*Scene 01* – 00:00 (Shock of Frost)
The pearl rolled from my hand, bouncing along the rough patches of grass and stone until it reached the water’s edge. At the moment the smooth surface of the pearl made contact with the basin water, sudden tendrils shot out from it extending into the water, fanning outward and hardening until it trapped the Manticore and the Moon sprites in mid-swim pinning them in…ice. The Dust Dragon’s pearl caused the surface of the Trathorn Basin to flash freeze in a matter of seconds. The shock of the frost took the air out of the Manticore’s lungs so that we heard only a growling gasp, whereas the Moon Sprites with their myriad tentacles mouths wailed in deafening, high-pitched, pulsing, shrieks.
The noises echoed in the canyon and off the crescent stone lip of the spillway, now encrusted with frost and icicles as the water from above rapidly hardened. The pearl I had released continued to roll unabated across the now smoothing surface of the water, glistening with an opalescent glimmer of moonlight and reflective ambient light that seemed to pulse from within the orb itself. Wet stones moistened by the water, now wore a thin sheet of ice, reflecting the silver touch of the moonlight.
Maeven cautiously stepped forward and down carefully placing a booted foot on the surface of the frozen lake. I started to call her back, but she raised her hand to quieten us. She shifted her weight from the shore to her leading foot and then slightly bounced and shifted back. No cracks spidered outward from where she’d placed her heel so she shuffled out a little further, bringing her back foot from the shore out onto the surface of the water. The lake had frozen solid for at least one-fourth of a foot in depth, maybe more to be able to hold her. She turned and beckoned to the young men who had pulled the floating log from the lake, to swing it back out onto the surface once again. They lifted and pivoted it and brought it out towards her, its heavier trunk sliding across the ice with no trouble. Now five people stood upon the ice, with no sign of weakening, or sloughing. The ice must have been at least 4-5 inches thick. Fifty yards out, the first of the Moon Sprites closest to them hissed loudly, their black beaks snapped in angered frustration from the ends of the undulating tendrils. The creature’s white face was turned facing them, its obsidian eyes pulsing like a silver strobe.
The giant pearl rolled steadily towards the center of the lake, leaving a slight indentation in the frost on the surface, drawing a tracer line from its rolling course.
Maeven turned toward me and the others.
“You coming?”
*Scene 02* – 00:00 (Scene Title)
“He sends his orders to the world–how swiftly his word flies! He sends the snow like white wool; he scatters frost upon the ground like ashes. He hurls the hail like stones. Who can stand against his freezing cold? Then, at his command, it all melts. He sends his winds, and the ice thaws.” [Psalms 147:15-18 NLT]
“Who is the mother of the ice? Who gives birth to the frost from the heavens? For the water turns to ice as hard as rock, and the surface of the water freezes.” [Job 38:29-30 NLT]
*Scene 03* – 00:00 (Scene Title)
Hesitantly, we stepped out onto the ice and shuffled towards the others. It was hard to believe that the surface we were standing on was only moments ago liquid. We noticed that more of the Moon Sprites were glaring at us, daring us to steal their prey from them, yet ice-bound and in no position to prevent us from doing so.
James started to lay his halberd on the shore and join us, but Maeven told him to bring it.
“I told you that we would have need of your skill,” she said as he came towards her across the ice, using the pole as a staff for balance. Maeven took her bow from her shoulder, grabbed an arrow from her slung quiver and notched it on the string, her lead hand in a full leather glove, her draw hand with a two-fingered archer’s glove. She looked over at me as I bared the blade of the honor sword, allowing my wrist a degree of slack in the bloodline sash that bound me to it.
Christie bore a short sword with etched tracery down the blade, a sweeping curve to the edge, like that of an English cutlass, and a gilded cage grip. As beautiful a piece of weaponry as it was deadly. The youths dragged the log at Maeven’s bequest, but kept cudgel weapons, ready to hand. The others, whom Maeven had not called, opted to wait for us along the shore keeping the horses ready and the wagon supplies secured, should we need to beat a hasty retreat. Maeven instructed them to take up their arms, fan out and whatever they do, be certain to not let anything that wasn’t human leave the lake. Her words were, “Use whatever means necessary, to execute anything getting past us with extreme prejudice. If these things go to ground, we’ll never find them again and they will cause problems for us later.”
