The Seed – part 7

by KM Scott

To BC – Happy Birthday, and have many more!

She told him to get out. Naturally, he didn't go.

Helga stared at Arnold with glazing eyes, her skin pale in the darkening light inside the cottage as Gerald struggled to throw up a makeshift barrier along the front room wall.

"Arnold," she implored, her voice little more than a ragged whisper. She raised a shaking hand at him, web-like lines of blood seeping from under the fingernails and gashes on her wrists.

Arnold moved to grasp it. "I won't leave you-"

Helga flexed her fingers. The wind roared past his ears in a WHOOSH as Arnold was lifted off his feet by an unseen and clearly unreasonable force. He gasped in pain as he bashed through a back door of the cottage. His head was almost between his knees and his bottom lead the charge over the grass outside. For one fleeting second, he noted with interest that he may have been experiencing what a shuttlecock went through on a common basis.

He only had a moment or so to notice that up seemed gray and down seemed green, and that he was heading away from the house, at a good clip. Then his jaw banged into the top of his skull, and something harsh, sharp, and unforgiving started digging at his posterior.

Suddenly, he drew to a stop, then rolled on his side from the momentum. He winced as he stood, pulling at whatever it was that poked itself into his trousers. It was a pine cone.

He was in a forest. Far away from the cottage. Helga had … pushed him into the forest behind the cottage. She wanted him to go to the cave.

The cave that was "less than a league" from ….

Arnold's thoughts were interrupted by strange noises from all around him. He wanted desperately to run back to the cottage and help Helga and Gerald, but pain stabbed at him just from the effort of getting to his feet. His wounds – the ones sustained from the irg-wraith attack, the very wounds that Helga had dressed – were distressed, probably opening up again due to his violent flight.

He wouldn't be able to do them any good.

Arnold stood for a moment, trying to focus on the odd noises. The cottage was too far away and just over a rise in the landscape for him to see. He heard the swarm of monsters. He could only imagine what they were doing to two of the only people he had left in the world. He knew he should be heading for the cave – but how could he and just leave his friends there? And where was this cave anyway, it's not as if Helga had given him directions –

And then a god must have stomped on the world, because a booming noise, the intensity of which he'd never before heard, shook the woods around him and flattened him again on his back. His wits were intact enough for him to scramble for a loose branch to upright himself a second time.

He had no idea what the blast had been, but the universe seemed to be making it clear to him: It was time to run.

Well, limp. Leaning on the branch for support, Arnold hobbled aimlessly over the twisted brush, trying to get some idea of where he'd been meant to go. The terrain was still slick from the rain, and so he would slip, even tumble on some occasions. More alien noises and the odd THUMP of what sounded like explosions could be heard from the distance. What was going on?

He forced the question from his mind, along with the inevitability of his best friend and love of his life dying. Another concern was quickly taking its place in his growing list of worries: there could be any number of caves in this area. Which one was he looking for?

He'd only been walking for a few minutes when he'd seen the black mound behind a clutch of trees. Shambling further ahead, he could make out the darkening of a shadow on one side of the mound – the mouth, possibly. This could have been it. He tried to ignore the growing pain in his side as he struggled up some rough land which turned out to be an incline heading up toward the cave.

And then something hissed behind him.

It could have been a simple animal, such as a bear or an idrix. Of course, a bear could tear him to shreds and an idrix typically outweighed a bear by a good 14 stones. So, all-in-all, there was really nothing to take comfort in. But Arnold did not look back. He would not turn around. He was going to make the cave; he was going to find shelter. He would not give whatever was chasing him the satisfaction of seeing his fear.

There was another hiss, this one followed by the characteristic, stuttering chut-chut-chut sound. The sound he was too familiar with. The sound he'd heard as he had been bitten, before his world went away. When he woke up, he had seen the face of his angel.

He somehow knew that would not happen a second time.

Chut-chut-chut. The sound came again, this one on top of the other. There was more than one. More and more hisses came from the brush around him, and he could tell as they closed in on him that the first had probably told the others where to find him. He tried to quicken his pace.

Hiss-chut-chut-chut. He stepped on a smooth rock which dived out of its bed under his weight. He lost his footing and fell, once again, face down in the wet dirt, sliding to a stop at the foot of the incline. He reached for his makeshift crutch, and something moved just at the corner of his vision. He picked up a stone and tossed it into the brush nearby. It landed with a thud, but he could sense no more movement.

