Beyong the Moons

Chapter Three

Teldin was shocked out of sleep by a hand clapped over his mouth. Struggling, he tried to sit up, only to be easily forced down. Standing out dimly against the night sky was the giff's form, which made him struggle all the more frantically. Damn his trust! Teldin thought, infuriated with his own sense of honor. He wanted to shout in anger, but the gift’s hand blocked all but a soft gurgle. Teldin groped for the cutlass under the blankets.

The giff raised one fat finger to its jowled face, signaling for silence. Then, slowly and carefully, Gomja pointed toward the wreck of the Penumbra. Teldin twisted his head around to see a small cluster of lights coming out of the woods on the far side of the dale. It took a while to find the cutlass, tangled in the blankets, but finally his fingers wrapped around the hilt.

“Neogi!” Gomja whispered. Once he was certain the human understood, the giff released his grip.

Teldin gaped. “What, them? How do you know? It could be neighbors.” Teldin suddenly realized it was dark, not daylight. “How long have I been asleep?” He demanded.

The giff ignored the last question. “Not humans,” he insisted in his thick accent. “Listen to the voices.

Straining, Teldin could barely make out a droning, clicking noise floating faintly on the breeze. It was clearly nothing he had ever heard before. The giff's certainty was convincing. “What do they want?”

“I don’t know,” Gomja answered. “The Penumbra?”

“What do we do?”

“We could fight them.”

Teldin studied the advancing lights. “Are you mad?” Judging from the giff's set look, he was mad. “There are too many.” Teldin glanced over his shoulder to the woods behind them. “We’ll hide. Come on.” With his eyes adjusted, the farmer led the way along the stream, following it past the cottonwoods and into the trees. Gomja brought up the rear, and Teldin’s only fear was that the giff might really try to attack. Things were already bad enough, and getting killed was not the way to improve his day.

The pair crept along, doing their best not to make any noise until they reached a tangle of fallen logs. Teldin knew this spot-from back when he had a farm, he sardonically thought; the hens kept getting out of the coop and hiding their nests in the downed branches. The farmer now worked his way into the middle, showing Gomja where not to step. At the center was a small clear space, large enough for the two of them and little else. From this hiding place the pair had a clear view of the Penumbra, the desolate wreckage barely lit by the mingled light of the moons and the coming dawn.

The procession of lights, steady and unflickering, swarmed over the Penumbra, carried by creatures Teldin could only barely make out. It was difficult to estimate their numbers. Only a few creatures were silhouetted; most were nothing but vague shapes moving just beyond the range of light. The creatures were gigantic, possibly as large as the giff who crouched beside Teldin. They seemed to have no heads, only thick, bulbous lumps in place of the necks and skulls. Huge fangs, grotesquely long, thrust out from the sides of these lumps. The rest of each body was hard and stocky, with arms overly long. The torchlight glis

tened off the monsters’ backs as if off armor. Each was carrying something in its arms, something that writhed and twisted. The forms merged into the darkness like a single, surging creature that flowed over the wreck.

“What are they searching for-the cloak?” Teldin whispered.

The giff eyed the human with a start, then answered as quietly as he could, his bass voice still a rumble. “Why would they search for the captain’s cloak?” he asked suspiciously.

Teldin nervously gripped the fabric and pulled the cloak tighter about him. What made this cloak so special? “Just a hunch,” Teldin awkwardly answered.

Aboard the broken Penumbra, the shapes continued to prowl. Teldin could make out voices, but the words were strange and lost on the wind. The sounds were unnatural, bleats and snarls mingled with sharp clicking noises. It was a language of menace and hate, and it made Teldin shudder as he listened.

It sounded like a pack of starving foxes, snarling and snapping at each other and punctuated by sudden shrieks. A squabble had broken out among the creatures. The human slid forward to gain a better view among the branches. Abruptly, part of the mass surged away from the graves and began moving in his direction. Animal instincts taking over, the farmer froze like a deer in the brush.

As the figures drew closer, Teldin could see that the single shapes were indeed two completely different creatures. The main forms were giant brutes, and now he could tell they were even taller than the giff. The beasts’ legs were comically short, forcing them to move with shuffling strides, but their arms were enormous. He was certain that they had no neck or proper head, only a broad dome on the shoulders. The fangs weren’t fangs, but pincers, like those of a beetle, growing out of the side of this dome.

The second shapes were cradled in the brutes’ arms. Each was about the size of goat or large dog; their bodies were round and saclike. Dangling from each body was a mass of small, narrow legs. Long, snaky heads probed and darted over their porters’ arms. From the little creatures’ sharp tones Teldin judged the smaller ones as the masters, the larger brutes the slaves.

