Exiled: Winter's Plight Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Balls of a hairy goat!” The expletive came with a surge of elation. To know salvation lay beyond the breakers renewed his determination. With sudden energy, he struggled against remnants of the storm’s fury.

Plans were coming to fruition. He was raised on a world where artificial air filled skydomes and the chaotic arrival of moonshuttles threatened to gridlock local spaceports. In that imperfect world he had escaped from an overload of technology through virtual reality. Then total immersion in a fantasy world became an obsession.

Here, now, reality was warped by mages. Here the sun's rays burned, salt crusted on skin and pain was unavoidable. There was no 'CTRL', 'ALT', 'DEL' when things became unbearable. Survival on this planet was a nightmare. Neither genetic nor microchip enhancements helped when pitted against sorcery and hardship.

Now though, he had a chance to escape his exile.

What, he dared to ask, could possibly go wrong?

As he gulped air before facing the next wave, the ocean tore a waterlogged barrel from his grasp and the weight of a body dragged him underwater.

Panic drove adrenaline through pumping veins and gave strength to drag his burden to the surface. Despite salt water filling his lungs, he struggled until the maelstrom deposited him onto solid ground.

Deposited on a beach in driving rain, sand coated every surface and crevasse of skin. With a breathless curse, he waited for each successive wave to help him drag his companion’s body higher onto the beach. Coarse sand dissolved beneath him when a greedy undertow tried to suck his burden into the foam. Against nature’s fickle temper, he held ground. Dragging air into tortured lungs, he ground his teeth and waited for the next incoming surge.

Thankful to have survived the shipwreck he hoped saving the life of his companion would provide redemption for the dark morass of his past.

Protected from wind by a tumble of rocks, he examined his comatose shipmate. After finding a pulse and warmth of living flesh, he sighed. Satisifed, he wiped sand from calloused fingers and relaxed.

Eyes clogged with sand closed. He fought against fatigue that plagued every cell of his body. To succumb to dreams before dawn, would mean facing the ghosts who haunted his nights. Instead, he mulled over the task ahead. He concentrated on how he would escape this accursed planet. Only then could he focus on revenge.

With a curse, he vowed to punish the man who abducted him and left him stranded on a world where sorcerers and slavery existed.

Anger warmed his blood as he considered how Ephraim would die.

***

Despite his determination, sleep overwhelmed him but offered no peace of mind. Scrutinized by sightless eyes, panic plagued his dreams. Hungry for vengeance and corrupted by the stench of watery decay, angry spirits sought to destroy his sanity.

In his vision, strands of hair washed like seaweed across the disintegrating flesh of dead sailors.

Tides of marine scavengers reduced humanity to bare bone and memory. Their accusations spread on the current, to drown him in guilt. Fleshless fingers reached through the depths, to draw him into Death’s grasp. While parasitic wraiths gnawed at his soul, his lungs filled with the fetor of a carnivore’s breath.

Awareness returned as the nightmare shattered. When his eyes snapped open terror dissolved. Light drove barbs into his eyes, forcing him to blink before he could focus on the muzzle of a salivating wolf.

Bared fangs gleamed inches from his face while amber eyes regarded him without blinking.

Hunger, thirst and need to survive overcame any fear a wolf might evoke as he lifted an arm to fend off the creature’s curious approach. Watching the wolf’s hesitant withdrawal, he knew a single wolf wouldn’t prevent him from leaving this planet.

Two things though struck him as unfortunate. The arm he tried to lift remained bound to his companion’s unconscious body. Sodden rope limited movement and brought the present situation into focus, rousing memories of a shipwreck and days spent adrift in a storm-ridden ocean.

In a heartbeat, he became aware of a second problem. Heavy enough to draw blood, with it’s hilt strangled by white knuckled hands, the pressure of a sword blade against his neck alarmed him.

“Riante tol?” The voice of a young man trembled but pressure applied to the blade emphasized each word. The survivor closed weary eyes, appearing to drift off for a few seconds while he maneuvered his other hand to ensure nothing hampered movement.

With the wolf standing close enough to share warmth, the survivor extracted the youth’s language from implanted data discs. He accessed souvenirs of another galaxy, collected as part of a previous career.

“You can call me …Caleath.” The stranger cast aside his former identity without a qualm, as he had done on previous occasions.

His new persona tried to swallow but his throat was parched and his lips were blistered and bleeding from days in salt and sun. His words drew a snarl from the wolf.

“Call off your dog. I will not hurt you.”

The youth hesitated while the skin around his strange green eyes puckered.

Before the youth made a decision, Caleath moved.
The wolf yowled as he punched one fist under its jaw. With a yelp the creature recoiled. While the young man’s attention faltered, Caleath twisted his arm around the flat of the blade resting across his neck.

