The entity was getting close now, close enough that it was almost time to emerge. Like a whale swimming up to the surface to breath air, it began the process of manifesting, an act which would slow it down. It did not matter in the end. Though it would lose the swiftness it had in its realm, it would remain an inevitable creature and it only had one goal: devour.

  ***

  Projection, separation. Projection, separation. Vincent kept his mind occupied on these two ideas. Learning to train the ethereal form was a way to keep himself from feeling the terrible emptiness that he had been left with since departing Crefield. But when night came and he laid down to rest, the void returned. It always did.

  He lay in his cot, closed his eyes and tried to stop all thoughts, but his mind wouldn’t let him. It tormented him with a hundred conspiracies and a thousand doubts. His phantom observers echoed nonsensical paranoias. He would stay like this for hours, simply existing while the others slept. His mind refused to shut down and his body refused to sleep. So, he simply endured for as long as he was able. However, there came a point where he couldn’t take it any longer.

  He got out of his cot and, making sure not to step on any tails that draped across the ground, made his way over to Tuls. After hesitating for a moment, he nudged the relos awake. Tuls’ opened his eyes. His irises glowed like embers in the night.

  “W-what?” he muttered.

  “Sorry to wake you,” Vincent whispered. “Back in Crefield, you gave me a bug and it put me to sleep.”

  “I gave you a bug?” Tuls was not quite awake yet.

  “Yeah, it was like a beetle. You said you used it in your tranquilizers. I’m having trouble sleeping. Was wondering if you had any more.”

  Tuls stared at him for a few moments. “Oh...” he said. He rolled over and felt around until he grabbed one of his bags. He reached in, pulled out a jar with a few dried insects in it, dumped one in his hand and gave it to Vincent.

  “Thank you, Tuls,” Vincent said.

  Tuls nodded, rolled onto his side and covered his snout with a wing. Vincent made his way back to the cot, accidentally brushing against Sperloc’s wing along the way. He stirred in his sleep and muttered.

  “Mmm...you know I like it when you rub my wing like that...” he grumbled.

  Vincent stopped and stared at Sperloc for a moment. Then he shook his head and sat in his cot. Without looking at the dried up insect, he put it in his mouth and gave it a crunch. Afterwards, he laid down and closed his eyes. It did not take long for the tranquilizer to kick in. He could feel the world rocking and he drifted off into sleep.

  As the hours went on, the night grew still. Only the occasional snippet of hushed bantering and landrider chuffing pierced the quiet. The tents were filled with the snoring of reptilian creatures and twitching wings, a reflex developed to ward off flies. Vincent stirred when somebody abrupt movement. He opened his eyes and saw a pair of silver irises, lambent with channeler light, floating in the darkness about ten feet away from him. M'kari was sitting upright in his cot.

  What's wrong with him? Vincent wondered.

  Since he was too tired to really care, he closed his eyes and tucked his snout into his wing. He heard the shandan get up and walk around, sniff the air a few times, then head back toward his cot. It sounded like he was about to lay back down when he stopped and muttered something to himself. Then he changed directions and walked passed Vincent.

  "Tuls," M'kari whispered. A Moment later, Vincent heard Tuls grumbling.

  "Tuls," the shandan repeated, "Wake up."

  Tuls awoke with a gasp. "W-what?"

  "Get up," M'kari said.

  "Why? What is going on–" He froze in mid-sentence for some reason.

  "Would you both shut up?" Vincent groaned groggily.

  "Vincent Cordell, be quiet," M'kari commanded, "Tuls…do you feel it?"

  A momentary silence followed before Tuls answered. "I do feel it," he said, "What is this?"

  "I do not know."

  Vincent felt M'kari walk passed him. He opened his eyes just in time to see the shandan prod Akhil's hulking form.

  "Hmmm?" Akhil grunted, "What…what is it?"

  "Get up."

  "I assume you have good reason for waking me?" Akhil asked as he sat upright. his cot strained under his weight.

  "There is malignance. Tuls and I feel it."

  Akhil did not question him any further. Instead, he extended a wing to his brother's cot tapped on his snout. Oris swept it away and yawned.

  "What is it?"

  "We may have trouble," Akhil said, "Wake the others."

  Dammit, Vincent thought as he got up, What now?

  Soon the tent was filled with bitching and moaning as Oris and Akhil shook everybody out of their sleep. Sperloc was the last to be woken up.

  "Sper." Akhil gave one of the Sperloc's wings a tug.

  "Hmmm…now you're going to tickle my wings, are you?" the tuhli muttered with a mischievous snicker, "Get over here, you…"

  "Sperloc!" Akhil grabbed Sperloc by the shoulder and shook him.

