The Survivors

CHAPTER 14

Bradok hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He knew he had, though, because he was dreaming. He found himself walking through the deserted and silent streets of Ironroot. He tried to force himself to wake up, but the dream only worsened. Apart from the confusion of being in a place he knew no longer existed, he couldn’t seem to remember why he wanted to wake up. It nagged at him, like the pain of a molar that needed removing.

As he walked around the statue of Argus Gingerbeard, he realized that he had developed a limp. He didn’t remember hurting his leg and, in fact, his leg didn’t seem to be in any pain; it just didn’t work as it should. Figuring it might have fallen asleep, he tried shaking and rubbing it to no avail.

When he looked up from his exertions, he discovered the cooper, Silas, standing at the base of the statue, regarding him.

“Silas,” Bradok stammered.

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” Silas told him sadly. “You need to be strong. Others will need your strength.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Bradok said.

Silas shook his head. “You must do better than that,” he warned. “Trust yourself and have faith.”

The light overhead flared, and Bradok had to shield his eyes. When it subsided, Silas was gone. Only the last words of his message, “have faith, have faith …” seemed to echo on in the distance.

While he stood there pondering Silas’s appearance, a bloodcurdling scream erupted out of nowhere.

Bradok whirled, trying desperately to locate the source of the cry. The city seemed to bend and waver as if it were melting; then it dissolved around him. Have faith, faith, faith …

He woke up, lying on the sand where he’d fallen asleep. Sitting up, he became aware of a long pink ropelike appendage hanging down from the ceiling, slowly wrapping itself around his leg. With a cry of disgust, he jerked his sword free of its scabbard and sliced the thing in two. Milky white liquid spurted from the wound and spattered Bradok’s leg and chest. He tried to wipe it off, but it burned his hand. Cursing, he rubbed his hand in the sand to get the acidic goo off.

The pink tentacle withdrew back up to the ceiling but Bradok could see the strange orange fungi above were trailing long tentacles down among the sleeping dwarves. Already they had wrapped around some and were pulling them into the air, toward open maws. Bradok could see the orange fungi peeled back, like bananas, with tiny tentacles waving inside. They would bleed their victims dry once the pink tongues sucked them in. Bradok shouted a warning to the others, but he had his own troubles.

He tried to kick his leg, to dislodge the tentacle end that was still wrapped around his leg, but his leg spasmed. Where the tentacle touched him, it had secreted a clear substance that had soaked through his trouser leg, turning his leg numb. Using the tip of his sword, Bradok peeled the pink appendage away from his leg.

Rolling over, he pushed himself to his knees and stood, or rather, tried to stand. The moment he put weight on his numb leg, it collapsed beneath him, sending him sprawling in the sand.

A second tentacle dropped from above and struck Bradok on the shoulder. Before it could latch onto him, he chopped it away, sending the bleeding stump retreating back to the ceiling.

Off to his left, a tentacle had wrapped around one of the hill dwarves and was pulling her upward. Bradok lurched forward, putting his weight on his good leg, and chopped away the tentacle, sending the unconscious dwarf falling into the sand with a thud.

Screams and cries and the sounds of battle filled the cavern as most of the dwarves woke up to discover themselves in the grip of the nightmarish attack. Bradok hobbled over to where Kellik grappled with a tentacle that had Hemmish in its grip. Each time Kellik’s hammer struck the tentacle, it would contract; the net effect was that it pulled the boy higher and higher away from his father.

“Use your knife,” Bradok cried as he slashed wildly at the appendage, cutting it part of the way through and sending it spinning. Kellik swung at it with his knife but missed, leaving Bradok to chop Hemmish free when the tentacle spun back his way.

“Help me unravel him,” Kellik said to Rijul as he pulled the limp end of the tentacle off his younger son.

“Hemmish,” Kellik yelled, shaking the boy. “Hemmish, wake up!” Kellik thumped him on the chest, hard, and Hemmish gasped, coughed, and started breathing weakly.

“Help me!” came a terrified shriek to their left.

“Stay with him,” Bradok told Kellik as he lurched to the rescue.

