Through the thick roots and lush greens, where an unkempt overgrowth shadowed the jungle floor, statued men clad in white armor pressed through the dense overgrowth with sword and shield at the ready. Clearing a path for swift musketeers to follow in their step. The deep jungle, marked by a high strangeness that permeated the ancient wood, the soft sounds of childlike whispers escaping the blinding green, phantom twigs breaking in the distance, their echo sharp and uncanny, accenting the unmistakable chants of Wildmen. As the Knights prowled forward, their ears were met with the painful panting of wounded combatants.
Set before many man-sized burrows, a large bonfire illuminated the shrouded ground. Seizing its warmth, the Wildmen placed their newly wounded around the fire. From the darkened mouth of the largest burrow, priestly figures donning soil-caked silk-white robes escaped the entrance. Each rushed toward an injured Wildman, chanting in unheard tongues as they placed a tar-like substance against their wounds. The wounded cried as the substance burnt their open flesh, caressing their skin like scaled armor. The priests lifted empty vessels towards the canopy as they released the highest-pitched shriek they had mustered.
Amidst their ceremony, the call of a sentry mimicking a bird rang aloud, then another. The chanting ceased; the many heads of their priests turned toward the sentry’s call. Pausing but for a moment, another call let out from an alternate sentry, only to be cut short with gurgled rasps.
Turning away, the priests hurried toward the larger burrow, each releasing a disturbing call and swiftly seeking shelter underground. From within the cold burrows, the raging sounds of footsteps stampeded under them as, from above, the first cracks of musket fire erupted through the unseen brush, expertly striking a dozen targets within a single volley. The thump of their bodies shook the shallow floor.
A swarm of Wildmen screeched as they thundered forth, spewing a river of bodies from the many burrows. Their first wave charged across the clearing of their encampment, their bonfire slowing them slightly. Another volley unleashed, stemming the tide, coaxing cries of pain from the charging Wildmen. As the flood met the green, the first wave disappeared beyond its boundaries, where their cries were swiftly let loose, where the clashing of bone and steel drowned warcries into a ferocious silence. Pools of crimson sprang out from the overgrowth as explosions of blood escaped the green and splashed the second wave of Wildmen who rushed towards the unseen.
A third wave charged with shovel and spear; the shovelists dug through the soft soil and pierced the ground below, creating small caverns for the flood of Wildmen to puncture from the unseen caverns below. As the first spear pressed into the brush, an ignition of flame reached forth and engulfed the spear, startling the bestial men into a stun. The aflame hands of Andreyas reached from the brush and, with a solid fist, tore through the spearman, launching three of their sickly ilk compatriots into the air. The smell of charred flesh permeated the battlefield.
Armed with a shield and a fist of flame, Andreyas released a daunting call that shook the overgrowth. From the green, the Wildmen bore witness to the sight of his armor, the orange flame at his command. The charging Wildmen slowed, feeling the bodies of their fellow combatant pressing them forward, as the white armor-clad knights boldly stepped forth to meet them. Pacing through the crowding smoke of musketfire, Andreyas moved with the grace of a fine warrior, his cape aflame, the pointed fire sharp as steel. Repelling blades met and cauterizing Wildmen’s flesh, repelling the many ants that swarmed and descended upon him. Above, where the ancient trees’ long branches grew thick, Marcy rested among their entanglement, glaring downward at the unfolding battle, eyes locked upon a burrow’s entrance, waiting for her window.
From a distance, the sound of thunderous drums roared through the ancient wood. As the fourth wave of Wildmen escaped the burrows, their numbers lighter, the first wave of Roosters had arrived. Their voices chanted in unison, echoing a rhythmic melody as other boys sang their marching tune.
“Roosters rise with a will of steel,” they chanted. “In the northern winds, we make our deal. Children of fate, in the battle we stand.” The shield boys lifted their swords, voices battling the aura of despair and darkness that sickened the deep wood. “Against the raiders, the rogues, the bandits’ hand. Orphaned boys answering destiny’s call, trained by Rutger, his wisdom stands tall.”
Upon the battlefield, the chanting summoned an aura of hope, disturbing the Wildmen. From their burrows rose thin and sickly women, long hair caked with tar and eyes bloodshot with yellow pupils. The WildWomen lifted their voices in retort, meeting the marching boys’ song.
