Apocalyptic Organ Grinder Read Online Free Page A
Author: William Todd Rose
crimes, it was not her decision to make. Only the Council of Elders had it within their power to proclaim guilt or innocence, to penalize or pardon. While her instincts sang the Blood Song so strongly that she felt its power surge through her veins, honor and tradition demanded a different path be taken. Killing this man would be no different than claiming that she was as wise and just as the Elders and that was a conceit she was not prepared to claim.
Lowering her spear, Lila stepped backwards as quietly as she’d advanced. Her eyes remained focused on the murderous interloper, but there was no fear of stumbling or giving her position away with an ill-placed step. Her mind had mapped every detail of the terrain as she’d stalked her prey and that inner topography now guided her departure, ensuring that each step was as sure and silent as a tree spirit.
Fate, however, had other plans for her. As she neared a cluster of oaks, a squirrel chittered overhead and the man in white spun around. For a moment, neither man nor woman moved. Their eyes were locked together like partners in a dance older than Time, each gazing upon the face of the enemy and wishing the other dead.
Lila knew she was too far away. Even if she hurled her spear with all her might, it would only barely break the skin. It wouldn’t penetrate the man deeply enough to keep from falling out, much less pierce any of his vital organs. He, however, had the advantage of an Old World weapon with a range even the greatest of The People’s hunters could not hope to match. So she did the only thing she could: Lila ran.
The gun shoot boomed out behind her like the angry rumbling of the Sky God and something whizzed by her ear so closely that she felt it graze her eye. Almost instantaneously, the tree beside her erupted in an explosion of bark, sending splinters of wood flying through the air as the hunk of lead burrowed into its trunk. Though she’d never fired an Old World weapon before, she understood the concept and adjusted her retreat accordingly.
Zigging and zagging, she ran erratically, allowing instinct to guide her movements. As long as he couldn’t predict her trajectory, his shots would not find their mark. As long as she was as unpredictable as a rabid fox, she would live.
Lila had hoped that the settler would be foolish enough to continue shooting at her, that he would deplete his ammunition and be forced to reload the antique weapon. For that would be all it took to transition from quarry into aggressor. One moment when he stood, defenseless and alone.
The man, however, wasn’t as stupid as most. As the forest blurred by, she heard him crashing through the undergrowth behind her. He burst through thickets and splashed through streams, cursed between haggard pants as a low hanging branch clipped him on the forehead, and made more noise than an entire herd of deer. But not once did he try to drop Lila in her tracks. Instead of wasting his shots, he simply pursued her, waiting no doubt for an opportune moment to present itself.
Ahead, Lila saw jagged crags of stone rising up from the earth like the walls of some great temple for a forgotten god. Unlike the forest, there was no green: the trees thinned out as they neared the base, devolving into scraggly bushes that looked as if their bark had withered away; grass turned to dirt and the dirt became something as hard and packed as the cliffs towering over it. The surface was covered with pebbles and Lila’s heels kicked up little clouds of dust as she followed a circuitous route through the center of the mountain.
She knew this place. The People called it The River of Life. Winter coated its peaks with snow and ice, which the coming of Spring then melted away. The rocks glistened wetly in the sun and runoff flowed down the precipices like slow-motion water falls. At the end of the journey was the gulch through which
Lowering her spear, Lila stepped backwards as quietly as she’d advanced. Her eyes remained focused on the murderous interloper, but there was no fear of stumbling or giving her position away with an ill-placed step. Her mind had mapped every detail of the terrain as she’d stalked her prey and that inner topography now guided her departure, ensuring that each step was as sure and silent as a tree spirit.
Fate, however, had other plans for her. As she neared a cluster of oaks, a squirrel chittered overhead and the man in white spun around. For a moment, neither man nor woman moved. Their eyes were locked together like partners in a dance older than Time, each gazing upon the face of the enemy and wishing the other dead.
Lila knew she was too far away. Even if she hurled her spear with all her might, it would only barely break the skin. It wouldn’t penetrate the man deeply enough to keep from falling out, much less pierce any of his vital organs. He, however, had the advantage of an Old World weapon with a range even the greatest of The People’s hunters could not hope to match. So she did the only thing she could: Lila ran.
The gun shoot boomed out behind her like the angry rumbling of the Sky God and something whizzed by her ear so closely that she felt it graze her eye. Almost instantaneously, the tree beside her erupted in an explosion of bark, sending splinters of wood flying through the air as the hunk of lead burrowed into its trunk. Though she’d never fired an Old World weapon before, she understood the concept and adjusted her retreat accordingly.
Zigging and zagging, she ran erratically, allowing instinct to guide her movements. As long as he couldn’t predict her trajectory, his shots would not find their mark. As long as she was as unpredictable as a rabid fox, she would live.
Lila had hoped that the settler would be foolish enough to continue shooting at her, that he would deplete his ammunition and be forced to reload the antique weapon. For that would be all it took to transition from quarry into aggressor. One moment when he stood, defenseless and alone.
The man, however, wasn’t as stupid as most. As the forest blurred by, she heard him crashing through the undergrowth behind her. He burst through thickets and splashed through streams, cursed between haggard pants as a low hanging branch clipped him on the forehead, and made more noise than an entire herd of deer. But not once did he try to drop Lila in her tracks. Instead of wasting his shots, he simply pursued her, waiting no doubt for an opportune moment to present itself.
Ahead, Lila saw jagged crags of stone rising up from the earth like the walls of some great temple for a forgotten god. Unlike the forest, there was no green: the trees thinned out as they neared the base, devolving into scraggly bushes that looked as if their bark had withered away; grass turned to dirt and the dirt became something as hard and packed as the cliffs towering over it. The surface was covered with pebbles and Lila’s heels kicked up little clouds of dust as she followed a circuitous route through the center of the mountain.
She knew this place. The People called it The River of Life. Winter coated its peaks with snow and ice, which the coming of Spring then melted away. The rocks glistened wetly in the sun and runoff flowed down the precipices like slow-motion water falls. At the end of the journey was the gulch through which