The Wild Beasts of Anthony Mannis

In order to properly recognize the gifts of an invoker, all invokers must wear the summoner’s patch over their heart. Anyone found invoking without the registered patch can be subjected to legal fines, detainment, and/or summary rehabilitation.

- Information Available to Borges Citizens, Pamphlet V

Anthony threw a stick, sending a golden wolf-pup invocation scampering across the hills. Hayley and Philip sat nearby, eating a small meal. It was the third day since they had left Lagulina but the first off the main road; a rare sort of peace permeated the air and they were enjoying it. The wind whispered through the clearing, rustling the grass. A dragonfly hummed past.

“You know, this ain’t half-bad,” mused Hayley. She was leaning with her back against a hillock, her straw hood pulled over her head to block the sun, which combined with the rhythmic sound of the dog jaunting happily back and forth, was making her drowsy.

“Yes, it’s quite peaceful. I could get used to this” Philip agreed. He exhaled contentedly.

“No rangers or any indication of them since we left Lagulina. I wonder where they are?”

“No idea, and let’s keep it that way.” Hayley murmured. She watched silently as Anthony scratched the dog’s ears lovingly, unsummoned it, and went to bother Philip. He was perspiring heavily. These two get so sweaty, she thought.

“Anthony,” she said, “how do your powers work?”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“I mean, how do they work? Do you just imagine something, like a big lobster, and it whooshes into existence?” she accentuated the whoosh with a languorous thrust of her arm.

Anthony thought for a moment. “Something like that, I guess. Imagining is pretty easy for me. Can’t really explain it too well, but it’s kinda like running. You can get your legs to move around without even thinking. I can do the same thing with my mind. Of course, the longer I run, the harder it gets. Eventually I gotta stop.”

“Yea, I can see that,” she said, pointing at the sweat stains on his shirt, “I guess I meant where do you get the ideas for beasts?”

“Oh. Ma used to tell me and Munroe stories all the time. And sometimes I’d read ’em in books. Sometimes I just think ’em up.”

“Mmm.” Hayley leaned back, her voice low. “I bet it can get pretty dark in there.”

“It does.”

“Thanks for keeping it inside.”

“I try.”

“Man, I’m still hungry,” Philip said, trying to change the subject, “got anything more to eat?”

Anthony tossed him a small bag filled with deer jerky. They all sat in relative quiet for a few seconds, the only sound coming from Philip chewing.

“I miss Ma,” Anthony tugged at his scarf. A sadness spread across his face. Philip fidgeted but didn’t say anything.

“Do you think we’ll get to her in time?” Anthony asked him.

Philip smiled, and reached over to squeeze Anthony’s shoulder.

“Did you hear that?” Hayley sat up, drawing back her hood. She cocked an ear towards the nearby trees.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Philip said stupidly.

“Of course you didn’t.”

Her sharp eyes were scouting for something near-imperceptible in the shadows of the forest.

“There!”

She pointed at a large, shuffling mound. It was obstructed by the trees so it was barely makeable, but it was clearly much larger than a man and was circling them. The three watched it move around. Hayley clutched her quarterstaff tightly. The creature burst into the clearing.

Forty feet tall and composed nearly of all strong, thick vines, the plant elemental lumbered towards them. It was vaguely humanoid in its four limbs, but the green arms jutting from its enlarged, humped shoulders reached the ground. Where a human face might have been was an intimidating ivory mask that contained an eerie yellow glow. It bellowed a challenge.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Anthony shouted, his adrenaline pumping. Whirling his arms, he invoked a colossus of the same stature; instead of vegetation it was composed of blackened iron, its forearms curved into gigantic blades. Anthony’s colossus clanged them together aggressively, like a butcher sharpening a pair of knives.

Philip started. “Wait, Anthony-”

“Let’s get it on!” Anthony roared over him.

