The Ashen Brotherhood

Chapter 3: Into the Scar

The earth opened beneath them like a wound.

Caelan stared into the massive chasm that split the Blackwood in two. The Scar descended into darkness, so complete that throwing a stone produced no sound of impact. Just silence. Empty, and hungry silence.

"You want us to climb down there," Rhen said flatly.

"Not down." Joss pointed along the rim. "Through. There are paths, if you know where to look. Bridges that the old kingdom built before the wars."

"Before they all died," Rhen added.

"They did not die. They vanished." Joss began walking along the edge, his massive frame were surprisingly carefully and skillfully on the crumbling stone. "There is a difference."

Caelan studied the giant's back. Two days of traveling together, and the man remained an enigma. He moved through the forest like a ghost despite his size. Never slept, as far as Caelan could tell. And his eyes held the kind of emptiness that came from losing everything.

Caelan recognized it. He saw it in his own reflection.

"How do you know these paths?" Caelan asked.

"I have been living in the Blackwood for four years. When you have nothing left, you explore." Joss stopped at a section of rim where ancient stonework jutted from the rock face. "Here. The first bridge is thirty feet down."

Rhen peered over the edge and went pale. "That is not a bridge. That is a death trap."

The stone structure spanning the chasm was barely three feet wide, worn smooth by time and weather. No railings. No safety. Just a strip of crumbling rock suspended over infinite darkness.

"The Legion will not follow us across," Joss said. "They tried once. Five years ago, they sent twenty men into the Scar." He began climbing down, using gaps in the stonework as handholds. "Twelve made it to the first bridge. Three made it to the second. None came back."

"Encouraging," Rhen muttered, but he followed.

Caelan went last, his scarred hands found purchase on the stone worn smooth by centuries. The descent took twenty minutes of careful climbing. When his boots finally touched the bridge, he understood why men feared this place.

The wind howled up from the depths, carrying sounds that might have been voices. Or screams. Or something worse. The bridge swayed with each gust, and chunks of stone crumbled away beneath their weight.

"Do not look down," Joss advised, already halfway across.

Caelan looked anyway. The darkness below seemed to move, writhing like something alive. He forced his gaze forward and followed Joss's path, testing each step before committing his weight.

Rhen came behind him, breathing fast and shallow. "I hate this. I hate everything about this."

"Keep moving." Caelan's voice remained steady, even though his own heart was hammered. "We are halfway—"

The stone beneath his foot gave way.

Caelan dropped, his hand shooting out to grab the bridge edge. His fingers caught stone and his body swung over nothing. The weight of his armor dragged him down and his grip was already slipping.

"Caelan!" Rhen lunged forward, gripping his wrist.

But Rhen was lighter, younger and did not have the strength to pull him up. The young deserter slid forward and both of them were about to plunge into the abyss.

Then, a massive hand clutched around Caelan's forearm. Joss pulled him up like he weighed nothing, depositing him back on the bridge with casual strength.

"I said do not look down," Joss remarked, already continuing across.

Caelan's hands shook as he regained his feet. Twenty six years of surviving impossible situations, and he had nearly died on a crumbling bridge because he was careless. Because his mind was on Aldric instead of the present danger.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Joss did not respond, but something in his shoulders relaxed fractionally.

They crossed two more bridges, each one worse than the last. The second had a gap in the middle requiring a six-foot jump over nothing. The third was so narrow they had to traverse it sideways and their backs pressed against the chasm wall.

By the time they reached the far side, even Joss looked tense.

"We camp here," the giant said, pointing to a shallow cave cut into the rock face. "The next section is worse, and we need daylight."

"Worse than that?" Rhen collapsed against the cave wall. "How is that possible?"

"The bridges end. After that, we climb." Joss began unpacking supplies from his enormous pack—dried meat, waterskins and rope. Enough for a small army. "We rest for four hours, then we move."

Caelan took the first watch at the cave entrance, staring out at the darkness of the Scar. Somewhere far below, something howled. The sound echoed off the stone walls, multiplying until it seemed to come from everywhere at once.

"What was that?" Rhen whispered.

"Something is hungry," Joss said. He was sharpening his arrows with methodical precision, each stroke of the whetstone deliberate. "The Scar has been empty of humans for years. Whatever lives down there has learned to hunt other prey."

"What other prey?"

"Each other."

Silence fell, broken only by the scrape of stone on metal. Caelan watched the darkness, his mind turning over the past two days. Aldric knew he survived. He had sent hunters specifically for him. That meant his mentor was afraid, which meant they still had a chance.

"Joss," Caelan said. "You mentioned Aldric led auxiliary forces at Westmark. What did you see?"

The sharpening stopped. When Joss spoke, his voice was flat and emotionless. "Westmark fell on a winter morning. The Legion breached the walls at dawn. Standard tactics, brutal but predictable.

