Context
This is Aldwyn and Crom's first hunt with actual equipment.
Content Warning: violence and swearing.
CHAPTER 5
Crom
Crom and Aldwyn gathered by the eastern entrance of Himmeldorf, the midday sunlight glinting off their new equipment. Choosing everything had been an easy affair; Edmund had buzzed through his sparse equipment room, apologizing all the while for the lack of options. In the end, both were given gear based on what Edmund thought their strengths were.
To Crom, Edmund had given a boar spear, coming in just shy of seven feet long, the head flanked on either side with protruding bits of metal designed to keep a monster from charging down the length of the shaft. A bag of essentials, food, water and the like, looped around his back by a single strap. On his hip was a sword, steel and straight and gleaming in the midday sun.
If Crom was geared to fight up close, then Aldwyn was supposed to stay well the hells away. He carried the same weapon as that hunter from long ago; a handcannon. It resembled Crom’s spear, only shorter and without a pointy bit at the end. Instead, the shaft led to a hollow cylinder with a gap in the top, where Aldwyn was supposed to, “stick his thumb when ready to fire.” Strapped to his back and held together with twine were two more handcannons, as well as a small sword on his hip.
Both wore brigandine jackets— “leather garments with metal plates sewn into them, to keep the innards exactly that,” Edmund had explained—with gambesons, or thick, padded jackets underneath. Crom found he had a surprising amount of mobility, all things considered, and was doubly glad to know Aldwyn had a failsafe means of protecting himself.
Crom was also reassured by the lindwyrm tooth inside the pouch looped around the back of Aldwyn’s belt, waiting to be sparked by the hunter gauntlet the shorter boy wore. Accented with iron rings, the gauntlet was slightly different from Eisen’s. The thumb, however, was the same rusted bronze shell, paired with the same flinted middle finger. Crom thought the equipment made Aldwyn look competent, prepared. His strained expression, on the other hand, had the opposite effect.
Of course, Edmund had offered Crom a gauntlet and handcannons of his own. Yet for all its allure as the mark of a hunter, one look at the bright red spark at the thumb’s end ensured that Crom passed on the offer. For now, both hands remained bare.
A few people ambled past, throwing the pair curious looks. Someone whispered something. The wind was weak and did little to throw off the smell of manure from the nearby stable. Crom felt it was a poor send-off, all things considered. His grip around the spear tightened; it was time to go.
“I don’t like this,” Aldwyn muttered. He stared down the road they were meant to follow.
“I feel exactly the same way,” Crom replied, glaring at a gawking couple who quickly looked away. “Should we get going?”
“Should we?”
Crom didn’t answer, instead taking their first steps out of town.
It was crowded at first, relatively speaking. Groups of people re-entered the town in twos and threes, tools in hand, farmers coming in for their afternoon meal. They went further, and farmland was replaced by short trees and long grasses on and the occasional stone spire, atop which black-beaked Nachtkrapps perched, and they cawed and flapped at the pair, but were otherwise harmless. They went further, and saw less and less people. Eventually, the road became empty.
Empty, save for a figure far enough ahead to be barely distinct.
Do they not know about the worms? Crom nudged Aldwyn.
“What?” Aldwyn asked.
“That person,” Crom said, gesturing at the figure, “should we catch up to them?”
“What?” Aldwyn squinted. “Why?”
“To warn them.”
Aldwyn pursed his lips. “They’ll be okay.”
“You think?”
“Probably. I say take our time. If they get attacked, we’ll know.”
Crom gave Aldwyn a look.
Aldwyn sniffed, and looked away.
“We should pick up the pace,” Crom said, then added, “it’ll be fine. We’re better prepared than back then.” He tried for a smile. “We have more than just a table knife.”
Aldwyn said nothing. Merely hitched up his handcannons and continued the march.
Time passed. The sky was overcast. Birds flitted overhead, oblivious to the dangers on the ground. Try as they might, they couldn’t make up ground on the figure. It was hard to tell, but Crom thought they kept looking back at them. Eventually, as the terrain rose and fell with new hills, the figure disappeared. That worried Crom, though not half as much as Aldwyn did.