The iron colossus charged the plant elemental and they swung heavily at each other. Anthony’s monster absorbed the first blow, a heavy punch, and lodged one of its bladed arms into the elemental’s shoulder. The plant elemental groaned painfully, and began to punish the body of the iron colossus, who was trying, frustrated, to free its arm. The plant elemental began to regrow its shoulder around the iron blade, vines and ivy creeping up the metal arm.

Hayley whirled around to Philip. “There’s an invoker around here somewhere. Go find him.”

“And kill him?” Philip said, horrified.

“No you goon, you don’t kill an invoker! You never kill an invoker! Just knock him over the head! We’ll distract his beast for you.”

“We? What do you mean we? Are you going to go up against that thing?”

“Hell yea.” Hayley grinned and unstrapped the foot-long ranger knife from around her thigh. Bounding athletically towards the two giants with the knife in her teeth she climbed up the back of Anthony’s beast. She ran across the iron arm that was trapped in the plant elemental as if it were a footbridge; flipping gracefully behind the elemental’s shoulders, she began to slice at it methodically. Flora fell from the elemental in showers, blooming on contact with the ground. Philip watched, awestruck, before he remembered he needed to find the responsible invoker. He hurried down the hill into the forest.

Anthony and Hayley worked together in amazing synchrony. Hayley chopped free the iron blade, and the metal colossus could now swing freely at the elemental. Dancing between the friendly strokes that would cut her in half, Hayley stabbed the plant elemental in its eyes, mouth, armpits, or wherever she happened to be. Nearing defeat, the plant elemental shot out an arm of vines, entangling the whole of Anthony’s colossus in choking vegetation. Anthony, grimacing under duress, sliced the elemental’s arm off, then hamstrung its leg. The elemental crashed to one knee, groaning. With the grim efficacy of an executioner, the iron colossus lopped off the elemental’s head with a clean stroke. Hayley, who had been sitting on the head, rode it down as it fell to the ground. She landed lightly next to Anthony, who was breathing heavily. Unsummoning his colossus, he sat on the ground. The plant elemental dissolved, flowers sprouting where it had disappeared.

There was another loud bellow behind them, and they turned to meet it. Anthony sighed, and Hayley’s eyes widened. Another plant elemental, similar to the first, was behind them. Next to it was a giant wolf colossus. In fact, there were colossi all through the clearing—a giant stag, a treant, a great bear, a black cat…they were surrounded.

“Hey…guys…” a timid, familiar voice reached them. Philip waved meekly, sandwiched between two swarthy, unsmiling men with powerful builds and painted faces. Each had a hold of one of Philip’s arms and pointed a knife at his throat.

#

The natives led them through the underbrush, far off the main road. Though they seemed to know their way, Anthony couldn’t find any coherent logic to their trail. They must know these forests like the back of their hands, he thought, being born and raised in them.

“Get off me,” growled Hayley to one of the warriors, who had a large hand clamped on her shoulder. He was one of six humongous guards, two spears strapped across his back. He didn’t acknowledge what she said but instead pushed her roughly forward.

“What a fascinating people,” Philip said as they marched, gazing about them, “I would love to see their invokers.”

“Open your eyes then,” Hayley replied irritably, as if he had asked her where he could find trees, “they’re all around us.”

She pointed with her chin off into the shadows.

There were indeed invokers surrounding them, darting in and out of the dappled sunlight. Some shadowed them along the forest floor moving like young deer, while others were high above them leaping from tree to tree. Occasionally an invocation would wisp quietly out—a lynx, or a centaur, or coatl—for a few moments, then disappear peacefully. One of the invokers rode on an emerald green elephant with the solemnity of a young prince.

“They are the children of the forest,” grunted one of Hayley’s guards, noticing them staring.

“Interesting,” Philip noted. He gazed upon a mossy stone idol as they marched past it, its lidless eyes glaring back accusingly. When it rumbled to life, he started, skin crawling, and looked around. One of the invokers made eye contact with him, then stepped backwards to meld into the shrubbery, the stone idol following the child obediently.