Their hunting cries staggered the will of nervous boys whose voices began to wane. Hearing their suffrage, Rutger lifted his voice as they chanted a pre-chorus: “Underneath the rays of enchanting might, Rutger’s wisdom guides us through the light.” His bravery reinvigorated their spirit, their robust voices capturing his will. “Roosters gather, and roosters crow. From a child’s loss, our ranks shall grow.”
Their voices descended upon the battlefield, leading the way for Rutger and the first wave of shield boys to pierce the green and form a wall before the clearing, releasing a crow before they boldly unleashed a mighty chorus. “We roosters rise with a call of steel, in the northern winds, we make our deal. Children of fate, in the battle we stand, against the raiders, the rogues, the bandits’ hand.”
The tested knights retreated behind the wall of boys forming a support line, awaiting the retort of their enemies. The flood of Wildmen charged into the line, testing their shields with wild thrashings. Yet as no allies remained beyond the line, Rutger released an awaited crow, signaling the bow-boys to unleash their vengeance upon their enemy.
Anders lifted his short bow behind his shield brothers, loosing his first arrow into the mass of bodies. “We’re going to need more arrows,” Anders said, peering at the tide of Wildmen who threatened to break beyond the line and flood the flanks with their number.
“Maybe a few swords will do,” Andreyas said, scattering his knights toward the flanks.
A third loud crow was released from the surrounding branches. Marcy witnessed the familiar sight of boys who rushed across the entanglement on all fours, releasing hooked ropes that snagged upon the strong bark. Clinging to the rope with one hand, the monkey boys swung downward and released a small clay pot. As it met the ground, a loud explosion of smoke and force cleared the way, blinding the enemy as dozens of boys swung down, mimicking echoes of apes, relishing in their vengeance.
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As the enemy lay in partial disarray, Marcy’s keen senses urged her forward. She released herself from the branches’ circumference, allowing her body to fall like a drop of dew onto the ground, where the cold soil met her as she rolled and disappeared into a burrow.
THE BURROWS
Surrounded by the choking dark, an injured band of Roosters huddled within the underground burrows where the Wildmen lived. Those taken from the caravan saw their already small number dwindle further as the savages returned to seize yet another of their own. Somewhere deep within the darkened expanses, strange chants echoed forth, assaulting their senses. That sickness of the mind permeated them, stealing the brave warriors’ will as they lingered within the cold corners of their imprisonment. The young Cole clenched upon the bloodied rags of Lucas, his soft ears catching a retorting chant. Lucas whispered a mantra to guard what hope remained in his heart.
The fear-driven pattering footsteps echoed off the soiled ground. The suffering sounds of curious boys silenced as the sickly figures of tar-stained Wildmen entered their burrow. Looking about the stone-frightened boys, a pair of bloodshot eyes locked upon Cole. The boy shivered as its bone-like hand descended upon him.
“No!” The dry voice of Lucas rasped.
Summoning what strength he had left, Lucas grasped the wrist of the Wildman. In savage retort, the Wildman smacked Lucas’ hand away, plummeting a hefty stone into his chest, relinquishing what energy he had to the blow. The savage clicked its teeth, pointing its elongated finger toward Lucas. Shoving the young Cole aside, his hand grasped the rebellious boy, who shrieked a cry of fury as he was dragged away from his fellow Roosters. His eyes gazed at enraged burrows and cavernous pathways that littered the underground. He witnessed demented men performing sickening rituals and burrows covered in the black tar permeating their strange underground. Grasping what vines protruded from the tunnels, Lucas felt a sharpened pain as the snapping of his nails coaxed a cry out of him, deterring his resistance. The darkness was broken by a dim protruding light, signaling their ascension. The thick air lightened as the familiar sight of the jungle surrounded him, yet this was a foreign portion of that deep jungle for which he had never traversed.
“Where did you take me?” The words escaped him, low and dreary.
His eyes glanced upon pits of tar gathering at a small ravine; a thick stream of the foreign substance escaped the moss-covered rocks.
“Bastards,” Lucas rebelled.
He felt the cold dirt surround him as they dragged his body through the black muck, clinging to the soil and drenching his body. Lucas gasped for air as he felt the cold stone and the light stings of twigs breaking upon him before the surrounding jungle grasped his tar-ridden body as they continued through the soil. Lifting him up, the now blinded Lucas clenched his eyes as the sound of a light stream could be heard. Struggling to see, he glimpsed a shallow river clogged with the bodies of his brothers, their thickened blood escaping from their butchered forms. He saw their intestines strung across sharp rocks, which were slowly washed clean with the water, leaving tainted with gore. Lucas reached forth and removed what muck he could from his eyes. As his vision cleared, he looked about and released a sharp, fearful gasp as he realized he was on an alter.