We turned as one group and began the trek across the frozen lake, following the course of the pearl, avoiding the glaring menace coming from the Moon Sprites. The Manticore, because of the way the aperture in the ice held it, could not turn to witness our cautious approach.
As we edged our way closer to the captured ring of strange beings we got a better look at one of the Moon Sprites. Ugly creature. Its skin was an oily, fish-belly white. The snapping mouths made gurgling wet sounds in the back of their throats as they lunged at us, seeking vengeful freedom from their host body with the moon-eyes. Its head and neck snapped left and right as the white things writhed and hissed.
“Don’t get close to it,” Maeven warned, “Only James.”
“Me?!”
“Yes, you,” Maeven teased, “You didn’t think I asked you to come out here because of your lanky, good looks, did you?”
We all chuckled, and James blushed a little.
“You want me to kill it?”
“Unless you’d rather keep it as a pet, yeah.” Maeven rejoined, “Somethings here need killing. Learned that lesson the hard way.”
“How do I…?” It was clear from James’ hesitancy, this was not something he relished or was even accustomed to.
“Didn’t you ever go hunting up in the Surface World?”
“Yeah, but what we hunted for you could eat,” James answered, “These thing’s making me hesitant to ever think of eating pasta again.”
Will and the young men had been pulling the large log along with the group, watching carefully for any indication that the weight of it might break through the ice. They had stopped and were watching the Moon Sprite with some degree of fascination and repulsion. One of the boys stepped up and offered, “I’ll do it if you think you can’t handle it.”
James shot him an irritated glance and then adjusted his grip on the halberd, steadying himself for bringing it to bear.
“I’ve got this, young’un,” he said, and the boy noted the set of his jaw and the look of determination that came over his face. He surrendered the offer, raising both hands, palms outward in a push back gesture, “All right, pops. Knock yourself out.”
“Boys, don’t think you’re getting off that easy,” Maeven countered, “James may kill the bulk of it, but those suckers making all that noise can separate from the head. You’re not just looking at one Moon Sprite. That is a living nest of them.”
The boys, for all of their seeming bravado, unconsciously stepped back from the creature.
“Uh, Dominic, I think you should be the one to help, James.”
“Go ahead Will. Pull out that AK-47 you talked about. You can take’em,” another said.
But none of them moved.
Maeven sighed and the others chuckled.
“All right, you little heroes,” James jibed, “You’d better get ready quickly, or you’re about to be attacked by these mouthy egg noodles, once I starve carving. So what’ll it be? White meat or dark?”
They laughed nervously and reached for their cudgels and striking weapons.
“Remember, guys,” Maeven cautioned, “You’re standing on a sheet of ice. If one of those slithers off of the mother host, don’t go breaking up the floor with misses. You’ll need to crack it in the head if you can. Don’t sissy out on us.”
The young men nodded assent but looked very nervous.
The Moon Sprite arched its back and expelled some kind of vile putrescence onto the ice, almost splattering James with the black, bile-like substance.
“Oh no you did not,” James said, as he reacted with the halberd, rolling the pole and the hooked blade into a deadly arc, and spinning with the blade extended, the pole end tucked into the crux of his arm and elbow. The flourish did not look like it had done much at first, until a black silver line shown on the torso of the Moon Sprite, and its flesh suddenly burst open spilling a mercurial quicksilver out onto the ice, as the creature’s living dreadlocks fluttered and spasmed. Gouts of liquid from the wound spilled a silver tide across the ice around the Moon Sprite as it barked in a protestation and rage, eyes strobing with white-hot light. The mouthed arms flagellated crazily seized in spasms and then hung limply as the Moon Sprite’s larger body slumped over onto the ice, its pulses driving more of its silvery blood outwards until at last, it stilled. The boys watched the mass of tangles for any additional movement, their cudgels raised and ready.
The large pearl that had rolled ahead of us now cut an arc in its path, almost as if it were being magnetized back towards the Moon Sprite we had just dispatched. We edged around the black splattered ice that had almost got on James and observed the mirrored mercurial substance as it rippled in the slight wind that was blowing across the surface of the lake.