His hand grasped the haft of the sword, while Caleath used his bodyweight to lever the weapon free of the youth’s hand. Before he slammed the blade into the sand, out of harm’s way, Caleath used the sword to free himself from the rough hemp rope.

“You won’t need that. You're likely to get hurt.” He brushed sand from his hands. “This man needs help.”

Recovering its dignity the wolf growled but now remained out of reach. The youth’s eyes widened and sweat beaded on his brow. His eyes dropped to his empty hands as he wiped them on his leggings.

“What is your name?” Caleath prompted conversation while he struggled to lift his companion. With a grunt, he managed to hoist the old man onto his shoulder, while he took stock of the youth’s homespun garments and ingeniously tailored skins.

From bare feet to his head of sandy hair the boy exuded health and vitality. His expression seemed honest and unused to the shadow of fear that haunted his brow.

Green eyes glinted in the dawn light as the youth watched Caleath.

“Gwilt. My name is Gwilt.”

Glancing at the boy’s bare feet Caleath nodded.

“You live near here. Help me get this man to shelter and you can have any of the bounty we can salvage.”

“When all this is mine if you should die.”

Caleath perused the storm torn headland where he crawled ashore. Wooden chests, barrels and mounds of driftwood littered the beach.

With a smile, he hoisted his burden higher. The boy might have been right, only now, Caleath harbored no intention of dying nor would he allow his companion to come to harm.

“You might find my death a little hard to arrange. You missed the opportunity Gwilt,” Caleath took a tentative step. “I take your point though. I rely on your generosity.” As he shifted his weight, Caleath doubled over in pain and dropped the older man. He cursed under his breath when the wolf leapt forward.

Before the creature could attack, Gwilt grabbed its thick fur. Caleath took a moment to recover from collapse. He lifted himself, trying to make light of any weakness by throwing a curse at the debris snagging his feet.

He could feel Gwilt watching every movement. When Gwilt released the wolf, he cast his gaze over Caleath’s clothing. Feeling naked before such appraisal, Caleath brushed accumulated sand from his attire. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

If the boy shared the wolf’s distrust… The idea didn’t bear thinking about. He would try to remain calm. On a good day, he knew his appearance was unkempt and he’d heard how the intensity of his gaze could be frightening.

Bare feet protruded from his tattered leggings. Days in the water reduced the coarse hemp shirt he wore to little more than rags and his coat had seen better days. His clothes were salt encrusted, stained and too large for his slight frame.

Matted blond hair fell across eyes once described as the color of an ocean on a sultry day. Exposed flesh on ankles and wrists showed recent injury.

Caleath could see the youth’s expression narrow. Tight creases tugged at the corners of his eyes. Full lips pursed and Gwilt’s clear brow furrowed. Caleath tried to appear unconcerned. He could not afford Gwilt reneging on his offer of aid. A sudden impatient energy spurred Caleath to action.

“Come on Chesney.” Caleath identified his companion, belaying the need for introductions.

Again, he struggled to lift the other man
Chesney, in contrast to Caleath’s ragged garb appeared well dressed. A much larger man, older and with a rotund gut his clothes bore days in the ocean without serious damage.

Wearing a linen shirt, embroidered waistcoat and leather leggings, his clothes boasted brass buttons, a tooled belt with an ornate silver buckle. Gwilt’s soft intake of breath seemed to appreciate the quality of Chesney’s garments.

Caleath knew the other man’s boots alone would fetch, with a little restoration, more than a full-grown boar.

“Here, I'll help you. It’s a fair way. Will you make it?”

“Needs must,” Caleath accepted the boy’s help with unspoken relief. “Adder’s spit,” he cursed, while he fought to keep his feet. “I need food.” His spoke as a mantra to himself rather than for Gwilt’s benefit.

“We have plenty of food,” Gwilt wrinkled his nose. “Hot and filling.”

Caleath looked at the boy with measure. Hunger it seemed did not create problems for the strapping youth. Nor Caleath noted did malnutrition ever give Chesney much grief, judging from his weight when they lifted him.

The wolf circled the strange trio when they started onto the beach. Although he found walking a task, Caleath managed to take his share of Chesney’s weight.

He dragged his companion in silence. Only an occasional intake of breath gave an indication of how much effort he expended. When blood from opened wounds spread inside his shirt Caleath tried to keep his dismay to himself. Bare feet squelched through damp sand as they avoided kelp strewn across the beach and struggled to negotiate rocks and soft sand.

Chesney groaned once and Caleath paused to adjust the man’s weight. He took a moment to survey the beach and grimaced. Two bodies lay wasted on the sand. A third floated like a bloated tick in the eddy of each wave.