A few yards away, Starlight, Marl Anvil’s eldest granddaughter, was struggling to free Marl from a tentacle lifting him off the ground. Marl’s hip was bleeding profusely. Nearby the two younger grandchildren held each other and cried.

As thin and delicate as the tentacles seemed, the creatures were strong. By the time Bradok got there, they had lifted Marl almost out of reach. Bradok hacked away at the tentacle, trying not to hit Marl. Finally he struck a good blow. The tentacle spurted white fluid that mixed with Marl’s blood, and it unwound quickly, sending the old man spinning into a heap.

Bradok grabbed Marl’s cloak, still lying on the sand and pressed a corner to his bleeding hip.

“Hold this down tight on his wound,” he told Starlight. “If any more of them come down, chop at them with your knives.” Bradok motioned the other two children over to their big sister’s side. Then he realized that one member of the family was absent.

“Where’s your grandmother?” he asked. “Where’s Isirah?”

With a trembling hand, the boy, Graylin, pointed up to the ceiling. Bradok looked up just in time to see her unconscious form being sucked into one of the orange fungi. It closed its maw around her hungrily, and Isirah vanished from sight.

“Damn it!” Bradok shouted just as someone grabbed his shoulder.

“Help us,” Jeni, one of the Daergar, said desperately. Her hair was disheveled and smeared with the slime from the tentacles. The sticky liquid covered her left cheek, causing it to remain frozen when she talked, forcing her to slur her words.

“Where?” Bradok asked, forcing himself to rejoin the fight. Jeni ran ahead, pointing, and Bradok limped after her. On the far side of the cavern, Corin was battling for his life. He’d been almost completely wrapped in a tentacle, and his arms moved weakly as he tried to saw his way free. Xurces lay unconscious on the ground, and Omer, confused by the attack, was wailing and covering his head. The assassin, Thurl, hung in the air, trussed like a holiday duck, and of the rotund Hurlic there was no sign.

Bradok chopped away at the tentacle holding Corin then cut down Thurl, who dropped to the ground like a stone.

“Untie him,” Corin gasped, pulling the ropy flesh away from Thurl’s body. “The tentacles are poisoned; the longer they make contact with your skin, the more you absorb, until you’re dead.”

Bradok pulled away the tentacles from the semiconscious assassin. Even as he did so, he could feel his hands growing numb where the sticky substance coating the tentacles spilled on him.

“Thank you,” Thurl whispered. His eyes locked feverishly on Bradok and seemed to bore into him. “I owe you my life,” the assassin said weakly. “I am your man … till I die.”

“Easy there,” Bradok said. “Just rest for a minute.” He turned to Corin. “You seem to know something about these strange creatures. How come you didn’t warn us?” he demanded.

“I’ve only heard about them from stories told by old ones,” Corin said, his voice raspy and strained. “Do you think I’ve actually seen one before? They’re called cave fishers.”

Bradok opened his mouth to tell Corin that he didn’t give two figs what the tentacles were called when he heard a single word rise above all the chaos of sound filling the cavern.

“Rose!”

He whirled and saw Tal hanging on to his sister as a relentless tentacle pulled her upward. Tal’s left arm hung limply at his side, it was clear he wouldn’t be able to hang on much longer.

“Rose!” Tal shouted again.

Bradok ran toward them, forcing his benumbed leg to work by shear dint of will. As he ran, he tore off his cloak and swung it around over his head. He reached them just as Tal’s grip faltered. Swinging his cloak round, he launched it up, wrapping it around Rose as she hung upside down. He caught the loose end and pulled, using the cloak as a kind of sling. The cave fisher pulled back, trying to lift them both off the ground.

“Don’t let go,” Tal pleaded, powerless to rise from the ground.

“It’s poisoning her every second it touches her,” Bradok said. “We’ve got to get her down or she’ll die soon enough.”

Tal rolled over, face-first in the sand, and forced himself to stand.

“Use my sword,” Bradok said, indicating, as he twisted and turned, the handle protruding from the scabbard on his hip.

Tal flung his limp arm against Bradok, and his fingers caught the hilt. He could grip the weapon, but lacked the strength to pull it out of its sheath. Finally he simply stepped back, and the weapon slid from its scabbard and hung as loosely as his arm.

