DEEP WITHIN THE BURROWS

  Frankfer’s whimpering groans filled the pitch-black void. He pressed his hands against a familiar texture of rough wood, lifting himself to his feet and feeling a terrible soreness course through his body. He took a single step forward, straining his eyes to no avail. The boy was lost somewhere within the grasp of the Wildmen’s haunting home. The sound of metal escaping its leather sheath hissed aloud as he removed his sword. Frankfer held the point of the blade forward, pressing against any potential obstacle. The boys body was weighed down by the pain of his landing. His mind replaying the moment, Frankfers desperate eyes locked upon Master Falix as the ground caved and took him with it.

  “I can’t…” he told himself. His ears twitched while his voice returned to him, echoing off unseen walls. He stopped, listening through the dark. A shifting noise reverberated through the ground, sending a rumble encroaching from all sides. “Where am I?”

  Standing stone-like, he held his breath until all went silent. Summoning his bravery, Frankfer took a step forward when the ground shook, and a mighty thump reverberated somewhere in the dark, as if something falling. The scent of far-off musk appeared among the humid mold; the soft splashes of disturbed water echoed to his left. Holding his breath, he awaited the ripples’ approach. The sound of deep breaths and a stench of something foul assaulted him. Frankfer took a wide step forward, leaning his body and lunging his blade forth. Feeling the familiar resistance of flesh meet his sword. Ears rumbled as a Wildman released a mournful cry.

  Leaning upon his discipline, he stepped back, lifting his blade as it exited his unseen foe, giving entrails allowance to escape. The cries of the Wildman filled the underground, tracing the cavern with bouncing echoes, allowing Frankfer to continue his trek through the dark; with a warrior’s assurance. Yet that too was tested, as a slithering rumble encroached upon his right ear. Turning to face the daunting sound, he held his blade forward, taking careful steps backwards. His instincts beckoned him to flee.

  That slithering grew as his slow steps hurried, his imagination conjured the images of a thousand different beasts, beckoning his heavy heart to pound a rapid beat. Frankfer turned, rushing away from the threat, through the pitch-black. As due reward, his reckless steps stunned him, jolting a pain through his right cheek as an unseen obstacle stood before the boy.

  “What, no!” he cried, pressing his hand against the wet stain of his own blood, dripping upon a hardened mass of roots twisted into a solid wall.

  He threw his head over his shoulder as the slithering grew closer, his eyes blinded by pure darkness. In a panicked fit, Frankfer released a loud cry, kicking the muddied ground. His ears captured the splash of water falling upon something large just feet in front of him.

  “Dungheep!” he yelled. His instincts flung him rightward as the ground rumbled before him and a grumbling hiss stung his ears.

  His body thumped and splashed as cold, reeking mud engulfed Frankfer. His flesh pelted with the root wall’s torn bark as the unknown creature smashed upon it. Beyond the mass of roots torn to sunder, a single dot of light pierced through, temporarily blinding Frankfer. As he strained his eyes, a terrible visage stole his breath, a fleshless mass of muscle littered with many small human-like mouths, and a single protruding eye glaring away from the beam of light. The mass hurried away, its abominable form dragged along by a twisted army of underdeveloped, skinless feet and hands.

  Frankfer’s grip wrapped around his blade, hand shaking. Lifting himself and reaching out toward the sundered wall of roots, he stepped forth through the tear, his feet felt a warm moisture engulf them. Looking down, he saw a black tar bleeding from the roots themselves. Taking another step, he heard the squishing sound of the thick tar as the walls shifted, revealing the strange mass of flesh-like growth pressing between the many roots, bleeding that black tar from torn muscle that retracted and squirmed under the petrified dead roots.

  Frankfer ears perked as the scuttling of the gigantic mass somewhere beyond his sight tested his nerve. The boys mind raced with the thought of the creature encroaching upon the light, its many small hands reaching out and forcing the air out of Frankfer as its flesh smothered him. Releasing a light whimper, he lifted his sword and tore at the hanging roots obstructing his escape, the boys eyes half-closed as the increasing light blinded him. The scent of sweet mixed with foul covered Frankfer as the tar seeped over the struggling boy. He felt the pressure of the tar build up around him as the tear through the wall grew smaller. Forcing his blade once more, he plunged the sharpened metal within the mass of wood and flesh. Using his strong shoulders, Frankfer tore upward, projecting bits of tar-covered debris upon himself.

