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This article was written by Vorred and BobTheDoctor27. Please do not add to it without their permission.
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| Night of the Long Knives | |
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1010 AGC
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Night of the Long Knives is a short story written by BobTheDoctor27 as an entry for Vorred's Writing Contest.
The story revolves around the actions of Toa Nuva Merall, Brorag, Chaeus and Dorvan during the events of Uprising.
Story[]
Part 1[]
The Twin Suns burnt brightly in the clear sky above the wasteland, baking the parched earth and lush, overgrown hills. A coarse green carpet of vegetation covered much of the ground, choking the dry soil. Indeed it was a vast tract of unenclosed wilderness. A somber, windswept stretch of emerald valleys and turfs, virtually treeless as far as the eye could see. This was an ancient space shaped solely by the forces of nature and seemingly impervious to the efforts of Matoran.
Ensnared beneath the shrubbery, Toa Theran, Toa of Fire, stirred. There was a long and mellow moment of disorientation where a dark cloud obscured his vision. For a full minute he lay sprawled on his back before he realized that the strange sensation was that of sunlight flooding in through his closed eyelids. It had taken him several moments longer than it should have to come to that conclusion and it took longer still for him to come to his senses and open his eyes.
Scattered randomly around him were five familiar faces; his fellow Toa. Each teammate of his was spread-eagled, like plush dolls that had been caught in a gale and dumped on the ground.
Calling upon every ounce of his inner-strength, the crimson Toa struggled to his feet. His muscles ached and were slow to respond but he managed to stand, albeit awkwardly. Theran swayed a couple of times before finally gaining his balance. His movement disturbed the others and, one by one, they too began to budge, the shackles of their slumber lifting. “Ow,” groaned Theran, feeling the aching in his joints. “What happened?”
His head was pounding. Nausea, headaches and the strange sensation that something was very wrong flooded his attention. The haze still had not cleared from his mind and his thoughts remained fuzzy.
“It seems that we were somehow... teleported,” groaned Range, the team’s male Toa of Water, as he pulled himself upright.
Indeed, the landscape that encompassed the team was completely alien. Plus they had no idea how long they had been lying inert in the middle of it.
Theran nodded then shot a glance at the terrain before them. All that there was to be seen was plant life as far as the horizon.
“We should split up and look for some villagers,” he stated halfheartedly. “Maybe they can help us.”
“I don’t think that splitting up is our best option, Fire-spitter,” bristled Merall in her typical morning mood. The female Toa of Stone was still rubbing her eyes. She had not even woken up and she was already criticizing him.
The Toa of Fire grunted in response then turned to Chaeus, Toa of Earth. “Brother, let’s have some of that Akaku Nuva magic.”
The black-armored Toa frowned, the Telescopic Lenses on his Kanohi swiveled out accordingly, like a microscope in a Ko-Metru laboratory. Almost instantly his Mask of Vision began to glimmer in the midday sunshine, then he twitched from side to side, peering in each different direction.
“There’re three footpaths leading out of here,” he replied idly. “It looks like we’re in a clearing too.”
Then the frown that came naturally with the shape of his Kanohi deepened.
“But that’s not all,” he muttered, attracting the attention of the entire group. “I can see something… something underground, giving off crazy energy readings.”
“How crazy?”
“It’s too far away to tell,” shrugged the Toa of Earth carelessly. “But it seems pretty small. Maybe some Turaga buried a bunch of Toa Stones nearby.”
“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” grunted Brorag, Toa of Ice. He was busy pulling pieces of grass out of the folds in his armor. “How’re we going to do this, Theran? Are we going to toss a widget to see who gets stuck with Range?”
“Hey!” snapped the Toa of Water sharply. “I’ll remember that remark when Naming Day next comes around, brother.”
The Toa of Ice and Water glared at each other icily for a long, hostile moment before they sprouted grins and clanked fists.
“So what’s the smart-plan?” asked Dorvan, Toa of Air. He normally didn't talk in Chutespeak unless he was being sarcastic, a rare blessing that his teammates wished would extend to other Toa of Air.
“There’re three roads and six of us,” responded Theran with a shrug. “Three teams of two.”
The six Toa glanced at each other awkwardly then shifted towards whoever stood closest to them: Dorvan with Merall, Brorag with Chaeus, and Range with Theran.
“Remember, we’re visitors in this land,” continued the Toa of Fire, but already the team had splintered off along the different paths.
“Take nothing but memories, leave nothing but footprints.”
But Toa Theran’s hollow warning would fall upon deaf audio receptors.
Part 2[]
It had been two hours – roughly – since Brorag and Chaeus had parted ways with their team. Two hours of crossing overgrown valleys and plant-covered hills. The air breathed most sweetly over this strange land. They stumbled many times, scratching their armor, and cutting themselves, but neither Toa could take his eyes off of the marvelous wonders of the wildlands. They had wandered into a jungle of thick, weaving grass, long, snaking vines, and stunted, twisted trees.
Yet the natural world was rarely so fruitful and the landscape proved to be no less alien the further they progressed. Gradually, they came across traces of Rahi – droppings, bones, scruffs of fur – but saw no actual specimens until they entered the thickest edge of the jungle. There they found a curious mix of the familiar yet strange creatures. Most of the Rahi were similar to the images that they had in their heads – Mahi, Fusa, Fader Bulls – but different, usually in size or coloring. Some of the differences weren’t so readily apparent. At one point Chaeus insisted that he’d seen a Husi with two heads and surprisingly sharp claws wandering around the forest floor.
Cautiously, the two Toa readied their weapons in case any larger Rahi engaged them. The tools were blunt and thin. They wouldn’t be much against the likes of a Kane-Ra, but they helped to frighten off the small yellow Brakas Monkeys that jumped from trees on to the heads of their victims, blinding them with their claws and teeth then finishing them off as they stumbled around madly.
“I’ve never seen Brakas behave this aggressively,” gasped Brorag, as they watched a group of the Rahi bring down and devour a Rock Lion.
“Me neither,” gulped Chaeus sullenly.
As they watched, the Brakas paused and sniffed the air suspiciously. One ran to a thick bush and screeched threateningly. There was a deep grunt from within the shrub, then a larger, crimson-coated Brakas stepped out and shook a long arm at the others. The yellow underlings bared their teeth, hissed, and threw small pebbles at the newcomer, but it ignored them and advanced. The smaller Rahi retreated, leaving the red Brakas to finish off the remains of their victim.
“I guess size matters,” muttered Brorag wryly, exchanging an intimidated glance with his teammate before they both slipped away, leaving the Alpha Brakas to feast in peace.
The path was rocky and treacherous underfoot – not to mention hard on their lightly-armored feet. As they traveled further and further into the strange wilderness, it soon became more and more evident that they were not the first to have walked down this same path.
“The topsoil has been disturbed,” grunted Chaeus, remarking a small footprint in the mud. The telescopic lenses on his Akaku Nuva swiveled and adjusted mechanically. “Recently, too. It’s about the size of a Matoran footprint.”
