End of an Age by Mark Tufo
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I was almost dancing around as I waited for Mathieu to get something to eat. I swear he was taking his damn time, biting tiny little nibbles and rolling every friggen’ ort around inside his mouth like he was a world-class taste tester.
“Come on man, it’s berries. How good can it be?”
“I’ve gone out with you before, Michael Talbot. This very well could be my last meal; I would like to savor it.”
Well, shit. He had me there. I waited oh-so-not patiently. Even did a once around the encampment, staying as far from individuals as I could. I was on better terms with the populace, but I wouldn’t be running for mayor any time soon. It was a strange turn of events; I was basically an outsider yet I was asking them to go to war. I would have thought the hostility would have been more pronounced. Maybe on some level they knew this was the right course of action. When I got back around, I found Mathieu talking to Amy.
“Any chance I could talk you out of this?” Amy asked me as I approached.
“I’m not planning on doing anything, probably.”
“We have scouts that have been watching their fort since we got here,” she informed me.
“I won’t bother them,” I promised.
“If you compromise their positions they could be in danger.”
“I’ve been fighting wars since I was eighteen. Contrary to popular belief, I know what the fuck I’m doing.”
“Have it your way,” she said to me. To Mathieu, she said, “be safe.”
“I’ll be sure to stay safe too, ok, Amy?” I told her retreating back. She may have harrumphed. “A little respect. That’s all I’m asking for, man.”
“To get respect, one must first give it.”
“Oh, you’re Buddha now? Grab your gear, oh great sage. Let’s move out.”
“I don’t know who this Buddha is, but he sounds wise.”
“He was— just not sure you’re in the same league.”
“Don’t make me withhold beer from you.”
“Now you’re just being spiteful.”
It was a beautiful day, the kind I remember from my youth. A slight cold snap was in the air, the sun hung high and bright. Golden leaves shimmered in a light breeze. I could have seen myself walking down this very path with an old girlfriend and some crackers, cheese, and a blanket, and maybe some wine—not because I liked wine in the least, but chicks do. And women and wine, well, they go together like...you get the picture. Not a road I wanted to travel down on the eve of battle. I let the memory wither on the vine before it could bear a bittersweet fruit.
“You alright? You’re not usually so quiet.” Mathieu was still popping berries in his mouth and swirling them around.
“I didn’t want to talk to you. I was afraid you’d spit juice in my face while you tried to respond.”
“Want a grape?” He was holding out a fistful.
My first reaction was to say no; there they were, rolling around on the palm of his hand and last I’d checked he hadn’t washed up in a bit. I ate a few anyway, I figured that if I did indeed become Lycan food today, at least I would take one of the filthy animals with me.
I nodded a thank you. The first three miles were good, there was an easy silence, we were enjoying the day and each other’s company. The next couple got more strained as we began to catch scents on the wind—mostly that of roasting meat, but not the savory smell you get by grilling a steak. Apparently, as the Lycan became more domesticated, they started to enjoy their food cooked. Funny how they wanted to be more like the very enemy they were so hell bent on destroying. Oggie and Mathieu both had their noses wrinkled up; I was happy my sense of smell was not nearly as sensitive as theirs.
“I am feeling a sense of destiny today, Michael,” Mathieu said out of the blue.
“I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”
“Neither am I.” He’d cocked his head to the side, maybe trying to figure out if he could agree on an answer.
“What’s making you feel that way, then?”
“For some reason I cannot ascertain, I believe that we are supposed to be here, at this very moment.”
“On this path?”
“Well, I think more specifically we are meant to be at Talboton.”
“Have you ever considered yourself prophetic?”
He shook his head. That didn’t mean a whole bunch to me. Just because he’d never before had a vision or a feeling in no way meant he couldn’t have one. Maybe once upon a time I would have laughed it off, and maybe even now on a normal day I would still have. Maybe he was giving off such unusually strong vibes, or possibly the upcoming full moon was stirring something deep within me, but I could almost feel whatever strings controlled me getting pulled around. It was hard to deny that something bigger was at play here. Whatever it was, we were going to have to wait like everyone else as it played out. Didn’t take long, though. Didn’t take long at all.
Chapter 8
Azile
AZILE HAD LEFT the encampment and was a little way off in the woods. Her hands were clenched and down at her sides. She very much looked in the throes of a temper tantrum as she let out a healthy, strangled “arrrgh” sound.
“You have heard from Michael, then?” Bailey asked. She had watched the Red Witch storm away and thought it wise to check up on her.
“I am old enough to know better, Bailey! Why would I pick a man to love that has absolutely no brains?! He is inconsiderate, obstinate, and cares little for anyone or anything, including himself!”
“I did not read the message, Azile.” Bailey had no way of knowing specifically why Azile was so angry.
“He has gone back to Talboton.”
“For what purpose?” Bailey asked in alarm.
“To end the war or himself or maybe both.”
“Has he succeeded? In ending the war, I mean,” Bailey added when Azile looked over to her.
“The fool found a small horde of zombies.”