  All sounds escaping the darkness were drowned out by the thumping muscular tissue surrounding him. Pressing his body through the tear where the light escaped. His exit was but a needle-sized hole; he plunged his blade through. Its resistance broke, surrendering to Frankfer. A buildup of pressure found its way into his chest as he felt his feet being engulfed by the muscle, his sword slowly finding its way beyond, where damp air weighed down its metal.

  Feeling his hand escape the tar, his eyes stung as the pressure of the flesh wall sank the vile ooze between his lashes. His right arm met the air as a thought of surrender flashed within Frankfer. Combating the hopelessness, he exhaled what breath remained within him and summoned all his will, pressing beyond the grip of flesh and meeting a bright yellow light that barely pierced his stinging eyes.

  As his torso escaped, a new threat became all too obvious. His body fell forward, with only the air to meet him. Frankfer’s legs broke free as the weight of him pulled the boy forward down a vast vertical wall. His stained body met the wall and tumbled forth as the roots, smoothed into a singular surface, and arching into a flat yet wide floor.

  He spun in countless twists as he tumbled down the arch, his mind spinning as the force released a majority of the tar, A sharp sting was brought forth by the air hitting his bloodshot eyes. He felt his twisting body begin to slow as the smooth surface returned to the familiar texture of entwined roots. The rough floor bumped and bruised him to a slow stop as a heavy, log-sized root brought him to a halt. The world continued to spin about him, his body riddling with pain. Franker’s blade lost amidst his tumble. From afar, his disturbance drew the guttural voices of Wildmen, ever approaching.

  Reaching about the ground, Frankfer fought past that engulfing pain, his muscles straining with every movement, his hand searching the ground for his lost blade to no avail. Loud footsteps swiftly approached. He reached toward his assailant as a coarse palm gripped him.

  “Damn you, boy. Calm yourself,” Falix said. “We don’t have time.”

  As his master’s voice met his ears, Frankfer eased his aggression. He felt his master’s hand guide him toward the familiar texture of his blade’s handle.

  “You lost this,” Falix said. “Let’s go…”

  As Falix lifted the broken boy up, Frankfer’s spinning world slowed. His surroundings came into focus. The boy found himself within the grasp of a vast chamber of petrified wood, sprawling upward toward an unseen ceiling, lost in the far-off dark above them. At the center of the chamber sat a strange sight: a tall colonnade protruded high above them where a single throne rested near its center, and the visage of a Wildman sat upon it.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  Before his master could answer, the chattering voices of Wildmen came to a sudden stop. Looking about him, Frankfer caught sight of three tall warriors, donning the bones of men sewn together as armor and covering their faces with painted skulls. The warriors lifted their clubbed weapons and released a guttural howl before racing toward Frankfer and Falix.

  “I am afraid we must fight,” Falix said, lowering Frankfer and readying his blade.

  “I can kill. I must,” Frankfer said, lifting himself upon his own feet. “Face me!” he cried, stumbling forth with blade in hand.

  Frankfer’s muscles protested as he clashed his blade against a clubbed weapon. A terrible burning rushed through his joints, aiding his enemies.

  Falix, the older warrior, read the movement of his trained yet clumsy enemy. As the Wildman before him swung wide, he leaned himself left, and struck with an experts grace. The bone armor surrendered to a swift blow, cracking under the pressure of his blade and splintering the Wildman’s flesh before the metal of Falix’s sword tore through him with one swift motion, sending the Wildman into a crying fit as he smashed into the ground, staining the petrified wood with darkened blood.

  Glancing toward Frankfer, he released a sharp jab upon the the boys foe, stunning him long enough for Frankfer to deal a killing blow. The third charging Wildman reared to a slow as his companions had been slain in mere moments. Its eyes widened in realization as both Frankfer and Falix pressed their blades forward, taking advantage of his hesitation, and piercing the beast’s armor, tearing through its flesh, sending the Wildman to its knees. From afar, the rumblings of crying enemies met their ears.

  “Master?” Frankfer looked toward Falix.

  “Stand behind me,” Falix said. “I saw a throne ahead. That means there must be a crown to wear… Retreat or prepare to die, Frankfer. I will not force your hand.”