“What manner of Matoran would venture into these dangerous parts?” asked the Toa of Ice. Chaeus only shrugged in response.
As luck would have it, the duo found their answer sooner than expected. A small clearing opened up ahead, beneath the branches of a large tree, which was adorned with a broad canopy of glowing emerald leaves, a thick trunk, and buttress roots that rose above the ground by several bio. The grass and shrubbery seemed to recede back, giving way to bare soil. Nestled in between the roots of the great tree was the first Matoran structure they had encountered on their expedition: a campfire.
Or at least the remains of one. The flames had long-since died down and the wood had cooled into crisp, fragile, pieces of charcoal. There was no smoke to be seen, but the air had a faint sensation of burning riding on it.
“Alright,” muttered Brorag, drawing his blades. “We’ll split up, give the place a fine search, and meet up with any evidence we find.”
“No need,” replied the Toa of Earth, his Akaku Nuva glowing. “Only one Matoran came here, he left a mark in the ground where he sat. Probably a Po-Matoran, he must’ve been heavy to leave that kind of print.”
Brorag blinked in astonishment.
“This place was definitely abandoned,” continued Chaeus. “There’s a half-full water container and a rucksack; containing a blade, some dried-up flowers and a straw sleeping mat. The guy was probably warming up against the fire when he got attacked.”
Brorag made a mental note to himself: Start saving up to buy a Kanohi Akaku.
“There’s more footprints in the soil,” reported the Toa of Earth. “But these ones are very erratic, and they’ve been obscured.”
“Best guess?”
“A Rahi attack,” remarked Chaeus. “The creature snuck up behind our Matoran camper, killed him, then dragged the body off, smudging its own tracks.”
“Clever Rahi,” added the Toa of Ice, feeling more and more obsolete by the second.
“We cannot allow this. A Matoran has been killed here.”
“We’ll have to capture some of these Rahi and find out what’s wrong with them,” Brorag nodded. Although spectacular, the creatures presented a clear and present danger to the local villagers.
“Shall we set a trap?”
“You ever caught a Rahi any other way?”
“This could be different,” noted Chaeus.
The Kakama Nuva-wearer waved his companion away with a curt hand gesture. “If this is the Rahi’s territory then it could come back this way again soon. Most predators are on constant patrol. We should prepare.”
“Our best option is to dig a pit in the ground,” proposed the black armored-Toa. We’ll lure it in by catching a more docile Rahi and using it as bait.”
“Good plan,” murmured the Toa of Ice. “But, we’ll need to find some Energy Hounds.”
Now it was Chaeus’ turn to look perplexed. “Energy Hounds?” He asked uncertainly.
“Ideally,” shrugged Brorag. “Their spikes can stick in a larger Rahi’s snout, paws and mouth. They might slow it down or distract it."
Chaeus shook his head. “We’re going to need more than Energy Hound spikes to kill a Rahi this intelligent.”
“With luck we’ll startle it when it comes to feed on the bait. We can jump out and frighten it into the pit. Hopefully it will die there.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
The Toa of Ice sighed deeply. “You know, Chaeus, I have no problem working with a Toa of Earth as my companion, but I will not tolerate pessimists.”
“Seriously, Brorag.”
“We’ll use my Kakama Nuva and make a run for it.”
The Toa of Earth frowned. “I didn’t know you could use your Kanohi, yet. I thought I was the only one.”
“You are,” grunted Brorag.
Chaeus fixed him with a severe glare.
“OK, I haven’t used my Kakama Nuva yet. I haven’t really had to. But all the legends say that our powers will reveal themselves to us when we are in need of them, and I’m pretty sure that being chased by a huge, Matoran-killing Rahi will be one such situation.”
“So if Plan A fails, there is no Plan B?”
“Exactly,” Brorag grinned edgily. “Then we’re in trouble.”
After ransacking the absent Matoran’s belongings for supplies, the two Toa set to work. Brorag had started clawing at the ground only for his teammate to point out that the tree roots would make it impossible to dig any hole in the area. So, grudgingly, they departed in search of more open ground.
Roughly five minutes later, the pair came across a clearing in the trees, with a thick bush at one end where they would be able to hide. They spent the rest of the morning digging a deep pit with their hands, tools, and rough spades that they fashioned out of branches, leaves and string. The whole ordeal would’ve been a lot less strenuous had Chaeus been able to unlock his Elemental Earth Powers, but Brorag himself was in no position to make fun of him. He could only form small ice structures with his powers and, with the midday sunlight burned their backs, they both ached for a cool, gentle burst of snow.
When the pit was done, the Toa harvested a couple of thick branches and sharpened the tips on Chaeus’ blades, creating stakes that were bound together at the base of the hole.
Growing bored with the task, the Kakama Nuva-wearer left his Earth-bound ally to finish planting the murderous stakes while he went off in search of an Energy Hound, or anything else to use against the mysterious Rahi.
Toa Brorag spent the rest of the morning searching for cacti and rocks to hurl at their prey, but he may as well have been searching for a Protodite in Ta-Metru forge. Instead he simply ended up making mud-balls using leaves and fresh mud from a nearby stream, hoping that the mud might temporarily blind the creature.
He searched hard for Energy Hounds, and other Rahi with spikes, but if any were in the vicinity, they were keeping an ultra low profile. He had to report back empty-handed after two hours.
“Never mind,” uttered the Toa of Earth, sitting at the edge of the completed pit, fiddling with the mud-balls Brorag had created. “Let’s create a cover for this and catch some bait. After that, everything is up to Mata Nui’s judgment.”
Together, the two Toa built a thin blanket for their trap using long twigs and leaves, laid it over the hole and went hunting. In the end they decided to pick off a Mahi, as the specimens here were shorter than the ones they were familiar with, with longer heads. They couldn’t run as fast as their counterparts, but were still remarkable swift. It took a while to track down a lame straggler and bring it back alive. It was early afternoon by the time they tied it to a stake next to the pit, and both Toa were tired after a long, taxing few hours.
“What happens if the Rahi attacks during the night?” asked Chaeus, still trying his best to manipulate the mud-balls himself.
Brorag hesitated then released a deep inward sigh.
“Why do you always have to anticipate the worst?” he grunted.
The afternoon passed quicker than the Toa would’ve liked, by which point they’d already picked out multiple flaws in their plan from their positions behind the bush opposite the pit. In an ideal world – or at least one in which Brorag was always right – their coveted Rahi would attack the Mahi. With luck it would come at the helpless creature from the far side of the hollow ground and would fall in. If not, they would leap up whilst it was dragging off the Mahi and hopefully force it backwards to its doom. Not the most elaborate plan either of them could have concocted, but it would have to do given their resources.
They said nothing as the minutes turned to hours, silently waiting for the Matoran-killing Rahi. Brorag’s mouth was dry and he sipped frequently from the water container that he’d filched from the dead Matoran’s campsite. Chaeus went without water. He wasn’t the one who was used to cold climates.