“I was supposed to die in battle…” Lucas said, four strange priestly Wildmen surrounded him, their filth-ridden forms cloaked in thick hemp gowns covered in red soil. “You don’t deserve me…” He said, refusing to look away.
“ZAH’REM, SHEL’AK SAL’GHOR, VOR’NA KHAL’VER!” The terrible chant echoed from their priests as they removed ceremonial daggers forged of molten rock.
The tongue was familiar, a different speech from the sickly class. They spoke the language of the ElderGreen, a forgotten tongue only shared through song and ritual. Their words were known to him: “The Ancients, Whisperers of black, deep within the elder green.”
“YEH’NA EM’FAL, TOR’EH SHAL’VETH, SAL’VER RAH’MOR!” The chant continued. (New Children, lost and born within the tribes of man, protectors of a savage land)
The priests raised their daggers. “ROG’HAL ZAH’REM, ESH’NA VOR’EH, SAL’KHAL EM’FAL!” (Rogues of old, fire of new, bleed the blood to grow for the few)
“BRAV’HAL SHAL’MOR, TOR’AK VOR’LUM, KHAD’AR SAL’VER!” (Bravery among the fallen, unstoppable stand bruised but unbeaten) “GHRAH’AL! VOH’RAH! SAL’AK TAH’RAH!” (Roar! Rise! The shadow awakens!)
Seeing the shadows of the blades descend upon him, Lucas roared, “SHAL’ASH ZOR’KHAL, (Beneath ash of skies,) VOH’RAH, VOH’RAH, SHAD’AR SAL’GHOR! (We rise, we rise, where shadow lies) KOR’VETH VOR’EH, RAH’KHAL SHAR’ESH, (Our crow ascends, a piercing call!)”
A priest screeched, and the others froze as the words escaped him. The Wildman gripping Lucas’ left arm was taken back at the sight of their priests’ panic. Taking the initiative, Lucas pulled his left arm free as the other Wildman firmly held his right arm. Shifting himself, Lucas clenched his left fist and jabbed between his captor’s legs, freeing himself. He lunged at the screeching priest, wrapping his tar-laden hands upon his blade, striking the flailing thing with a sharpened blow to the abdomen, forcing a painful cry from the beast, snapping the other two Wildmen out of their stunned trance. Lucas quickly moved towards a small mound to make a stand, placing his back to the river, dagger forward.
“Fight me, you fools…” He said as the priests began to surround him. The jungle roared with the sounds of wild animals, seemingly bearing witness to his last stand. “This is much better.” He muttered, “I’ll kill you all…”
From across the river, a loud drum silenced the wildlife, and youthful voices joined its beat in choir. “Beneath ash of skies, We rise, we rise, where shadow lies, Our crow ascends, a piercing call!”
Lucas smiled, releasing a daunting laugh. “No chain to bind, we stand tall!” He lunged back into the flowing water; his ears twitching at the sound of long reed-arrows whistling, their song rising as swift arrows flew overhead. The sharpened reeds gracefully pierced through the Wildmen, resting within the soft soil. Reaching for the adjacent side of the river, a hand reached down and pulled Lucas atop the shoreline.
Frankfer looked down at him. “Lucas, no time to be lazy. There’s a fight underway.”
From the thick branches above, monkey boys descended with hooked ropes secured and daggers in hand. With expert precision, they landed upon the priests, greasing their daggers with blood.
“You made it. I… I thought this was it,” Lucas confessed. “How did you get here?”
“We walked.” The stern yet welcoming voice of Falix filled his ears. “This is a two-pronged assault, all thanks goes to Klawn. His skills at torture are as majestic as his skills at healing. Our prisoner informed us where to look, and of this river of death to follow.”
Lucas took all the information in as his fellow Roosters lifted him to his feet.
“Go with them,” Falix ordered. “We will save the rest.”
“No.” Lucas said between heavy breaths, “I know where they are… I can show you, and it’ll be a fight. A big one. There are many.”
“You have done well.” Falix said, “We are expecting a fight, go home… I doubt you would survive the journey if you do not leave no-”
A chorus of terror escaped the burrow as a mass of feminine shrieking escaped it.
“What is that?” Lucas asked, taking a step back.
“Something that is going to die soon,” Falix answered, “now go home Lucas.” He stepped forth, removing the blade at his side. “With me, we will kill our way through…”
