Shard from the Past

Chapter 3 — A Shard from the Past

A ringing hum filled their ears after the column collapsed. The air was clogged with thick dust — heavy, almost solid enough to touch with one’s hands. Part of the ceiling had caved in farther along, striking the room where the fugitives had been hiding. One of them hung there, clinging to the edge of the break. His face could not be seen — only his legs, dangling in the smoke.

The others were slowly coming to their senses. Silence, heavy breathing… and the occasional crackle of crumbling concrete.

Michael took a step forward.

Toward the orange light.

The dust was slowly settling. The light reflected off the concrete walls, making everything around seem unreal. The silhouettes of the Khemars on the cars blurred, their green glow gradually fading. The light flickered.

— What’s there?! — the guide shouted, still hanging and kicking his legs.

— How would I know… — Michael breathed out, not taking his eyes away, peering into the thick haze.

The light grew weaker, slowly sinking lower. It was getting darker, but somehow easier to see.

The dust settled.

And then Michael understood — beneath his feet was emptiness.

A drop.

Michael carefully came closer. He felt for the edge with the toe of his boot, making sure it could hold his weight.

— Maybe someone could get me down?! — the guide shouted. — Before I fly down there too!

They quickly pulled him back up.

Something moved behind Michael. He flinched. A hand rested on his shoulder.

— What the… — he spun around sharply. — Why are you scaring me?!

It was one of the traders.

— I want to look too… — the man said quietly.

Below, something poured down like dry sand. The orange light flared for a moment — and began to fade.

On the lower level, among debris and water, lay a boy.

Naked.

His body was covered in glowing dust, which was slowly dimming.

— We need to get him out! — Michael said sharply. — Quickly!

And he began climbing down the slab — the former ceiling, now turned into a floor. Everything was slippery, uneven, dangerous, but he did not stop.

— Is he alive?! — someone shouted from above.

Michael knelt beside him. He placed a hand on the boy’s chest.

— Breathing. And warm.

He raised his head upward.

— Throw something down! A hide! A cloth — anything!

— The nights are cold…

Silence.

No one answered.

Only dust drifted slowly into his eyes.

Five years earlier. The same place.

The rusty gates to the underground parking lot were not fully closed. The gap between the doors was dark, like a mouth.

A man approached them. A balding head, sparse teeth, clothes that were nothing but rags. He was chewing dried meat, lazily and without hurry.

Coming up to the gates, he spat to the side, wiped his hands on his dirty jacket, and, groaning, grabbed the metal.

— Now… now we’ll see what’s in there and move on, darling…

He pulled the gate upward. The screech of metal spread through the parking lot, echoing into the depths. The man grimaced, but kept pulling.

— Told you… I’d be quick…

Albert looked back over his shoulder.

— Don’t you wander off, you hear?!

Behind him stood a horse harnessed to a wagon piled with junk.

As he stepped inside, dampness struck him in the face at once. The floor was covered with mud and stagnant water. Somewhere, frogs croaked. Rusty water dripped from the ceiling.

And in the depths of the parking lot — silence and a brownish light.

At least, that was how it seemed to him.

— What kind of egg is this?.. — Albert muttered, coming closer.

And froze.

A cocoon.

Semi-transparent.

Inside — a girl.

Curled up like an embryo.

About fourteen years old.

Around the cocoon stretched a viscous, glowing substance — like roots creeping across the floor. The main vein disappeared beneath the rubble.

Pulsing.

Alive.

— O-oh… — he breathed out.

His lips stretched into a crooked smile.

— Now this is a find…

— He’ll like this… For something like this, they’ll give me red Lagerents… food… a lot…

He licked his lips.

— All mine…

Grabbing the cocoon, he pulled. The substance enveloping it would not give.

He yanked harder. The light inside the cocoon trembled.

— I’ll pluck your grey beard… Dog’s liver… come loose already! — Albert hissed and pulled with all his strength.

The strand snapped.

The girl inside the cocoon stirred slightly.

A strange smell hung in the air — with a taste of metal and something chemical, sharp, alien.

He drew air in through his nose.

— Ugh… — he spat. — Some kind of rot…

And without thinking, he grabbed the cocoon again.

