Bruce Tete

A man runs through a tundra forest of pines with bark so black they resemble the shadows of giants, letting their roots slither like snakes through the fleshy white snow. He would only rest for a minute, to catch the breath that the cold pulled from his throat. He would not let them catch him. His matted black hair, stuck to his immense shoulders and his only garment, a burlap tunic stuck to his large barrel-built body. Thick black chains rattled around his wrists, crafted to shackle those who could not be shackled by terror or whips, all the more difficult to break free from. Barks and growls boomed through the towering pines. Shit. He sprang to his feet, branches whipped his face as he ran. He needs a river. Sephians are too cheap to teach their hounds to swim. He heard whistling, one long high note, coming closer, and closer. Something bit his shoulder and he went rolling down the hill. His shoulder was red and sticky and an arrow stuck out of him, its feathers like the petal of a lone flower in a vast meadow. His chains rattled as he gripped its cheap Writwood shaft. He pulled, and the arrow took a chunk out with it. He bit his teeth and let a scream freeze inside of him. He spat curses, old ones, used only when mocking a man’s mother. 

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The barking grew louder, and twigs snapped under heavy boots. Before he could even hop to his feet, a snapping jaw flew at him. A toothy mass of wrinkles and fiery eyes snapped around the shoulder that held the arrow. Tossing its head from side to side, the lean brown hound savaged the already savage wound. The man yelled and brought the arrow to the dog’s naval, pulling up, letting loose all the pink snakes that once lived within it. The dog let out a squealing cry and he pushed the whimpering mess off of him and slowly emerged to his feet. 

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Three men emerged from the woods, one armed with a saber, one with a bow, and one with a red-eyed dog. Sephians. Clad in bronze plates and purple tunics, with gilded teeth, and thick black staches that hung over their maws of gold. The shrew-faced one pulled back his bowstring, but the bulkier one who held the saber and one hand and a dog’s leash in another charged the half-bloodied man. His voice boiled with rage as he brought down his curbed blade. The slave met the blade with his chains, letting out a cling, before wrapping his restraints around the blade as if he were about to strangle it. He jerked his arms back over his head, bringing the sword up with them, and bashed his brow into the Sephian slaver. Blood and curses sprang out from the slaver, lathering both of their faces in blood. The slaver closed his eyes, and fell limp onto the ground. 

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Before the purple-clad man fell, the slave pulled on his chains with all his strength, snapping the top half of the blade off and snatched in his paw like a bear catching a fish. His eyes met the archers, which hid behind an arrow and a taut string. The slave ran towards the archer stepping wildly from side to side, the arrow grazed his cheek, and he pounced. Grabbing the wrist that held the bow, squeezing it tight enough to break. He brought the fractured blade up, into the terrified man’s stomach. The archer unsheathed his dagger and swung desperately, but the slave was too quick. He leapt back, letting the dagger swim past his chest before he kicked the blade further into the archer’s stomach, who then hugged his own stomach and collapsed onto the ground. 

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The slave heard alien curses behind him, he pivoted and the second beast lept at his thigh, jamming each and every tooth into the muscle underneath. The slave let out a scream and struck the hound with his fist. It did not let go, but as he cocked his fist back for another strike, a whip came snapping at him like a snake, slicing his face. He jerked back in pain and balled both his hands into one fist before bringing it down like a hammer onto the dog’s head, who let out a yelp and fell to the ground, freeing the burly slave’s leg. And when the whip came snapping again, he caught it in one hand, pulling with all of his weight and strength, until the slaver came tumbling down. The slave scrambled for the archer’s dagger, long and crude, and speckled with rust. The slaver sprung to his knees, but before he could spring to his feet, the slave brought his boot to his face in a savage kick. Flipping the slaver flat onto his back. The slave brought his dagger down with all his strength, jamming half its blade into the Sephian’s skull, before bringing his fist down and knocking the knife in deeper. 

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The slaver stopped moving and the slave fell to his knees, letting out a great sigh, closing his eyes. Behind him, boots shuffled and snow crunched beneath them. As he turned his face, the saber-wielder sprung from his forced slumber and tackled the slave. They wrestled each other to the ground. The slave was exhausted, and the blood-splattered slaver was as slippery as an eel. He wriggled his way underneath the slave and sealed the man's neck in a locked arm. The slave pulled and squeezed and grit his teeth, but the slaver’s grip was immovable. His heart quickened, and thumped and thumped like a madman’s drum. Death whispered sweet things into his ear, taking strength from his arms and pulling his eyes out, he fell limp. The slaver released his grip and struggled to his feet, he walked over and put his muddy boot on the punctured face of his dead comrade, and pried the knife from his forehead with all of his strength. It came out with a pop and chunk of meat-covered skull. The slaver stared down at the grizzled blade, he felt a hand tighten around his ankle and all of a sudden, he was on his belly, his face smashed into the snow, and the dagger took flight from his hand. 

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The slave sat on his back, forcing the wind out from within him. With both hands the slave gripped his enemy’s head by the jaw and pulled it towards him. The slaver stretched his arm out towards the knife, desperately stroking its handle with his longest finger. His back bowed, as bones began to snap and pop. The two men howled, and suddenly, the slaver’s head snapped, until he could stare up at the sky while still lying on his belly. The slave fell onto his back, depleted of all his strength, and rested in the red speckled snow. He drew in deep breath and for once admired the clairity of the blue sky, and the quiet of the forest. Suddenly, a deep rumbling roar boomed from beside him. He turned his head and saw a bear as big as a house eyeing him with a frothing mouth. The slave looked back up at the sky and sighed, “Fuck.”