Korrak's Arc

Chapter 2 of 5

The road east climbed for two days. Korrak's group left Evan's Grove with full stomachs and empty packs. Now the packs stayed empty. Freya lagged behind, dragging her staff. Caoimhe rationed the last strip of dried meat and cut it into four pieces. Fizzik's puppets said nothing. Korrak counted the miles to the salt cliffs and knew the truth. Without food, they would not reach his clan alive. They found a ruined estate near the road at dusk. Broken windows lined three floors. Ivy crawled over cracked stone. Korrak pushed the front door open with his shotgun barrel. Dust hung in the empty halls. He hoped for a cellar, a forgotten larder, anything. A voice rumbled from the dark. "You eat my catch, you help me carry it." Korrak raised the shotgun. A huge man stepped into the faded light. Scales like a beetle's shell covered his arms. His beard reached his belt. Behind him swayed a scorpion's tail, its stinger high. A dead boar hung from his shoulder. This was Mittsu, and he did not look afraid of the gun. "Salt cliffs," Mittsu said, nodding east. "That's where you're headed. I smell it on you. Desperate men always go that way." "You know the road," Korrak said. "I know it kills the unprepared." Mittsu dropped the boar on a broken table. "I hunt these hills. I have salt, dried fish, water. Enough to get you there." His tail flexed. "But nothing's free." Caoimhe stepped forward, hand on her staff. "What's the price?" Mittsu grinned through his beard. "The salt cliffs mine slaves. I lost a brother to them years back. I've wanted to burn the place down since. But one man can't." He looked at Korrak's shotgun, then at the fire glowing in Caoimhe's egg. "You've got teeth. I give you supplies. You let me walk with you. We break the cliffs together." Korrak's chest tightened. His clan was chained in that place. This mutant wanted the same fight for his own dead brother. "My people are there," Korrak said. "The Ashmarked. Taken twelve days ago." "Then we want the same door open." Mittsu held out a scaled hand. Freya tugged Korrak's coat. "He's got fish," she whispered. "I can smell it." Korrak lowered the shotgun. He shook the offered hand. Mittsu's grip could have crushed stone. Then the big man crossed to a corner and dragged out three heavy packs. Salt, smoked meat, waterskins. Enough for the road. They ate the boar that night by a small fire in the ruined hall. For the first time in days, the group was fed. But Mittsu spoke while they ate. "The cliffs have guards. Iron doors. A slave-master who keeps a ledger of every soul." He wiped his beard. "If your clan went in, they're on that ledger now. And nobody walks off those cliffs unless the master lets them." Korrak stopped chewing. The road ahead had just gained a name, and a keeper.