“Cut at it,” Bradok gasped.

“Where?” Tal asked, swinging his body around so that the sword flailed out and smacked the tentacle with the flat of the blade.

“Anywhere,” Bradok said. “Try again.”

Tal swung again with similar ineffectual results.

“Again,” Bradok said, his voice a near scream. “Hold on, Rose!”

Then he heard the sound of steel whirring through the air, and suddenly Rose fell free. He fell with her, quickly rolling off and tearing the tentacles away. The top of the tentacle had been cleanly severed. Bradok turned and saw Thurl, his body forced into a sitting position, nodding before he slumped over.

Rose coughed, gasped, and began breathing. Tal cradled her head in his lap as best he could, and Bradok retrieved his sword.

“Go help the others,” Tal said. “We’re all right now.”

Bradok stood and faced the chamber. Everywhere dwarves were attacking the tentacles with knives and swords. Several bodies hung in the air, in the process of being pulled up to the ceiling, some already too high up to save. Bradok willed his eyes to avoid their faces. There would be time for a reckoning later.

A scream broke upon his ear as he chopped at a fresh tentacle that had dropped down too close to him. The sound was horrible, somehow visceral in its anguish. It took Bradok a minute to recognize the voice as Much’s.

He looked over to spot his old friend racing madly from group to group, chopping at tentacles with his short sword. But he kept moving and appeared to be looking for something, or someone.

“Teal!” Much screamed, vaulting over a cowering dwarf and racing on.

Bradok remembered the curly-haired toddler and looked around. With a gasp he realized he didn’t see the little girl. Fear gripped him and pulled his eyes inexorably upward. There, far above him on the ceiling, he saw a flash of color-the rag doll Much had made. The little girl Teal lay, still cradled in the arms of her unconscious mother, both wrapped by a tentacle.

“There!” Bradok yelled before he realized there was nothing that could be done. Already the mouth began to close around mother and child, and he had to turn away at the grisly slight.

Much screamed something, but his voice faded to insignificance as an animal roar erupted from behind Bradok. Turning, he saw Omer staring up at the horror. Omer’s hands were clenched into fists. Even from that distance, Bradok could see veins popping in the boy’s neck. An unearthly orange glow shone out from his eyes, as if his very brain were on fire. Then he screamed.

“TEAL, NO!”

The sound was so overpowering, it shook the ground, taking Bradok so much by surprise that he fell over backward from the force of the scream. Then, as Bradok lay on the ground, watching agape, the young dwarf with the mind of a child took three steps that brought him close to Bradok and launched himself into the air.

Remarkably, Omer’s leap took him all the way up to the roof of the cavern. He caught hold of the cave fisher that had grabbed his precious girl and, holding it around the middle, swung his legs up so his feet were planted on the ceiling. Then he pulled.

From his vantage point below, Bradok could see the veins in Omer’s arms and legs bulging and the look of naked rage on his face.

With a wet, tearing sound, the cave fisher began to pull free of the ceiling. Bradok could see its wiggling, thrashing roots flailing about. With a groan and a thunderous crack, the ceiling broke away, and Omer and the cave fisher both dropped to the ground.

The cave fisher burst open like an overripe melon, and Teal’s mother slid out. Her arm flopped down, sending little Teal rolling free from her grasp. Teal ended up in a heap on the sand, still clutching her rag doll but showing no signs of life.

Bradok started forward, but Omer beat him to Teal. He leaped beside the little girl and stood there, as if guarding her. The orange glow died from behind his eyes as he reached out one of his oversized hands and nudged Teal. The girl didn’t respond.

She had been too long in the grips of the tentacle, and she was so very small. The poison had taken Teal long before she’d reached the ceiling. Her tiny form lay in the sand as if asleep, but Bradok knew it was a sleep from which she’d never wake.

Omer pushed her again. “Teal,” he said, his voice childlike and pleading. “Please get up. Teal?” Finally, Omer understood. He reached out with trembling hands and lifted Teal to his bosom. In his hands, she seemed like a doll.

Omer’s shoulders shook as he sobbed, then he threw back his head and howled like a wounded dog. The mad howl echoed off the walls of the chamber, a howl of pain, love, and loss.

