer’s glowing yellow eyes. Six bullets for each eye.
The vampire, who landed gracefully on her feet, stood tall. Her clothes weren’t even wrinkled, and her hat had remained firmly in place.
The monstrous creature shuddered, reached forward with one final, desperate claw, then collapsed to the side and lay still.
Ardi, still galloping toward them, suddenly felt a sharp blow to his side, followed by a brief moment of free fall and a painful crash to the muddy ground that knocked the wind out of him.
Someone rolled him onto his back, pulling his hat off and exposing his face to the rain.
Blinking, Ardi saw Yonatan above him. The Cloak had promised to shoot him if he strayed from the group. So, perhaps...
“Gods above, kid,” Yonatan muttered, pulling out a knife and slicing through Ardi’s clothes. “I thought you were a coward... But you’re not a coward... You’re worse... A damn hero... A savior...”
Only then did Ardi feel the searing pain in his right side, like a burning rod had been driven through his flesh. Groaning, he glanced down and saw a shard of rock the length of a man’s hand jutting from his side, and it had been there for quite some time.
A crowd of people gathered around him. The riders dismounted and it seemed like they had completely forgotten about the giant carcass lying a few hundred meters away.
“Damn it...” Tevona pulled out a tightly-wrapped bundle of cloth from her saddlebag.
“Hang in there, kid. This is gonna hurt,” Yonatan said, finishing his cuts and gripping the shard.
The first touch of the Cloak’s hand to the stone sent waves of excruciating pain and convulsions through Ardi’s body. It felt as though he was no longer groaning, but rather mooing.
“Why hasn’t he passed out?” Marshal Kal’dron asked aloud, seemingly without meaning to.
“Matabar,” Yonatan answered tersely, yanking the shard from the boy’s side.
For a moment, the pain was so intense that Ardi thought that he could see the familiar mountain trails, and the groves where he had once played with his animal friends.
But above him, the sky still churned with dark clouds, and the rain still poured down.
Yonatan was pushed aside as one of the Cloaks knelt by Ardi and, under the downpour, unwrapped Tevona’s bundle. He pulled out various instruments, including a needle and thread.
“He’ll die from the pain!” Someone cried out as the Cloak’s tongs touched Ardi’s body.
“He’ll be fine,” Yonatan rasped. “It’ll be a lesson for him: don’t play the hero.”
The Cloak, who Ardi thought was named Stanislav, used the tongs to pull open the wound. Ardi clenched his teeth so hard it felt like they might shatter.
“Are we just going to stand here?” Yonatan barked. “Did no one think to put something between his teeth?”
Tevona grabbed a small stick from a nearby shrub and placed it between Ardi’s teeth.
Ardi barely understood what was happening. He simply stared up at the lightning, listening to the thunder.
“No internal organs hit,” Stanislav declared after his inspection. “It’s honestly a miracle it didn’t go through. Oh, right... Sometimes I forget the kid’s not human.”
With that said, he sterilized the needle with a flask of alcohol and began stitching the wound.
Minutes passed — though they felt like hours — and finally, Ardi was wrapped in broad strips of fabric, binding his torso so tightly it became difficult to breathe.
Ardi had recovered enough to respond to the world around him.
The Cloaks were looking at him with a mix of curiosity and respect, while the settlers were regarding him with a strange combination of surprise and the queasy sympathy that comes from witnessing someone else’s trauma and imagining it happening to you.
It wasn’t quite compassion. More like... who knows how to describe it. Ardi wasn’t in the mood for finding the right words.
“You’ll ride with Elliny,” Yonatan ordered.
“I can ride on my ow-”
“You can touch your own dick for all I care,” Yonatan cut him off in his usual crude manner. “You’re done riding for now. At least until we’re back at camp. We didn’t drag Gleb’s old chestnut along for nothing.”
Ardi didn’t understand what Yonatan meant at first, but then he glanced back to the spot where he’d been thrown from his horse. There, lying in the mud and a pool of rainwater, was his mare.
They hadn’t had much time to bond, but she had been a good horse, loyal and strong. And now, with her lifeless, glassy eyes staring into the distance, she lay still. Her right side was torn to shreds, flesh hanging in tatters, her insides spilling out and bones shattered.
Ardi’s heart skipped a beat.
Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to his feet.
“Sit down, big guy,” Tevona told him gently. “You shouldn’t-”
“Let him,” Yonatan interrupted. “He’s not a child. If he wants to rip his stitches and get sewn up again, that’s his business.”
Ignoring the stares and whispers of those around him, Ardi staggered toward the body of his horse, holding his hand over his steadily-bleeding bandage.
He knelt beside her, scooping up a handful of wet, sticky earth, and smeared it gently over her eyes.
“We’ll meet again,” he said softly in the language of his people, his voice thick with old hunting rites. “On the paths of the Sleeping Spirits, where you and I will be kin.”
Ardi took his hand away, now covered in the mixture of dirt and his mare’s blood, then rubbed his palms together, completing the farewell ritual.
Rising slowly, he moved a few steps away and sat down in the mud, letting the rain pour over him.
Satisfied that he was alright, the settlers and most of the Cloaks and marshals turned toward the beast’s carcass. This time, they no longer smelled of fear, but rather of exhaustion and the hunger for well-earned rewards.
Only Tevona remained by his side, and soon, Katerina approached them as well.
“Thank you,” she said simply to Ardi, giving him a nod before heading back to her horse.
A few minutes later, Cassara joined them, calmly wiping her blade clean. She was the only one who hadn’t even broken a sweat during the hunt.
Ah, yes… Of course. She didn’t sweat at all.
Tevona glanced at her with a dark expression. “Why didn’t you take care of that earlier?” She growled.
“The water,” Cassara replied in the same detached tone Yonatan had used earlier. “Creatures like me can’t cross running water. The Wanderer was in the river.”
“We could have lured it out onto dry land!” The marshal snapped.
Cassara glanced at Ardi’s wound and shrugged.
“We could have,” she agreed. “But there would’ve been casualties. Many casualties.”
The conversation died there. Cassara stood silently by her wounded charge, while Tevona grumbled under her breath as she busied herself with her horse.
In the distance, the sound of laughter and the noisy work of carving up the Wanderer’s carcass carried through the rain. Ardi, knowing that even his half-blooded Matabar constitution would still take weeks to heal this wound, stared toward the massive beast.
For some strange reason, he felt no joy at its death.
“Take life simply, little one,” Cassara suddenly said in the Fae language. “Either you kill, or you are killed. Accept this as fact, or your heart will always ache.” She cast a quick glance at Katerina and added, “Your heart is too kind.”
Ardi remembered the words of the wise wolf. She’d told him that, in order to follow her path, one needed a kind heart, and how the most important lessons and knowledge in life wouldn’t come from books. How he wished she or Ergar were by his side now, to help him understand what lesson he was supposed to take from this, and what the meaning of it all was.
After several hours, the process of butchering the beast was complete. They loaded the best claws and fangs onto the horses, forcing most of the riders to double up. Its blood was collected in flasks, and its fur was rolled up into thick bundles. They took as much as they could carry.
“We won’t be returning here with the camp,” Yonatan ordered once everyone was back in the saddle and heading north again. “The carcass will attract scavengers, so we’re not sleeping tonight. We’ll veer north for half a day to avoid this spot. By morning, we’ll reach our next waypoint.”
“What if we get stuck?” One of the settlers asked nervously. “The rain doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop.”
“Then don’t get stuck!” Yonatan barked, spurring his horse forward.
When they returned to camp, wives and children rushed to greet their husbands as though they were heroes. Tears and laughter mixed with the rain as they marveled at the trophies, each one worth a fortune in the Metropolis.
But no one was waiting for Ardi.
He dismounted on his own, refusing any help, and, under the watchful eye of Cassara and Yonatan, made his way back to Mart’s wagon.
The mage was still wrapped in his blanket, snoring peacefully while clutching his bottle. Ardi nudged him gently, and Mart blinked awake.
“What? You’re back already?”
“We are,” Ardi nodded. He took the blanket from Mart and gestured toward the front of the wagon. “And we will be riding all night.”
With that, Ardi settled onto one of the chests, pulling the blanket over his legs. He retrieved his unfinished letter, which had miraculously gone untouched by the hunt’s chaos.
P.P.P.S. I hope I can visit you after the New Year.
Once again, don’t worry. Everything’s fine. No adventures.
I love you.”