Out of the corner of his eye, Crom watched his friend. Aldwyn kept wiping his hand on his trousers, jolting and whipping around at every snapping branch or far-off call. The further they got from town, the worse it became.
It wasn’t hard to understand why. Facing off against monsters who could burst forth from the ground at any moment… Crom grimaced.
If I could just… Just what? Crom was the one who dragged Aldwyn out here. His friend was his responsibility, and yet Crom didn’t have the faintest idea how to help.
“Crom?”
Crom snapped back into focus. He glanced at Aldwyn. “Yeah?”
“Have you ever used one of those things before?”
Following Aldwyn’s eyes, Crom held up his spear. “What, this?”
Aldwyn nodded.
Crom pursed his lips. “No. But how hard can it be? You stick ‘em with the pointy end.”
“That’s it?”
“I think so.”
“Edmund didn’t show you any techniques?”
“No. He told me to stick ‘em with the pointy end.”
“What about your sword? Can you use your sword?”
Crom paused. “Well…” He tried to think of a comforting lie, failed, and grimaced. “No.”
Aldwyn sucked in his gums. “I see.”
“But it’s okay. Edmund said if we had to fall back to my sword, we’re already good as dead.”
“Thanks, Crom. That’s very reassuring.”
Not good. Not good at all. Why was this so difficult? They’d only spent their entire lives together—surely Crom could cobble together some sort of consolation for his friend. But, what, exactly? Crom closed his eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. There were flowers nearby, Crom figured, or something sweet, and their scent was pungent. He inhaled again, and this time thought he smelled smoke. His brows furrowed.
Smoke and flowers. Crom thought of Cudborough and its burnt remains. He thought of back behind Aldwyn’s house, of Aldwyn’s mother in her garden. He imagined himself small and crying, running to hide behind the ruffles of her skirt…
Crom opened his eyes.
“Hey.” Crom said. He stopped.
Aldwyn halted at Crom’s side. Sweat coated his forehead. “What?”
Crom smacked him across the face.
Aldwyn recoiled, one hand pressed over his cheek. He stared incredulously at Crom. “The hells?!”
“Did that hurt?”
“Fuck yeah that hurt, I’m asking why you did it.”
“Come back to the present.” Crom said, recollecting the words from memory.
“What are you—”
Crom stepped forward and pulled Aldwyn into a hug.
Aldwyn stiffened. “Woah, woah, woah, what are you—”
“Twenty second hug,” Crom said. “No talking. Just relax.”
Aldwyn paused. Then he sighed, his breath warm against Crom’s arm. “Seriously? What, you trying to be mom right now?”
“No talking.”
Aldwyn grimaced. “Oh, gimme a break.” He pressed his head against Crom’s shoulder. “This is weird, you know.”
“Relax.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll relax, you jackass.”
He did. Barely, at first. But after Aldwyn let the first exhale go, the tension in his neck and his arms, and his legs and his torso, all faded, then disappeared. Crom, for his part, remained rock-steady, unmoving even after twenty seconds had passed. Only when he felt Aldwyn try to pull away did he release his grip and step back.
“Better?” Crom asked.
Aldwyn hesitated. “I—” He sighed. “Yeah. Fine, sure, I feel better. You happy?”
Crom grinned.
“Wipe that look off your face,” Aldwyn said, “Like I said, it’s weird.” He sniffed. “Besides, mom gave better hugs.”
“Probably,” Crom said. He clapped Aldwyn on the shoulder. “Now breathe. And stop worrying.”
Aldwyn huffed, and dropped his head and rubbed his eyes. “Thanks, man, but I don’t… it’s just, you know…”
“Aldwyn.” Crom said.
Aldwyn looked up.
“I’ll protect you. I promise.”
Aldwyn stared at him. He made a face. “Protect yourself first,” he muttered, “I’ll be fine. And be careful making promises you can’t keep.”
Crom shrugged. “You let me worry about that.” He pursed his lips. “Mind you, it wouldn’t be the first promise I broke.”
Aldwyn gave him a curious look. Then, a spark of recollection. “Are you talking about—”
Crom grinned.
Aldwyn laughed. “I forgot about that. Those were my best shoes too.”