  The cries grew closer.

  “Master…” Frankfer’s mind froze. His heart yearned to run, but something within stubbornly held his feet. “Will this save our family?”

  “Yes, but I’m afraid it’s too late,” Falix replied, his eyes witnessing a band of skull-donning Wildmen rushing toward them. “We fight.”

  EARLIER - UPON THE SURFACE

  Clashing blades sang across the Wildmen’s burrow-ridden encampments. The shrieking of Wildwomen fought against the heavy drumming and singing of the Rooster’s choir that roared behind the shield wall that held back the flood of Wildmen who charged across the wide clearing. Gusts of smoke erupted as musketeers unleashed volleys of fire across the battlefield, slowing their tar-ridden Wildmen’s endless onslaught. Where the tree line stood, shield boys held their formation, musketeers peered over their heads to take aim, and knights held the flank. The Wildmen struck their weapons, threw their bodies, and hurled their spears, desperately trying to overrun the shield boys.

  From a tall tree, a group of boys rested upon the strong branches that lightly swayed with the slight breeze, peering across the battlefield and examining all as Rutger remained still, taking in their whispers as they spoke.

  “The horde seems relentless,” a boy said.

  “The knights are being tested upon our flank!” another said.

  “This is not good,” Rutger gestured. “Pull back the monkey boys from behind the enemy lines.”

  A young boy nodded, grasped one of many thick vines and swung down, where a number of orphans awaited orders. Their hands gripped hand carved sticks to drum a beat loud enough to be carried across the battlefield on large wood-and-leather drums strapped across their midsection, resting on their hips

  “Monkey boys retreat to our lines!” The swinging boy landed upon his feet and shouted the order.

  The eldest of the drummers held his beat, “what did you say?”

  The messenger leaned against his ear, repeating himself under the blaring drumming.

  The drummer boy nodded, placing both his hands upon the shoulders of the drummers to the right and left of him. All the drummer boys seized their drumming as their adjacent drummers’ hands met their shoulders.

  “New beat: Monkey boys fall back!” The eldest drummer shouted, smashing his drumsticks above his head and into one another three times, releasing a sharp smack with each strike. “One, two…”

  The jungle reverberated as a new beat echoed through the green, crawling over the guttural calls of Wildmen and shouts of battling brothers, meeting the ears of the far-off monkey boys clinging to large vines, swinging and releasing their explosive clay pots upon the horde of Wildmen. As a boy swung across the horde, a hand reached upward and grasped the boy, ripping him from his vine. Where he disappeared under the many grasping figures who eagerly pulled him under the ocean of bodies. Stains of blood would explode from within the mass, sealing their brother’s fate.

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  The bow boys climbed the thick vines behind the line of shields, perching themselves about the elongated ancient oaks wide enough for several archers to take rest upon a single branch. Some rained arrows down upon the charging Wildmen below as others stood sentry, watching the retreating monkey boys and taking aim at the bold Wildmen who swarmed the trees and traversed the branches after them. An archer took aim at an abnormally tall Wildman kneeling on all fours, leaping across the wide branches. As the brother whom the beast was chasing cleared the way, the archer loosed his arrow. It hissed across the canopy, finding its mark.

  The tall Wildman released a howl as the arrow pierced its chest, sending the thing falling between the branches onto the battlefield below. A large splat of mud splashed into the air as it smashed into the ground, staining the white armor of Andreyas. He stood feet behind his men near the right flank, moving to and fro, gazing upon the unfolding battle and shouting orders to his knights and musketeers. The cries of injured orphans filled his ears as those shield boys who fell were dragged behind him, a small clearing in the brush was fashioned into a place for the wounded, where wounded awaited carriers to haul them to safety.

  Andreyas counted fifteen injured, five dead, including one of his musketeers. The endless tide seemed not to wane as their army slowly depleted. Andreyas placed his armored glove upon his chin, pondering the battlefield as if comfortably daydreaming among it. “We cannot hold here…”

  He reached out and grabbed a messenger boy. “You, take these words for me!” He commanded the boy to return to Rutger, informing him that they must prepare a slow but ultimate retreat to advantageous ground, a hilltop near their position.

