<u>Chapter Six: Stab</u>


    Amalia spoke calmly into the night air,


    “Try and stay back. You may have to fight, as there are many, and I am one.”


    With that, she moved like lightning from the open sky. From his perch on the tree, Will shot arrows at the lizard monsters that charged toward the group.


    “Fight? We can’t fight those..those…things.” Rosalia stammered out.


    Nick hefted his hammer,


    “These things killed my Ma; I’m getting a little bit of vengeance.” His voice was as hard as granite, his eyes attempting to stare holes into the creatures that rushed toward them, spears held high.


    Ash attempted to swallow the lump of fear that had built up in his throat.


    These things killed my Aunt and Uncle.


    The thought descended like the Light itself.


    Why was he afraid? He should be angry! When the monsters had attacked his home, slaughtered the only family he had ever known, killed his friends, and burned his farm, he had done nothing.


    When wolves attacked the sheep, he acted, but when a monster out of stories appeared, he cowered? Is that who I am?


    Chilly anger shot through his veins, and suddenly, he wanted payback, too.


    “Hey, Nick. Do you still keep that knife on you?”


    Nick glanced over at him, and the dwarf grunted, reaching to his belt, unsheathing the small knife he had kept, and handing it to Ash.


    Ash nodded, and Rosalia looked between them.


    “You can’t seriously be thinking of fighting them? Just let Miss Amalia handle it, look!”


    She pointed at the storyteller, who was a whirlwind of death for the monsters. Two of the creatures were still nearing them every passing second, and Amalia showed no signs of helping them.


    “Look alive, you three!” Will bellowed to them from his place on the tree.


    He tried to shoot an arrow at the lizard creatures, but it fell short, and he cursed.


    That chill in his veins intensified, and he found himself speaking,


    “I think our best chance is to split them up. Rosalia, pick up that rock there. You don’t have to fight, but you’ll need to be ready if one gets past us.”


    Rosalia took a shuddering breath, quickly snatching up the rock, fumbling it for a moment before holding it close and backing farther away.


    The biggest threat to their lives was the spears the creatures held.


    They neared the group, and Ash readied the knife in his hands. It wasn''t huge, a hunting knife, but he held it firm and prayed to the Light he wouldn’t cut himself.


    Nick gripped his hammer and bellowed at the creature nearest to him,


    “Come at me, you Light cursed ugly stain!”


    The monster obliged, and Nick rolled away from it as it attacked with a jab from its spear.


    “What he said!” Ash yelled at the other monster.


    He didn’t have time to lament his choice of battle cries as the lizard thing attacked him.


    He found it easy enough to move out of the way of the jab. He wasn’t a combat expert, and his heart beat like thunderclaps on a stormy night, but the monster seemed relatively slow.


    He dodged another jab as the creatures hissed and made clicking noises at him. Then he counter-attacked with a high slash of his knife. It felt like trying to cut into a tough bit of meat. Green blood spit out of the wound, and some of it got onto his hand. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    It was hot, wet, and sticky, like saliva.


    The monster howled, trying to jab him again. In trying to dodge, Ash tripped over his feet, falling to the ground with a muted thud, pain blossoming in his rear. The knife flew out of his hands, landing a little from him.


    He backed up quickly toward it, knowing he needed the weapon if he wanted to live.


    The creature hissed, raising the spear, which gleamed dangerously in the moon’s light. This was it. I’m going to die here, was all he could think.


    Until a rock smashed into the lizard creature’s face.


    It screeched, and Ash dove for the knife. Picking it up, he plunged it into the monster''s hand that covered its eye where the rock had hit.


    Blood gushed as if from a scripted showerhead, but Ash didn’t stop. He rode the creature to the ground, stabbing relentlessly.


    Uncle Derrick looked at him with that strange light in his eyes. What had that been? Aunt Dara, who he didn’t even get to say goodbye to.


    Blazing flames and a shadowy creature.


    Stab.


    Stab.


    Stab.


    Someone was screaming? Was that him?


    “Ash! It''s dead, Ash! Enough!”


    Rosalia was pulling at him, trying to get him to stop as he brought the knife down over and over again.


    He was screaming and sobbing at the same time. The monster beneath him was unrecognizable.