Much had come up beside Omer. He leaned down and picked up the rag doll that had slipped from Teal’s hand. As the young dwarf vented his grief, Much held the doll gently, as one would a living child. Tears streamed down the old dwarf’s face and wet his beard. Dwarves rarely cry in public, especially revered elders such as Much. But it took all of Much’s self-control not to drop to his knees and howl along with Omer.

Gradually Omer’s howls turned to hoarse sobs. Bradok looked around. Omer wasn’t the only one mourning. Marl Anvil held his grandchildren as they wept for the loss of their grandmother. Urlish Hearthhome and Seerten Rockhide held each other, and both seemed to be in shock. Others sat, stunned, miserable.

The tentacles had retreated to the ceiling, but Bradok knew they’d badly hurt the survivors. Behind him Omer howled again.

“Will someone shut him up?” Chisul said, emerging from behind a column of rock. He had a long smear of the sticky tentacle fluid on his right side and cradled his right arm against his body.

Bradok was enraged. With a howl to match Omer’s, he leaped at Chisul, brandishing his sword. He grabbed Silas’s son by the shirtfront and pressed his sword against the dwarf’s throat.

“I’d shut my mouth if I were you,” Bradok yelled, tasting bile in his mouth. “That little girl is dead because of you!”

Chisul struggled in vain to throw Bradok off with his one good arm.

“I had nothing to do with that,” he protested.

“You had to be the big dwarf,” Bradok spat. “You had to convince everyone to stay here. The compass warned us to move on!”

He shoved Chisul away so hard, the dwarf stumbled and fell in a heap. Bradok threw his sword down in the sand and stormed off. He wanted to be mad at Chisul, but he was really mad at himself. He couldn’t help thinking that he should have done more to convince everyone to follow the compass. In his dream, Silas had told him to be strong. In the future he would have to be stronger, strong enough to face down Chisul or Corin or anyone or everyone. If he weren’t strong in the future, more lives would be lost.

Bradok walked back to where Much stood clutching the little rag doll to his chest.

“This didn’t have to happen,” Bradok hissed. “We should have done what the compass said. It’s my fault. You should blame me.”

“You didn’t make us stay here,” Much said ruefully. “We voted for that. Remember?”

Bradok held Much’s eyes for a long moment. Then he turned and went back to retrieve his sword. He picked it up, slid it into its sheath, then turned to address the huddled dwarves.

“All right, listen up,” he called out in a hoarse voice. “Everyone get your gear together and get down to the beach. Stay alert for any more tentacles. You have five minutes, go.”

After exchanging glances, everyone scurried into action. Bradok turned to find Thurl standing quietly behind him.

“You want I should kill him?” Thurl asked, nodding toward Chisul. The assassin looked almost fully recovered. The way he asked the question was like asking someone to pass the salt at the supper table. “I can make it look like an accident,” he added.

Bradok shook his head. “It’s not really his fault,” he said. “Besides, we may need him.”

“What do you wish of me now?” Thurl asked.

Bradok stared at him. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I am your man now,” Thurl said. “You saved my life; I am forever in your debt.”

“That isn’t necessary,” Bradok said, a little embarrassed. “I did what anyone would have done. You don’t owe me anything.”

Thurl shook his head and smiled, showing his pointed teeth. “I doubt anyone but you would have saved me.” He nodded toward Rose. “Maybe her,” he said, “but she was busy at the time.”

“Still,” Bradok said, “I don’t need a servant or an assassin.”

“The debt stands,” Thurl said firmly. “But since you don’t need me now, well, I’ll go help the others pack up.”

Bradok watched Thurl walk away, wondering what he would do about his new, unwanted friend. Whatever he decided, it would have to wait. He turned and walked down to the beach, stopping only long enough to use his sword to cut the top off of one of the fat, red mushrooms. Had the mushroom been more solid, the top could have been used as a shield. As it was, it would serve its purpose.

Much had led Omer down to the beach, away from the scene of death. He still held the body of Teal against his chest and refused to release her. Bradok came up to the small group and set the mushroom top down next to Omer, kneeling down.