He regained his branch and stood again, pain and exhaustion dogging his every move. They were directly behind him. He could tell. They were going to attack at any moment. He had no idea why they hadn't already, really. Why were they waiting? Was it a game? Were they toying with him? They seemed to be creatures made of pure cruelty. It did not seem out of their nature. Hiss-chut-chut-chut. Arnold tightened his grip on the branch.

And then one of the things casually walked out in front of him.

Slime dripped from its maw as it regarded him with sickly green eyes. He was in no position to fight. He wondered, however, if he could brain at least one of the things before they killed him. Gods, he missed Helga's face-

All at once, the irg-wraith suddenly squawked or barked or something, jumping up and down in a display of what Arnold could only assume was …. Well, he didn't know what it was expressing, really – these things didn't show fear.

Or, such was his conviction – he could've been wrong. The forest was abruptly alive with a gaggle of irg-wraiths, scrambling and hooting and crashing into each other. The throaty chants and hisses from earlier were replaced by chicken squabble. But most importantly – they seemed to be ignoring him.

He didn't bother to wonder why. With renewed vigor and grateful thanks for what was presumably a chance at salvation, Arnold fought against agony and gravity, pushing himself up the incline with every ounce of strength that he had. He was putting in such a concentrated effort that, had he not stopped to catch his breath, he may have missed the bizarre, piercing howl from somewhere in the distance.

In a way, it was really no more unusual than any of the other monstrous noises he'd heard since Balmoral. But he inherently knew this sound to be different. He could see from the violent shaking of the brush around him that the irg-wraiths were even more agitated upon hearing the sound, running away from the woods at a faster pace.

Something close by had scared the gathering of irg-wraiths.

Arnold grasped a tree trunk and virtually threw himself up the rest of the incline.

Cracks and shuffling approached the area. Arnold continued to the mouth of the cave, stumbling a bit as he lowered himself into the hole, trying not to think about what he might find down there. Things had gotten uncomfortably quiet in the last few seconds, and he had to keep his mind sharp.

He nestled himself in a natural groove in the wall of the cave and sat perfectly still, trying to quiet his breathing. He intently watched the trees and brush outside for any movement. He jumped once or twice at something shaking the leaves, but it was only the wind. He'd have to get himself under control.

He inched just so to his right, trying to press himself completely against the wall, when he noticed that the curvature in the rock formation formed a small shelf above him. It seemed even more recessed into the wall than his current position. Drawing a deep breath, Arnold struggled to climb atop the shelf. He heaved and grunted in pain and effort, and nearly cursed himself when he'd finally wedged himself in – the shelf wasn't as wide as he'd thought. Still and all, he was more concealed than before. He slowly inched himself further in.

He stopped when something small with dark-green skin shot past the cave entrance. It took a second to register that the thing had run in the opposite direction of the approaching thing in the woods.

The boy with the somewhat almond-shaped head stared dumbfounded. Whatever this thing was – did it change its direction? Was it driving the wraiths back?

He'd barely begun to think about these questions before the green thing returned to the mouth of the cave. It was an irg-wraith, unmistakably.

Arnold stopped breathing.

The grotesque creature nervously sniffed the air, its head twitching to and fro, yellow eyes wide in what was definitely a look of unease. Its clawed feet started to back further and further into the cave.

Arnold's teeth grinded as his jaw clenched. The damnable thing was looking for shelter in his cave.

Another howl was heard, far closer than it had been before. It was accompanied with a sick, rasping, alien wail, and for once, Arnold's eyes lit up with hope: whatever it was out there may have killed an irg-wraith. His light faded, however, when he saw the intruder at the cave mouth dart into the darkness inside.

Arnold didn't even have time to brace himself – but he didn't need to. The wraith ran past as if it hadn't noticed him. Lucky.

Lucky until it smelled him and returned, anyway.

Minutes passed in the length of a lifetime. The pain in his side became overwhelming; he had to shift his weight. He slowly began to inch his torso to the other side. He couldn't wait here forever, he knew that. But what could he possibly do? There were bound to be pockets of Seed everywhere. It would be foolhardy to think that whatever was outside hunting them would be friendly. Even if the woods were clear of those who wished to devour him, he had no idea where he was, and wouldn't survive the night with his wounds.