Somewhere on the screen, lines began running once more:

Subject 1 protection process suspended…

Error…

Suspension impossible…

Thread damaged…

Error…

No connection to Subject 2…

Subject 2 protection process suspended.

Breathing heavily, leaving only tracks behind him, Albert dragged the cocoon toward the exit.

— There we go… — he smirked. — And you were afraid…

In response, there was only the horse’s snort, as if it understood that he was talking to it.

With difficulty, he heaved the cocoon into the wagon. Wiping sweat from his forehead and only smearing the dirt, he took the reins and drove off as if nothing had happened.

Silence filled the parking lot again.

The present. The same place.

Someone’s woolen cloak flew down and landed right on Michael’s head. Michael shook it off, lifted the boy slightly, and carefully wrapped the fabric around him. After that, he froze for a second, peering into the depths of the flooded room.

— Hey! Up there! What was your name… trader? — Michael shouted.

The echo struck his ears.

— Who, me? — a head appeared in the break. — I’m Simon! Did fear make you forget?

— No, — Michael waved him off. — I was bad with names even before this.

He narrowed his eyes.

— Is it getting lighter outside? Or does it just seem brighter in here?

— I’ll check! — Simon answered and disappeared.

— And tell the healers to get ready! — Michael shouted after him. — The boy is alive, but unconscious!

— And I’ll think about how we get out of here…

Michael breathed out heavily, shifted the boy, and hoisted him onto his back. With difficulty, he climbed down from the debris. Underfoot were water and silt, in places almost up to his waist. The lower level of the parking lot had flooded. The orange dust falling from the boy’s body left a faint glowing trail on the water.

— This way! — someone shouted.

— Why are you yelling?! — Michael snapped.

The young man ran closer.

— Dawn. Quiet. Not a soul. The ones who were following us seem to have passed by.

— Dawn?.. — Michael said in surprise. — How long were we in here…

Michael climbed outside. The early rays of the sun struck his eyes.

Two healers immediately ran over.

— Lay him here! Quickly!

Michael carefully lowered the boy down.

— Cold… We need to warm him.

— You could use that too.

— Agreed, — Michael nodded. — We look for a dry place. With walls, but no roof.

— We’ll light a fire. Warm up. Sleep in turns.

— Moving by day is dangerous. The Khemars haven’t left yet.

— We need to gather herbs, — one of the healers added. — We’ll make a hot infusion. It will bring strength back.

— No need, — Michael shook his head. — I have some.

He touched the backpack.

— I was carrying them for the village… but if I die here, they won’t be of any use to the village anyway.

— No one at home will judge you for a pinch of herbs, — one of the healers said quietly.

— What about there? — one of the young men pointed ahead.

Among the ruined buildings, another one stood out — with a cross, without a roof, overgrown with grass and trees, as if the forest were slowly taking it back.

— I went there with my father, — the young man said. — Before they took me into the guard…

He faltered.

— I wanted to be a hunter.

The young man hesitated.

— The view is good. From the second floor, you can see everything. And the windows… made of colored glass. Like Lagerents.

— Then lead, — Michael nodded. — I won’t carry the boy. No strength left… and my back’s caught.

Michael adjusted the crossbow.

The group moved forward.

Surprisingly, it was quiet. Only the wind wandered through the empty openings of the buildings.

— Almost there…

The young man did not finish.

A small boar burst out of the grass with a squeal. In the same second, there was a whistle. An arrow sank into its neck. The beast squealed, jerked forward, tried to slip through the remains of a metal fence — and got stuck.

Fwoosh.

A second arrow.

Straight into the eye.

Michael lowered the crossbow.

— First time I’ve seen one of those… — he muttered. — What kind of oddity is that?

Michael swallowed. His stomach growled unpleasantly.

On the fence hung a small boar with a short horn on its forehead. Tusks jutted from its bloody mouth.

— This is a blessing, — said Leah the healer.

She came closer and examined the carcass.

— The god of Udgal is not angry with us. He gave us a sign… so we could gather strength and leave.

— I’ve eaten these. The meat is tough, but edible.

— Is that a young one? — Michael frowned.

— No, — Leah shook her head. — An adult. A Tetu boar.

She nodded at the carcass.