“Zombies?” Bailey’s eyes opened wide in alarm. Lycan were large and dangerous and an immediate threat, but she’d been brought up fearing the evils of zombies. It was so ingrained within her it had become mythos. Zombies were her boogie man under the bed, the deranged clown hiding in her closet.
“He led them on a chase for over sixty miles. Sixty miles, Bailey! He ran with zombies chasing him for sixty miles! One stumble, one cramp, an errant tree root, and he would have fallen over and been eaten! Does he not understand? He cannot die on me!”
“He is alright, then?”
“He’ll be fine until I get ahold of him.” Her left foot came down hard upon a small patch of clover.
“What was his purpose in taunting the zombies? Surely he could have lost them at some time during this chase.”
“He led them straight into an army of Lycan and werewolves who were heading here.”
Bailey took a second to digest the information she was given before she asked her next question. “What was the outcome?”
Azile could not help but simmer down as she told Bailey the underlying plan behind Michael’s recklessness. “That army was nearly completely destroyed. The Landians have Michael, Mathieu, and Oggie now.”
“Azile, I do not mean to stir your anger, but did he not accomplish exactly what you wanted of him? Or are you angry with him because he did not do it in the way in which you wished?” Bailey could not help but smile.
“I do not have the same connection to your ancestors that Michael does. I could place an enchantment on you as easily as I could on him.”
“This is cause for celebration...for rejoicing, Azile, not for anger. The war could be coming to a close.”
“Denarth was spared this month, but Xavier sent out three more raiding parties. I fear there will be much death in the next few days. Once I notify Denarth of what Michael has done for them, I will go to the Landians.”
“I should go with you.”
“It would be for the best if you stayed with
“I do not wish to resettle, Azile. I wish to reclaim what is ours. I cannot leave my ancestral home, a place my great-grandfather founded after being victorious in the zombie wars. What would my legacy be to my people? I would forever be known as the Tynes that ran.”
“There may be none of your people left to know anything if you do not find a new place to reside.”
“That does not make it right, Azile. I will know. That is enough.”
Azile sighed. “Who is coming with you?”
“All that are able.”
“Get them ready, then. I will go and meet with the Chancellor.”
Azile strode to the front gate. The guard was looking down at her.
“Open the gate or I will light your beard on fire!” she shouted.
He wisely motioned for the cross beam to be removed. The door swung slowly back.
“Any news from Michael?” Lana asked nervously. She ran up to Azile as she watched the other woman come up the stairs and onto the landing of the large structure reserved for the Chancellor.
“I do not have time to entertain your questions regarding your schoolgirl crush. I need to speak with your father.”
“You are jealous because you do not understand the love that Michael and I feel for each other.”
“How long have you lived in this fantasy world of yours, Lana? It might be wise for you to visit with your physician and see if has some sort of powders that can snap you back to reality.”
“You are not nearly as playful as Michael.”
“I love the man, Lana. I do not take lightly to those that infringe upon that very fact.”
“But I love him as well!” Lana held up her hands in response to Azile’s piercing stare. “Well, maybe not like you,” she smiled. “But you could hardly blame me my feelings.”
“I do not.” Azile let her anger slip away with the words. It was misguided anyway. It was Michael she wanted to throttle for his foolhardiness. Not this giddy child. “Is your father available?”
“He will say he is not, but I will make him meet with you. Come on.” Lana grabbed Azile’s hand and led her inside. “Can you tell me at least if my betrothed is safe?”
Azile shook her hand away from Lana’s. “Get your father.”
Lana laughed as she walked away; her sounds of merriment echoed in the large antechamber.
“Dammit, Lana,” Saltinda said as he walked into the great room and saw Azile standing there. “I told you I was busy.”
“You will want to hear this, I assure you, Chancellor,” Azile said before the man could turn and leave.
“You have nothing new to say, Azile. We have brought in your wounded, though we did not wish to. You sit outside of our doors in what I can only construe as a threatening posture. My men are on edge all day every day. You strain an already difficult relationship.”
“The only difficulty I see is that you are too thick-headed and short sighted to consent to help out a neighbor you once attempted to destroy.”
“Yet it was we that were sent with our tails between our legs, forced to capitulate to demands that would have crippled our economy.”
“Might I add that you started that war, Chancellor? Without that distraction perhaps Talboton could have mounted a bigger defense for itself, or possibly an early offensive against Xavier, thus preventing the need for those weapons.”
“If they had just given them willingly, all of that could have been avoided and perhaps we would not now be staring straight into the crosshairs of Xavier and his werewolf army. I don’t have time for this, Azile. I must prepare my people for a war we cannot possibly win.” He turned away from her.
“Michael has bought you, at least, another month,” Azile said before he could leave the room. His shoulders tightened; she could not tell if this was welcomed news or not. Of course he would be relieved for his town, but not pleased with the manner in which it had happened. His men already greatly feared the Old One; born out of that fear was a healthy dose of respect for his skills upon the battlefield. The Chancellor did not need another reason to give this man more power over his people.
Saltinda’s shoulders sagged. “What do you want?” he asked without turning.
“You will keep administering care to those that need it and you will offer safe harbor to those that wish to stay here, though I do believe any that can walk will be leaving with us in the hour.”
“Is the war over?” There was hope in his voice.