About an hour after midday, the Toa of Earth laid a hand on his fellow Toa’s arm and squeezed warningly. There was something long and black skulking in the trees. Both teammates stared hard. As they did, Brorag was sure that he saw the tip of a snout stick out from around a tree and sniff the air testingly. He kept his mouth closed, willing the creature to advance, but after a few hesitant seconds it turned and padded away into the gloom of the jungle.
Chaeus and Brorag looked questioningly at one another. “It must’ve smelt us,” whispered the Toa of Ice.
“Or sensed something wrong,” Chaeus whispered back. Lifting his head slightly, not daring to activate his Kanohi and give off a mechanical whine, he studied the grazing Mahi by the pit.
Brorag jerked a thumb backwards. “Let’s get further away. I think it will return. If we aren’t here, it might be tempted to attack.”
“It’s too far.”
“You’re wearing an Akaku Nuva, Chaeus. You’ll be able to use it without the Rahi hearing you if we pull back.”
“It’s an Akaku, not a Kualsi!” snapped the Toa of Earth.
“I know,” whispered Brorag. “But we don’t have a choice. It knew something was wrong. If we stay here, it’ll also know when it returns and it won’t come back.”
The teammates wriggled further back into the bush, not stopping until they were almost at the end of the grass and vines. From this point they could only vaguely see the Mahi.
Another hour passed. Brorag was beginning to abandon hope that the Rahi would return, when the sound of deep breathing drifted towards them from the clearing. The Toa of Ice caught flashes of the Mahi jumping around, straining to break free of the rope. Something growled throatily – the Rahi. Even more promising – the growls were coming from the far side of the pit. If the Rahi attacked the Mahi from there, it would tumble straight into the trap.
The pair of Toa lay motionless, barely breathing. They head twigs snap as the sinister Rahi closed in on their bait, not masking its sounds any longer. Then there was a loud snapping sound as a heavy body crashed through the covering over the pit and landed heavily on the stakes. There was a ferocious howl and Brorag had to cover his audio receptors with both hands. That was followed by silence, disturbed only by the pounding of the Mahi’s paws on the soil as it leapt around frantically by the edge of the hole.
The Toa of Earth slowly got to his feet and stared the edge of the bush at the open cavern in the ground. Brorag stood and stared with him. They glanced at each other.
“It worked.” The Akaku Nuva-wearer mulled the words over in him mouth, as if they were a bad-tasting Steltian Ale.
“You sound like you didn’t expect it to,” grinned the Toa of Ice.
“I didn’t,” chuckled his companion as they started towards the trench before growing serious once more. “Careful,” he warned, hefting his blades. “It could still be alive. There’s nothing more dangerous than a wounded Rahi.”
“It’d be howling in pain if it were alive,” snorted Brorag confidently.
“Probably,” agreed his teammate. “But let’s not take any needless risks.”
Stepping forwards, he moved off to the left and signaled for the Toa of Ice to go right. Raising his short throwing blades, Brorag circled away from Chaeus, then they slowly closed in on the crater from opposite directions. In his left hand, the Toa of Earth had one of the mud-balls, ready to throw like a rock if the creature was still alive.
The taller of the two Toa activated his Akaku Nuva before Brorag had come within sight and stopped, confused. As he got closer, the Toa of Ice saw what had bewildered his ally. He also drew to a halt, not sure what to make of their catch. A body lay impaled on the stakes, organic blood dripping from its many puncture wounds. But it wasn’t the body of the colossal Rahi they had expected – it was the crimson Brakas Monkey.
“I don’t understand,” Brorag muttered. “Brakas can’t make the kinds of growling sounds we heard. And they don’t approach a Matoran on foot. They jump down from trees.”
“But how did…” Chaeus stopped and fear flashed into his eyes. “The throat!” he gasped. “It’s been torn open. That must mean –”
He got no further. Even as Brorag was leaping to the same conclusion – that the Matoran-killing Rahi they were after had killed the Brakas Monkey and dropped it into the trap to fool them – there was a blur of movement in the upper branches of the tree closest to him. Whirling, he caught a brief glimpse of a brown object flying through the air.
At first glance it looked like an Ash Bear, adorned with a mix of tan, brown and black armor. But, on closer analysis, their attacker seemed to resemble a Toa of Stone. A strange and incoherent rage blazed behind the eyeholes of his Kanohi Calix.
Then he was upon Brorag, roaring triumphantly as the Toa of Ice was dragged to the ground for the kill.
Part 3[]
The primal screech was critical. If the strange Toa of Stone had simply grabbed Brorag he wouldn’t have stood a chance. Instead, he was just knocked off his feet by a blunt headbutt that sent him sprawling. But the dark figure seemed to be excited – probably from having outsmarted its prey – and tossed his head back, growling savagely.
Chaeus wasted no time in coming to his friend’s aid. He reacted with cool speed and hurled the mudball. It could have bounced off their enemy’s head or shoulders, but the luck of the Great Beings was with the Toa of Earth. The mudball sailed clean into the center of their attacker’s Kanohi Calix.
The shadowy Toa of Stone instantly lost interest in Brorag and lurched aside, spitting and scratching at the mud in its mouth and eyes like a Rahi. The Kakama Nuva-wearer crawled away, panting, scrabbling for one of the Throwing Blades he’d dropped. Chaeus leapt over him as Brorag’s fingers closed around the handle of the weapon, and brought his shield down on top of the Toa of Stone’s head.
If the shield had been made of tougher material, Chaeus could have killed their attacker. But the metal that his thin tool was made from proved unworthy of the task, and it shattered over the Toa of Stone’s thick skull.
Their enemy howled with pain and rage, and turned on Chaeus, a deep growl emanating from his throat. The figure swiped at the Toa of Earth’s squat head with a pair of hefty-looking claws and opened up a deep scratch on the left side of his Akaku Nuva. Chaeus fell backwards from the force of the blow and the Toa of Stone leapt on him.
Brorag had been studying their attacker gormlessly the whole time. Monstrous black gunge was leaking out of his armor, like shadowy tendrils that were snaking out of his body. The Toa of Stone’s eyes were cold and, as he studied more closely, he realized that his enemy’s heartlight was switched off. This was no Toa of Stone. This was the empty husk of a long-dead warrior. A corpse that had once again been given life. Brorag didn’t have time to get up and lunge after the corrupt warrior – it would be on Chaeus before he was on his feet – so he hurled one of his throwing blades through the air at it. The weapon deflected harmlessly off the Toa of Stone’s powerful, muscular back, but it distracted the undead figure and its head snapped around, a fresh crack running down his Kanohi Calix. Chaeus used the moment to dig his hands into the ground. When the Matoran-murdering Toa turned to face him again, he flung dirt straight at his eyes.
The repulsive Toa squealed and turned a sharp ninety degrees away from the Akaku Nuva-wearer. It scraped at its eyes once again with its claws, wiping the mud away. As it was doing so, Chaeus grabbed one of the fragments of his broken shield then charged forwards and stuck the jagged edge into the Toa of Stone’s ribcage. It penetrated the armor, but only slightly, drawing more black gunge but not puncturing any vital organs.
