Cyrus LongBones Box Set Page 14

  Fibian signaled for silence and ducked low. In a tiny clearing ahead, a small boar rooted in the soil. Fibian unshouldered the bow and beckoned Cyrus closer. Then he handed him the weapon.

  “You want to grip the bow just below the middle of the shaft and pull the string back to the corner of your mouth,” the froskman whispered, his grey coloring blending with the shadows.

  “What? I don’t know how to shoot an arrow,” Cyrus whispered.

  “It is time you learned,” Fibian said, pushing the bow back into Cyrus’ hands.

  Cyrus took the weapon and nocked the arrow like he had seen Fibian do. Then, keeping his left arm firm and straight, he raised the bow. With his right hand, he drew the arrow to the corner of his mouth. Both arms shook.

  “Aim down the arrow shaft,” Fibian whispered, “and when you release the string, let your right hand fall back to your right shoulder.”

  Cyrus was not against killing animals for food. He had helped Llysa and his brother kill many chickens and pigs in the past for supper. But he realized now that he had never delivered the killing blow.

  “Good,” Fibian said in his ear, “Now trace a line up the boar’s front leg, four inches above his armpit. That is where the animal’s lungs are. That is where you want to put the arrow.”

  “How do you know so much about killing and weapons and stuff?” Edward asked.

  The spider was crouched on Cyrus’ shoulder, staring down the arrow shaft.

  “I do not know,” Fibian replied, “That is just the way the Warrior Witch made me.”

  Cyrus was certain he was not made for this. He aimed his arrow above the boar’s armpit. His belly again grumbled, and his hands began to sweat.

  “Relax and loose the arrow,” Fibian whispered.

  Cyrus was starving, but could he really kill this helpless animal? The boar smelled something and looked up.

  “Now,” Fibian said.

  Cyrus released the missile. The boar bolted. The arrow struck dirt. The wild pig snorted and squealed as it vanished into the underbrush. Fibian rose to his feet and held a hand out to Cyrus.

  “It was a good shot. You would have hit it, had you not hesitated.”

  Cyrus took the froskman’s hand and stood straight.

  “Sorry,” he said, handing the bow back, “I’ve only really killed rats and flies, stuff like that.”

  Fibian unslung the quiver and handed it to Cyrus.

  “You keep them. It is time you learned to kill more than rats and flies.”

  They spent the rest of the morning trekking through the forest, foraging for fruit and nuts, always on the lookout for game. Fibian spotted some footprints and dropped to one knee.

  “What is it?” Edward asked.

  “It appears to be a creature that walks upright,” Fibian replied, his blue eyes bright.

  “A villager from the fishing village?” Cyrus asked.

  “I do not think so,” Fibian said, “This creature has webbed feet like mine, but long, clawed toes. Keep your guards up.”

  They carried on for several hours, crossing valleys and streams, making their way around cliffs and landslides. The sun was low in the sky when again Fibian halted.

  “More footprints?” Edward whispered, crawling from shoulder to shoulder across Cyrus’ back.

  Fibian crept through the underbrush with Cyrus close on his heels. They discovered a dead deer lying ahead on the ground.

  “We’re not going to eat that, are we?” Cyrus asked, holding his nose.

  The carcass was rancid, its skin shrunken and withered, tight to the bone. Fibian inspected the animal’s neck. There, Cyrus saw two puncture wounds.

  “Something sucked the blood dry from this animal,” the froskman said.

  “What would do that?” Edward asked, poised on Cyrus’ shoulder.

  “We must try to make the village before nightfall,” Fibian replied.

  “What is it?” Cyrus asked, noting the concern in the froskman’s tone.

  A shriek that sounded like an impaled bat cut the silence. Cyrus’ guts twisted and his hair prickled.

  “Klappen,” Fibian hissed, “We must hurry.”

  Chapter 28

  KLAPPEN

  CYRUS’ HEART BEGAN TO POUND like a battle drum. Klappen? Llysa was right? The old ghost stories about the blood-sucking monsters were real? Cyrus’ knees started to quiver. He followed the froskman through the underwood towards a small marsh. The forest shadows reached far with the coming evening. They stopped at the edge of a muddy puddle. Cyrus listened for danger. All he could hear was his panicked gasps.