They smiled at one another. Crom was happy to see the tense lines fade—not disappear entirely, mind you, but fade—from Aldwyn’s stance, and found his own nerves steadying. He hadn’t really noticed, but the thought of Aldwyn going into a fight, nervous as he had been—it scared Crom. It made the prospect of Aldwyn getting hurt seem inevitable.
Crom made a fist. His nails dug into his palm and he exhaled. I’ve got his back, and he’s got mine. For this hunt…
…and whatever comes next.
A shout. The pair froze.
Crom strained his ears. Aldwyn began to speak, but Crom shushed him and listened.
Another shout, fainter this time. From somewhere over the hill.
Crom took off at a sprint, shrugging the bag off his shoulders. From behind, he heard Aldwyn hesitate, groan and hurry after him.
As Crom neared the top of the hill, he became aware of the ground shaking beneath him. The tremors clambered up his body, setting his teeth to a chatter, rendering his fingers somewhat numb. Another shout, quieter this time. Crom redoubled his efforts, stopping only when he crested the hill and took in the situation.
The first thing he noticed was the fire. It crackled and spat in irregular splotches, most of it already fading. There was a discarded bag in the middle of the road, split, its contents scattered. Dust and smoke lingered in the air. In some places the road had already sunk entirely. In more, the ground was cratered. Something—or many somethings—dove in and out of the earth as though through water.
The worms.
Tufts of hair, varying in length and thickness, jutted haphazardly about their bodies, as long as Crom was tall. Their skin was a pale yellow, taut and veiny. They had no eyes, but they did have mouths. Many mouths, filled with long, blackened and broken teeth, dyed by mud and shaped by stone, smattered across the worms’ bodies and making it difficult to distinguish the front from the back. All worked constantly, however, gnawing away at the earth as they delved underground, or striking at the figure who stood off on the side of the road.
A figure who shot fire from her hands.
Her hair, formerly tied up and hidden within a bright purple shawl, whipped freely around her head as she tracked the worms, a blade stuck into her open palm. Her flowing pants and long tunic were torn in several places. A cut split one of her heavy brows in half, her hooked nose scrunched, her thin lips set in a snarl. As Crom stared, a familiar knot growing in his stomach, he recognized the flames that raged beneath her skin.
The girl’s roving eyes spotted him, and she did a double-take. “Hey!” Another worm broke the surface, and she ducked away from it. “You! Please, help me!”
Crom hesitated.
Then the girl cried out again as a worm attacked from behind; it struck her shoulder. The ground below collapsed in a pitfall. She fell out of sight and Crom was racing downhill, his spear held in front, sword banging against his hip. It was less of a sprint and more of a controlled fall, as parts of the road collapsed with every other step, but Crom kept his balance. He reached the base of the hill as another worm breached the surface. Acting on instinct, Crom thrust forward with the spear. It penetrated one of the worm’s mouths; the others screeched. Twisting its body around, the worm lunged at Crom.
He ducked. The worm tried to veer past, found itself held in place by the spear, twisted again, and sunk two sets of jaws into Crom’s shoulder and torso. Wincing, Crom unsheathed his sword and hacked away at the worm, taking it in the underside. He cut again—the worm pulled away. Crom rammed his arm down one of its mouths, gripped flesh and pulled it close and cut again. The worm split messily in half, both ends collapsed to the ground with quiet thuds as it dissolved into black mist.
Crom staggered backwards. His wounds bled, but were already healing. His breath was ragged. With wide eyes, Crom regarded his trembling hands.
Undiluted, reddened elation, like electricity, arced through his body, set his veins alight, his senses tingling. A small, almost-disbelieving smile broke across his face.
Oh.
“Watch out!” Aldwyn cried out.
Something slammed into Crom’s side, driving the wind out of him and pinning him to the ground. His sword went flying. The oomph of the impact was quickly replaced by a burning sensation, as the second worm clamped its teeth over his ribs. The brigandine jacket, made to halt man-made steel, did little against teeth made to cut through stone.
Crom grunted. He reached for his sword, but it was too far away. He punched the worm's side, to no avail. The worm’s skin was springy, gelatinous almost, and Crom’s blows simply bounced off. Ripping its one end backwards, the worm tore a hunk of flesh off Crom. It gnashed its teeth together and screeched, its body wrapping around Crom’s legs to lock him in place. Crom braced himself, hands brought over his face, as the worm moved to strike.
