Merek's Ascendance Read online

  He turned his back and walked into the trees’ embrace before stopping again. Who knew, there might be something exciting out there.

  “Don’t do it Merek,” he said, staring at the wide open expanse of land, “there’s no cover, nowhere to run. We’ll be exposed.”

  But eventually, his curiosity won out.

  Merek had lost track of how long he had been in the forest. He knew it had been months, long enough for summer to pass and fall to set in. But what month it was, what day it was… Merek didn’t have a clue anymore. Nor did he really care. All he knew was that there was something new to explore.

  So Merek packed his trusty staff and his collection of sharp stones and started to walk. He’d maybe adventure for half a day before returning to his home. He was just going to see if there was anything interesting out in the plains.

  Though Merek didn’t know it, he was about to find far more than he bargained for.

  The first thing Merek noticed as he left the comfort of his forest was the change in temperature. It felt warmer outside of the trees, not so much in temperature but… just a bit less inviting. Less welcoming.

  It was not a feeling Merek much enjoyed. Still, he pushed himself on. There was a lot of grass out here, as well as a good deal of soil. Merek began to wonder why he couldn’t see a single farm on the horizon, no matter how far he looked. The ground seemed soft and fertile, perfect for planting.

  He walked for several hours, noting each stream and creek as he passed them. He walked in a straight line, never deviating from his chosen course so he wouldn’t get lost. There were trees on their sides, uprooted from the ground. Merek wondered why, but noted that they would make excellent firewood if he ever managed to find something more useful than a number of stones.

  Pressing on, he finally came to rest at an abandoned cottage. The windows were shattered and the door lay half off of its hinges. The wood that made the walls was cracked and breaking apart, as if they hadn’t seen any care in a very long time. Merek had to wonder how the cottage was even still standing.

  Not that he wasn’t thankful it was. Inside he found an ax, as well as a hunting knife and even a metal flask. He almost burst out laughing, momentarily wondering why someone would leave such useful tools behind.

  Then his worry, something he relished every few days, offered a suggestion.

  Maybe they left it because they didn’t have time to take it with them.

  Merek nodded before leaving the cottage. He looked up to the sky, seeing storm clouds gathering on the horizon. He started walking more quickly in the opposite direction, back towards his forest with his new tools. He would have to get there before the storm hit or night fell, whichever one came first.

  He made it back to the safety of the trees just as night fell, and it was good that he did. He didn’t find it very comforting to be sitting under a sky that seemed to be blurring green.

  Chapter Six: The First Friend

  Merek suffered through the worst storm so far that night. Lightning seemed to strike constantly, and Merek felt thunder boom across his cave almost continuously. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get to sleep, pushed by both the noise and no small amount of fear.

  This storm was just different. Every storm he’d pushed through had been bad, but this storm… it got under his skin in a way weather shouldn’t have. It felt like it was going to barge through the mouth of the cave and attack him.

  It really wasn’t a welcome feeling.

  He settled himself amongst the furs, trying to block out the noise, but it was no use. The storm would not be denied.

  Forgoing sleep, Merek took up his new ax and started chopping at the wood in his cave. It was certainly faster than breaking the branches by hand, and the cuts were obviously far neater. He smiled at the tool, nodding his approval.

  “I think you’ll work out nicely,” he said, but his words were swallowed up by the rampaging storm outside.

  He turned then to the hunting knife, the blade nearly a foot long with a serrated edge on one side. Its sharpness had been lost, but Merek had learned a few tricks about sharpening blades from the knights of the castle. All he would need was a certain type of stone. Of course, what kind of stone and where he could find it, he had no idea. But he’d managed so far, if only barely. He would manage again.

  The flask was made of some kind of material; he really couldn’t figure it out. But it was solid and smooth as it flopped around in his hand. He would wash it out and fill it up, and have a source of water he could take with him.

  If only the storm would go away.

  It raged for several more hours, completely ignorant or simply careless to Merek’s suffering. Eventually, pure exhaustion shut down Merek’s brain and allowed him to sleep through it, but it wasn’t very restful.

  When morning came, the storm had mercifully broken. The forest was nearly flooded and several of the trees had been shaken loose of the ground, but at least the sun was shining again.

  Merek delayed leaving his cave for several hours, somewhat because of the wetness outside but mostly because he just didn’t want to. Unfortunately, hunger roused him and he climbed down, hunting for the familiar berries that sustained him. He doubted any animals would be out to hunt, owing to the large amounts of rain that had fallen. Then again, their homes may be flooded and they’d have no choice. Merek had no way to know.

  His hunting knife stowed in his pants and his staff firmly grasped in his hand, Merek started to walk. Despite the fact that he really preferred not to, he decided to make another trip to the plains. Maybe there would be more things to find out there today.

  He broke from the tree line after only a few moments of hesitation, heading towards the hills in the distance in a different direction than yesterday’s trek. The plains were quiet with only a gentle breeze floating across the grass.

  Merek’s eyes narrowed as he walked, clutching his staff tightly.

