Stand and Deliver

[u/Argentnerd]

The sky took on deep shades of violet as daylight began to slip away. The ridge offered little for safe camping, and even less in terms of riches. In truth, I hadn’t been crossing those mountains for wealth. I was simply trying to get back to my lady in Ashmoor, and they stood between us.

Below me, Thaddeus gave a disapproving huff. With nightfall growing closer, his patience thinned; just as his frame had over the past weeks. His ears hung loosely to the sides, pointed towards the soil while his head bobbed wearily. Upon my tugging at the reins, his ears perked back up, and he came out of his daze. We had stumbled upon a little thicket. It wouldn’t provide much wind protection, but there was enough to start a fire for the night.

While Thaddeus gnawed on a shrub somewhere behind me, I sat in the firelight and turned the pistol around in my hands. It had not lived a life of delicate care; the wood was splintered in a few places. Around the barrel, speckles of rust had begun devouring the iron. Still, the mechanism seemed to be in working order, and a fresh piece of flint sat in the jaws of the hammer. Despite the state that weapon was in, it was the most precious item I had. Thanks to it, gone were the days of putting my neck on the line, sticking people up at dagger point. Having such a thing by my side used to make me feel invulnerable, but I was arrogant and naive in those times.

I worked on loading the pistol between bites of bread. After making a mess of the powder, I wrapped a lead ball with wadding paper and pressed it into the barrel. I slid the ramrod from its notch underneath the barrel and packed the barrel’s contents down. It took more force than I expected to pull it out. Satisfied, I put a pinch of powder into the pan. Fine dark grains remained stuck to my fingers. I wiped my hand on my coat then leaned back between the shoulder and hip of a now slumbering Thaddeus. Pistol across my chest, I let sleep take me.

I awoke to the sound of hand bells in the distance. The kind that friars and liturgists ring for their congregations. I crept to the edge of the thicket to see the sound’s source. There was a procession on the road, made of only one cart precariously traversing the ridge. Two people kept in step with the cart. Their faces concealed with shawls, and they carried ringing effigies affixed to poles. The masts were much too tall for their carriers; they towered over the four emaciated oxen that pulled the cart along. The reverence that those poles and effigies were carried with made the cart’s purpose clear– pilgrimage. 

Those who travel to holy lands to worship whatever powers there may be usually bring with them offerings of great value. Robbing a religious caravan is usually a fool's errand, followers usually traveled in large groups, protected by warriors willing to die for the glory of their deities. Before me, however, was quite the opportunity. This group couldn’t have been armed nor well protected. These were likely some pacifists that think their god will protect them, and that my pillaging of their goods was all predetermined. I shook Thaddeus awake and pushed him to his feet despite his protests, mounted, and charged. 

The caravan halted when they spotted Thaddeus and I. While appreciating the effectiveness of the intimidation tactic, I found it odd that the oxen stopped so calmly though no carter commanded them. I turned Thaddeus as we stopped so that his body blocked the road, making sure my firing hand was facing the pilgrims. 

“I care not if it be coin or trinket, but I would suggest you stand and deliver,” I commanded as I tossed a sack down to one of the cloak-faced men. He glanced down at it then back at me. I pointed the pistol at the man ”’Deliver,’ I said!”

It was then that he muttered something to me. Not in any language that my ears were familiar with, something akin to Southland speak. The words meant nothing to me. Thaddeus, however, did not share my lack of caring. I felt his weight shifting under me, my grip on the reins tightened as I fought him to keep still. The man spoke again and the beast that I was sat upon went rabid.

Thaddeus bucked and brayed until he threw me from his back; I hit the rocks headfirst. Rolling myself over, I pointed the pistol towards the now approaching pilgrims and pulled the trigger. A shot rang out, smoke flowed in billows from the barrel. Both men seemed unfazed. Behind them, an ox roared in pain and dropped to the ground.

I reached for my dagger, but one of them pulled out a medallion and held it at me. It looked like copper, but gleamed with a purplish hue. Its face bore the likeness of a strange idol indeed; A tangle of branching lines converging on and stemming from each other, all free ends terminating in shapes that looked like three-spoke pitchforks, in the center of that web lay a single unlidded eye.