A concussive boom sounded off from the side, and the worm was no longer, replaced by a smoking mass of torn flesh that dissolved moments later. Crom whipped his head around. Aldwyn stood there, the hand cannon’s barrel smoking, its handle on his shoulders. Even from here, Crom could see the way Aldwyn shook, the manic grin he wore.
“Did you see that!” He called out, then surprised Crom by laughing. It sounded just a bit unhinged. “It exploded! I didn’t think this thing was gonna work. I was worried—ah, fuck!” That last part slipped out as Aldwyn stumbled back to avoid another worm breaking out of the ground. The worm lunged—Aldwyn slipped underneath it and started running towards Crom. “I thought there weren’t more than two?”
Crom opened his mouth to respond—so did I—when the road beneath him rumbled. He threw himself to the side as a fourth worm tore free, then dove back into the earth a few paces away. Coming to his feet, Crom settled into a stance, his eyes darting back and forth, trying to spot where the worm was coming from next, all the while pressed with an uncomfortable, unmistakable thought.
Edmund lied to us.
Nothing broke the surface. Crom looked over at where the burning girl had fallen. No worms. Did that mean she was safe? He turned back to the still-running Aldwyn. “I think there’s only two more” he called out. Hopefully. “I can kill mine. Can you get yours?”
Aldwyn zigzagged back and forth, the worm hot on his heels, the ground behind it collapsing. As Crom watched, Aldwyn’s extra hand cannons slipped from their bindings and fell to the ground.
“Can I get mine?” His voice was high pitched. He cut right, right as the worm roared past and disappeared into the ground. Aldwyn raced towards the pitfall at the side of the road. “Sure! Of course! Just leave it to me, buddy!”
Crom grabbed his spear. His sword was missing, somehow—perhaps buried in the chaos. The worm that’d attacked him had yet to resurface, so Crom charged to where Aldwyn led his assailant, avoiding pitfalls and keeping his spearpoint aloft to keep it from burying in a mound of upturned earth.
Aldwyn was near the pitfall they’d last seen the burning girl by when he miss-stepped. His foot landed in a patch of sunken earth, and he fell amidst a slew of curses. Landing awkwardly, Aldwyn rolled onto his butt and scrabbled backwards as the ground in front of him seemed to boil.
“Uh-oh,” Crom saw Aldwyn mutter.
Crom cursed. He pumped his legs, closing the distance as fast as he could. Parts of the worm's back broke the surface. Aldwyn scooted further away, until he teetered at the edge of the pitfall.
“Aldwyn!” Crom yelled out. He strained harder; too slow—he wasn’t going to make it. And then he felt the weight of his spear in hand, and his eyes widened, narrowed, and he reversed his grip on the weapon.
The worm broke the ground’s surface.
Aldwyn yelled. He held up his hands.
Crom’s spear flew into worm’s side. The throw was off; rather than piercing through the monster’s body, the point tipped upwards, so the wooden shaft struck the worm instead.
It was enough. The worm recoiled, giving Aldwyn time to scramble to his feet and dodge away. Crom pressed in. He planted his shoulder into the worm, ignoring the lancing pain as mouths bit down and found flesh. The worm screeched and thrashed against him. Crom held, weathering the attacks. More mouths scored hits, tearing off hunks of skin and muscle—and still, Crom held. The worm’s lower end reared up and enveloped Crom’s left hand, taking it off at the wrist. A flash of red and he retaliated, biting down on the worm, his teeth piercing the taut flesh, and he ripped off a hunk of his own.
He spat out the worm-flesh. Blood dribbled down his chin. “Aldwyn!” Crom bellowed, “the tooth! Use the tooth!”
The callout proved unnecessary. For not a second later, there was a spark out the corner of Crom’s eye, a tuft of purple smoke spiraled upwards, and vicious streaks of energy rend the air and severed the worm in half.