The small band was moving along the edge of the woods, drawing closer to Teldin and Gomja. Teldin lay where he was, afraid to move back and join the giff, but also afraid of what the giff might do if he were not restrained. The muscles in his arms began to tremble. Teldin fought the spasms, trying to hold as still as possible. By now, the creatures were almost alongside.

The group stopped no more than a hoe’s length from Teldin. There was a quick exchange of words. “. . away trail. . woods. . come others maybe.” The words were foreign, but Teldin somehow understood. As he pressed back into the branches, he hardly had time to ponder on this new wonder.

One of the brutes lowered its master to the trail, breaking off any further discussion. The little ball-shaped body poised on spidery legs while the small eel-like head wove over the path, the narrow eyes glinting over some tiny details. “This way one go,” it hissed to the others standing around. “Two send and find. Before morning two must go. Raise me up,” the little creature ordered to its slave.

“Yes, little master,” intoned the hulking drudge. As the beast stooped to retrieve its overlord, Teldin caught a glimpse of its face. There were two sets of eyes. At the center, mashed in over a toothy maw, was a pair of pinched, evil lights filled with cunning. These alone were enough to raise a shudder, but the other set made Teldin veritably weak. Spaced on the outermost part of the beast’s dome, they were bulging, multifaceted orbs. These eyes were strange and swirling, and for an instant, Teldin didn’t know what to do. He wanted to leap and charge, run in fear, cower, and cry out all at once. The effect was nauseating and confusing. Teldin’s mind reeled until he forced himself to think of other things-Grandfather on the porch, companions from the war, even the quiet days fishing in the nearby ponds. He focused his thoughts on these, forcing the vertigo from his mind.

By the time his head had cleared, the creatures were moving away. “Hope, let us, your quastoth find food, Nyaesta,” Teldin overheard one of them say. The farmer was not quite sure if quastorh meant kinsmen or slaves. He knew he should not even have any idea what the word meant, but somehow he understood everything that was said. The creatures continued their conversation out of his hearing. Most returned to the wreck, but two pairs, master and slave, continued on up the trail. Teldin watched as they disappeared into the woods.

Risking discovery, Teldin slid back to where the giff was sheltered. The big, blue creature was half-standing, his club in hand. Teldin grabbed a sleeve and pulled the giff down. “You,” he hissed. “Those things have taken the trail to Liam’s farm. What are they likely to do?”

The giff looked earnestly at the human. “I told you. They are killers, ravagers of worlds.” He did not need to say more.

“We’ve got to do something,” Teldin moaned.

“Give me a weapon and I am ready to fight,” Gomja rumblingly announced.

The giffs bravado brought home to Teldin the precariousness of their position. With so many of the creatures and only two of them, there was no chance of winning a battle. Even following the neogi into the woods was dangerous, provided they could escape the notice of the creatures at the wreck. Teldin wanted to go forward and help, but he was certain the neogi would discover them if the pair moved at all. Torn between fear and loyalty to his friend, Teldin balked, unable to reach a decision. Common sense urged him to stay where he was. Liam was his friend, though. He had to remember that, Teldin thought. It was cowardice to abandon the old farmer without trying, evenif the attempt was hopeless. Swallowing back his fear, Teldin decided to brave a journey to Liam’s farm.

The giff knelt silently beside him, barely restraining himself from charging amid the neogi. For a second the human considered abandoning the big alien and setting out on his own. Teldin did not owe the giff anything and did not even particularly trust the creature. He had tried to kill Teldin once already. Gomja had warned him of the neogi’s arrival, though. Furthermore, the giff just might hold the answers to what was now happening to Teldin’s life.

Loyalty finally won out. Teldin nodded to the watchful giff. “We’re going to Liam’s. Come on.

The giff did not move. “1 cannot leave my captain,” the tall, blue one insisted.

“Your captain’s dead. Liam’s not,” Teldin snapped, almost forgetting and raising his voice. “We go where I say!”

The giff did not take a second urging. Rising slowly, he began to push through toward the path. Before Gomja had managed two lumbering steps, Teldin pulled him back. “Not that way,” the human ordered. “We’ll follow the stream.”

Moving with as much silence and grace as they could manage, the pair splashed along the water’s edge. Several times Teldin came to an abrupt halt, fearful that the neogi had heard their passage. Finally, the two reached the mossy bank. The water gurgled past the small stones and sticks, hiding their movements. In a short time, Teldin was certain they were beyond the range of any possible discovery.

