“Shaddup,” said Lic. “This Might One strong. Need a strong leader.”
Chapter 9 — The Might One. Mark of the Shadow — Book 1 of the Phantom Lord Saga.
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Like all nights after Eradad, Ivel awoke in a cold sweat. His dreams were filled with blood and ruin, and he wanted nothing to do with them. He looked up at the sky. Morning was approaching, small rays of sunshine peeking over the hills to indicate the early dawn. He looked about the still scene–the fire had gone out. Everyone had fallen asleep, the mage and the Chef on the ground, Ned sitting upright, head slumped into his chest.
Ivel quietly rose.
It was time.
He tiptoed past the sleeping Ned, whispering a small thank you, before heading off in an easterly direction, moving as quietly as he could. He’d been wanting to leave since they reached Eradad, but he could tell everyone wanted him to stay. When they talked about people being Chosen, and Relics, and magic, he knew that he couldn’t.
So he did what he should have done in Eradad.
He ran away.
Once he knew he was out of earshot, he took off in a run. The ground thudded under his bare feet, and he wished he still had shoes that fit. Being as large as he was, it cost a small fortune to get shoes made, and so he had gone for months without.
Pa was going to get me winter boots, he thought. But he couldn’t think about Pa. He didn’t dare think about any of them, not now that his last memories of his family were soiled in blood and screams and filth.
Now he ran barefoot through field and fen, running until his feet ached and lungs burned and he couldn’t go any further. He stopped alongside a stone, leaning back against it. Dawn had now spilled its full glory about the surrounding area, painting the world in pink and yellow hues. He took in the sight, watching the clouds shift overhead.
“I’ll go to the mountains,” he told himself. “I’ll go to the mountains and build a farm.”
Pa and Ma had always said the soil was good there. They’d often jested about uprooting and moving to the mountains, away from Eradad. But Eradad had always been home, where the kids were raised and the tall wheat grew, so they never left.
Plus, in the mountains, nobody knew he was. He could be alone, and he could bury the memories that haunted him there.
After his brief rest, he stood again, stretching. It would be a few days before he could get there. He wasn’t the best at directions, but as long as he kept an eye on the mountains in the distance, surely he wouldn’t get lost.
As he traveled on into the morning, he became very aware of the protesting growls in his stomach. How long had it been since he’d eaten? The guards had given him porridge in prison, and it had never been enough. Even if he didn’t have food, he would have settled for a glass of water. Maybe he should have gotten supplies from those other folk before he left.
You never think ahead, he thought. Part of it a thought, part of it a memory. His older sister Bess had said it to him often enough. Pa and Ma too, when they thought it was warranted. Use your brain.
It was sad to admit, but he’d never been good at that. He was good at lifting and moving and using his body. Thinking things through was always a chore, and he’d given up trying to learn his letters at an early age, and to be fair, no one quite had the patience to teach him.
Now though. He wished he had used his brain. If he had, he might have been able to stop what happened. He wouldn’t have ended up alone, in prison, jeered, mocked, and now, forever alone.
He stopped. He wiped away heavy tears that had gone unnoticed, streaming from his face. It took him a moment to take deep breaths, regain his composure. When he did though he noticed something.
Smelled something.
It was faint at first, but he couldn’t be mistaken–he smelled cooking meat. He sniffed the air again, trying to find the direction of the scent. Once he did, he followed it, the smell getting stronger and stronger, so strong that he was able to identify the smell of roasting lamb. The delightful smell only increased his speed, as hunger pangs rolled through his belly. As it got closer, he could hear the sound of voices talking, and just as he realized they weren’t speaking in Common–
They were speaking in Scav.
But it was too late. He landed smack dab in the middle of their camp. Dozens of golden yellow eyes swiveled toward him at the same time.
He froze.
They froze too. Until one of the smaller Scavs started to shriek. Half of them grabbed nearby objects, while others dove into the underbrush.
“Out, out!” shrieked one Scav, with wild, dyed hair. She chucked a rock at him, which struck him in the chest. “Get ‘im, Scava! Get ‘im!”
The jolt from the rock sent Ivel into action. He half-twisted while jumping to try and run, and ran directly through the bushes–only to realize these weren’t ordinary bushes.
They were brambles.
He yipped, unbefitting a man his size, holding one of his feet as thorns clipped into the bottom. As he did so, he hopped back and forth, before falling over backward.
Right on top of the Scav that threw the rock.
Shrieks and howls resonated through the air. Ivel expected the Scavs to fall upon him, to bite him and rend his flesh. But instead, they were running about in a panic.
“Kill’d a Lic, Kill’d a Lic!” they howled.
He could feel claws and writhing against his back. Ivel shot up, scrambling away from the Scav he’d accidentally crushed. To his surprise, and everyone else's, Scav, quite pale in the face from being unable to breathe, sat up–surprisingly not killed by Ivel’s fall. She clutched at her chest, wheezing. After a moment, she rose, pointing a clawed finger at him.
“Giant human,” said the Scav, in very broken Common. “I am Lic, leader of Scav Clan Akk’ala.”
Ivel said nothing. He was quite frozen in terror.
“You beat Scav Leader in a combat,” she continued. “That means you–you are now leader. The Might One!”
“The Might One!” chanted the other Scavs, who were just now returning from the bushes. “The Might One!”
“What talkin’ about?” said one Scav to Lic. “Can’t have a human as a Might One!”
“Shaddup,” said Lic. “This Might One strong. Need a strong leader.”
Her golden eyes fell on Ivel once again.
“What say you?” she asked. “Become Might One. Get best of Scav Hunts. Best gold, best food. Servants. No work, except protect Scav Clan.”
Ivel said nothing. This encounter had taken a turn he had not expected. Everyone heard the stories of Scavs growing up, how they would raid and take supplies. Sometimes, bolder Scav clans would even seize people and gobble them up. He’d believed each tale, even more so after dealing with the terrifying, purple-eyed ones in Eradad. He’d seen what they were capable of, and it was far worse than any story.
The small Scav woman got even closer to him, golden eyes fixed on his. She held out a clawed hand.
“Join us,” said Lic. “You protect Scav Akk’ala Clan, Clan protect you too.”
He looked at the clawed hand, then back over the curious-eyed Scavs. There were a lot of them. If they really, really wanted to, they could gang up on him and eat him. He certainly couldn’t outrun them either, now that he had bramble thorns in his feet.
Use your brain, Ivel.
He took the clawed Scav’s hand, and shook it.
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