That was too much for the Toa of Stone. He went berserk. Even though he couldn’t see properly anymore, he threw himself at Chaeus, hissing and spitting, swiping with his deadly claws, as if trying to imitate a Kane Ra. The Toa of Earth ducked out of the way, but his foe’s claws sank deep into the armor of his right leg. Before he could so much as let out a cry of pain, the zombified Toa was on him, working blindly, jagged metal teeth biting in search of his Kanohi.
Chaeus grunted then wrapped his own arms tight around the Toa of Stone and squeezed, trying to crush his ribs or suffocate him. The black slime soaked his armor. Brorag tried to tackle the wayward aggressor but was kept at bay by a kick from Chaeus.
“Keep away!” The Toa of Earth wheezed.
“But I can – ”
“Off!” roared Chaeus.
There was no arguing with a cry like that. Brorag decided to keep his distance. As he did, the Akaku Nuva-wearer locked his hands tighter and spun, looking for the pit through the black ooze streaming into his Kanohi, obscuring his vision. Finding it, he clutched the struggling Toa of Stone close to his chest, stumbled towards the pit – and threw himself in.
“Chaeus!” bellowed Brorag, reaching out automatically, as though he could grab and save his teammate. His insides turned to lead.
There was an ugly thud and an agonizing screech as the two Toa were impaled on the stakes. No sound came from Chaeus, which made his teammate fear the worst: that he had landed beneath his prey and been killed instantly.
“No,” Brorag moaned, picking himself up and hobbling towards the edge of the pit. He was so worried that he almost toppled over the edge himself. As he stood on the rim, arms swinging wildly to correct his balance, there was a low groan and Chaeus’ head turned. He had landed on top of the infected Toa of Stone. He was alive!
“Chaeus!” yelled the Toa of Ice, joyously this time.
“Help… me… up…” wheezed his teammate. The impaled Toa of Stone’s limbs were still twitching and, bizarrely, he was still full of life, though he presented no threat in this state. He no longer had the strength to kill Chaeus, even if he wanted to.
Lying on his chest, Brorag reached down into the pit and offered his outstretched hand to the Toa of Earth, but he couldn’t reach. He was lying flat on his undead victim and, although the Toa – and the Brakas Monkey underneath it – had taken the worst of the spikes, several had pierced Chaeus. There were a few in his legs, a couple in his chest and one in the flesh of his upper right arm. The wounds on his legs and torso weren’t going to present much of a problem. But the one on his arm was serious – he was stuck on the stake and couldn’t raise his right hand high enough to clutch Brorag’s.
“Wait there,” ordered the Kakama Nuva-wearer, looking around for something to lower himself in with.
“As if… I could go… anywhere,” snapped the Toa of Earth sarcastically.
There wasn’t any rope, but there were plenty of strong vines growing nearby. Hurrying to the nearest, Brorag sawed at it with one of his blades, cutting off a two meter length. He grabbed it tightly then tugged at both ends to test it. The vine didn’t seem to snap under the strain, so he returned to the pit and fed one end down to Chaeus. The injured Toa grabbed it with his free left hand, waited till he had a good grip of it, then yanked his right arm free of the stake. He gasped tightly as his flesh slid off the piercing wood. Grasping the vine tight, he swung his feet on to the wall of the pit and walked up it, pulling on the vine at the same time.
Chaeus was almost at the top when his feet slipped. As his legs dropped, Brorag realized his falling weight would drag them both down if he held onto the rope. He released it with snake-like speed, collapsed to his stomach and clutched for his friend’s arm.
He missed the hands, but his fingers closed on the Toa of Earth’s left wrist. There was a terrifying moment in which Chaeus’ weight dragged him closer, but Brorag balanced on the edge and his teammate managed to grab ahold of his wrist too. Just to be sure, he dug the tips of his feet deep into the soil, anchoring himself in place. After a few dangerous, dangling seconds he was able to haul the injured Toa up out of the pit.
Rolling on to his back, Chaeus stared up at the sky, his ebony Kanohi looked completely blank. There was no spark in his eyes and, to Brorag’s horror, the Toa of Earth’s heartlight seemed to have stopped blinking.
But the terrifying sensation that his ally had passed on to the other side passed quickly. For his mouth opened and a deep, ragged string of breaths escaped his lips. Brorag tried to get up but his legs were trembling, so he flopped down beside his wounded companion and the pair of Toa lay in silence, panting heavily, marveling inwardly at the fact that they were still alive.
Brorag patched his fellow Toa up as best he could, cleaning out his wounds with water from a nearby stream, slicing up the lining of the camper’s travel bag into strips to use as bandages. If he’d had more training, he probably could have used his elemental Ice powers to cut the thin material. But he had no such fortune and had to make do with one of the sharper fragments of Chaeus’ shield.
“How bad is it?” wheezed the aggrieved Toa of Earth.
Bad did not suffice.
The Toa’s entire back had been carved open by stakes that had penetrated their attacker. The most noticeable injury was around his waist, where one of the stakes had actually gone right through the weak organic tissue and protruded out the other side. Fortunately, that particular stake had come out when he was pulled up. There was no healing at this point. Chaeus would most likely be in crutches for the rest of his life.
“I’ve seen worse,” muttered Brorag supportively. That was a lie. His memory had been completely wiped yet, for some reason, he knew exactly how to apply a field dressing to an injured comrade. Chaeus knew that too.
“On a deadman?” asked the Toa of Earth gloomily.
“You’re not going to die,” snapped Brorag harshly. “Not here. Not now. And definitely not on my watch.”
The wound on his face – where the infected Toa of Stone had sliced through the left side of his Akaku Nuva – should have been stitched, but neither of them had any thread or needles. Brorag suggested they improvised and tried to catch a fish from somewhere to use as a substitute, but dark-armored Toa waved the idea away.
“I’d prefer if Range did it. Besides, you don’t have the steadiest hands, my friend.” He grinned at his own joke only to be swiftly reminded that this was not a laughing matter. “Let it heal how it likes. It’ll get covered up when I replace this mask anyway. How does a Suletu Nuva sound?”
The Toa of Ice cracked a smile at the thought but soon grew serious once again. “If infection sets in…”
“Looking on the bright side as usual,” groaned the injured Toa. “If it sets in, I’m finished – no medics out here. Let’s not… worry about it.”
Brorag dragged his friend over to a nearby tree and propped him up against it. It was important that he kept his strength now. There was very little that could be done about the deep cut through his side other than the act of tying one of the cloth strips around his waist. Chaeus wouldn’t be able to stand for a while so it was probably best if he just sat back and enjoyed the world around him. After all, with the hole in his belly this may be his final day. The whistling tunes of the forest were magical and the air hummed with a strange, sprightly vibe. Content with his handiwork, he made his way back to the edge of the pit and gazed down at their attacker.