The sun was beginning to go down when they reached their destination, the base of a large tree. One of the warriors blew two short blasts on an ivory horn. Ladders made of braided vine dropped out of the trees, alongside two large woven baskets. Anthony and Philip were directed to one, and two warriors sat in with them. Hayley sat in one with four warriors. It was a comical sight; the four large natives dwarfed her. Anthony laughed when he saw.

“They sure don’t trust you, Haystack.”

She laughed raucously, and the warriors winced at the noise. She winked at Anthony. Their baskets began to rise creakily into the air.

“Baskets are for the weak and sickly,” scowled the warrior across from Anthony, a large knife across her lap, “I am ashamed to be put here like a den mother to watch these haazads!” She spat out the last word as if she had just bitten a wormy piece of apple.

“Yea I can see that,” Anthony grinned at her, “why don’t you put that knife down and we step to and you can see how weak and sickly I am?”

“Do not try it, little Borges,” said the other warrior, leveling his eyes at Anthony. He had a deep voice that was inherently authoritative, but much more impressive were the giant axe in his hands and the massive amounts of scars up and down both his arms. Anthony’s smile faded and the rest of the basket ride up was in silence.

The tops of the trees were an entirely different world. Huts were built solidly into the natural framework of the trees, with rope bridges and ziplines connecting them. Villagers were bustling to and fro, shouting stories to each other and laughing. Mothers sewed and cooked while their babies, who were toddling around seemingly close to the edges, played nearby. Children of all ages were running, swinging, laughing, and sometimes invoking. It reminded Anthony strangely of Mint Village.

“My goodness,” Philip breathed, “what a place. Look, they have pumps to send water up.”

There were three long, low blasts on a horn and a hush fell through the tree village. All eyes—mothers, children, warriors, and visitors alike—turned to look in one direction. A wire-muscled middle-aged woman materialized out of the darkness and stepped onto the patio. Her hair was a deep purple, almost black, long and tied in a ponytail. Her skin was brown and had black tattoos streaked across, a black cat pelt strapped across her shoulders and a longbow in her hand. She looked down her nose at the three outsiders; the firelight from the torches cast a solemn flicker across her face.

“Greetings, Borges,” in a low, strong tone, “my name is Lautara, Queen of the Forest, and I am the leader of the Tzolkhan people, and the governess of the tree-city you are now in, Tzolk’in. My men have told me that you have crossed into our territories unannounced, and given the talents of one of your members we deemed it necessary to…get acquainted.”

“Hi.” Anthony interrupted. He stared directly into Lautara’s eyes, but after a few moments had to look away.

“You are the invoker.” Lautara said.

“You got it.”

“I could tell by your insolence. You Borges do not know how to respect invoking.”

“I’m not a Borges,” Anthony said icily, “and if you call me insolent again I’ll fight you right now.”

“You came from Lagulina, did you not?” said Lautara, adopting a tone that could command thunder, “You are an invoker, are you not? Do you think I am a fool enough to believe that an invoker could come from the cities and not be a pawn of the Borges? Do not act so haughtily, for you are nothing. Know that you are not welcome and your stay will be not long.” Anthony cowed, but Hayley stepped forward heatedly, her jacket rustling.

“We’re not with the Borges, grandma,” she spat, “Come off it. You think he wouldn’t be wearing his summoner’s patch if he was a Borges? We’re on the run from them, actually…made a few of them angry, you know what I mean?”

“I do not,” Lautara answered. “Explain.”

Hayley recounted to them the numerous run-ins that they had had with rangers, PSOs, and Spectre Men. She told them of being captured at Melville, being assaulted on the road to Lagulina by two Spectre Squadrons, and escaping them in the mall in Lagulina; even breaking out of jail in Melville (but she left out how they got there, Philip noticed). By the end she had gotten a few laughs and cheers out of the Tzolkhan, as well as some murmurs of empathy. Lautara made no signs of being impressed.

“You may be lying about all this.”