  The boy nodded before disappearing into the green, rushing past thick vines and wild overgrowth. His strong spirit forced his feet through the wild when an unknown thing snagged his foot. Releasing a gasp, the messenger boy fell into the mud. Releasing a cough, he stood to his feet, looking upon the ground, curious about what tripped him. Among the overgrowth, something broke through the ground. An elongated, thin, sickly arm stretched out from a single hole his foot had punctured, revealing a shallow tunnel network just inches under their feet.

  The boy felt a firm grip rip him downward to his knee, where the scent of filth assaulted him. A sharp pain erupted through his side as another arm broke through the ground, piercing him with a stone blade. The soil around him erupted as Wildmen dug through the dirt, revealing dozens of them eager to tear through the surface.

  “No…” the boy said, gritting his teeth. Gripping the arm that held him in protest, he witnessed the being to whom it belonged break through the earth.

  A tall, tar-covered Wildman wearing a blackened skull etched with strange engravings. The boy looked into the Wildman’s eyes, his heart heavy, his body raging in pain as the blade was pulled from his flesh, allowing his wound to release a river of his blood, staining the ground. The beast’s terrible breath chocked the messenger boy as it’s sickly hand wrapped around his throat, choking the life from him. The creature threw the boy into the tunnel network, where its fellow Wildmen tore at his body, following their champion to the surface.

  DEEP UNDERGROUND…

  Frankfer released a rooster’s crow as yet another Wildman fell to his blade, its body thumping upon the blood-soaked ground.

  “Not bad,” the panting Falix said, his heavy arms holding his sword low as another band of their foes lay at their feet. With the far-off sound of footsteps drawing further away, they were not forming a line around the erected colonnade in the center of the vast burrow. “They are defending the throne… This must be our chance to end this.”

  Frankfer nodded in agreement, his breath heavy. “We strike together.”

  “No,” Falix said. “They will swarm us. We must approach this strategically. Take this.” He said as he removed a blow dart. “Assault them from a distance. Pull them toward you. I will assault their back line.” As the two approached with their heads low, Falix spied upon them. “There can’t be more than seven of them.”

  “I suppose we did well, Master?” Frankfer asked.

  “Let us hope.” Falix replied.

  Taking a deep breath, Falix went one way, Frankfer the other. Keeping his head low, the young orphan crept about the cavern, circling the colonnade’s extended base. The ground smoothed as a large, barked surface found its way under his feet, similar to a branch. With no large roots to hide behind, the snarls of Wildmen alerted their ilk to his position. Lifting the hollow bamboo, he placed a red dart within it. The boy released a huff, shooting the dart, where it glided across the cavern, puncturing one of the bone-armored Wildmen in the neck.

  The thing choked and stammered but for a moment. Then its armor clattered as the Wildman smashed into the ground. Another loud roar escaped them as they rushed forward, rudimentary bone clubs held above their heads. Loading another dart, Frankfer sent one more Wildman choking to the floor before removing his blade and taunting them with another loud crow. The remaining five charged forth, with the shadow of Falix peering behind them. The slowest of their ilk felt the sting of his sword as the old master released a loud battle cry and lunged his weapon through his foe, tearing through bone and cartilage. The Wildman froze as a look of dreadful pain fell upon him before releasing a shrieking cry.

  Forcing his blade out of the bestial man’s body, Falix drew the attention of the remaining four. As they turned, Frankfer charged, taking advantage of their foolishness. His blade tore through the rear armor of the fastest Wildman, who had presented his back to him. Its blood rained upon the bark-wood floor as the Wildman’s panting body fell, its arms flailing in pain, taking on the bestial state their kind donned when injured. Throwing himself over the fallen creature, Frankfer locked eyes with another skull-wearing warrior. The Wildman released a mighty roar, one which Frankfer met with a loud crow as his sword met its blunt bone club, glancing the heavy weapon aside and driving his blade through its chest. The familiar shriek of pain met his ears.

  Looking forth, his master stood in blood-soaked leather armor before the bodies of the remaining Wildmen. Locking eyes, the two shared a glance of righteous despair, a dark realization that this would be their grave. Frankfer gave a light nod, stepping toward his master.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” he said, shifting his gaze toward the colonnade, where beyond its tall cylindrical form sat a throne.