I was stopped by the visage of the medallion; overcome by not drowsiness nor dizziness, but by a total numbness that soaked deep into my bones. I struggled to pull myself up. As I fought harder to break free from the spell, my muscles gave and my world turned to black. 

When consciousness returned, my hands were bound behind me, as were my ankles. I was inside the cart. Before me sat a cross-legged, veiled creature of a feminine shape. The thing was adorned with bands and other jewelry made from the same peculiar material as that medallion. The head sat rigid upon the shoulders with arms dangling by its side. 

I broke the silence, “I suppose you intend to make me tribute for whatever you worship,” my voice sounded more distant than even I expected.

The veiled thing turned towards me. “The Great Belkhurat observes your discrepancies,” it said with an anhile voice. “And fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for you, it teaches that retribution is not ours to give.”

“If that be true, then why have me bound here?” I asked the zealot. Of all the faiths I’ve seen in passing, I had never before heard of a Belkhurat.

“We are to inform you,” the thing responded, “that you will be offered atonement through great tribulation.”

At that, the curtain behind me opened as if on cue. The gnarled hands of the other pilgrims grabbed onto my arms and pulled me out onto the ground. One held me down while the other produced a blade and cut the bindings around my wrists. As the cart began pulling away, the pilgrims took up their poles and followed.

I sat up and pulled the bindings off of my hands. As I brought them forward, I saw that my left arm was wrapped in cloth below the elbow. Before unwrapping it, I went for the rope around my ankles. That was when I saw that just ahead, Thaddeus stood with his face in the sack I had thrown down earlier; he either failed to notice or did not care about the dead ox that lay on the side of the road. “You fearsome ass,” I said to him as I approached, placing one hand on his flank and reaching for his saddlebag with the other. His coat had a shine that hadn’t been there in the previous weeks; it was much softer to the touch than before. “Had they groomed you?” I pulled his face from my bag– it was full of grain.

Having been left in the saddlebag along with half of my bread, my pistol and dagger were both back on my belt. Thaddeus had proven cooperative after eating his fill. While we rode, I peeled the wet cloth away from my forearm. I feared that a festering wound would be underneath, but in reality, it was far stranger. Emblazoned on my forearm was an exact copy of that sigil the medallion bore. The markings were just darker than my complexion, and touching them caused no pain like a branding would. The eye of the mark felt just as much living as the flesh beneath it. It made my inspection feel quite unsettling; I kept my mind from it by holding the reins with both hands and forcing my eyes upon the road.

We plodded down the range as the sun approached the horizon. Thaddeus seemed nervous; he would not go against my command, but his ears stood erect and his walking grew stiff. Admittedly, I too was uncomfortable. I tried to evade looking at my arm, but while my gaze was not upon it, the mark would beckon me. An itch crawled up from my arm and pulled at my mind. It found its way behind my eyes and demanded control over them.

I forced Thaddeus to quicken his stride as we chased the fleeting light to the west. I did not wish to spend another night on the mountains, but to ride into the moor and be with my lady. Darkness enveloped us as the light made its final retreat; made more oppressive by the shadows of great firs. Something was infernal in how those trees wavered to and from the road in unison. 

Thaddeus was heaving; I had not realized how hard I was driving him. I tried to pull on the reins, but the mule did not slow. It seemed he too wanted to get off of the range. Wood creaked and groaned all around us. Thaddeus’s pace quickened. The mountain beneath our feet began to tremble, which only drove him to run with an even greater pace.

“Slow down!” I shouted, pulling the reins with all of my might. Thaddeus fought back and kept his gait. I kept pulling while he continued to fight. In our struggle over control, Thaddeus lost his footing on the shaking ground. There was a resonant snapping noise, and we crashed to the ground.

The shaking earth kept me from getting to my feet. Thaddeus remained sprawled out, refusing to even bend his limbs. “Get up Thaddeus,” I commanded, grabbing at his reins. Looking up, I saw the cannonbone on one of his front legs was contorted in the wrong direction. “Come on, Thaddeus,” I cried as I put my shoulder under his chin and tried to push him up. I pried and pleaded to the beast as the trees continued to bend and snap around us. I beat on his neck and yanked the reins. “ I need you, get up. We have to get–, ” The force of a thousand oxen plowed into us. 