“Hurry up!” Teldin ordered, forcing the pace as hard as possible. The heavy-set and stocky-legged giff was no sprinter, but he lumbered along the bank as best he could. Following the stream was longer than the trail the two neogi scouts had taken, and Teldin had already wasted too much time with his own indecision. With his choice made, the young farmer was suddenly afraid for his neighbor. If the neogi meant ill, old Liam would have poorer luck than a chicken against a fox.

The first lights of dawn were tinting the leaves of the wood, providing just enough light for Teldin to pick the path. Night birds whispered through the branches, telling the secrets of the trees. Teldin wondered briefly if they sang of the neogi passing. A few crickets sawed out their songs, and the frogs from the stream answered, only to fall silent as the pair neared. Behind them, the frogs reluctantly resumed their chorus. The air over the stream was chill and damp, but Teldin barely noticed.

“How far is it?” the giff asked, shattering Teldin’s growing anxiety. The giff seemed to march along with no appreciation of the world around him, the powers that surrounded them. He stomped along mechanically, easily avoiding the roots and tangles. The farmer guessed the giff was one of those blessed with the “elven-sight,” as his grandfather had called it, the superb night vision of that kind.

“Across the ridge and then just a little farther,” Teldin answered, somewhat annoyed with his big companion. He kept his voice to a whisper.

“What are you going to do?” Gomja asked.

Teldin wondered if the giff was just dense. “Warn Liam, of course.”

“And if he’s dead?”

Teldin spun about in rage. “He won’t be.” He snapped out the words through clenched teeth. “Now quiet. You don’t know what’s nearby.”

“Listen, human,” the giff pressed. “Give me a weapon-a dagger or one of the big knives. If we have to fight, I want to be ready.”

Teldin turned away as he spoke. “Why should I trust you?” he challenged.

“Because you’re a groundling farmer and I am a warrior of the giff,” Gomja answered plainly. Another might have made the words boastful, but from him it was a statement of fact. “If I meant to kill you, I could do it now. I could’ve killed you while you slept.”

Teldin bit his lip. The giff was right, but knowing that did not make his decision any easier. Finally he stopped, undid one of the giff’s knives, and passed it over to the alien.

Drawing the blade and inspecting it, Gomja pronounced, “Now I can fight. I only wish another of my people were here.”

Teldin, already moving again grunted with irritation. The creature talked too much, as far as he was concerned.

“If I fight valorously, who will know?” the giff explained, mistaking the exclamation for interest. “If we win, another giff could testify about my bravery. Then I could wear a tattoo of my victory with pride. If I loose, he could tell the others how I died gloriously in battle.” Gomja followed the smaller human, bulling his way through the underbrush. When Teldin did not answer, the giff at last gave up talking.

Dawn’s light was brushing over the rooftops of the buildings just as they reached the farm. Liam’s place had been here for years and was by now a mismatched collection of a house and several outbuildings, all built of wood and stone and fine shingles. The fences were in good repair, and the stone walls were sturdy. A pigsty divided the barn from the main house, while to the other side of the house was a stone wall that marked the edge of the fields. Although not wise in the world, old Liam possessed a special knack for farming.

The dark shape of Liam’s house was silent. Cautiously, the giff led the way into the farmyard. Teldin had fearfully expected the farmhouse and barn to be ablaze, the sty shattered, and the crops trampled. Instead, there was no sign of the neogi, or that they had yet arrived.

Relieved, Teldin moved to step past the giff. Just as he was about to take the lead, Gomja grabbed Teldin’s shoulder and pulled him back. “Should the doors be open?” he asked softly.

Teldin stopped short and scrutinized the outlines of the buildings. “Which doors?”

“Over there, and there,” Gomja replied, first pointing to the barn and then the farmhouse.

Teldin suddenly felt cold. Liam was a good farmer, too smart to let his livestock roam loose at night. “No. His cows would get out,” he said hoarsely, his throat choking up. Teldin stepped briskly through the tufted meadow. Dew splattered off the long foxtail stems.

Just beyond the corral fence was a damp shape. At first Teldin thought it was a pig nestled into the wallow, then the smell of raw meat started to come clear to his senses. “No!” he shouted and sprinted to the corral fence.

In a far corner he found a carcass, with bared bones dangling strings of hide and meat. Fence posts and walls glistened wetly in the growing dawn. Teldin’s foot kicked a fleshy lump. It squelched under his boot, and the farmer leaped back, crashing into the giffs rock-hard chest.

“The hogs,” Teldin offered in a hoarse voice. The dark corpses, huddled in the corners of the sty, were clearly not alive. The farmer gulped back his sudden disgust. “Neogi!”

