William Rose - Apocalyptic Organ Grinder

Lowering her spear, Lila stepped backwards as quietly as she’d advanced. Her eyes remained focused on the murderous interloper, but there was no fear of stumbling or giving her position away with an ill-placed step. Her mind had mapped every detail of the terrain as she’d stalked her prey and that inner topography now guided her departure, ensuring that each step was as sure and silent as a tree spirit.

Fate, however, had other plans for her. As she neared a cluster of oaks, a squirrel chittered overhead and the man in white spun around. For a moment, neither man nor woman moved. Their eyes were locked together like partners in a dance older than Time, each gazing upon the face of the enemy and wishing the other dead.

Lila knew she was too far away. Even if she hurled her spear with all her might, it would only barely break the skin. It wouldn’t penetrate the man deeply enough to keep from falling out, much less pierce any of his vital organs. He, however, had the advantage of an Old World weapon with a range even the greatest of The People’s hunters could not hope to match. So she did the only thing she could: Lila ran.

The gun shoot boomed out behind her like the angry rumbling of the Sky God and something whizzed by her ear so closely that she felt it graze her eye. Almost instantaneously, the tree beside her erupted in an explosion of bark, sending splinters of wood flying through the air as the hunk of lead burrowed into its trunk. Though she’d never fired an Old World weapon before, she understood the concept and adjusted her retreat accordingly.

Zigging and zagging, she ran erratically, allowing instinct to guide her movements. As long as he couldn’t predict her trajectory, his shots would not find their mark. As long as she was as unpredictable as a rabid fox, she would live.

Lila had hoped that the settler would be foolish enough to continue shooting at her, that he would deplete his ammunition and be forced to reload the antique weapon. For that would be all it took to transition from quarry into aggressor. One moment when he stood, defenseless and alone.

The man, however, wasn’t as stupid as most. As the forest blurred by, she heard him crashing through the undergrowth behind her. He burst through thickets and splashed through streams, cursed between haggard pants as a low hanging branch clipped him on the forehead, and made more noise than an entire herd of deer. But not once did he try to drop Lila in her tracks. Instead of wasting his shots, he simply pursued her, waiting no doubt for an opportune moment to present itself.

Ahead, Lila saw jagged crags of stone rising up from the earth like the walls of some great temple for a forgotten god. Unlike the forest, there was no green: the trees thinned out as they neared the base, devolving into scraggly bushes that looked as if their bark had withered away; grass turned to dirt and the dirt became something as hard and packed as the cliffs towering over it. The surface was covered with pebbles and Lila’s heels kicked up little clouds of dust as she followed a circuitous route through the center of the mountain.

She knew this place. The People called it The River of Life. Winter coated its peaks with snow and ice, which the coming of Spring then melted away. The rocks glistened wetly in the sun and runoff flowed down the precipices like slow-motion water falls. At the end of the journey was the gulch through which Lila now ran. A gully that once a year swelled into a river and quenched the thirst of seedlings struggling to take root.

This was a sacred space, one of those areas that perfectly illustrated what it meant to be alive and in the world. Its power wrapped around Lila like a protective cloak and she felt a shiver course through her soul as she ran. Whether she lived or died was of no consequence: the wind was cool against her face and hair, the ground was firm beneath her feet, and no one would ever inhabit this particular place in time again.

Rounding a bend, Lila leapt over a carpet of dried leaves that had no place being that far into the ravine. She hit the ground with her shoulder, clearing the debris entirely. Smoothly rolling so that she now looked back the way she’d come, Lila sprang to her feet again and raised her spear.

Breathing heavily, she watched for the man to come. The time to run was over. Besides, there was nowhere left to go; on all sides were nothing but sheer walls of rock, so treacherous and steep that even a mountain goat would struggle for purchase.

Ignoring the massive boulders surrounding her, Lila listened to his feet scuttle through gravel and the sharp gasps which accompanied each step.

He was close now.

“I am a hunter in the tribe of Clay,” she whispered, “daughter of The People and chosen wife of Tolek. Today I face my ancestors. May they always walk with me.”

So very close.

Gather at the feet of the Elders, brothers and sisters, and listen to a tale from the time of our ancestors. May they always walk with us…

It is said that before the Days of Tears, clear skins and The People alike were scattered like grain before the breeze. In these times, the cities of the Old World still strove to touch the sun but their stone pathways were layered with the bodies of the dead. Man hid in the shadows like frightened animals and offered up tearful prayers to the Old God, who seemed to have abandoned them at their time of greatest need. Without the blessings of their deity, they traveled through their defiled home like those who walk while still dreaming. The dark spirits who lurk outside the veil saw this and cast out a net which entangled their minds with fear and confusion and many were the ones who took their own lives in despair.

Not content with this, the dark spirits infested the decaying flesh of the fallen, seeping into the meat and causing vile liquids to leak from the mouths, noses, sphincters, and pores. As more and more spirits crowded into the empty husks of the dead, the stench of evil rose like an invisible cloud. It has been told that so great was the presence of the dark ones, their forms could be glimpsed, wavering in the air over the bodies like heat above a fire.

As creatures who walk between the worlds, this same stink also called Rat and Fly to the unhappy dead, who lacked even the earth to be buried within a mound.

“Man goes hungry,” said Rat, “but why should we? Is this not our home as well?”

“I agree.” Replied greedy Fly. “Let their stomachs know the pangs of hunger while ours are filled. They smashed my kind with implements of death and lured us into strips that were like sticky sap from which we could not escape.”

Rat nodded in eager agreement, crying out, “They crushed the skulls of my brothers and sisters with cruel traps and tainted our food with poison!”

“We owe them nothing.” Said Fly.

And so it came to pass that they gorged themselves upon the deceased. What the gluttonous pair did not realize, however, was that the evil contained within the bodies longed to feed upon the living, just as Rat and Fly did the dead. Carried on Fly’s wings and Rat’s whiskers, the evil took seed in the open wounds of man. Their injuries soon smelled of the grave and roots spread out from the afflictions. Intent on strangling the heart, red tendrils crept just below the flesh, growing in both length and heat with every passing day.

As with all things, the universe seeks balance. So it came to be that with Divine wisdom The Great Spirit planted Its own seed into the fertile minds of two men. First among these was a clear skin, called Homer Anderson among his people, upon whose head hair would not grow. The second of the chosen was John Redtree, he who is greatest among the ancestors, may they always walk with us.