  Without a word, Falix smiled, turning toward the protruding steps of the colonnade, beginning his ascent. Each step brought a strange weight upon his shoulders. Releasing his breath, he took those final steps before a throne of petrified wood, where a single sickly figure sat, donning a gown of white and a crown of brush and twig that rested upon an unwashed scalp. Messy hair escaped from bark-like skin that covered the entirety of their chieftain.

  Rising from his throne, the wild chieftain stepped forward, barehanded. Frankfer and Falix slowly stepped toward either side of the him, as he stood before his throne near the center of the platform; the warriors at either end of him. Falix clenched his blade with his right hand, removing a dagger from his belt with his left. Taking the first steps, Falix propelled himself toward their opponent, who turned, lifting its bone-like hands into claws and bending its knees in an animalistic stance.

  He lunged his sword forward. Their foe shifted its body left, taking a step behind the old master. Falix jumped, twisting his body mid-air and slashing the face of the bark-skin chieftain. Thinking him staggered, Frankfer ran across the platform. To his surprise, his foe hissed and threw an unknown dust toward him, a chemical weapon. Frankfer dropped, sliding across the platform as he swung his sword across its ankles. In one swift motion, the chieftain leapt upon the sliding Frankfer’s belly, forcing a grunt out of him, and leapt off.

  Predicting its landing, Falix threw his knife across the platform. As the chieftain’s feet met the ground, a sting of pain coursed through its shoulder, the blade deep within it. The beast released an animalistic, guttural howl as it clenched Falix’s knife and ripped the dagger from its shoulder. Dark yellow, pustular blood stained Falix while he charged the injured chieftain. Locking eyes with the approaching master, the chieftain’s mouth widened, exposing an elongated, snake-like tongue that whipped outward. Two extending fangs hung off the elongated muscle, slithering forth from the ever-widening maw of the chieftain.

  Frankfer released a cough as he rose to his feet, witnessing his master expertly duck and roll toward him. “Master!” he called, gripping his blade.

  The creature’s elongated tongue retracted with vicious speed, hiding within the confines of its mouth, its ominous presence stinging the air.

  Falix looked towards Frankfer as he rose to his feet. “We must attack at once. I will go left, you right… Don’t hesitate.” Looking down, Falix saw his bloodied dagger resting by him. Gripping the blade, he rose to his feet. “Prepare yourself.”

  “Yes, master,” Frankfer replied between panting breaths.

  The two ran to either side of the chieftain, their eyes upon the creature as it cocked its head toward each of them in turn, unable to track both as they approached at rapid speed. The chieftain hissed and lashed its viper-like tongue yet again, whipping it across the platform, beckoning its movements with the animalistic cock of its head. The fanged tongue lashed leftward toward Falix. Keeping his charge, the old man swung his blade, slicing the thick muscle as the two fangs reached past his head.

  “Basterdous swine!!” Falix taunted.

  The tongue recoiled as the chieftain hissed in a fit of pain, releasing its fangs yet again. It slithered across the platform, now striking rightward.’

  “Watch yourself!” Falix stammered.

  “I see it!” Frankfer cried. He locked his legs and readied his blade.

  “Don’t stand still!” Falix demanded, picking up pace toward the beast.

  Frankfer’s eyes followed the viper-like tongue as it whipped near his right foot. Lifting his leg, he watched the muscle contort and whip upward, bringing its fangs to his face. Frankfer cried out. Releasing his blade, he fell backward, gripping the fangs with his bare hands. The boy felt the strength of the muscle pull backward, fighting against his falling body, ripping him into the air.

  “Master!” Frankfer cried, pressing his legs against the tongue. Releasing a fang, he reached into his pocket and removed a red poisonous dart. “Die!” he cried, swinging his arm backwards as he flailed through the air.

  The viper-like tongue lashed downward, forcing Frankfer off, yet with a mighty grip, the creature felt a burning pain jolt through it as the boy’s mighty grip ripped it’s fang from it. Frankfer cried aloud as he smashed into the ground, releasing the dart upon impact.

  The chieftain glared leftward as Falix found him. Its yellow eyes widened as the old master’s blade sang a sharp song while ripping through the air, swiftly approaching its neck. Cocking its head leftward, the tongue retracted as the chieftain moved its unbalanced body away from the swinging sword. The chieftain heard Falix release a loud grunt while the tip of the blade sliced through its retracting tongue, plaguing the creature with further punishment. The beast felt a hefty blow from Falix’s own body, sending it tumbling across the platform.