  “What are we doing?” Edward hissed, hurrying across Cyrus’ back.

  “Klappen are daylight sensitive,” Fibian replied, using his webbed fingers to spread puddle mud across Cyrus’ face, “We must make the boat before nightfall. Stay low to the ground and conceal your movements. Klappen have poor eyesight. They hunt mostly through scent and sound.”

  “What exactly are they?” Cyrus asked, rushing to camouflage his clothes in the earthy smelling muck.

  “Minions of Rorroh’s,” Fibian whispered, “Keep to the shadows and follow me.”

  The trio hunched low and crept from tree to hulking tree. Fibian peered over his shoulder. Cyrus followed his gaze up into the forest canopy. The klappen were climbers, Cyrus guessed. He and Fibian moved with stealth as best they could, crawling through small ditches and along fallen logs, avoiding open clearings whenever possible.

  Fibian stopped and fell flat to the earth. Cyrus followed. His heavy breath rattled the fallen leaves. Edward crawled to Cyrus’ shoulder, closest to the froskman.

  “What is it?” the spider asked, his two eyes searching.

  Fibian pointed to the trees above. At first, Cyrus saw nothing, just thick branches and dwindling daylight. Then he noticed something twist ever so slightly and sniff the air. Cyrus’ skin bristled. The creature was brown as a rat, with red, rodent eyes, yet it wore the tattered trousers of a man. It leaped from its perch. With arms much longer than a man’s, it half fell, half glided to the next tree. Ripped membranes of translucent skin stretched from elbow to waist and slowed its descent. It seized the branch with long, clawed hands and let out a muted shriek. It looked starved and diseased and infectious to the touch.

  Fibian motioned for the bow and arrows. Cyrus gladly handed them over. The froskman signaled them forward. They crawled away from the klappen and continued along the forest floor. Muffled cries sounded throughout the woods. Branches snapped and cracked overhead. The evening grew darker. More shapes crossed high above. The klappen were on the move, but unable to detect their prey.

  Cyrus and company reached a deep ravine, far too wide to jump. Fibian took the rope from over his shoulder and tied a lasso. Then, spying for danger, he threw the lasso across. The loop snared a tree branch.

  “You and Edward go first,” Fibian whispered, handing Cyrus the rope, “I will follow.”

  Cyrus took the rope in both hands. The fibers were coarse and biting. He tested his grip. Strong enough, he figured. The branches above crackled.

  “Cyrus,” Edward gasped, crouched on his shoulder.

  Cyrus almost screamed. He looked overhead. A dark form stooped in the tree limbs and tasted the night. Had it seen them? The sky was growing dark. What was Cyrus supposed to do? If he stayed, more klappen would come. If he swung across, the creature would surely sense them. Cyrus froze, his hands shaking.

  Quickly and silently, Fibian drew an arrow and fired. The klappen clutched its ribs and attempted to scream. The shaft had pierced its lungs. It toppled from the tree and hit the ground dead, rolling into the ravine.

  “Go,” Fibian whispered.

  Cyrus swung across the bog with Edward clinging to his collar. He struck the far side of the gully hard and had to scramble up the steep bank. The trees above quivered with the swish and rattle of newcomers. More klappen! Cyrus’ thoughts became erratic. He scurried to the base of a large tree trunk and wedged himself between
thick roots. His side ached, and his back was slick with sweat. Shining eyes peered down at him, then the shadows came alive with panting and wheezing.

  Fibian’s bow thrummed four times from across the ravine. Four klappen dropped to the ground, unable to shriek. The branches grew still. Cyrus stuffed his muddy hair under his cap and exhaled a long-held breath. Things were getting too close. He wanted Fibian here now so they could get to the boat. The rope! Fibian needed the rope passed back to him if he was to cross.

  Cyrus pushed to his feet. He caught the sudden smell of excrement and urine. He looked to his left. There, sniffing the very tree he hid behind, was a fifth klappen. Holy Sea Zombie! The creature did not blink, just drooled and bared its rotted fangs as it hunted its prey with all its senses.

  “Cyrus, do something,” Edward whispered, as he crawled up his collar.