“No. Do you agree to these terms?”
“I do. Now leave,” he commanded her before walking away.
“Oh, goodie.” Lana clapped her hands together. “I’ll go grab my things.”
“What? No. You are not coming.”
“Of course I am. How silly are you?” Lana was all smiles as she skipped away to pack her bag.
“I believe Michael’s insanity to be contagious.” Azile stood in the foyer and spoke aloud to herself.
Chapter 9
Mike Journal Entry 5
“THIS IS INSANE, Michael. How close do you wish to get?” They’d circled around so that they were in the woods directly behind the fort that led to the underground tunnel. “You have to know that this area will be heavily guarded.”
“I don’t know that.”
“I can smell them!”
“They’re going to hear us if you keep up that volume.”
“There is no way you could possibly get a clear shot of anyone from these thick woods.”
“I know that.”
“Yet that was the pretense you gave me when we embarked upon this journey.”
“I sure did. Now, if you could be a little more quiet, I would greatly appreciate it. We are deep in enemy territory.”
“No thanks to you,” Mathieu hissed.
We settled in for a while. I was staring at the hidden hatch like it was about to come alive. The pull to enter was almost more than I could take. If I could arm the Landians with those weapons, we could wreak havoc on Xavier. Or if I could just sneak in and put a bullet in his diseased brain, that would serve the same purpose, and with less mess. I loathed that tunnel, in fact, I feared it. I could hardly bear the thought I might once again come face to face with the evil I had unleashed within its damp confines. It was likely I secretly wanted to; maybe I even needed to. I had to see if I could overcome it, to know beyond doubt who was the master and who was the slave. I did not realize I was even moving towards it until a hand clasped my arm.
“What are you doing?”
“I think I left my wallet in there.”
“There are two Lycan not more than ten feet from that entrance. I can say with a high degree of certainty that they will see you.”
“Shit.” I swiveled my pin-focused attention to where Mathieu was pointing. I’d been so fixated on the hatch, I would have missed them completely and now I’d be dead. I trained my barrel on them, though I did not pull the trigger. I was confident I could kill one of them, but then what? We’d be on the run with Lycan following us. And yeah, we were rested and feeling better, but none of us were up for another marathon. “Right now I’m wishing I knew how to use a bow and arrow. Let’s get out of here.”
“Truly?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I am finding it hard to believe that you are backing away from this situation.”
“I have Oggie to look out for,” I told him. In reality, Mathieu was an equal part of that equation, but if I were to say that, he might possibly take it as an affront to his abilities as a warrior. I never doubted his skill, nor his courage, but even I could do the math on the probabilities of success in this present scenario. I would not again risk the lives of my friends, certainly not this soon after what I’d just put us through. My fleet of Guardian Angels had already done me a solid; maybe it was time I gave them a day off. It doesn’t much matter though. I’ve been around long eno
We had to move slowly; there were more Lycan in the woods than we had previously known. We’d somehow completely evaded their detection; I could only guess that they feared little and paid attention even less. That was completely okay with me. Everything was going fine, but this was my world, so I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to keep my pretense of normalcy going for too long.
A piercing scream cut through the relative quiet of the day. Someone was being dealt a level of punishment that should have been strictly reserved for those that harm children or dogs.
“Pleeeeeaseeee!” dragged out for an indeterminable amount of time. It felt long to me; I can’t imagine how the time stretched for that poor soul. It was difficult to pinpoint the origin of the scream. My best guess was off to our right and closer to the fort, if not inside. My head bowed. My initial assumption was that the Lycan were getting ready to sit down to a meal.
“I’ll tell you anything!” At first I’d thought the person being tortured was male, but from the high pitch of those next shrieks, I couldn’t be certain. If it had been a man, chances were things had been damaged to such a degree that he might have a hard time justifying being that specific gender.
“No, Michael. We cannot risk everything in a vain attempt to save one person.” Mathieu knew what I was thinking. At this point, it wasn’t even about saving that poor bastard; it was about putting him out of his misery. One well-aimed shot would drop him and we could get the fuck out of there.
I let my head dip. We could not risk it; he was right. “We need to get out of here.”
“To the west—to the west!” the person shrieked.
That was more than interesting. The Landians were to the west.
“How far?” a deep, gravelly voice asked.
“Oh fuck,” slipped out of my mouth. The question was followed by another blood-curdling scream. Literally blood curdling. I’m telling you, I felt like my innards were spoiling from the sound of that person’s suffering. Killing and dying in battle have become almost second nature, it’s the cost of war. But torture is a completely different animal. Your disregard for another’s life has to be so complete, so absent, that you cannot even acknowledge another being’s pain. It is a cold, calculated type of thing; one not just anyone is capable of. Battle triggers instincts from within a person, namely, survival. Survival at the expense of all the enemies in front of you. On the battlefield, all are fighting to survive. Kill or be killed. That is not so in torture. There is no potential for harm to the captor, no threat from an enemy. He or she can do indescribable things, miserable, inhuman things to another at their leisure, and sometimes, even at their pleasure. It is a sick, twisted, sadistic display of one’s power over another, and it is unforgivable.