“It would seem so, sir.” Gomja’s small eyes were wide, filled with the horrible wonder at what had happened here. “The veterans of my platoon said the neogi liked their kills fresh.”

“Kills,” Teldin echoed. ‘Quickly, the house!” Without waiting for the giff, Teldin whirled and sprinted through the muck of the sty. Caution abandoned, he charged toward the house, the cutlass in his hand flashing wildly in the dawn light. Behind him, thudding footsteps echoed between house and barn as Gomja trailed after, unable to keep pace with the human’s wild rush.

Teldin ran through the open doorway of Liam’s house. A horrid shadow leaped out of a corner. With a howl and wild scream, Teldin spun about and swung the cutlass with two hands, chopping through the intangible shape to bury the blade into the wood of the jamb like an axe. The blow sent painful vibrations through his arms. Tearing away a chunk of the wood, Teldin turned back to face the enemy, only to find that it was his own harmless shadow, the play of light and dark from a small fire in a hearth on the other side of the room.

Outside, Gomja stopped short of the doorway, its frame tiny compared to his great bulk. Stooping and twisting sideways, the giff carefully squeezed into the room. Inside, his seven-foot bulk just scraped the ceiling.

Teldin’s heart failed as he looked about the parlor. The furniture was in shambles, overturned and broken. Blood was smeared across the floor, splattered over the hearth, and ran in streaks down the overturned table. It gleamed red and brown in the warm yellow light of the fire. Frantically, Teldin tore through the room, but there were no bodies among the mess.

Another doorway stood in the far wall. Teldin knew from his many visits to Liam’s that it led to where the family slept, the only other room of the house. The doorjamb to that room was soaked, like the floor, with wet reds and browns.

Choking on fear and rage, Teldin slowly walked forward. He clutched the cutlass with both hands and held it just before his stomach, the blade jutting outward like the prow of a ship. Even held so firmly, the tip wobbled and wavered. Try as he might, Teldin was unable to stop his hands from shaking. Gomja loomed behind him, the giff forcing his way past the overturned furniture.

From the doorway, Teldin and Gomja cast hulking shadows across the floor and far wall, partially blotting out the shapes in the room. Rays of the morning sun barely gleamed through a dirty window covered in oilskin. The bedroom floor was a jagged landscape: broken bedposts, slats, shattered chests. Among the jutting profiles were rounded contours draped limply over the sharper forms.

Teldin shook as he stood in the doorway, unable to make himself go any farther. The air was warm and thick with the smell of blood. Flies buzzed in the shadows. ‘Too late,” Teldin choked out. “There’s no point. I waited too long.” The young farmer sagged by the doorway, the cutlass drooping in his limp hands.

Unable to think of a comforting word to say, the giff squeezed past the human. His ears brushed the rough beams of the ceiling, so he walked half-hunched into the room. With exaggerated caution, Gomja knelt to examine the closest shape, gingerly pulling aside the thick quilt that concealed it. A swarm of flies flew noisily away. The quilt was warm and wet, heavy with blood. Underneath, Gomja could see a body, tinged red in the window’s weak light. It had been a woman.

“Oh, gods, Eloise.” Teldin let the stifled words escape. Teldin knew he had seen worse in the war among the fields of dead, but these people were his friends, his father’s and grandfather’s friends. Teldin slowly got to his feet, then moved to check the other bodies.

It took the giff longer to regain his composure. His face was ill and hollow, a look Teldin remembered on raw recruits after their first battle. Unsteady on his feet, the giff joined Teldin in the search. A brief look was all either needed. The pair hastily bundled the bodies in the bloodstained blankets.

That work done, Teldin retreated from the room. The giff leaned heavily against the doorjamb, his chest heaving, his skin ashen gray. “How many lived here?” the giff managed to ask.

“Four. Liam, Eloise, and their two children, Telvar and Cyndia.” Teldin looked at the dark shapes in the room beyond. His shoulders were shaking. The sword was still clutched tightly in his hands. In his mind they all were still alive and welcoming him inside. “Liam and Eloise tried for children for such a long time. Telvar and Cyndia were twins. They were so…" Teldin let it go; there was no point in saying any more.

The giff nodded weakly. “Four,” he whispered.

“I was too late,” Teldin said. “I didn’t save them.” He slammed his fist against the jamb, driving the shaking fit away. He ignored his bloodied hand and turned to go back into the room. “Come on, giff,” the farmer said grimly. “We can’t leave them here. We’ll have to bury them. There should be a shovel in the barn.’’

“Yes, sir,” Trooper Gomja numbly replied.