Catching Hell Part One: Journey

his head, composing himself as he did so. “I can tell you nothing but the truth as I know it. They began a strong push to the northwest shortly after landfall, following the coast. Based on what we know, the Valley of Smoke was not in their immediate path. They were heading westerly, into the Vein Valley. But a force so large is bound to be everywhere eventually. If another Rider hasn't alerted them, you can be assured that one will soon. All towns and villages are being told the same thing. Pack up, go north, and run until you can’t run anymore. It's all we can think of to do.

His words were heavy, and nearly unbelievable. Aryu and Johan shifted back and forth, praying Stroan would offer something more in terms of comfort.

“Southeast from here is your home, still three or four days away by way of the road we're on now, and then to the Traveler’s Trail at the north end of the valley. I'm sure you know it?”

They did. The Travelers Trail was the main north/south road through the valley.

“And what about going straight, going day and night, non-stop?” Johan asked.

Stroan looked confused as he puzzled it out. Aryu already smelled the beginnings of a Johan plan.

“I guess no more than two days,” Stroan decided. “Hard country between here and there, though. Harsh, dry valleys would be the least of your worries. There's also the risk of hidden raiders, deadly creatures, and at least a few shifting sandpits. It'd be better to stick to the roads you know, especially in these times. The only upside is it’s all downhill.”

Johan barely heard Rider Stroan’s opinions on the matter. He was already looking at Aryu. “Can you do it?” he asked, partly curious, partly pleading. “With water and supplies enough for the journey?”

Aryu thought about it. Although he'd embraced his freakish deformity’s greater benefits years prior, his embarrassment and shame kept him from trying at a trip so long. That said, he couldn't say it was impossible, and that was enough for him.

“Yes,” he said at last. “As long as we keep it light. It won't be easy going that far.”

Johan nodded and dropped his pack to assist Aryu with what he needed. Stroan looked on in wonder and finally brought himself to speak. “It won't be any easier with only one of you. I dare say it'd be more dangerous that way. I wouldn't consider it if I were you two.”

Johan gave Aryu dried meats and enough water for the trip. Anymore, and Aryu feared the extra weight would be nothing but a hindrance to him.

“We can't thank you enough for your information, Rider Stroan.” Johan was eager to send the young man on his way. “You should go now, continue to the north and save more villages. We'll be fine from here on.”

Stroan hesitated, watching as Johan handed Aryu the last of the needed supplies. His duty was to the north, though, and the foolish actions of these two were no longer his concern.

“I advise against this course of action, sirs. No good can come of it. Just stay togethe...”

Aryu had unlatched his strapping and was tearing his pack from his back. Thick, dark, leathery wings slowly unraveled themselves to their full length as a terrified Stroan looked on.

“By Gods and Devils, you have got to be kidding me,” Stroan stammered.

Johan had gotten used to it by this point. “Of all the things you've seen lately, I promise you this is the least of your worries.”

He supposed that was true. He had seen too much to be surprised anymore. If the Armies of the Old, long thought destroyed, were currently tromping across the land with little resistance, a man with mutant wings was just another drop in what was becoming a very odd bucket.

Aryu gave the wings a few strong test strokes, kicking up the dirt at his feet, causing the others to shield their faces.

“Wait.” Johan was digging into his pack again, eventually emerging with his coveted dagger. He held it out to Aryu. “It's no defense against machines, but it's all I have to offer for protection.”

Aryu at last knew it was time. The sixth sense he'd felt since its arrival told him so. He waved off the offer of his friend, instead digging into the long storage pocket on the inside of his own pack.

What emerged was a straight, sheathed sword; its square, golden hilt and wrapped handle grasped firmly in his hand. At its base were two small protrusions, not unlike latched horns.

Aryu took a spare piece of strapping and secured the hidden treasure to his back between his wings in a fashion that wouldn't interfere with them.

“You son of a bitch.” Johan looked on, anger just as obvious as confusion. “Since when?”

“Last night. On the mountain, while you were still climbing.” Johan looked very doubtful. Aryu waved it off. “Later. For now, keep the dagger and I'll tell you about it when we meet up again.” Johan wasted no time tucking his blade back in his pack, almost ashamed with himself that he'd offered it in the first place.

By this point, Rider Stroan had returned to his horse, which had stood like chiseled stone this whole time, and mounted up. “May we meet again in this life or the next,” he offered, giving them the wave of his position once again.

Johan looked to him, returning the salute, and smirked. “Preferably the former,” he answered.

“Indeed, men, indeed. Good fortune to you!”

“And you, Rider Stroan,” Aryu replied.

With a click of the teeth and a dig of his heels, Stroan took off at full gallop after the caravan, his own destiny off in the looming shadows of the Great Range.

“Alright,” Aryu began, recapturing Johan’s attention. “I expect you in no more than four days.”