With no more resistance from the monster, which dissolved moments later, Crom fell backwards, panting and bleeding heavily. Aldwyn came to a knee at his side. They looked at each other. Crom wasn’t sure who started laughing first. Only that they were laughing, hard enough that their ribs hurt and tears came to their eyes.
“We’re alive!” Aldwyn cheered.
“We’re alive.” Crom echoed.
“We got them all.”
“Barely,” Crom chuckled.
“How’d you kill the other one?”
Crom paused. “Other one?”
“Yeah,” Aldwyn said, “the one that attacked you.”
“...Oh.”
The earth between them exploded. Aldwyn went flying backwards; Crom felt his world upend as he tumbled down, down—into the pitfall? —and he crashed to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He tried to sit up, only for the worm to knock him back down and burrow into his chest. It tore apart what remained of his jacket, his gambeson, broke skin and chewed and crushed Crom’s ribs and neared his heart. Crom’s hands twitched, reaching for weapons he didn’t have. The sword was still lost, the spear, out of reach.
Shit. His vision darkened. I’m gonna pass out. If he did, there was no telling what would happen next. Crom doubted the worm could eat all of him; the bigger concern was Aldwyn, who had lost his handcannons and was helpless with a sword.
Crom strained his neck. He glared at the worm. A ball of condensed heat spiked through his system. His pulse roared, thudded in his ears.
Protect Aldwyn.
Pulse.
I have to protect Aldwyn.
Pulse.
You have to kill this fucking thing.
Against the walls of the pit, something rose. For a terrible moment, Crom thought another monster had arrived, until he recognized the burning girl standing with a wild look in her eyes, her hair covered in dust and falling before her face. In the one hand she gripped a makeshift dagger; in the other, nothing. Her palm splayed open.
“Move!” She cried.
“What are you—”
“I said move!”
With a final supreme effort, Crom pressed the worm off his chest to create a moment’s separation and rolled off to the side. The motion left him viciously light-headed. Spots sparkled across his vision. Despite that, Crom remained coherent enough to see what followed next.
With a shout, the burning girl plunged the knife into her hand. As the worm twisted its body to re-face Crom, the girl yanked the knife out from her palm and spewed forth a torrent of flames. The monster's screeches turned frayed as fire enveloped it. It writhed in place, the heat against Crom’s skin accented by the smell of smoke and ash and melting flesh.
She’s going to burn me.
The red faded. Crom pressed himself flat against the hole. He couldn’t breathe.
The burning girl grimaced. She dropped the knife and used her free hand as a brace, holding onto her forearm to stabilize the jet of fire that redoubled in intensity. The worm screeched once more, a long, yowling thing, then shriveled up on itself and disappeared into ash.
The burning girl closed her hand into a fist. The flames jettisoned in haphazard direction, some nearly striking Crom, whose mouth went dry. And then her fingers enveloped the cut on her palm entirely. Her hand glowed. She held it to her chest, covering the fist with her other hand. After a couple seconds, the glow subsided. When she pulled her hand away and opened it, Crom could see an angry red mark where the wound had been, apparently, cauterized by the flames.
“Stupid worm,” the burning girl said. She spat. “Don’t break my stuff.” Swaying in place, the girl blinked, staggered, and collapsed.
Crom exhaled. His instinct to help the burning girl up was overridden by the overwhelming desire to stay away from the heat—diluted, not as fierce now—that still radiated from her skin. He hung back, letting the burning girl heave herself unsteadily onto her feet.
“You okay?” Crom asked
The burning girl swayed still. Her eyes were unfocused when she glanced at him. “Barely. You?”
Crom looked down at the gaping wound in his chest. Blood spurted out onto his trousers. The sight was somehow comforting, for at least he wasn’t on fire. He waved his missing left hand. “I think I’ll manage.”
The burning girl blinked once, twice. Her eyes widened. Then she grimaced. “Yes. I can see that.” Already, Crom’s wounds were healing. The small bites from earlier had faded away, and his ribs were in the process of rearranging themselves.
From the top of the pitfall, Aldwyn scrambled into view. He brandished his sword overhead, dirt flicking from the hilt.
“Where is it?” Aldwyn yelled, his voice cracking. He waved the sword around. “I’ll save you, Crom! Where is it?!” Aldwyn whipped his head around wildly, finally faltering as he took in the scene. “I—I’ll… huh. Is that it?”
