12. Graia Bomgesh
If I hadn”t felt the pain of that realization, I might have simply gone back to camp. If I hadn”t needed to walk away and clear my head, I might have chosen a different path. If a flushing heat hadn”t kissed my face, I might not have been distracted. If I had stopped to address all my emotions clamoring to be experienced, I might not have missed it. If. If. If. But. But I didn”t. And I almost didn”t see it until it was too late.
It was grey, the same color as the bark the trees wore, obscuring it easily. It seemed to have fashioned its limbs from a tree, its head a bloated knot with tendrils of branchlike strands draping over shoulders, cloaked in spikes of bark bones. It stood with its back to me as if it was trying to spy something in front of it. Moving forward slowly, its motions were strange—graceful and fluid, spliced with halting jerks. It was maybe half a head taller than me, but its limbs were longer in proportion, attached to a twisted torso.
I had the good sense to freeze instead of startle and scream, but I was too close to it. Just its appearance alone would have been terrifying enough, but I also knew what it was.
As a child, our matron Laira, had reluctantly given in to reading nightly from the popular tome ”Freszheric Compendium of Nian Graia” to two overly curious little girls. It more than likely made her uneasy to do so, but we couldn”t get enough. The poor book was dog-eared and worn well before the sacking of Fellabrik, lost to us when we had to flee. But its contents were memorized, and its illustrations could still be imagined.
Our favorites were the stories of the graia of the North Iraxahelm. Black, slick, shiny things as big as a house, sleeping in their ice caves, only rousing to feed every few decades. These fell creatures were unstoppable monsters who lived very, very far away.
But this thing before me, rare though it was, still sent shivers down my spine as I remembered it. It was a Bomgesh, not plant, not animal, something else. In the older tongues, it had been called the Koletivim or Rachebaum. I pitied the first souls to come across it, wondering how the Freszheric Scholars learned its characteristics without getting killed. Perhaps many of them did.
It was deceptively easy to dispatch it, but if you thought it dead, you would be wrong. In fact, burning it, burying it, drowning it, nothing ended it. There was no way to kill it completely, as far as they knew. Decapitation might slow it down, but more than anything, that only served to piss it off thoroughly.
The real danger lay in leaving it without dismembering it. Given enough time, it would reassemble itself, and then heaven help you. It would hunt you down to the ends of the earth, pummel you to death, and leave you a bloody heap of gore.
I had thought to quickly and quietly retreat, hoping I wouldn”t disturb it. It had not seen me yet, and I might have been able to pull that off. But the young family we left this morning would undoubtedly have no idea how to handle this thing if it crossed their path. It was too close for me to let it remain here, not knowing if I had let them die a horrible death by my inaction.
Easy to decapitate, that”s what the book said. Easy for who? A seasoned soldier? Master swordsman? An average-sized woman with a bit of skill?
I was starting to think I really did have a death wish. I had offered to take my sister”s place, touched Death, and now I was seriously contemplating taking on an ancient horror. One thing I did know, I needed to move fast. I had the upper hand now, but I would lose that soon if I didn”t make a decision.
Gingel, forgive me if this thing kills me.
I slowly unsheathed my sword, noticing every imperfection in the blade as I did. Please strike true, my old companion. With all the stealth I could muster, I centered myself directly behind it, clasping the blade with two hands to deal a decisive blow. It still had not detected me.
SNAP.
The bomgesh and I both turned to the right to see a shelldoe making her way through the brush. In that terrible moment, my attention taken, I recovered only fast enough to swing the blade in an imprecise, wild fashion. It embedded halfway into its neck, which bent and splintered, the weight of its head pulling over to its shoulder.
Wide-eyed, I pulled the blade back to strike another blow, but it was already too late. A swinging arm connected mid-torso, sending me hurtling into the brush. Stunned, my lungs refused to draw in breath for an eternity. A small bark shard pierced the hollow of my shoulder, but I chose to ignore it.
I had landed on my stomach, winded but facing the wounded thing. My weapon was thrown from me, and I scanned the ground for it. The creature spun in a disjointed fashion, its field of view skewed 90 degrees. I could see it was trying to search for me and get its bearings. I spied my sword, the bomgesh stomping in circles almost on top of it.
Spinning now, the bomgesh resembled a kikatarn chasing its tail, trying to catch something just out of reach. I began to time the spins, needing to move in, grab the sword, and strike as it spun away.
Toward, away, toward, away, NOW!
I scrambled low to the ground, grasping my sword and rotating as I moved, slicing its leg into splitters. It crumbled as I kept moving, turning, setting up in a crouched defense. Scuttling toward me enraged, it twisted and pulled itself forward, but not fast enough. I had the upper hand, bringing down my full weight on the half-finished neck wound, its head rolling behind me.
Standing there briefly, I took the time to steady my breathing and calm my heart. The conflict had ceased, but my labor was not yet finished. Even as I hovered over the body, the severed leg was shifting, creeping to the body for reassembly. My poor sword now asked to stand in for my axe blade, made relatively quick work. Torso, arms, legs, head. All separated around me.
The disposal of the dismembered parts had not been considered—how best to divide and bury. I didn”t even think I could bury them. There was no time.
Determined to take the head with us, we”d move it as far away from this place as possible.
Maybe tossing it into a volcano would end it. I doubt anyone has tried that.
Struggling as I hauled the arms and legs back to the sulfur pools, I didn”t know if my idea would work. I tossed them in, hoping they wouldn”t float, followed by several large rocks. I waited at the edge, praying to any gods who would listen that this solution would hold fast. Old habits were hard to break. It couldn”t hurt, I told myself.
I returned to the head and torso, which were slowly making their way to each other. I carried them both to camp, tears falling quickly as I walked. The crash from the conflict and the relief that I had survived flung open the door to all my neglected emotions.
It wasn”t just about today. I felt like I had been running forever. I could barely remember what it felt like just to have lasting peace. This was my role, but I was tired of being this strength, the one who got things done. If I couldn”t let myself mourn for my own life now, I never would. So I wept bitter tears, dragging my would-be murderer along with me.
I knew I was filthy; I could feel the dirt streaking on my face. What a waste bathing was. I must have been a horrid sight; the looks on Arit”s and Gingel”s faces as I hauled myself into camp said enough.
”I don”t want to talk about it.”
I threw the head next to my pack. The splinter in my shoulder forgotten until now, I ripped it out, tossing it aside. I felt the warmth of a trickle of blood, but I didn”t care. I kept walking to the creek. Since every part connected to the torso, I tied it to some sturdy branches and left it to float away.
Good luck finding that, monster.
Eth met me on my way back. My face burned as I looked at him, remembering his touch. Still wanting it.
”Are you determined to gain your own thread?” He asked. I shook my head.
His face was stone, and his eyes tore through me. I could see the fear there. Standing so close, he blocked my path, and I couldn”t bear to meet his gaze. I placed my hand on his heart again, still devoid of a beating pulse. He tilted his forehead to meet mine.
”It couldn”t be helped. I”m sorry.”