The Toa of Stone had been thickly-built from the waist up, yet appeared to have the body of a spryer, more nimble figure. As he stared at the corpse, the fact that his teammate had bested it in the skirmish seemed more and more impossible. Not for the first time in his life, Brorag got the feeling that, if the Great Beings truly did exist, they had been watching over him carefully that day. They certainly seemed to have lent him a helping hand.
After about an hour of struggling, duty won out pain and Chaeus managed to pull himself to his feet, an act of determination that truly startled Brorag. Judging by the injury, he would’ve thought standing up would be impossible. But, then again, he often forgot how strong his friend was. Perhaps he had underestimated the Toa of Earth. He was a tough fellow who refused to doggedly roll over and die.
When he was sure that Chaeus was stable, Brorag set himself a sturdy climbing cable from some of the larger vines and fashioned himself a harness. Taking every possible precaution he climbed down into the hole, hooked one vine around the dead Toa’s right shoulder and another around his left thigh. He then climbed back up, handed one vine to Chaeus, and pulled. Together, they managed to pry the dead Toa off of the spikes, like pulling a Dermis Turtle from its shell. It wasn’t an easy task. Toa of Stone came in all shapes and sizes, but they were never light. Their attacker was heavy but the combined efforts of Brorag and Chaeus were stronger.
They regarded the corpse edgily at first. A spike had been driven directly through the figure’s head, skewering the brain and adorning his brown Kanohi Calix with a remarkable new feature.
The blood was blue.
Indeed the gory cave that now resided in the Toa of Stone’s forehead was stained a deep, inky, sapphire hue. Brorag leaned closer to examine the strange body in closer detail only for Chaeus to exclaim and insist that he stayed back.
“Don’t touch him!” he gasped in horror, stumbling as he reached forward.
Brorag stayed back. “Why not? Is your Akaku Nuva picked up some kind of disease on him?”
Chaeus frowned, creased his face, then looked around blankly.
“My Kanohi… it’s not working.”
Brorag cursed inwardly. “Well, you have lost a lot of blood.”
“No, that’s not it.” The Toa of Earth shook his head vigorously. “I can’t feel it. The connection that we’re supposed to have with our Masks. It’s gone!”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
Chaeus knelt down and prodded at the corpse with one of his blades, rolling the Toa of Stone over onto his side. Although his Kanohi no longer worked, his Telescopic Lenses continued to zoom in and out. Brorag followed the direction that the lenses were pointing at and found a cluster of strange, black gunge plastered across the corpse.
“I’m going to take a wild stab and guess that this is some kind of bacteria,” he murmured, staring in disgust at the critical mass of slime on the fallen Toa’s back.
The struggling Akaku Nuva-wearer winced, the pain of his wounds catching up on him. “Brorag… my heartlight’s gone out.”
Sure enough, as Brorag’s eyes edged slowly towards his teammate’s chest, it became clear that his fellow Toa’s heartlight was indeed switched off, which was never a good sign. You didn’t have to be a medic to know that. He tried to convince himself that the small bulb had probably shattered on the climb up, but the notion did not fill Brorag with any confidence for his friend’s recovery. And the glass was intact.
“I can’t use my Kanohi… my heartlight’s gone blank… and I was the only one who touched that Toa of Stone,” muttered Chaeus sullenly, answering the unspoken question in both their heads.
A beat of silence. Both Toa felt the warmth disappear from the air.
“Is it contagious?” asked Brorag guardedly, keeping a careful eye on the gooey shape on the Toa of Stone’s back.
“I imagine so.”
“Could I catch it from you?”
“I don’t know.”
Brorag snorted and grabbed for his friend’s wrist once again. The last time he’d touched it the skin had been clammy and warm. Now it was stone cold.
And there was no pulse.
“You shouldn’t touch me. I’m contaminated.” Chaeus withdrew his arm, genuine fear in his eyes.
“Well I’m willing to risk it, brother,” snapped the Toa of Ice. “We’ll regroup with the others. They’ll know what to do. We’ll find a cure!”
“Brorag, there is no cure,” retorted the Toa of Earth defiantly, tearing off the makeshift bandage.
Sure enough, the blood had turned blue.
“I was stabbed,” he muttered. “I think that I died while you were making the harness. I tried to call you, but I was too weak.”
“There has to be something that we can do,” pleaded the white-armored Toa. “Maybe a blood transfusion, or maybe if we clean your wound and get rid of the infection! Or we could use your Kanohi!”
It was a well-known fact. Toa had always had need of Kanohi, not just for the added powers that they offered. A Kanohi could retain the bearer’s consciousness within it. It became as much a part of a wearer as their arms or legs. It had been millennia since Brorag had thought of his own Kanohi as a piece of metal magnetized to his face. Perhaps there was some way to restore his friend by using his Kanohi Nuva?
“I don’t know what happens next,” murmured Chaeus. “I can feel my mind lagging and my vision is changing.”
Brorag grimaced, trying not to think too long about how little would remain of his teammate if things continued like this. “How?”
“Colors are changing and I can see further… but the edges aren’t as keenly defined.”
The Toa of Ice reached for his friend one final time only for the Toa of earth to flinch and jump backwards, the puncture in his chest barely restraining him.
“Really, Brorag... I don’t want to contaminate you,” he snapped. “Stay back.”
“There has to be a way!” grunted the Toa of Ice.
There was, of course, one option. Until recently, Chaeus had been the only Toa capable of using his Kanohi Nuva. If he could access the powers of his own Kakama Nuva then the two of them could run away. There had to be civilization out there. There had to be a medic or a local village leader who knew how to treat this dreadful disease.
“I’m dying slowly,” muttered Chaeus weakly, his voice beginning to crackle. “I can feel something else inside me. Something dark.”
“Don’t say that.”
There was a wild glimmer in the eyes of his comrade and, for a single bewildering second, the Toa of Earth who Brorag knew so well was flushed out. In that single terrifying instant, he was replaced with something else entirely. Something dark and primal.
“Restrain me,” grunted the black-armored Toa. “I don’t think I can control myself anymore.”
The blue blood from the hole in his chest had stopped dripping. It had started to clot together, a lot faster than it should have. Before his eyes, a dark, sinister scab formed. All systems had shut down. His heartlight wasn’t sending the order for his biomechanical body to circulate the necessary fluids. He was empty, and in place of his innards, there was now a thick black ooze.
“I’m about to die,” announced the Toa of Earth, now visibly fighting for each breath. The same slime that had coated the Toa of Stone was now dripping from his mouth, choking him out.
“I’m not arguing with you there,” remarked Brorag with wide eyes.
“Do you think… I’ll be remembered as a hero?”
The Toa of Ice stared deep into his friend’s eyes, knowing that with every passing second he was growing more and more distant.
“Probably,” he murmured sympathetically.
“But while I’m still alive…” wheezed the dying Toa, wobbling drunkenly on his feet, “…I’m a coward?”
“You’re no coward, Chaeus,” sighed Brorag. “And it’s not fair that this is happening to you. But that’s the way things work, I’m afraid. You get the glory when you’re not around to appreciate it.”
“Oh, but I… will be around,” spluttered the Toa of Earth.