— Stubborn creatures. They love getting into other people’s gardens. They’ll tear everything up. Even if there’s a fence, they’ll keep pushing. For hours. Until they break it… or exhaust themselves. Small, but dangerous. If one knocks you down, it’ll break your leg. And while you’re getting up, it can skewer you on its horn.

Leah looked at Michael.

— You don’t have these where you’re from?

Michael shook his head.

— I used to hunt… but I’ve never seen anything like this before.

They pulled the little boar out of the fence with difficulty — it had charged in so fiercely that it bent the metal bars.

Inside, the building truly was beautiful. Sunlight broke through the surviving colored glass, scattering into patterns and shimmering across the walls and floor.

The fire caught quickly. Rotten, but dry wood flared easily. Everything that could burn went into it. There was almost no smoke.

— Oh, this will do for tea… — one of the girls said, finding an intact bowl and something resembling a round iron vessel.

— And we can dry clothes on this… — one of the young men added, dragging over metal rods.

The meat was cooked simply — on shaved branches. Without unnecessary fuss. After everything they had endured, that was enough.

Gradually, everyone warmed up.

Relaxed.

— I’ll take the first watch, — Michael said. — My back won’t let me sleep anyway. Sleep for a couple of hours — then we move out.

He took the backpack and the crossbow, climbed to the surviving part of the second floor, and sat down by a stone wall. He looked around.

— Brr… not winter, but still cold, — Michael muttered.

From the backpack, he took out a leather notebook — worn, tightly stitched — and began drawing something. Sometimes he took a sip of hot tea. Sometimes he simply looked into the distance.

Several hours passed.

The notebook slipped from the edge and flew down.

Straight onto one of the traders’ heads.

— Ow! — the man flinched and jumped up.

The trader lowered his gaze. At his feet lay the leather notebook. He picked it up, opened it, and froze.

There was all kinds of things inside. Veynas, Khemars, Tumargs. Some spiders and unnamed birds. Deer horns. And on the last page — a small boar with a horn.

Tetu.

— Hey, Michael! Is this yours? — he shouted upward.

There was silence in response.

Only quiet snuffling.

— Old man… did you fall asleep up there or what?

Snoring came from above.

— Well, that explains it…

The trader’s name was Bert.

He climbed up.

Michael was sleeping with his back against the wall. Beside him stood an empty bowl. In his hand, he still held a strange thing — a semi-transparent, whitish plastic tube with a handmade tip. A gray liquid was thickening inside.

— Hey… wake up, artist, — Bert lightly kicked him with his foot.

Michael jerked. Coughed. Opened his eyes.

— Eh… ah… — he narrowed his eyes, looking around. — Give it back…

He noticed the notebook in Bert’s hands. His hand immediately reached for it.

— Yours?

— Mm… — Michael nodded. — Mine. Give it back.

Bert held out the notebook, but did not let go.

— Drew these yourself? And with what?

Michael snorted and pointed at the tube.

— With this.

He turned it in his hand.

— Found it once. Useful thing. Doesn’t rust, doesn’t rot.

Michael gently pulled at the upper part.

— You can open it, pour into it… and see how much is inside.

— Not much use for storage. But as a pen — just right.

He smirked.

— Had the local blacksmith make the tip. He shouted, sure… but he made it.

Bert looked into the notebook again.

— Have you been… keeping this for long?

Michael shrugged.

— Since I was a teenager. Who I’ve seen. How they behave. How to kill them. You can’t remember everything.

Michael froze. Slowly drew air in through his nose. Frowned.

— Wait…

He rose slightly and walked to the edge.

Below, everything was calm — the fire was burning low, the others were asleep.

Michael stood on his toes, grabbed the edge of the broken roof, and looked into the distance.

Froze.

— Oh… my God…

— What’s there? — Bert immediately responded.

— Michael?

— Don’t just stand there silent! What did you see?!.. Damn it, let me look!

Michael did not answer.

Bert stepped closer, looked over his shoulder —

…and froze too.

In the distance, above the forest, columns of smoke were rising.

Black.

Thick.

Too many.

— There… — Bert breathed out quietly.

Michael clenched his teeth.

— Too much smoke… — he whispered.

End of the Chapter.