  "W-what? What are you shaking me for?!" Sperloc snarled, "Get your hands off me!"

  "Get up. M'kari senses malignance."

  "M-malignance?"

  It took a moment for the words to register. Then fury twisted the historian's snout.

  "You gloweyed bastard!" he spat at M'kari, "That was the first good dream I had in weeks! You better have a damn good excuse for waking us or else I will show you malignance! Or else I'll rip your eyes out and shove them up your tail hole so you can see how full of shit you are!"

  While Sperloc continued to fume, M'kari stepped outside to take a look around. Tuls was right behind him. The two of them stood as two dark silhouettes outlined in Tarn's crimson light, with fog wafting at their feet. Vincent stepped outside, rubbing his eyes. There were other channelers waking up and appearing at the entrances to their tents. They too, were seemed to be disturbed by the same strange sensation Tuls and M'kari felt.

  "I have been told your senses are apt," M'kari said, staring at the woods.

  "Yes," Tuls said.

  "Stormspawn?"

  "No. This is different. It's…" Tuls paused, "Pain. Terror. Screaming?"

  "Screaming?" M'kari repeated.

  "I do not know how to describe what I am feeling. All I know is that something terrible is out there. And I think it's getting closer."

  The forest was quiet and tranquil. Nocturnal insects chittered and vibrated. The occasional tree dweller leapt from one branch to another. But for the most part, the woods were still sleeping. Only the camp seemed to stir as more and more channelers sensed the same growing malice.

  "Any idea what it is?" Menik asked.

  "We do not," M'kari said. Sperloc appeared at the door, still whispering his curses. But he held a piece of ohnite in his hand and jotted down notes.

  Somebody activated a spark and sent it into the woods. A few more of the glowing orbs left the camp to join it. They scanned the surroundings but the lights revealed nothing.

  "It continues to grow," Tuls said, "I feel like–"

  M'kari held a finger to his snout. "Listen…" he said. Tuls stopped talking.

  They looked up at the sky and saw thousands of small winged shapes. Birds were fleeing from the woods, filling the air with their squawking. Their numbers threatened to blot out Tarn's watchful gaze. Soldiers all around the camp murmured at this bizarre sight.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  "That was your spark, right, Madrian?" Menik asked.

  "Aye."

  "Do you see what they are running from?"

  "No. Nothing," Madrian said, "But there are thousands of them, rising from the trees as far as I can see."

  Sperloc, who had been whispered expletives under his breath, went quiet. He wrote down a few more notes, then he listened with intent. The flurry of birds lasted for about five whole minutes before the flock dwindled, leaving the air quiet.

  "What the hell was that about?" Vincent asked.

  "I see movement…" Madrian said, "Oh. No. It's only vyar."

  "What is a 'vyar'??" Vincent asked.

  "Game animal," Menik said, "Hunted for their meat. Lots of them around here."

  "They are running," Madrian continued, "They look panicked. But I do not see what has them spooked."

  "Birds took flight," Sperloc muttered, adding to his notes, "Vyar flee without cause." There was something different in his voice. It was softer now, tinged with hints of…was it fear? Nervousness? Whatever it was, Vincent didn't think he ever heard the crotchety old historian sound like this before.

  "La'ark," Akhil grunted as The La'ark approached.

  "Your channelers sense it too?" she asked.

  "Aye," M'kari said.

  "Arm yourselves," she said, "We see nothing, but we must be prepared."

  Akhil grunted. As the shandan retrieved their armaments, The La'ark's ears twitched and she looked toward the sky. Madeen spiraled in the air and landed in front of her.

  "Have you seen anything?" The La'ark asked.

  Vincent felt Madeen's projections in his mind.

  No. During patrol. Noticed disturbances. I flew. Investigated. Saw beasts flee. No cause. Something comes. Do not see it. Insects agitated.

  "Even the insects are fleeing?" The La'ark asked.

  Agitated.

  The more Madeen spoke, the more tense Sperloc seemed to become. His jaw was clenched as he wrote down what she projected. He seemed to become more agitated by the second.

  Swarms nocturnal wake. Fill air. Tracked cause.

  Vincent knew that zerok speech was fragmented and broken, so the translation was not perfect. "Swarms nocturnal" must have referred to bee hives or something similar that would normally be active during the day.

  "How can you track the source if you don't see it?" Akhil demanded.

  Do not see source. See disturbances. Beasts panic. I flew low. Close to source. Still no sight. Deduction from disturbances: Something comes.