  He walked for only twenty minutes before he found a ravine. It wasn’t too deep, but deep enough that he’d have to climb down one way and climb up the other, which didn’t sound very appealing at all. The main problem was that it was very wide, at least forty feet if his eyes didn’t deceive him. There didn’t seem to be any way to get across.

  Then his eyes found the bottom of the ravine, and his heart stopped.

  There was a pile of bodies, all strewn around in a pool of blood. Without hesitation, Merek laid his staff down and slipped over the side of the cliff to start his descent, careful not to let his worry for their well-being overshadow the worry for his own. If anyone had survived, he’d be no use to them if he fell himself.

  It only took him three minutes to climb down, but by the time he managed it he was completely winded.

  It was then he fully realized what he had rushed into.

  Just by the awkward way most of them had landed, Merek knew they were dead. Arms were bent at extreme angles, some bent upwards where they should have been pushed down. Necks were shattered, some heads partially pulled free of their places. Blood coated the ground, and the rancid smell of death was becoming overpowering. It was all Merek could do not to throw up.

  Then he heard a slight, pained cough.

  He re-examined the bodies, looking for one that still held life. Finally, he found a man was sitting propped against the wall, breathing so faintly Merek didn’t wonder how he had missed him. Though the more Merek looked at him, the more he realized this man was the only one that didn’t have any obvious injury.

  “Hello?” Merek said, crouching at his side. The man’s eyes fluttered open, brown eyes that stared without really seeing.

  “He… hello,” came the eventual response. The man’s face was stained with dried blood, but Merek didn’t think it was all his own. A black goatee covered a brown face while his black hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. His left nostril was bleeding, and his upper lip was split. He was dressed in a deep purple robe with a picture of a tiger sewn into it.

  Mer
ek recognized it as the seal of the Royal Family of Wentana, the kingdom of which Merek was technically a citizen.

  In a moment of weakness that Merek immediately hated himself for, he wondered if he should run away from this man while he still had the chance, lest the man turn him in and force him to go back to his parents.

  Merek dispelled the thought as quickly as it had come. This man was in terrible danger, not to mention a great deal of pain, and Merek wouldn’t leave him in such a state.

  “I’m Merek. What’s your name?”

  “I… I am Thorald.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, sir. Now, can you tell me what hurts?”

  Thorald laughed, a pained laugh full of anguish that Merek recognized for completely different reasons.

  “I’d say my heart, more than anything,” was the response.

  “These were your friends?” Merek guessed, instinctively glancing over them again and immediately regretting doing so.

  “They were. They were assigned… to escort me. I was… on a diplomatic mission… to Grevoria.”

  Merek had no idea who, what or where Grevoria was, but he didn’t interrupt. Maybe speaking the words aloud would help Thorald.

  “But on… on our return we… there was this huge storm,” he said, his eyes glassy as he thought back. Merek nodded, trying to keep his face as blank as possible. He had been in some kind of shelter when the storm had struck, but out here… exposed with no cover…

  “We saw the trees, off in the distance. It could mean safety if we could… if we could just get there. There was a bridge we had to cross. We never should have stepped on it. We weren’t halfway across it when it… it…”

  “It snapped,” Merek supplied, bowing his head.

  “And we fell. Grevin, he grabbed hold of me. He turned as we fell… and took… took the force of it.” Thorald was having trouble speaking now, his voice cracking from more than just physical pain. Merek put a hand gently on his shoulder, at a loss for what to say.

  “These were good men. Good women. They… they deserved better.”

  Merek looked around, trying to figure out what to do. Should he bury them? He didn’t have a shovel, and digging five graves by hand sounded very unappealing.

  Then Merek caught a glance of the sky, and the fallen soldiers took second priority.

  The sky was billowing black, a storm coming from nowhere. Merek looked down at Thorald, whose eyes still hadn’t shifted from their position in a terrible memory.

  “Listen, are you hurt?”

  “Not… not terribly, I don’t think. Grevin… Grevin took it the worst, and I think… I think I was spared. But… it’s very hard to… to breathe.”

  “You probably have a bruised or cracked rib, and it’s hurting your lung. A mule kicked me once, hurt like it was on fire for weeks. But it should heal if we get you to a medic soon. However, we have to get you out of here right now. A storm’s coming, one that’s just as bad as last night’s.”

  “You should… you should just go. We’ll never make it… if I can’t even breathe.”

  “Quiet now,” Merek replied, looking around for the supposed bridge. If it was anything like what he imagined it would be, rope should be lying around…

  “There!”

  The bridge had snapped from the other side of the ravine, the one farthest from the forest. The ropes stretched to the bottom, and Merek could, theoretically, use them to climb up. How he hadn’t noticed them before was a question Merek couldn’t answer, though it annoyed him thoroughly.

  How to get Thorald up, however, was a much larger problem.

  “Can you walk?”

  Thorald tried moving his legs, but Merek realized Thorald was having problems staying conscious.

  “Thorald, I need you to focus now. Come on.”

  The other man’s eyes cleared, and he stared at Merek in an unshakable gaze.

  “Can you move your legs?”

  “Yes,” Thorald replied immediately, getting to his feet but immediately faltering.

