56 RE

Southern Kura-Cora

Dry Season

A low tune vibrated through the moss-slicked trees. Its deep hum grew in intensity, then took on a heavy, quiet chant. It rose from the earth like smoke, fell like snow from the sky, multiplied through the trees like a swarm of hornets, expanding its range and tones into Onomi's laid-back ears. The dark chant told him one thing.

He had failed.

The troll sprinted along the barely visible path, his toe-claws extended to catch at earth and grass and mud and rock, propelling him deeper into the jungle. He panted, tongue lolling and green eyes wide. His black fur bristled. Onomi had failed, and no matter how fast or far he fled, someone would make him pay for his mistake.

Leaves and branches and vines tried to catch at him, as if to turn him over to the voices that sung for his death. Onomi grunted and clawed past them, even as they tugged at his leather sleeves and scratched across his bead-mail vest.

Onomi swallowed and blinked away tears. This was no time to cry! Terror flowed as adrenaline through his system, tripling his strength, although even his instinct of flight would not keep him safe forever.

How could this happen?! he demanded of himself. I did everything I was supposed to!

Onomi searched frantically for escape along the trail, mane swinging as his head darted back and forth. He couldn't climb a tree. Hiding under a boulder would do him no good either. There was no escape from the Guardian. He could only flee, hoping the Guardian would lose interest in him and return to the Sanctuary.

Onomi's eyes stung from more tears, and as he blinked them, his foot caught on a root, and he slammed into a puddle of mud and leaves. He lost his breath. The song of the spirits clamored around him, condemning him, calling for the Guardian to steal his spirit. Onomi automatically pushed up and shook himself before blurring away half a second later.

He stumbled to a halt, bowed over and heaving breaths, when he saw a shadow moving among the shadows about a dozen yards off. An intense heat flowed before it, making his fur ripple slightly. Despite the heat, Onomi felt cold fear strumming through the blood in his throat, leaving a stinging sensation in his head. He removed a small knife from his vest––his last weapon––and forced himself to stand like a true warrior.

His legs shook at the idea, and Onomi felt like curling up in a ball like a cub and screaming. He had tried to face the Guardian already, and its terror had sent him scurrying into the darks of the jungle night. As the shadow approached him, the chants that had followed from behind surrounded him. The spirits wanted him dead for his failure.

Onomi grimaced, snout wrinkling. His skin crinkled against three long teeth pierced through the bridge of his nose. They were a status symbol, the magic of the shaman, of his ability to once summon the very spirits that would tear his flesh to bits did not the Guardian already have that right. Onomi refused to remove the teeth, which he had fought and slain an ice raptor for. He had worked too hard to come all this way, only to fail, but that didn't mean he had to give up everything he had.

Onomi's stomach churned, and he leaned over further. Why did he stand and wait for the Guardian? The shadow weaved deliberately through the trees, two pale eyes glowing from its head. The chants and humming cycled around him, growing louder as the shadow came closer. Onomi knew he should keep running, but now that he had stopped, his body was trembling in exhaustion, yet frozen in fear.

He realized then what had happened. Once he had stopped moving, the spirits had filled his head with their death chants and seized his limbs with their invisible powers. Earth slid over his feet, fingering through his fur and claws. The air seemed to squeeze around his head and into his ears, and the spirits forced him to keep looking at his black, smoldering executioner.

I'm alone, came the stunning realization. When Onomi felt the harsh grip of the spirits, he realized they were forcing him towards his doom, not saving him. They had abandoned all loyalty to him. Onomi growled and almost forgot about the Guardian. Curse the spirits, then! Curse all they had meant! He didn't need them.

The shadow brushed onto the dirt trail and halted. It looked like black smoke, dark as coal, absorbing light into its depths. It was tall and held the shape of a troll, back hunched and arms hanging as if it were tired. Its two white eyes focused on him, each with three slitted pupils that dripped with glaring hot white tears, which faded into its face.

"You have failed," the Guardian whispered as if dying. Its voice was as dreary as the chants, old as the ages. "You will die."

Onomi roared and shook his body, managing to break the hold of the spirits, and lunged forward with his stone knife.

The Guardian held up a clawed hand and caught Onomi's head. The heat of a bonfire burned against his fur. The troll tried to jerk his head back, but the spirit held him fast. Onomi slashed at the arm with knife and claw, but they passed through as if the Guardian was not there.

A hot sensation shot into his head and flooded all his nerves. It was as if lava filled his very veins. Onomi shrieked, dropping his knife and grabbing at the Guardian's hand. A moment later all fire flitted from him, and the Guardian let him collapse on the ground.

"The spirits have left you," the Guardian growled, eyes rolling away in opposite directions. "You failed."

When Onomi looked up, the Guardian was gone. The hums and chants of the spirits, as well as their oppressive presence, had disappeared. Instead came low croons and calls that were normal to the jungle. Onomi dropped his head and rasped in breaths across the mud, body shivering in relief. Despite his fear and anger, he felt a pounding ache enter his heart.

He had failed, and he was alone.