  "The animals are running from something," Oris muttered, "You are using them to track it?"

  Affirmation. Yes.

  "Madeen," Sperloc said. There was an uncharacteristic hesitance in his raspy voice. "When you flew low…did you feel anything? Did you shudder?"

  Madeen cocked her head. Yes. Twitch.

  Sperloc froze. His whole body seemed to lock up. The inkstone he held in his hand stopped and left an unfinished word on his scroll hanging. His ears lay back on his head and his black eyes grew even darker as his pupils dilated.

  "We need to run," he muttered. Tremors shook his wrist, rattling the ohnite in his hand. "We need to run right now. No, it can't be, Sperloc, you damn flapper!"

  "Sper?" Menik asked.

  "Sperloc, is it what I think it is?" The La'ark demanded. She too, looked terrified.

  "We need to run, we need to run, we need to flee while we can…" Sperloc's voice, filled with quakes, shifted upward an octave. Cracks broke his words as if he were on the verge of weeping. The ohnite fell from his hand and hit the ground. His mouth parted, his chest heaved, sweat gathered on his scales, and he gasped for air. Menik said his name a few more times, but the historian was locked in terror.

  A new noise interrupted the tranquility of the night. It was quiet at first, barely noticeable beyond the crackling fires and murmuring army. But it only grew louder. It resembled a chorus of pestilence buzzing in the air. A million cicadas were screaming in unison. When Sperloc heard it, he kept repeating the need to run, saying the mantra louder each time until he was yelling, as if he wished to drown out the noise, as if he wished to deny it. But the cacophony shook the air. He fell to his knees, slapped his hands to his horns as if he meant to rip them from his skull, then wailed into the night.

  "No!!!" he bellowed, "There was a treaty! They swore they would never do this again!"

  Akhil grabbed Sperloc by the shoulders. "Get a hold of yourself, Sperloc!" he growled.

  The historian shook his head and snapped out of it. Then he locked eyes with the shandan.

  "You fools!" he shouted, voice shaking, "Run! It's a zeffyr!"

  Shock settled on Akhil and The La'ark's snouts. They stared at Sperloc in disbelief. Then they burst into action.

  "Oris! Akhil!" The La'ark bellowed over the buzzing, "Stay here, help me coordinate the escape! Menik! Take charge of the cabras and flee!"

  "Aye!" Menik shouted.

  Too many things happened in the next few moments. The shandan ran back into their tents to grab their belongings. Menik took Vincent by the shoulders, told him to grab his Triasat, and to meet him by his landrider.

  "What…what's going on?" Vincent asked.

  "We're fleeing. Go! Get your stuff!"

  "But–"

  “No questions! Do as I say! MOVE!” Menik roared.

  Vincent grabbed as much as he could: his Triasat, his hoodie, and the shryken. He left the armor behind. Outside, he could hear Oris and Akhil galloping around the camp on their mounts, shouting "Kick the dirt! A zeffyr comes! Flee! Zeffyr attack!" Everybody was rushing outside and running to their mounts. The soldiers’ dread was both palpable and contagious. What they were afraid of, Vincent had no idea. There was no time to coordinate. No time to plan. Everybody simply grabbed what their arms and wings could hold and crammed them into the satchels hanging on their landrider’s flanks.

  “Kick the dirt, Cordell!” Menik roared, “We need to go!”

  Vincent was not moving fast enough. The voices were whispering in his ears and even though adrenaline propelled him, there was still a fog over his mind. Menik had to grab him by the wing and drag him outside. Already soldiers all around the camp were fleeing on their mounts, scattering in different directions. He climbed onto Menik’s landrider and then they immediately fled into the night. The rest of his cabras were not far behind.

  Landrider feet trampled wet grass as they wove between foliage and shrub. Sparks flew ahead of the cabras, leading the way. They painted the trees with their piercing light, carving a path through the woods. Menik and Vincent ducked, narrowly missing a branch. Vines slapped against their wings. The forest itself seemed to be closing in on them, slowing their escape. And all the while, the buzzing only grew. It swelled until he felt it in his flesh. Not even the wind in his ears could drown it out.

  But then the forest broke. Open fields welcomed the cabras into their meadows. Menik, who was leading the group, pulled forward. The others followed. Vincent could see lights in the distance. Groups continued to pour from the encampment, scattering until they dotted the fields like clusters of stars. The distance between one group and the next became a vast dark void. The night bellowed with the cacophony of the buzzing.

  A feathered shape dived from above, pulling ahead of Menik. There, Madeen hovered, beating her wings. Then she flew away. As soon as she did this, Menik veered to the right. Vincent did not know why, only that it had to do with something Madeen told him. Instructions perhaps?