Hayley, impatient, rolled her eyes and whispered something to one of the guards nearby—the one who had pushed her on the trail. He grumbled something back to her and stepped forward.

“What do you know, Huskar?” Lautara commanded.

Huskar unwrapped a leather bundle, revealing Hayley’s knife and Philip’s brassy topbreak revolver.

“These were on their persons. The girl owns the knife, from a defeated ranger, and the gun belongs to that boy. It is a Spectre Man standard carry that was taken from a defeated officer.”

“Uh, the knife is actually mine, as well,” Philip chirped. Hayley glowered at him.

“She’s just borrowing it,” he added.

“I dare you to take it back,” she shot at him.

“Silence!” Lautara commanded. Next to Anthony, the warrior with the scarred arms growled. The matriarch studied the evidence for a quiet minute, then spoke.

“While both convincing and corroborating, these weapons could have come from anywhere. You may have found them, bought them, or they may have been given to you.”

She studied their downcast faces, finally focusing on Philip.

“You there,” Lautara said, “have you anything to say in your defense?”

Philip snapped to attention, startled. “I, uh, I uh…well gosh, I really just want to congratulate you on your advanced society. You really got something going on up here.”

Lautara blinked. “Advanced? Compared to what?”

Philip rubbed his glasses nervously with his fingers.

“Well, what I mean is, you sure have done a lot, running water, coherent layout…quite the…quite the habita- living situation…”

“Tzolkhan engineers are the best in Hoemba,” Lautara snorted derisively. “typical haazad…‘advanced society’. What you mean to say is that our village exceeded your expectation for how you expected some ‘savage’ natives to live.”

“I uh…no…well…”

“Because we don’t have electricity, or plasma generators, or crawling, hovering machines, you are surprised we have achieved as ‘much’ as your society and so you bless us with your title ‘advanced.’”

Some Tzolkhan snickered.

“Hey…I grew up with no electricity either…” Philip sputtered.

“Up here, boy, there are few quarrels. We are a family. Resources and ideas are shared and received willingly. Those are the areas that truly matter. When your cities do not have that you may come back so I can bless you and call you ‘advanced.’”

Philip’s ears turned red. Lautara smiled primly, to much chuckling, and moved to address everyone.

“I am not convinced yet by their story, but I will extend to them the renowned hospitality of the Tzolkhan people. Let it be known that the Tzolkhan may treat even the Borges with the respect due fellow humans, at our discretion.”

Amidst loud cheers, she turned back to the three. “You may stay in this hut tonight, and we will resume talks tomorrow. Of course, you will have assigned guards. Invoker, your guard is Ikoa.”

The warrior with the scarred arms grunted at Anthony.

“Advanced Society, your guard is Galvarino.”

The warrior with the long knife grinned wildly at Philip, who gulped nervously.

“Be nice, Galvarino. I have deemed them our guests. Straw-girl, your guards are Huskar and Ten Faces.”

The warrior with two spears bowed to her, and another one materialized seemingly out of nowhere. He, too, bowed to her.

Lautara tilted her head to them, a regal formality, then strode off into the night. Anthony made eye contact with Hayley, both of them thinking the same thing. Three of us, four guards. Doable? Maybe…but how many other warriors and invokers were there out in the dark…and they know the forest so much better, how far would they let us go?

“In here,” said Ikoa, sweeping back a curtain. Anthony and Hayley gasped, all ideas of escape disappeared as they gaped at the platters of food inside their hut. There were roast chickens, bowls of fresh fruit and fresh vegetables, chestnuts, a dish of raw honey, and a small roast pig.

“Well now, you guys sure know how to treat a lady,” shouted Hayley happily as she bounded towards the food.

“Ditto,” said Anthony. Philip sighed, half at their lack of pride and half at Anthony’s incorrect use of the word ditto, but he too was hungry. The guards watched as the three ate.

“Hey guys,” said Anthony between mouthfuls, noticing their hungry looks, “come eat.”

Ikoa glanced at Huskar, whose stomach rumbled loudly. They shrugged and went inside. Galvarino and Ten Faces followed.