Panic was a very uncomfortable feeling for Arnold. He had been known as a tireless optimist his whole life for good reasons. He was always able to look at the bright side of things, always able to see a way out when all others saw closed doors. But he had been inches away from death less than half a day ago. It scared him. He'd never felt so helpless in all his life.

He'd been so taken with trying to stifle the growing cold in his belly that he failed to notice the acrid stench at first. A smell he knew all too well.

The irg-wraith had come back. It was close enough to smell.

He still had his stick. It had no chance of working, but he would not die helpless. He could hear the fearful respiration of the thing near him. Perhaps it was just looking to see if the coast was clear. A roar from outside froze both of their breathing.

Arnold decided not to waste the moment. He lunged over the side of the shelf and stabbed, swung, clubbed. A roar of his own burst from his throat as he attacked with a strength he'd never known, even when fit and healthy. Even if he didn't kill the wraith, it would know it had been in a fight for its life.

It was thus with a mix of shock, horror, and a bit of disappointment that Arnold opened his eyes and realized he was attacking the empty air. There was nothing there!

Arnold darted his head back and forth. It couldn't have possibly run away without him seeing it. He would have at least heard the things claws on the cave floor. Where had it gone?

Something thick, wet, and revolting dripped on his shoulder. Arnold looked up. Above his shelf was a smaller, rocky outcropping.

Resting atop it was the irg-wraith, drool dripping from its maw.

The curiosity it held in its eyes upon watching the bizarre-acting human attack the nothingness beneath it melted away to the narrowed gaze of a predator about to feast. Startled, Arnold tried to roll off the shelf onto his feet, but only managed to fall on his wounded side. He fought down the cry in his throat, but it managed to escape anyway.

The wraith above him snarled a hateful sound as it drew its lips back, revealing steely teeth. Arnold wanted to grab his stick, but it killed him to even roll onto his back. The irg-wraith descended its mount; slowly crawling towards the helpless human in a move that Arnold realized was deliberate. It was trying to inspire more fear. The yellow in its eyes began to glow red, and a stinger at the back of its throat began to unsheathe itself from some unspeakable organ. Arnold had seen this before. It was how they injected eggs into their victims.

He closed his eyes, forcing tears to run down his scratched and bruised cheeks.

He screamed a long and loud scream of desperation and terror as the wraith landed bodily on top of him. He pounded his fists against it, rammed his knees into it, ignoring his agony as he battled it in the fight of his life.

It was a battle, he noticed, that seemed very one-sided.

Arnold opened his eyes. The irg-wraith lay across him, in a position that seemed to Arnold as if it were trying to guard its catch from another predator.

He realized he would have to re-evaluate his guess when he saw the irg-wraith's head laying a good distance away from the body, sliced cleanly from its neck, a stupid-looking rictus of surprise spread across its face.

He thrust his arms against the beheaded beast and finally shoved it off of him. He moved to get to his feet, but fell in the effort, managing to sit upright, his arms and legs flailing as he scooted himself backwards, pushing himself away from the corpse. It was just about the point where he'd began to notice that the light in the cave had darkened considerably when he roughly banged into something rigid behind him. He turned to see what it was.

And the monstrous thing, whose leg he'd banged into, bent down to look at him.

Suddenly, Arnold was up in the air as the massive, humanoid beast held him up for inspection, its fingers easily wrapping about his waist. Its snout was flared, sniffing his scent, as its mouth full of sharp fangs growled and grunted in some kind of utterance that he couldn't begin to understand.

"I-I … ah …" Arnold nonetheless tried to communicate. The thing had eyes, he was sure of it, but the massive matting of crimson hair exploding from its scalp and covering its face made it hard to see. That and the patches of blood that speckled it. He couldn't help but wonder where that blood came from.

The creature curiously sniffed at Arnold with deep snorts which he couldn't match with three pairs of lungs. "Please –" he once again tried to reason. But the thing wasn't listening to him. It suddenly craned its head to some unheard sound. Then it turned to look at Arnold again, and this time he saw its large, black eyes boring right into his.

And then, with Arnold screaming in its grasp, it rushed them both from the cave.