  Cyrus remembered his blade and drew it. The creature perked up at the sound of steel against leather. It began to narrow in on them. Remembering Fibian’s training, Cyrus focused on the klappen’s emaciated neck. The fiend drew closer. Cyrus backed a foot away. The creature became desperate at the sound. Its nostrils flared, and its hands groped the tree. Cyrus fixed his grip on the knife, as Fibian had shown him, ready to strike.

  “Watch out!” Edward cried.

  The creature pounced cat-like, driving Cyrus to the ground. Cyrus lost his weapon. The klappen shrieked and snapped at his neck. Cyrus, fighting to get both hands on the villain’s boney chest, forced it back. The klappen doubled its efforts. Cyrus’ arms began to shake. He switched tactics and began to drive his thumbs into the creature’s windpipe. The fiend choked, its breath putrid and noxious. Cyrus got both feet on the klappen's hips. He kicked it away. The villain sprawled backward. Cyrus found his knife and scrambled to his feet. The klappen did the same. Instinct and rage clouded Cyrus’ terror. Now he was the aggressor. He thrust at the fiend, slashing at its hands and stabbing at its face. The klappen snarled and clawed, backing itself into a tree. Realizing it was cornered, Cyrus saw the creature grow frantic. Cyrus hesitated. The villain lunged forward all teeth and claws. Cyrus heard something hiss on his shoulder. It was Edward! A ridge of yellow fur spiked across the arachnid’s back. The klappen froze, wide-eyed.

  This was Cyrus’ chance. He targeted the klappen’s neck. Fibian’s bow rang. An arrow punched the creature in the chest. It stumbled and shrieked. Its cry was cut short as Cyrus’ blade found its mark, nearly taking the klappen’s head off. Brown blood sprayed across Cyrus’ face and leather jacket, mixing with the dirt and mud. The klappen fell to the ground, thrashing and attempting to scream. Cyrus stood stunned. Had he just killed? Had he won a fight? Fibian’s sleek silhouette appeared out of the brush, dripping bog mud. He stood over top of the struggling klappen and loosed a final arrow into its skull. The creature grew peaceful and struggled no more.

  “The sun is down,” Fibian hissed, “The time for stealth is over.”

  From across the ravine, the forest came alive with frenzied cries. The klappen knew where they were, and they were coming.

  Chapter 29

  DEEP WATERS

  “QUICK, UNTIE THE ROPE,” Fibian said, retrieving the arrows from the dead klappen.

  The hunters closed in through the trees like a flock of savage birds. Cyrus ran back to the edge of the ravine.

  “I can’t reach the knot.”

  “Cut it loose,” Edward said, quivering on his shoulder.

  There was a strange growl to the spider’s voice. Cyrus slashed the rope free.

  “Move!” Fibian shouted, waving them ahead.

  Cyrus began to run, winding the rope around his arm as he hopped over bodies and bushes. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Fibian draw an arrow. A klappen flew from the woods, shrieking like a banshee. Fibian struck it mid-flight, its cry cut short as it crashed to the earth. The froskman nodded to Cyrus and turned to follow.

  The trees were thinning. The village was in sight. Cyrus ran as fast as he could, stumbling across the uneven earth, avoiding deep puddles and ankle-breaking pits.

  As he made his way out of the forest, he paused at the top of the grassy hill and looked back. Fibian was dashing through the forest, every few seconds turning to loose another projectile into the darkness. A shrill scream followed each shot.

  “Keep moving!” Edward said.

  Cyrus half ran, half rolled down the prickly hillside, towards the village. The klappen’s cries were close. They would be at their necks at any moment. Cyrus tripped and hit the sand, sprawling like a starfish. Edward flew from his collar and bounced along the beach.

  “Get up,” the tiny spider cried, spitting and shaking sand from his fur.

  Fibian rushed to Cyrus’ side and pulled him to his feet.

  “We must find a boat,” he said, handing Edward to Cyrus.

  They began to run through the dilapidated village, searching the salty huts. Cyrus spied the odd cracked or punctured craft abandoned alongside several log structures. What had happened here, he wondered? He sped towards a boat resting at the water’s edge. He stopped short. The craft was barnacle covered and half buried in sand.

  “Over there,” Edward said.

  Cyrus spotted a long, narrow craft propped up on a pair of makeshift workhorses. It was just beyond the threshold of a sagging shed. It seemed someone had been repairing its hull before abruptly abandoning it.