  They rode...and they rode...and they rode. They were alone now. Vincent could no longer see lights from the rest of the expedition. It was just them, them and the never-ceasing buzzing of the unseen thing they were fleeing. it was perhaps a little bit quieter now. Did that mean they were safe?

  Menik was heading toward a formation of rocks that protruded outward from a hill. There, his spark hovered. A river could be seen flowing past the base of the hill. When they reached it, he brought the cabras to a stop. Everybody dismounted and led their panting beasts over to the water. There were no words. Each soldier moved swiftly and with purpose. While the landriders drank their fill, Menik climbed the rock, using his arms, wings, and feet to scale its face. Then he looked out over the fields.

  “What...what’s going on?” Vincent asked.

  “Zeffyr attack,” M’kari said.

  “Sperloc,” Madrian said, “Are you sure that’s what it was?”

  “I recognize that awful droning,” Sperloc spat. His voice was quivering. “It has been etched into my memory! That is its death knelling! It is unmistakable! It’s a damn zeffyr!”

  “Weaverflame,” Tuls said, “I have only heard of them in tales...”

  “Are you absolutely sure?” Jeris asked.

  “I am the only one in this cursed expedition who has ever seen one!” Sperloc bellowed, “Yes, I am sure!”

  “This cannot be happening...” Tuls began to pace around, rubbing his temples, “Weaverflame, this cannot be happening. I heard the stories but I cannot believe... is there nothing we can do?”

  “Only one option: Flee,” M’kari said, “Scatter. Wait for it to emerge and find out who its target is. Then isolate the target. They cannot be saved.”

  “Somebody is dying tonight,” Madrian said.

  Vincent looked around at them. Their jaws were clenched and their eyes were glassed over.

  “What is a zeffyr?” he asked.

  “An entity conjured by Jalharan lore,” Sperloc growled, “During the War of Shards, it was their most feared weapon. It was last used when I was just a damn kid… Jalharan rogues sent it after the descendant of a war hero. I saw it happen. I never forgot that noise! Those fucking shit-eating scarheads! What have they done?!”

  "Somebody’s coming!” Menik hollered.

  A spark appeared in the distance as a rider approached. They were accompanied by Madeen, who orbited the cabras once before landing at the base of the hill. When the figure got closer, Vincent could see it was The La’ark. He didn’t know what she was doing here, but she looked furious. Menik spread his wings and leapt from the rock face. He was no air dancer, being too heavy for it, and so his landing was far from graceful. But he dusted off his hands and ran over to her. As she slowed down, the droning began to swell again.

  “Do we know who it’s after?” he asked.

  “I have a pretty good idea!” she growled.

  “What do you want us to do?”

  “Do?” Sperloc laughed, “there’s nothing we can do! Whoever its target is...” His voice trailed off. The La’ark was glaring at Vincent.

  “I’m...I’m the target?” he asked. He went cold inside.

  The La’ark paced back and forth, a thousand thoughts racing through her head. Shadows weighed down her eyes yet did little to dull their ferocity. As she paced, the noise continued to swell again. The zeffyr was getting closer, confirming that the target was, indeed, in their group.

  “Madeen,” she whispered, approaching the black zerok “I do not make this request lightly.”

  A sliver of orange light appeared across the night sky in the distance. Sperloc took a step back as reality bent and warped. Stars appeared to dance as distortions rippled their forms. The sliver spread until it became an arch.

  “The zeffyr is emerging,” he said, as if narrating a nightmare.

  “-I know you live with the memories of what my ancestors did...” The La’ark shouted, “but he needs to live.”

  Distortions peppered the vista, making the air look like the surface of a moiling river. Orange light began to shine through that surface and a shape began to emerge. A rotating maw broke through like a sunrise, circular and filled with fire. It was as tall as a building and a white inferno broiled within. It loomed before them, angry and hot, its heat blasting their wings. The trees of the forest did not have time to burn. They simply exploded from the inferno alone, ripped from their roots. Vincent felt his soul leave his body. It was coming straight for them.

  “Please...get him out of here!” The La’ark bellowed, “take him to the Shaydos!”

  Madeen closed her eyes in acknowledgment, then she walked over to Vincent and opened the eye on her gullet.

  We fly. Flee.

  “What? What? I don’t understand!” Vincent hollered.

  Trust.

  Madeen beat her wings, stood on her hind legs and grabbed him with her front talons. Then she launched into the night sky before he could protest. As they rose, he could see his escorts scatter before the circle of fire could reach them.