“Give me the doll,” he said, reaching out to Much. Reluctantly the old dwarf passed it over.

“Omer,” Bradok said gently. “We need you to let go of Teal.”

“No,” Omer whispered. “Love Teal.” Tears streamed down his face.

“I know, Omer,” Bradok said. “We all loved her. But Teal’s gone. We have to let her go.”

“No!” Omer said. “Not let Teal go.”

Bradok put his hand on Omer’s shoulder. “She’s already gone, but she left something behind-for you.”

Bradok held out the doll and, after a long moment, Omer took it, handing over the toddler’s body. Reverently, Bradok lifted the little girl and laid her on the flat underside of the mushroom top. She was still the most beautiful child, with rosy cheeks and delicate curly hair. Her tiny lips were curled in a relaxed smile, and she looked for all the world as if she were just playing peek-a-boo, waiting for someone to laugh before jumping up and surprising them all. The sight of her dead little body made Bradok ache.

“Get me some of the glowsacs from a Reorx’s torch mushroom,” he told Much.

Carefully, Bradok arranged Teal’s arms at her sides and brushed her curls out of her tranquil face.

“Here,” Much said, handing Bradok four glowing hunks of mushroom.

Bradok arranged the glowing bits around the edge of the mushroom top. He picked it up, surprised by how little it weighed, and waded into the gentle surf of the black lake. He placed the makeshift funeral boat on the water and pushed it out. It spun and bobbed until a current caught it and swept it out into the lake, a lone beacon of light against the vast darkness.

From behind him, someone began playing an ocarina, blowing a sad song whose words spoke of lost love. Bradok didn’t turn around, keeping his eyes on the death boat as it receded from his view.

“Good-bye, Teal,” Omer said in a small voice. “Never forget you.” He held the rag doll to his chest in a fierce grip. “Always love Teal,” he whispered. “Never forget.”

They stood there in the gentle surf, Bradok, Much, and Omer, for a long, long time, until the boat was just a pinpoint of light impossibly far away. Finally Bradok turned back.

“It’s time to go,” he said and marched up the slope, away from the beach.

When he reached the exit passage, he found everyone else had gathered there, waiting for him and the others. Rose and Kellik were putting sand in a shallow grave with the privy shovel.

“We buried her mother,” Rose said.

“I never knew her name,” Bradok confessed.

“Lonaway,” Kellik supplied. “Her husband’s name was Lodan. He’s one of the missing. Not much hope that he or any of them will be found alive.”

“How many did we lose?” Bradok asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Fourteen,” Rose said.

Bradok wanted to curse or scream or weep, but he was too weary to do anything except listen as Kellik recited a list of names.

Bradok recognized Isirah Anvil and Hurlic the Daergar. Most of the names were of dwarves he’d scarcely known, but he felt a sharp pain when Kellik read the name Dallon Ramshorn. Dallon was the wheelwright from Everguard who had fought the mushroom men beside him. Fought bravely, Dallon had. It seemed impossible that the big, easygoing dwarf could be gone, just like that.

“All right,” Bradok said once Kellik had finished listing the dead and Much and Omer had rejoined them. He raised his voice for the others to hear. “We’ve all lost friends and loved ones here tonight. We’ll mourn our dead as is proper, but for now we must go. It isn’t safe here, and we must find a place to rest and regroup.”

He checked the compass and found the Seer pointing onward as she had always done before. However, her face seemed sorrowful, as if she wept beneath the white bandage across her eyes.

“From now on I want four armed dwarves in the lead and two in the back,” Bradok said, snapping the compass lid closed.

Kellik, Vulnar, Tal, and Corin volunteered to take the lead, and Bradok said he’d bring up the rear with Thurl. With that, the dwarves began filing up the passageway in silence. He spotted Rose. She was cradling her right arm and seemed to be limping, but she flashed him a warm smile as she moved in step with the others.

Bradok sighed and fell to walking beside Thurl. Just before the passage curved and the cavern disappeared behind them, he stopped and glanced back. He would have sworn he heard a toddler giggling.

The sound pained his heart.

He wondered if he’d ever forget that beautiful little girl and her giggle.