A wild spasm rocketed through his body and the Akaku Nuva-wearer’s body arched like a bow. His mouth fell open and he dropped to his knees, fighting for a few final breaths before the all-encompassing darkness flooded his head and he was lost forever.
“Don’t let all those good things I did… go to waste… brother,” croaked Chaeus.
Brorag knew exactly what that meant. His friend was asking him to essentially kill him all over again. To make sure that his undead form didn’t affect the world again.
Chaeus was dead. He’d been dying from the very second he’d tumbled into the pit of spikes. The fact that he’d come back wasn’t a blessing. He’d fallen to his doom then risen, from the hole that should have been his grave, against all odds. There had to be consequences.
The Toa of Ice sighed deeply then scooped up the largest fragment of the corrupted Toa’s shield.
“Mata Nui forgive me,” he whispered.
Then his arm sailed through the air. There was a glimmer as the setting sun caught the edge of the metal in mid-swing. The jagged edge drove deep into Chaeus’ throat, slicing straight through his vocal chords and bringing about a fresh spray of blue blood.
But his teammate’s jugular had put up more resistance than Brorag had anticipated and the metal cut into his hand as well. He swore and let go of the fractured shield. It tumbled to the ground with a soft tinker only to be followed seconds later by the heavy THUD of Chaeus’ body.
Collecting his ally’s remaining weapons up and leaving them beside the fallen Toa of Earth, Brorag sighed and observed his friend’s final resting place.
He should dispose of the body honorably. But there was nothing he could do. He had no means of lighting a fire and, if dumped in a river, the infection would just pollute the water. There was always the option of pushing his body into the pit once again, but that was hardly a befitting resting place for his ally. Instead, he chose to prod the infected Toa of Stone back into the hole, then reset the trap with a fresh coating of leaves and wildgrass.
Then, all alone, Brorag set out into the wilderness, knowing that the horrors of that day would haunt him until the end of his life.
Part 4[]
Toa Merall inhaled a hearty lungful of cool, mountain air, puffing her chest out as she did so. The barren landscape that she and Dorvan were journeying through was not a particularly forgiving terrain. The incline was steep and the view was dull. They’d left the lush green forest behind and were now trailing up the side of a great hill.
Since they’d parted ways with the rest of their team, neither Toa had seen another living thing. At one point the Toa of Air had insisted that he’d spotted an Ussal crab skulking along the forest floor. He’d been very vocal about it, which annoyed Merall considerably. They were guests in this strange land and she wanted to adopt a serious nature when scoping it out for potential threats. Her companion, on the other hand, took every opportunity to pluck up flower petals, whistle broken tunes, and insist on making conversation. She was constantly having to look out for the silly Toa. Had she been paired up with Theran it would have been a different matter entirely. The Toa of Fire was similar to her in many respects: ruthless, hardened, blunt, solid. Next time, she was going to stand next to him when the groups got picked. At least that way she didn’t have to permanently keep one eye on the path ahead and another on her reckless accomplice.
Dorvan was something of a free spirit. A come-and-go type of guy who met problems when they arouse. He didn’t think to prevent them from happening in the first place. It was annoying, particularly as Merall believed that self-discipline was a virtue. They were complete opposites, but the Toa of Stone decided that she should make the best of a bad situation.
Still she was not a pessimist. There was one advantage to this situation:
At least she didn’t have to constantly watch over Range to make sure he didn’t disappear on one of his many adventures.
“The natural world is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?” sighed the Toa of Air contently.
“I suppose,” replied Merall curtly, eyeing the next leg of their journey. The path circled around the hillside and it was impossible to see what lay ahead. But the footpath seemed to dissipate out into loose shingle. The altitude was too great for average grass to grow, but odd clumps of vegetation populated the slope. Their roots held the granular soil in place.
Heaving a deep sigh, the Toa of Stone embarked on the long trek. This incline was going to be a test of her stamina as well as her sanity. They were wandering through hostile territory yet the Toa of Air frolicked around as if he were in a field of Harakeke.
Merall put one foot in front of the other, battling upwards. Climbing didn’t seem to be an issue to her. Her legs didn’t seem to give from the constant, mechanical short steps. Her lungs didn’t gasp for increasingly-thin air. The altitude didn’t even discourage her.
As she reached a ledge on the cliff face, the Toa found herself standing on a mountain path. It winded around the hill and trailed off far into the distance. Just a few bio higher up was a hole hewn into the rock. That was peculiar. She turned to exchange a glance with her teammate only to find that Dorvan was puffing and gasping and wheezing uncontrollably.
“A Toa of Air? Out of breath?” she remarked sardonically.
The Pakari Nuva-wearer puffed his chest out and swiftly regained control, emasculated.
Merall ignored him and turned her attention to the skies. The Twin Suns were hanging low. Many hours had passed since their journey had commenced and darkness would soon be upon them. Perhaps they should inspect the hole in the rock. It was the first sign of any life in the area that she’d laid eyes on all day. It might be the dwelling of some Onu-Matoran. And, if not, it would at least offer shelter for the night.
But as the two Toa approached the threshold of the fissure, it became obvious exactly what the indent was. It was a way-station for hill walkers to hole up in particularly bad weather or at night when the terrain was impossible to see and a single foot out of place on the narrow path could send a Matoran plummeting down the cliff edge to his doom. This way-station was a small cavern set low in the cliff. Dorvan pushed ahead, eager to get a fire started as swiftly as possible before night fell and all heat vanished from the world.
But Merall grabbed his arm and pulled the Toa of Air back. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the darkness, a nagging sensation in the back of her head screaming.
“What?” grunted Dorvan. The Kaukau Nuva-wearer’s male companion was irritable after she had teased him about his breathing.
“I smell something strange,” she hissed in a low voice.
Her companion glanced at the cave. Its ominous black interior revealed no clues as to what lay inside. Then he glanced at the state of the footpath. Merall had checked for footprints immediately. She knew that he would find no results. The path was composed of loose pebbles amongst the patches of grass. It was impossible to leave the impression of a foot, let alone give any indication of which direction the previous inhabitant of the way-station had gone off towards.
“You think there’s a corpse in there?” he asked gravely.
“It certainly smells that way,” nodded the Toa of Stone. “Stay close behind me, and be prepared to run if I give the order.” Dorvan nodded obediently, then trailed after her as she crept into the opening and slid inside.
The cave was dark, especially after the brightness of the afternoon. They entered cautiously and slowly, giving their eyes time to adjust to the flickering lightstone in the ceiling. It was a deep cavern, turning off to the left and going back twenty or more bio. Three beds had been lined up in the center of the indent, but one was lying on the ground. It had been smashed to pieces.
The wall and floor around the shattered bed were dark with blood. It wasn’t fresh to Merall’s keen nostrils, but it couldn’t be more than a few hours old. Having checked the rest of the way-station and taken comfort in the fact that they were alone, the Toa of Stone edged over to the blood and crouched to examine it.
“Well,” muttered Dorvan uneasily. “This is gruesome.”
“There’s no body, but there’s plenty of blood,” remarked Merall.