    Just green, brown, and pink mush. He was covered in green blood, hot, sticky, and stinking like rotten fruit.


    He didn’t care.


    Will and Amalia walked up. The storyteller watched him, her face expressionless.


    Will Al’Seen was a tall boy with a mop of black hair and bronze skin from working in the sun. He normally wore a mischievous smile. His brown tunic, black trousers, and boots were caked with dirt. The scent of smoke hung about him, and his bow was slung over his shoulder.


    His brown eyes were grim.


    “So it happened to you all, too.” A statement more than a question.


    “Is anyone?” Rosalia trailed off, bowing her head when Will shook his.


    “We must leave. Should the man from earlier follow, we will all die.”


    Ash turned to Amalia,


    “Who was he? Did he do this? Why is this happening?”


    Amalia weathered his questions, expression never shifting.


    “Let us move. I wish to cover more miles tonight before resting.”


    “Tell me!” Ash bellowed, the chill within him exploding into a blown winter storm.


    Amalia stared at him. The others shifted a bit, but it was Rosalia who spoke,


    “My Dad is probably dead. I don’t even know. Nick’s Mom is dead, and so are Will’s relatives. So much death…please tell us why, Miss Amalia?”


    Amalia closed her eyes at the girl’s words, taking a breath before opening them.


    “Two miles from here is my cottage. It is protected with scripts. Let’s make it there, and then I will answer some questions.”


    She didn’t phrase it like a request, and Ash knew that was the best they would get.


    The others must have agreed because they followed Amalia as she began walking.


    No one said anything as they walked. A somber shadow hung around them all.


    He had never been to the storyteller’s cottage before, and Amalia had never offered its location to everyone. When they arrived, they found it a humble tiny home with a small garden out front. A black cat lay by the door.


    When Amalia approached, the cat flicked open its yellow eyes, stretched languidly, wrapped its body around her legs, and purred loudly. Amalia unlocked the door to the tiny cottage, paying no mind to the cat; she invited them all in.


    It was comfortably decorated, with a couch and abstract paintings hanging on the walls. A small table was in one corner, and a fireplace occupied a large part of the room by the couch. The wood within had long been turned to ash.


    Various plants were around the room, vibrant and healthy; they added a rainbow of color.


    Ash could see another room in the back, next to a tiny kitchen with one cupboard.


    Everyone sat on the carpet, and Nick got the fire going without anyone asking him to.


    “So? You promised.” Ash stated bluntly.


    Amalia sat down on a nearby chair after leaning her staff against the door.


    “So I did, but I promised that I would answer some questions, not all and not specific ones.”


    Ash scowled, but the storyteller cut him off with a slash of her hand,


    “Soothe, boy. I will answer some questions. But you must understand that there are reasons I do not answer everything. There are also…conditions you must fulfill before I answer certain questions.”


    “Conditions? What are they?” Rosalia asked.


    “We will get to that. You wish to know why they attacked Ash’s and surrounding farms?”


    They all nodded. Amalia took a deep breath before answering.


    “They were looking for someone.”


    “Who? Is it you? The way you move, and you know how to fight! You’re no regular storyteller.” Will accused her.


    Ash nodded, agreeing with the other boy.


    Amalia’s lips curled in a slight, wry smile.


    “So I am not. As to those questions…well now. We have come to the conditions I mentioned earlier.”


    “What are these light-cursed conditions, then!” Nick swore, “I want to know why my Ma was killed; shadow, take you!”


    Amalia did not react to his outburst.


    The rest did as Nick’s words hit them like a blacksmith’s hammer.


    Rosalia began to sob, with Will putting an arm around her.


    “They’re all dead!” She cried.


    Ash closed his eyes, seeing the fire, his Uncle Derrick’s body lying in the dirt, run through with a sword. He swallowed but couldn’t prevent a little cry from escaping his lips. He clenched his fists and banged his head against them, trying to make the images disappear.


    When he did open his eyes, he saw Will looking at him, his arm tight around Rosalia. His eyes, generally filled with mischief, looked dead.


    “I know you do. My conditions are simple,” she began, her voice soft.


    “You must become bronze-ranked adventurers.”