“Don’t say ‘is that it,’” Crom grumbled. He gestured to his re-structuring ribs, the sharp crack of one snapping back into place underlying his point. “I got pretty torn up here.”
Aldwyn paused, and regarded Crom carefully. He shrugged and lowered his sword. “Don’t be a baby. You’ll be fine.” He glanced at the burning girl and frowned. “Who are you?”
The burning girl frowned. Crom sighed.
Aldwyn helped them out of the hole. The burning girl immediately went to the discarded bag, while the two boys surveyed the destruction. What had been a road was now an ugly mess of upturned soil and blackened dust. Other parts of the earth were collapsed into sinkholes ten feet deep, a glance inside of which revealed to Crom tunnels the worms made throughout the battle.
Aldwyn pursed his lips. “They can repair the road, right? No big deal?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘no big deal,’” Crom said, “but we did kill the worms. It probably evens out.”
“Yeah,” Aldwyn said. “Mind you, I’m more worried about finding any remnants in this mess.”
Crom winced. “I wasn’t even thinking of that.” Looking around, his face fell further. “We’ve got to find our weapons too.” He glanced over his shoulder, then leaned closer to Aldwyn, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And we need to figure out what we’re doing with the burning girl here.”
Aldwyn made a face. “Ah. Right. That was her, wasn’t it? On the road”
“Yeah.”
“She seemed in quite the hurry.”
Crom rolled his tongue over his teeth. “Yeah.”
“I’m standing right here, na?” The burning girl monotoned. She turned to face them. Some of her things bundled under one arm—a loaf of bread, an unfamiliar figurine—while the very-torn and barely-patched bag was slung over her shoulder.
Aldwyn flinched. “Sorry. We’re just not really sure what to do with you.”
The burning girl raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Well, to begin, could you not ignore me?”
“Sorry.” Aldwyn said again.
The burning girl’s eyes flicked from Aldwyn to Crom.
Crom sniffed and looked away. Clouds were starting to roll in, thick and dark. They’d have to return sooner rather than later. He peeked back at the girl. She was flexing her hand idly. He looked away again, thinking of how she fried the worm moments before.
If I hadn’t gotten out of the way… The hairs on his arm raised. He shook his head. Fire. Of course she used fire. Crom couldn’t get away from her fast enough.
And yet… He sighed.
“If you can’t return to town on your own,” Crom said mechanically, “we could escort you.”
The burning girl was already shaking her head. “I’ll be fine. I’m not going back to town anyway.”
Crom frowned. “You're not?”
“No.”
“How are you getting everything to where you're going then?”
The girl hefted her bag. “Isn’t it obvious?” The motion jostled the bag, and one of the patched holes—patched in the barest sense of the term, as all it was were two split ends tied together in a knot—loosened, then broke, and a mess of items tumbled out. There was another figurine—three stacked turtles—more food, a change of green clothes, a needle, thread, and, last to fall, a small pouch. It unraveled as it struck the ground and spilled out several expensive-looking gemstones.
All three looked down.
Silence.
All three looked up.
The burning girl coughed. “Anyway…”
Crom had already been wary. Both he and Aldwyn knew this girl from that alley behind the churches, begging for scraps. That she was running from town with a bulging bag in tow was suspicious enough. The piled gemstones only confirmed it.
The burning girl, it seemed, was a thief.
About the Author
I started writing when I was 18, 19 years old, though really started taking it seriously last November after I finished up my college football career. I read a lot of choose-your-own-adventure type books as a kid (Choice of Games, anyone?) and my passion for writing just sort of took off from there.
I'm very much a pantser (the novel, ALDWYN AND CROM, had no plotting done until the second draft), and I wrote it because I wanted to write a buddy cop-ish dark fantasy, and I wanted to take two best friends and slowly split them apart and what have ya.
Themes include self-worth, the limits of loyalty, what it means to be a hero, and the dangers of ambition.
It is part of a completed novel; the scene takes place early on, in Aldwyn and Crom's first (paid) monster hunt. Story changes of the progression of the novel as monster hunting brings the pair into conflict with old and dangerous enemies.