At the end of the beach, a faint track wound around a rugged headland. Caleath met Gwilt’s unspoken question with a resigned shrug. With no other choice, he faced the cliff. The climb took longer and seemed more dangerous than it appeared from the beach. Throughout the ordeal, Caleath struggled to keep on his feet. The wolf followed close, the constant menace annoyed but he owned no energy to expend on cursing the creature.

With a final effort, he reached the summit. While Gwilt lowered Chesney to the ground, Caleath sank to his knees. With a cold wind pummeling the headland, Chesney’s lips turned a shade of blue and his hands felt as cold as death. Caleath removed his coat, knowing as soon as he did, Gwilt would see he needed to recover from a beating. If the young man still accepted his presence without feeling threatened, the future boded well.

He wrapped the tattered fabric around Chesney and shivered when the gale tried to tear the shirt from his back. He could see good sense in Gwilt’s already dry skins. The boy appeared impervious to the cold.

“How far now?” he asked through chattering teeth.

Gwilt scrambled to his feet, grabbed Chesney and lifted him with ease. He gestured with his chin to a hut snuggled into the lee of the cliff.

“You go on ahead, I can manage your friend.” Gwilt started forward. “You obviously need your strength.”

With a nod, Caleath accepted the youth’s help.

***

Caleath decided the old stone hut had seen better days but he was thankful that it provided instant shelter from the wind. While Gwilt maneuvered Chesney inside Caleath leaned against the doorway.

Relief from constant cold gave him a moment to evaluate his surroundings. Gwilt’s cottage nestled into the side of a hill sloping away from the cliff face where open ground spread to the edge of a eucalyptus forest.

A path meandered around small patches of garden. A milking goat browsed nearby. The beast was untroubled by the wind sweeping across the last of the summer crops and the start of winter planting.

A lean-to seemed to support the end of the hut, where occupants undertook repairs too often without skill. One door opened into the hut and a single window offered a view of anyone approaching. The simple design seemed to indicate the boy had no serious need to defend his home.

Nor, from the number of sleeping pallets Caleath counted, did he share the space with a large family. Able to relax a little Caleath entered the cluttered room.

Chesney lay on a straw pallet near the fireplace beneath a musty bearskin. Gwilt stoked glowing coals while he hunted chickens away from a pot of stew simmering above the embers. Caleath’s eyes rested on the table where another hen explored the remains of a loaf of bread.

Sudden hunger overwhelmed him. Caleath crossed the room, brushed the chicken aside and snatched at the bread. He gnawed on a chunk of crust, found a plate of porridge and started to shovel gruel into his mouth.

Preoccupied with filling his gut, when Gwilt spoke Caleath snarled. His reaction was instinctive, protecting his right to food. Starvation left no room for self-consciousness.

Caleath hesitated, embarrassed by his need. He felt no need to explain his condition to the youth. How could he? An explanation would involve dredging through memories of his home planet. His previous existence had been on a world where technology ruled and dragons and wizards remained confined to virtual realities.

Now he survived in exile, marooned on a planet where his enemy placed assassins to hunt him. Could he explain how the implant beneath the skin of his forearm was able to alert him to the proximity of those hunters? Who from this world would understand his ability to heal using nanobots and their demand for a constant energy source? Or how, when food was not forthcoming they began to consume tissue and left his flesh scarred?

“How long since you ate?” Gwilt offered Caleath a spoon. “There is stew here. It’s still warm.”

“I’m sorry.” Licking his fingers when Gwilt heaped food into a wooden bowl, Caleath scoffed the warm gruel. Before he drew breath, he accepted and proceeded to devour a second helping.

“Is there enough for the old man and you?” Caleath enquired as he wiped the bowl clean with the remains of the bread and quaffed water from a pottery flask.

“There is plenty. Gai will bring supplies. Do you want more?” Gwilt stirred the pot.

“Gai?”

“My sister and her betrothed have been to the village for supplies. You can eat as much as you need.”

Intense green eyes seemed to hunt for a clue to his behavior. Caleath found the lad showed enough good sense not to ask questions too painful to answer.

After wiping his mouth licked grease from his fingers. There would be a price to pay for his appetite. He could feel spasms begin as his body reacted to an influx of food. With hunger quelled, the nanobots would extract a price for their healing. The need to keep moving drove him to his feet. There were dead to bury and things he needed to do.

“Keep an eye on the old man. He should look more alive once he warms up.” After checking the older man’s breathing and the condition of sunburned extremities, Caleath removed the coat from around Chesney’s shoulders. Satisfied he shrugged on the coat and left the hut. Pacing himself, Caleath walked towards the cliff path.

***
continued "Exiled Chapter 2"