“Well then, the killer must’ve made off with the corpse,” shrugged her companion. “Must’ve been a smart fellow too. There’s no trail. I’ll bet that he threw it down the cliff we just climbed then went back to cover his tracks.”
Merall said nothing.
“Of course, there’s no trail at all. This must’ve been a planned attack. The killer might’ve brought a rake to brush sand over the evidence. He was probably staked out for a few hours. There must’ve been a long-lasting grudge between the two.”
Merall raised an eyebrow. “Anything else?” she asked bluntly.
Dorvan reached up and scratched his chin, wide eyes examining every aspect of the cavern.
“The culprit most likely knew this route well, and the victim must’ve been an old-timer. Nobody uses way-stations anymore. Simple enough.”
The Toa of Stone pulled a sour expression, as if she’d just eaten an overripe Madu fruit.
“It’s never simple, and believe me, I’ve carried my fair share of bodies,” she muttered.
The Kaukau Nuva-wearer gestured towards the puddle of blood.
“It’s fresh and heavy. And there’s easily about four and a half pints. That’s a critical hit.”
“That much?” Dorvan’s expression slackened and his jaw hinged open.
“The victim tumbled out of the bed then bled to death on the floor,” continued the Toa of Stone coldly, eyes roving the scene.” The blood is congealed. It came out thick and heavy. It was a blow to the chest, or possibly the head.”
“I wish I’d been standing next to Range when we picked the teams,” grumbled the Toa of Air, not sure whether or not to be impressed or repulsed by his ally’s understanding of this brutal act.
“My best guess is that this was an amateur thief,” continued Merall, returning to her feet. “He happened upon this way-station in the dead of night. The victim was asleep in this bed when the culprit snuck in. He would’ve pulled out a blade and gotten to work pickpocketing. He probably didn’t plan on using it.”
“Well how does that work?” frowned Dorvan.
“The target woke up,” shrugged the female Toa. “He fought back. The assailant was taken by surprise. He had to stab him. He hadn’t planned on ending a life but, in the end, he had to. An incalculable variable. He messed up then ran for it. I’ll bet you my bottom widget that we find the murder weapon in one of those bushes just outside.”
“Then where’s our missing Matoran?”
Merall looked at her companion quizzically. “Matoran?”
“The poor guy who got stabbed.”
“Four and a half pints?” snorted the Toa of Stone. “In a Matoran’s chest? I think not. Maybe in a Matoran’s entire body. We’re dealing with a victim larger than your average villager: a Turaga.”
Silence reigned in the bloody chamber.
“What kind of sick Piraka would stab a Turaga in his sleep?” murmured Dorvan after a long moment of vexation and devastation.
“It’s not as uncommon as you’d think,” replied the female Toa shallowly. “Turaga often carry valuable artefacts. Toa Stones, jewels, scrolls. This was most likely a case of mere misfortune and poverty. The real question is what happened to our elderly casualty and how he managed to get out of here without spilling a drop of blood on the floor.”
“You don’t think... he’s still in here, do you?” asked Dorvan shakily.
“Grow some backbone, brother,” sighed Merall. “The blood hasn’t hardened yet. It was spilled early this morning. We should follow the trail.”
The Toa of Air swallowed then nodded numbly and retreated for the exit. Merall gave one last sweep of the interior, then followed him, senses alert to the slightest hint of attack.
The Toa proceeded with caution after finding the blood-splattered way-station. Sure enough, Merall stopped at the second bush on the sparse hillside and spotted the cold glimmer of metal amidst the shrubbery. Neither Toa bothered to kneel down and inspect it. The culprit had travelled uphill. The Toa of Stone surmised that the killer had panicked and run off in whatever direction a wounded Turaga would have the most difficulty following him.
“How were you able to figure that out so easily?” asked Dorvan after a long hour of awkward silence between the two travelling companions.
“I’m not sure,” retorted Merall coldly. “My memory is blank, just like yours. My mind is just a jumble of fractured images. I can’t remember having a life before this. But that doesn’t change who we are. I guess fighting is in my nature. Maybe I was a detective.”
“Couldn’t have been easy, being a female Matoran of Stone.”
“I imagine not,” sighed the Kaukau Nuva wearer. “One day I’ll find out.”
“Am I in any of those fractured images?”
“Why do you ask?”
Dorvan tapped his silver Kanohi. “Neither my mask nor my elemental powers work. I’d very much like to find out why.”
Merall hesitated then narrowed her eyes, casting her mind back. After a few moments of shrewd self-interrogation she shrugged, a gesture that was becoming all too characteristic of her.
“I think I remember us being Matoran on the Southern Continent,” she murmured. “You were always out in the open. I once saw you in a big grassy field, scoping the wildlife out. The sun was setting. I think you were going to paint it.”
“Me? A painter?” The Toa of Air looked down at his stubby, muscular fingers. He stopped in his tracks for a moment to study his thick hands before catching up with Merall’s heavy strides.
The path ahead was simple enough. It was a relatively easy upward trek, though the terrain was difficult to navigate at times where the path disappeared under marshy earth. Although there were lots of wiry bushes to cut, no life-threatening obstacles presented themselves. A foul smell of putrid water and rotting plants emanated from their surroundings. The air was thick with tiny Niazesk, amongst various other microscopic Rahi species.
Finally, with the Twin Suns beginning to dip on the horizon and the first traces of orange appearing in the sky, Merall heaved a heavy sigh and stopped in her tracks. Dorvan kept on walking only to be stopped by her vice-like grip once again. There was a series of footprints freshly imprinted in the mud.
“These can’t be over an hour old,” mused the Toa of Stone.
“So we’re getting close to the killer?” proposed her companion.
“We’ll press on through the night,” announced Merall. “If we apprehend him, we’ll make camp.”
But as the two Toa continued, the docile wildgrass gave way to thicker plants. The wind began to pick up with the higher altitude and the local flora grew hardier. Their route become so volatile that the travelers found themselves struggling through nature in her wildest mood. Thorns sprouted out of plants. Dorvan smiled and prepared to activate his Chain Carvers, intent on slicing his way through the thick, prickly undergrowth. But Merall stopped him with a brusque hand gesture.
“There’s a clearing just over there,” she remarked, pointing towards a path of trodden bushes that had been made. “The roots are freshly snapped, so we’re close. We can’t afford to make any noise at this point.”
“Are you kidding?” groaned the Toa of Air. “You mean we have to just wade into a forest of spikes?”
“We don’t have another option.”
“We could go around.”
“It would take too long.
“I could use my carvers to dig our way under.”
“That would take even longer,” snapped the female Toa. “We’ll just have to pick our way through the clearing as carefully as we can.”
Without wasting any more time – or waiting to hear what Dorvan had to say – the Toa of Stone advanced. Reluctantly, he followed suit. The going was slow and painful. No matter how careful they were every few bio one of them would step on a thorn and scratch themselves. Merall protected her body as best she could, but by the time they were halfway into the barbed jungle, her entire body was specked with shallow red rivulets.