We could have evacuated the civilians through the southern gate." He resumed sharpening, harder now. "Then the auxiliary forces arrived. Valdris soldiers were led by a gray-haired commander. They went straight for the evacuation routes. Not to capture. To slaughter."

Rhen shifted uncomfortably. "I heard stories about Westmark. They said the auxiliary forces were following orders."

"They were." Joss's knuckles went white around the whetstone. "But orders do not explain the efficiency. The thoroughness.

This man walked among the refugees and selected targets and anyone who looked like they had education or skill. Healers. Engineers. Teachers."

He finally looked up, and his eyes were dead. "He was not just destroying a kingdom. He was ensuring it could never be rebuilt."

The words painted a picture Caelan did not want to see. This was not the Aldric he knew—the patient teacher, the brilliant strategist. But then again, the Aldric he knew had also orchestrated Valdris's destruction while making his student kill an innocent man.

How well had he ever really known his mentor?

"Your wife," Caelan said carefully. "Your daughters. Were they—"

"Among the selected." Joss returned to sharpening. "My wife was a physician. My youngest daughter showed a talent for healing. The commander shot them himself while I watched from the wall." He tested the arrow point against his thumb. "I tried to reach them. I took an arrow through the shoulder, fell from the battlement and when I woke, Westmark was in ashes, and I was alone."

The cave fell silent again. Three men and their kingdoms are destroyed, all connected by one man's betrayal.

"Fourteen days left," Rhen said finally. "Can we make it through the Scar in time?"

"If nothing goes wrong," Joss replied. "But nothing ever goes according to plan in the Scar."

As if summoned by his words, a sound echoed up from the depths. Not a howl this time. Footsteps. Many footsteps, climbing toward them with impossible speed.

Caelan was on his feet instantly, blade drawn. "We are not alone."

Joss knocked an arrow. "I was afraid of this. The bridges—we were not careful enough. We left traces."

"Traces for what?" Rhen demanded.

The answer came scrambling over the lip of the cave entrance. A man—or what had been a man once. His skin was pale as death, eyes reflecting torchlight like an animal's. He wore the rotting remains of a Legion uniform, and his mouth opened in a soundless scream as he launched himself at Caelan.

Caelan's blade took him through the chest. The creature died without a sound, collapsing in a heap. But behind him came more. Dozens more, all wearing the remnants of military uniforms, all moving with the same horrible, inhuman speed.

"The Legion patrol that entered five years ago," Joss said, losing arrow after arrow into the mass. "They did not die. They changed."

"Change into what?" Rhen shouted, his knife finding something vital in the nearest creature.

Joss's expression was grim. "Into whatever the Scar makes of men who stay too long."

The creatures kept coming, a tide of pale flesh and grasping hands. Caelan fought mindlessly, his blade rising and falling, but for every one that died, two more appeared. They were being driven back into the cave, step by step.

"The rope!" Joss bellowed. "We climb now, or we die here!"

He fired one last arrow, then grabbed his pack and threw himself at the cave wall.

His massive hands found purchase on the stone that looked smooth, but was climbing with desperate speed.

Rhen followed, his lighter frame struggling with the sheer face.

Caelan cut down one more creature, then two, buying them seconds. Then he sheathed his blade and jumped for the wall. His fingers caught a crack in the stone, and he pulled himself up just as pale hands grasped at his boots.

Below, the creatures filled the cave, climbing over each other in their frenzy to reach the fresh meat above them. They could not climb as well as humans, but there were so many that they formed a living ladder of bodies.

"Move faster!" Joss roared from above.

Caelan climbed, his arms burning, the creatures were howling beneath him. Twenty feet up. Thirty. The howls grew louder, and he risked a glance down.

They were not climbing anymore.

They were jumping.

The first creature leaped ten feet straight up, its hands catching Caelan's boot. The weight nearly tore him from the wall. He kicked frantically, dislodging it, but more were preparing to jump.

"Joss!" Caelan shouted. "I cannot—"

An arrow took the next jumper through the eye. Then another. Joss was firing straight down, one hand gripping the stone, while the other was working his bow with impossible precision.

"Forty more feet," the giant called. "Climb!"

Caelan's hands found the next hold. Then the next. His muscles screamed in protest, his scarred back burning with effort. Below, the creatures' howls reached a fever pitch.

Then suddenly, strong hands gripped his wrists and pulled. Joss dragged him over the ledge and into another cave, this one was high enough that the creatures could not reach.

Rhen collapsed beside them, gasping for air. "What in all the hells were those things?"

"The Scar's price," Joss said, staring down at the mass of pale bodies below. "Stay too long, and it changes you. Makes you into something that belongs to the darkness."

Caelan watched the creatures eventually retreat back into the depths. His hands were bleeding and his arms were trembling from exhaustion. But they were alive.

"How much further through the Scar?" he asked.

Joss's expression was bleak. "That was the easy part.”