“Dominic, why don’t you stay with this one and make sure one of those things on its head does suddenly come back to life,” I suggested. He assented and kept his cudgel at the ready, narrower handle in one hand, its metal shrouded studding cradled in the palm of the other. “On it.”
The other boys started to follow us further, but Maeven halted them.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, guys?”
“What’s that?”
“The log. Bring it.”
“What’s it for?”
“You’ll see,” Maeven commanded, not accustomed to having her orders questioned, “now come on.”
The three boys took hold of an extended branch forming a Y fork and continued to pull the tree forward and passed the now dead Moon Sprite.
*Scene 04* – 00:00 (Scene Title)
*Scene 05* – 00:00 (Scene Title)
*Scene 06* – 00:00 (Scene Title)
*Scene 07* – 00:00 (The Manticore)
We approached the Manticore much more cautiously. It was a large and powerful creature, and it smelled us as we approached, issuing a rumbling, threatening growl. The ice pressed up against its shoulders, frosting its mane with ice crystals. A dull thudding came from under the ice beneath our feet. The beast’s body extended much deeper below the surface into the frigid water. It was quite possible that with enough determined effort the Manticore would not be held by the ice much longer. Cognizant of that we rounded the trapped Manticore, giving it a wide berth. It’s grizzled and bearded face was fire-scorched, and its eyes were filled with hatred. Its expression alternated between a rictus and brow-furrowed, resentful glare. After watching us a moment, its voice came out in a low rumble.
“You will answer to The Pan for my death.”
I stepped up and addressed it, “You are in no position to threaten us.” I gestured back toward the slain Moon Sprite, now being watched over by Dominic. “In fact, you might consider offering us some degree of gratitude for dealing with one of these creatures that most certainly would have drowned you and fed upon you.”
The Manticore bared its teeth in what I surmised was an attempt to smile in defiant condescension, “These may have tried.” I decided to try a different tact.
“What is your complaint with the people of Azragoth?”
“Other than the taste of their blood…?”
It was trying to rile me. To get me to do something angry and foolish so that I might let down my guard.
It was working. My grip tightened on my honor sword. A passage from the Ancient Text flashed into my mind, cautioning me to keep it under control.
“8 Stop being angry! Turn from your rage! Do not lose your temper–it only leads to harm. … 12 The wicked plot against the godly; they snarl at them in defiance.” [Psalm 37:8, 12 NLT]
I attempted to settle my rising sense of injustice and my outrage at how this beast so cavalierly referred to our friends in Azragoth as a mere food source. It was provoking me, and with my nerves raw, that was dangerous both for me and for this creature. I had to maintain calm and composure.
I exhaled a quiet breath, slowing my breathing to even my pulse rate. I focused again.
“You can make this difficult or very hard. What grievance does The Pan have with Azragoth?”
The Manticore’s human face phased through an inscrutable series of expressions but finally answered. Again that thumping noise from underneath the ice sounded muffled and distant.
“Under what scenario, human, do I get out of this ice and your pride lets me survive this day?”
“I’ll take no pride in killing you if it comes to that.”
The Manticore cocked its head, as if not understanding my reply. And then his perplexity clarified. The term he’d used was because of the primary lion component of its makeup. A lion’s pride was not an attitudinal attribute but its company of lionesses and young male lions. It was referring to our company, who each carried some form of weapon at the ready. I glance up at my companions and motioned for them to back away to perhaps allow The Manticore to become more cooperative if that was even possible. They cautiously stepped back but were wary and I could tell they were worried that this Manticore might deceive me into letting my guard down or getting too close.
It was foolish expecting this creature to express any gratitude for dispatching one of its antagonists, because of the same condition that made The Shibboleth test work on the possible spies in our midst. Thankfulness was as foreign a concept to these creatures of the cursed crossing as it was to any demonic metaphysical spawn following us out of the portals. The idea of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ would not work with this creature maddened by the conflict between its dual natures: The residue of the human soul and the wild, blood-lusting animal nature.
In the next moment, the questioning became a moot point, and I was given a very good reason to kill this beast without further discussion. The source of that persistent thumping became tragically and abundantly clear.
A shock of pain stabbed through Maeven’s thigh before she even knew she’d been hit.
Excavatia 