  “Let’s go,” Cyrus said to Fibian.

  Together they ran to the door, grabbed the front of the boat and jerked it off its stand. It struck the sand with a hollow thud.

  “This will have to do,” Fibian said, throwing a weather-bleached paddle into the craft.

  Cyrus’ pointed ears perked. He heard the sound of running feet.

  “They’re coming!” he said, dragging the boat towards the surf.

  Fibian unshouldered his bow. A klappen sprang from behind a hut. The froskman dropped it in its tracks. More came rushing down the beach.

  “Quick, Master Cyrus, into the boat.”

  Fibian shot another scrambling across a rooftop. Cyrus drove the craft into the lapping waves. The sea numbed his bones, but his terror masked the chill.

  “Behind us,” Edward shouted.

  Three klappen tried to rush by Fibian, towards Cyrus. One fell to an arrow; the other two sped past. They hit the water like rabid dogs, kicking and clawing at the sea. With Edward on his shoulder, Cyrus leaped into the boat and began to paddle. An arrow punctured the second klappen’s throat. Cyrus waited for the third to fall. Then he saw Fibian discard his bow and quiver. No more arrows…

  The fiend lunged for the boat’s aft and began to pull itself aboard.

  “Kill it,” Edward screamed, digging his legs into Cyrus’ shoulder.

  Cyrus scooped up the oar and chopped at the creature’s skull. It fell back, bloodied, but gripped the edge of the boat. Cyrus jammed the paddle into the villain’s snapping jaw and shoved it below the waves.

  “Fibian,” Edward shouted.

  As Cyrus struggled to drown the wretch, he quickly glanced to shore. The froskman was holding the enemy off with his bare hands, striking them to the ground, two and three at a time.

  “Fibian, we have to go!” Cyrus cried.

  The klappen pulled the oar from its throat and clawed at the boat. It snatched Cyrus’ wrist.

  “No!”

  Cyrus tried to pull free. The creature started to drag him overboard. Edward came springing down Cyrus’ arm and bit into the klappen’s knuckle. The creature shrieked as if on fire and fell backward into the sea. Cyrus crashed to the floor of the boat.

  “Th- thanks,” he stammered.

  Edward pursed his mouth shut and nodded back. There was something strange about the spider’s face.

  More and more klappen began pouring down the beach. Cyrus snapped back to the situation at hand.

  “Fibian, hurry, you’ll be overrun,” he shouted.

  The froskman’s eyes flashed about violently in the dark.


  “There is no time. Keep him safe, Master Edward. If Master Cyrus dies, we are all doomed.”

  “Fibian!” Edward screamed.

  The froskman became engulfed. He twisted and thrashed, tossing his attackers aside like children. More piled on. Fibian began to move as if in tar. Several klappen sprang past and started to rush towards Cyrus and Edward.

  “They're coming!” Edward said, hurrying up Cyrus’ arm, “We have to paddle out.”

  Abandon Fibian? Cyrus’ stomach began to turn.

  The klappen crashed into the surf and started to push towards the craft, their faces filled with a feral yearning.

  “Fibian, please,” Cyrus cried, retreating into deeper waters.

  The monsters waded into the sea up to their chins. They shrieked in rage and frustration, apparently unable to swim.

  “Fibian!”

  Cyrus watched as Fibian wrestled with the mob, struggling to stay upright. A klappen sprang onto the froskman’s back. Fibian grabbed its arm and threw it into several others. Another leaped on. Fibian sent it hurling too, but his strength was visibly waning. A klappen picked up an oar off the ground.

  “Behind you,” Cyrus shouted.

  It struck Fibian in the head. The froskman turned and snapped the creature’s neck. Another klappen tore a timber from a hut and broke it over Fibian’s back. Fibian dropped to one knee; then rose back up and hit the fiend with a clubbing blow that sent it twisting to the ground. Several others began to tear apart the nearby huts, creating clubs of their own. They came at Fibian in an undisciplined frenzy. The froskman caught the first strike, twisting and breaking the klappen’s wrist. He dodged the second blow, blocked the third, parried the fourth, but the fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth struck him from every angle. He stumbled and again fell to one knee. With clubs held high, the klappen closed in, beating Fibian into the ground like a steel spike.