“See, we’re learning the Tzolkhan ways already,” Hayley winked. Ikoa stared at her a moment, then laughed. It was a jolly, booming laugh that filled the room.

#

“Why is your name, Hay-lee?” Huskar asked. They had all finished eating, and were now lying amongst giant fur rugs (black-cat pelts), staring into the fire. The warriors were sharing a pipe, sending lazy smoke rings towards the smoke flap of the roof.

“Not sure what you mean, Huskey,” Hayley said. She picked her teeth with her fingernail.

“I am named after a fierce warrior.” said Huskar proudly, beating his chest, “he was known for his proficiency with the double spears, as am I. These are not names you are given, like…Anthony, or Philip. These are names you earn. So you are named Hay-lee because of the straw, no?”

Anthony snorted loudly, spitting out a piece of fruit. Hayley blushed and shoved him. Galvarino chuckled, and she glared over.

“What about you then, Gal-var-rino?”

Huskar laughed. “Ghost Hands!”

“Ghost Hands!” the other warriors sang.

Galvarino—Ghost Hands—displayed her palms, which were chalked white. She clapped them together, creating an obscuring cloud of dust. Amidst that, her long knife appeared.

“Theatrical and clever distractions for the uninitiated,” Hayley mused. “I can dig it. Ten Faces, what’s your story?”

Ten Faces didn’t answer, instead closing his eyes. It was his turn on the pipe, and he breathed out a steady stream of smoke. In the hazy vision, he rubbed his hands across his face and disappeared.

“What the…” Hayley sat up, startled. Anthony and Philip too, looked around.

Galvarino, Huskar, and Ikoa burst out laughing. A toothy disembodied grin appeared next to Philip, who jumped upon noticing. Then the eyes appeared, and Ten Faces was back. His face was covered with a scientifically fine layer of mud and grease.

Hayley whistled. “That is some supreme camouflage. You have to show me that later.”

Ten Faces smiled at her and sat back down to smoke more, nearly disappearing. The three adventurers turned to Ikoa. The huge man was lost in thought.

“Is it true that the weapons you have are from Borges officers?” he said. The three nodded.

“You are not lying to us? We are your…friends, yes?”

“On my honor as an invoker,” Anthony said, raising his right hand, “on my honor as one blessed with immense power, we are not lying to you, our friend.”

Ikoa sighed and shifted heavily. “I do not like Spectre Men.”

He rubbed his face with heavily scarred arms.

“One day, the Borges will push and find they can push us back no longer,” he mused, “all the pain, all the misery they have caused; the lamentations of our people will finally be heard. There will be a battle like none they have felt before. I ache for the day.”

Anthony watched Ikoa stand up and stretch his scarred shoulders, and he knew that he meant it. They all watched Ikoa walk towards the entrance.

“And what does his name mean?” Anthony asked, pointing.

“Ikoa,” said Huskar, “The Beautiful War.”

“His youngest son was taken by the SSI a couple years ago,” whispered Ghost Hands, “I do not wish to be there when he finds the men responsible, for it is sure to be a terrible day.”

“You know, invoker,” Ikoa said finally, “I have two sons like you. They are almost your age. Maybe you saw them earlier today.”

Anthony thought back to when they were marching and watching the children of the forest. He nodded. “Sure.”

“I used to have three.”

The fire crackled.

“One is…the Borges took him. On a raid, led by a Spectre Man who wore all black.”

Anthony and Philip exchanged glances but said nothing.

“I was not there,” Ikoa continued, “I was hunting far away. But now, I hunt them. My given name was Mi’kan. But now they call me Ikoa.”

His face was lined with sadness. The other Tzolkhan were silent. Anthony moved next to him and put his hand on Ikoa’s massive shoulder.

“They took my brother,” Anthony said, “I am searching for him also.”

Ikoa looked up. “Maybe I can help you find your brother, you can help me find my son?”

“Of course, my friend.”