  As the chieftain landed on all fours, Falix charged. Seeing his approach, it stretched its arm outward. From its fingers protruded root-like growths that slithered toward Falix. The master’s eyes shot open at the abnormal sight. He released a battle cry as his bravery held his charge, trusting the steel of his blade. The bark cracked and splintered as Falix swung downward, halting its growth, sending splinters across the platform. As they flew through the air, blinding the master, the chieftain threw itself forward. Its splintered arm tossed aside Falix’s blade, wrapping around his head and kicking its left knee into his chest repeatedly, forcing blood from the old master’s mouth.

  Falix lost grip of his sword as he felt something shatter within. Even as the stunning pain filled him, a savage rage refused to surrender. Fighting past the pain, he swung his dagger into the chieftain’s chest, stopping its assault. With his bare right hand, he began a barrage of blows toward its right side, forcing the chieftain back.

  As it stammered, the chieftain removed the dagger, releasing a terrible screech. From behind, Frankfer released a loud grunt as he swung his blade, giving what advantage he had away. The chieftain ducked, allowing his blade to swing overhead. Twisting its body, the chieftain slashed Frankfer across the chest, forcing a cry from the boy.

  “Frankfer, no!” Falix yelled.

  Sensing a window of opportunity, the chieftain ran toward Falix, lifting its feet in mid-stride and landing upon the old man’s chest, the creature tore it’s claws into him. The elongated bark covered fingers grew once more, the roots grew through Falix, expanding within him in all directions. The old mans eyes widened as all breath was stolen from him, while roots tore through his back, sending both of them to the ground below, where a loud thrashing sound filled the air.

  Frankfer grasped his chest as that stinging pain coursed through him. His body beckoned deep breaths as what strength remained faded. He fell to one knee as the sound of feet ascending the steps met his ears. He dug within himself, searching for what strength he could muster. Grasping his blade, he forced himself to his feet, feeling a warm drop of blood course down his chest.

  As he rose, his eyes met the visage of the chieftain rising upon the platform, its claw-like hands dripping with blood.

  “You bastard!” Frankfer cried, staggering forward with blade at the ready. He swung, only to find the grinning beast gripping his hand, forcing his wrist to turn. With a supernatural strength, the grip upon his blade faltered, and its metal released a clang as it hit the surface of the platform.

  “You beings…” The chieftain spoke in a deep guttural voice. “You… eager to die.”

  “What are you?” Frankfer asked, feeling his knees bend as the beast twisted his wrist, bringing him to the ground.

  “I will show you,” it said, releasing him. Its blood-stained hand traced his face and pulled him up by his chin.

  “You will be just like me.” Its voice filled Frankfer’s mind, its mouth unmoving.

  “Never…” he mustered the words, his eyelids growing heavy.

  The creature smiled, before a single word could escape it, Frankfer’s ears perked at a familiar sound. A light smile met the creatures as the whistling of a dagger coursed through the air, and the assassin’s blade of Marcy struck the chieftain, loosening its grip, as Marcy’s visage flew across the platform. The sound of short-lived combat met Frankfer’s ears as he gazed upward toward that far-off dot of light, where the surface... where his home was. The voice of Marcy comforted him, yet her words seemed distant as a strange numbing sensation overtook him.

  He locked eyes with Marcy. “You need to go,” Frankfer struggled. “Kill it. Finish this…” His words were accented with pain. The familiar cry of the chieftain met their ears. “Do it…” Frankfer continued. “You’re one of us now.” Frankfer panted. “Fight like a rooster.”

  The sound of something shifting echoed through the walls. Marcy felt the taste of dust from above meet her lips.

  “Roosters don’t retreat,” the suffering boy continued, his panting increasing.

  The walls gave way. Bark fell as the rumbling increased, revealing hidden passages where dim light approached from afar, accented by the chieftain’s daunting laughter from below, the air thickening with more dust. Marcy prepared herself as the sound of scuttling penetrated her ears from all directions, and those hidden passages began to spew bodies of Wildmen and women, surrounding the colonnade.

  Her eyes met Frankfer’s, his body broken and bleeding. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Fight,” was his struggling reply, breath fading.

  The Wildmen rushed upon the circling stairway. Her eyes met the first of their kind to reach the platform.