  “Good enough, that can make do.” Merek looked up, trying to gauge how much time they had. The sky was about half black now. They would soon get swallowed up.

  He pulled Thorald to the bridge, trying to best figure out how to get the wounded man up the ravine.

  Then he got an idea born from having to carry his drunken father home from a tavern on more than one occasion.

  Quickly pulling out his hunting knife, he cut a length of rope and called Thorald to him.

  “Alright, I’m going to carry you up. But just in case you can’t hold on, we’re going to bind your hand so you don’t fall.”

  Thorald nodded once to show he understood, but his gaze was faltering.

  “Alright,” Merek said, turning his back to Thorald, “put one arm over my shoulder, and the other arm under my other shoulder.” Thorald did exactly that, resting heavily on Merek’s back. Merek tied his hands together as tightly as he could.

  “Hold on as tight and as long as you can,” Merek said, grabbing hold of the rope. He felt Thorald tighten his grip, though he was sure it wasn’t going to last.

  Then Merek began the climb.

  Carrying his own weight would have been taxing enough, but with the added weight of Thorald, the climb was nearly impossible. His arms shook with fatigue after only a few pulls, and beads of sweat ran down his face as he climbed.

  Then he put his legs against the side of the cliff, and the climb became marginally easier on him. But the difference in position meant Thorald was hanging almost exclusively by Merek’s torso, and if his grip should falter…

  Merek poured everything he had into climbing faster. He ignored the harsh breath that was torn from his lungs, and he ignored the sweat that climbed into his eyes that he couldn’t wipe away. He just kept climbing, even as his breathing became more and more labored. He had to make it to the top, and he would not be deterred. His hands were bleeding, coating every handful of rope in blood as his hands burned and stung, but still he would not be stopped.

  He was still very surprised when he actually made it. He got both arms on the cliff, hoisting himself part of the way up. But he could go no further with Thorald on his back.

  “Thorald,” he tried to say, but no word came out. He didn’t have enough air to speak it.

  Thorald had enough wherewithal to lift a leg over the side, taking some of the weight off of Merek. Merek was able to help push Thorald off of him, giving him a safe haven on top of the cliff.

  Then he couldn’t maintain his grip anymore. His hands bloody, his arms exhausted, Merek slipped from the cliff.

  Thorald caught him.

  Hands still bound by ropes, Thorald nonetheless grabbed Merek as he fell, pushing him into the side of the cliff. The pure force Thorald held him with did nothing to help his difficulty breathing, but it gave him enough time to get a better grip on the cliff. As soon as Thorald saw he was again anchored somewhat safely, he grabbed Merek by the shirt and helped pull him the rest of the way.

  “I really didn’t…” Thorald wheezed, “Think that would work.”

  “Me…” Merek replied between pained gasps, “either.”

  Then Merek saw the full fury of the storm, and his breath vanished for an entirely different reason.

  The storm clouds, black as the night, had somehow broken free of their home in the sky and touched down to earth. The clouds spun in circles, kicking up dust that was soon swallowed up in the chaos.

  “A tornado?” Thorald said, his face blank from overwhelming shock.

  Merek simply nodded, though he didn’t have the first clue what a tornado was. He didn’t have to deal with any of those back on the farm.

  But at least that seemed to explain the uprooted trees and abandoned cottage. Merek wouldn’t want to live near a tornado either.

  “Run,” he said as he picked up his staff and gestured to the forest. It was maybe a mile away. “Run!”

  Thorald followed his lead, even though running wasn’t
exactly possible for either man. They more jogged at a quick pace, hobbling as their legs screamed in protest and their lungs burned with pain. Fear and the need to survive pushed them forward as the storm came ever closer, tearing up everything in its path. Merek couldn’t begin to gauge how wide across the clouds were, but if he had to guess (as if he had time for guessing) it was about three cottages wide.

  As soon as he realized it, he hobbled just a little bit faster.

  They made it to the forest with moments to spare, but the tornado was still chasing them.

  “Now what?” Thorald wheezed, hunched over with his hands on his knees.

  “This way,” Merek replied, heading towards his cave. While he didn’t want anyone to know where it was, he trusted Thorald. The man could have just let him fall down the ravine, but instead he had saved him.

  It was good enough for Merek.

  They ran through the trees even as the rain started falling on them. The liquid energized them as they ran, though it only meant that the storm was closing in on them.

  Then, finally, they were at the base of the cliff.

  “Follow me,” Merek said as he started to climb. This climb was much easier; his hill wasn’t a straight drop.

  The rain fell with determination now, soaking them to the bone within seconds. The climb soon became treacherous as the ground became slick. More than once, Merek had to stop to give Thorald a hand up. And more than once, Merek had to be caught by Thorald when his grip slipped.

  Working together, the pair made it to Merek’s cave. Merek waved his companion through, and Thorald headed in without hesitation. Thorald was larger than Merek, but he was still able to fit through the opening. Merek followed him just as a bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree.

  Inside the cave, the sound of the storm receded slightly, and it was still as dry as ever.

  “This is a nice little spot. Yours?”