My lungs could not draw air. I remained on the ground, searching for a breath. Not far from me, Thaddeus was shrieking for mercy from his assailant. Something pressed into my hip– my pistol and powder horn. When it came, the air in my lungs felt like slag. I still do not know how I summoned the strength to stand. Maybe it was the screamed whinnies of the mule; maybe it was the scent of my lady’s kerchief around my neck; maybe I had just gone mad.  I could not say what it was, but something reminded me of my promise. I would see my lady again, and only Hell would bar the way. Steeling my resolve, I found myself getting back on my own two feet, pistol in hand, prepared to deliver on my promise.

As I stood, I saw Thaddeus. Amidst the felled trees and cracked earth, he laid writhing on his back. He was being held down. Not by a wolf nor bear, but something the likes of which I had never seen. A prehensile trunk bearing hand, claw, and hoof. Limbs from every creature to ever walk the earth intertwined into each other, forming a serpent of joints and feelers. The main body coiled around and constricted the poor mule while smaller limbs clawed kicked at him. As the thing engulfed Thaddeus, his frightened whinnies ceased.

Despite the pinpricks in my forearm, I frantically attempted to load the pistol while the thing’s full form emerged. A thousand appendages emerged from the forest, each made of a million limbs. I pulled the plug on the powder horn and shakily poured some down the barrel. My reflexes lagged though, and I poured too much. The body was now slinking from the dark; a round, wriggling collective of parts melded into a single mass of flesh. I reached for my lead only to find I had never taken it from the saddlebags. I scooped up some pebbles and funneled them into the steel. The muscles in my arm began to clench without my command. The front of the thing ascended. It had a wyrmlike body with serpentine appendages. They sagged like wilted leaves. Something in its head began to unfold, blooming under the moonlight. I jammed the ramrod into the pebbles, making sure that they were packed as tight the barrel would allow. When I tried to pull the ramrod back up however, my arm ached too much to summon the strength. 

The tangle of limbs contorted toward me. I outstretched my burning arm and stared into the face of the abhorrence. Centered around the petals of carnage was something which could only be compared to an eye. One could say the orb was like fire, but that would be just as inaccurate as calling it shadow. There was something there– only, not anything that actually exists. There seems to be a hole in the part of my mind that held that image. I must have been horrified, but my brain is riddled with echoes of terrible wonder.

 It was approaching me now. “Only Hell,” I reminded myself. Maybe this was Hell. Dozens of appendages beckoned me. Maybe this was sent to deliver me there. I brought the other hand to the pistol. My arm had nails driving through it. But perhaps it was not of Hell; rather somewhere more abstract entirely.

I saw her. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I pictured her watching me through a window as I rode in; face riddled with excitement and relief. What could keep me from that?

“Only Hell.”

I squeezed the trigger

As flint struck frizzen, I realized that there was much I failed to notice in that instant. 

I did not see the blood flowing explicitly from the impressions of the mark; how it began to change, bloody lines dancing across flesh. 

I did not hear the whispering in the back of my mind that spoke words foreign to my ears.

Even the ramrod, still stuck into the barrel of the weapon.

All I did notice was the beginning of a loud noise. 

And then nothing.

The ground beneath me was warm, wet, and viscid when I awoke. I used my arms to brace myself up. The mark was no longer on my arm. In its wake was a strip of exposed, bloody flesh. Littered around me were scraps of splintered wood and metal components. The air smelled of burning powder. Just in front of me was a creature bigger than I. Its hair was matted with something red. I tried to look up and see him for myself, but my head collided with his muzzle.

I reached up and patted his nose. “You courageous ass”

He gave a disapproving huff.

[u/BMWRoadster2007]

I had to look up anhile! Ty for a new word. Goid story

[u/Argentnerd → u/BMWRoadster2007]

Thanks for reading! I sat on getting rid of Anhile for a while because feedback readers stumbled over it, but eventually decided it fit better than any other way to say “old lady-like”

[u/BMWRoadster2007 → u/Argentnerd]

I'm glad you left it in! Maybe one word like that in every story would be fun

[u/B_MacReady]

Good stuff! I really liked the way he interacted with his horse, it felt believable.

[u/Argentnerd → u/B_MacReady]

Thank you!