The going got worse as the gradient increased but Merall finally came to a halt, eyes wide.
“What’s up?” panted Dorvan, peering over her shoulder, breathing heavily.
The Toa of Stone stepped to one side to reveal a tiny piece of grey cloth snagged on a nearby bush. A few drops of dark blood had stained the tips of the thorns.
“What’s the big deal?” he asked hurriedly, still trying to catch his breath after the demanding trek.
Merall didn’t answer immediately – she was gazing around worriedly.
“That’s very good quality cloth,” she grunted, her grip tightening on her Twin Axes.
“Now’s not the time to go searching for fine silks for you to make a pair of drapes out of,” groaned Dorvan, rolling his eyes. He would never understand females.
The Toa of Stone snarled and plucked the cloth off the spike with two fingers, then held it up to the orange light of the setting Twin Suns. A symbol revealed itself, embroidered into the material.
“That’s an old elemental symbol for Earth,” she muttered. “This is part of a Turaga’s gown.”
“So... the Turaga from the way-station.”
“He bled out in the cave then found his way over here,” stated the Toa of Stone.
The two Toa exchanged concerned expressions then slowly drifted their gazes back towards the scrap of cloth.
The blood was black.
“What in the name of Tren Krom is that stuff?” shivered Dorvan. “Some kind of fungus?”
Merall opened her mouth as if to answer only to be cut short by the nearby sound of metal blanking against metal and a piercing male scream.
Dorvan’s chain carvers roared into life and the two Toa charged off in the direction of the outburst. This time Merall didn't stop him. They made quick time through the remainder of the prickles, taking no notice of the cutting spikes. On the far side they found a wild chaos of boulders and irregular track, amongst which were two figures: a hunched Turaga of Earth and a Le-Matoran.
The Matoran of Air wriggled and moaned on the ground, his eyes panicked and frantic. His entire left arm had been sliced off and he was groping the bloody stump in agony. The discarded limb lay uselessly in the grass next to him.
The Turaga stood haggard and stooped with his back to the Toa and his head too far forward. Slowly, he tilted his neck and turned to see them, a blade of his own glimmering in the crimson light of the sunset. The entire front portion of his chest was shrouded by a viscous, bubbling formation of black mould. It oozed and popped as he watched them through empty, hollow eyes.
Sure enough, there was a deep wound in the center of his chest, just as Merall had predicted. He had bled out and died. But then the blood seemed to have hardened and this strange, black organism had taken root in his system. That explained how he’d managed to leave the way-station without spilling blood – if nothing else.
The Turaga of Earth tilted his Noble Kanohi Komau and regarded the two Toa distantly. No hint of recognition manifested itself in the lights of his eyes. The black gunge pulsing from his armor as the injured Le-Matoran thrashed about.
The two Toa watched in horror as the undead figure examined the dying villager, then the blade in his hands, then stared back at them through half-coherent eyes.
“Easy,” warned the Toa of Stone sternly, raising her weapons as the warped stranger drew closer to them.
For a long moment the infected Turaga did nothing. He just raised his head to look at them both beseechingly. But then the worst nightmares of both the Toa were realized as their diseased attacker advanced. Slowly, the vegetated village elder hobbled towards them. Without his Staff he was shaky and swayed from side to side as he moved. There was no resistance against the all-encompassing mellowness that possessed him into servitude. He was just a puppet.
With a single swing of her right arm, Merall threw one of her Axes at the Turaga. It struck him square between the eyes, shattering his Kanohi and tearing his head open. The undead walker slumped backwards heavily, a spray of fine black mist following him.
The two Toa ran straight to the Le-Matoran, Merall plucking her weapon back up in mid-stride. The green-armored Matoran spluttered, coughing up mouthfuls of blood. He was beyond help now. His injuries were severe. The blade had entered his torso first, piercing through and protruding out to his back. Then it had been pulled out to deliver a fatal slash that had cleaved his arm off. His Mask of Rebounding was flecked with red.
“He was... a traitor,” wheezed the Matoran. “An informant of Nuva… the dark lord of this realm.”
The Le-Matoran coughed desperately, his breaths running few.
“He carried... blueprints of my village’s defenses. I had to stop him,” he added.
“Save your breath,” instructed Merall abrasively. “What was that black gunge on him?”
“He was... a Forgotten Warrior,” moaned the Le-Matoran. “An evil spirit... now haunts the dead of these lands... and I too will soon be tainted with its curse.”
“Fear not, little one,” murmured Dorvan in a hushed tone, shooting a perplexed glance at Merall over this latest development. “Your actions will be remembered. Tell us, what is your name?”
But the Le-Matoran just shook his head.
“Only Toa go down in legend...” he rasped, his weak eyes fluttering closed, like a curtain drawing over a stage. “Please… find my village.”
And with those final words, his heartlight went out.
Four pints of blood stained the ground.
Not wanting to risk the Matoran being dragged back from the land of the dead, Merall took it upon herself to have the body cremated. The two Toa pitched up a temporary campfire then placed the Matoran of Air into the flames.
“It looks like he was right,” muttered Dorvan, examining the blueprints that they’d found in the Matoran’s pack. “These were commissioned for a local Turaga in a nearby village and they detail at least two potentially serious gaps in security. I guess this is what he tried to pickpocket from the Turaga.”
“I guess so,” grunted Merall, watching the flames with glass eyes before glancing up at the setting suns. “We should head off soon.”
“Are we not going to bury his remains?” asked Dorvan with a frown.
“Do you want to?”
“No, not particularly.”
“I doubt he’d care,” grunted the Toa of Stone, rising to her feet. “Come on, the ground is starting to level out in the distance. We must be near the top of the hill. There’s probably a settlement up there where we can find shelter for the night.”
Sure enough, within twenty minutes of traversing the slopes, the Toa found themselves at the highest point of the hill. There was a circle of trees and lush wildgrass at the tip but, much to their disappointment, there wasn’t much else. A sheer drop adorned the end of the path. There was a river at the very bottom. It meandered through the valley and took a turn towards the cliff. It was an almost vertical drop into what looked like a fast-running stream. It wasn’t the tallest feature in the distance, but the backdrop of the valley was breath-taking.
“Not a bad day’s work,” muttered Dorvan, throwing his Chain Carvers roughly at the ground then collapsing heavily onto a grassy perch to watch the distant sunset. “We solved a homicide mystery, climbed a mountain and uncovered a supernatural virus. I wonder what Theran did.”
“These are volatile lands,” protested Merall sharply. “Theran and Range may very well be in far worse danger than we are. They’ll undoubtedly be sleeping out in the open.”
“I’m just as worried as you are,” countered the Toa of Air, this time in a more serious tone. “What did you make of that black gunge?”
“Some kind of germ warfare,” suggested the female Toa with a shrug.
“You think everything’s some kind of warfare!”
“Maybe it has something to do with a Kanohi Tryna?” sighed Merall, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know. But, whatever it was, it kept that Turaga alive and sent him on the trail after our dearly-departed Matoran friend.”
“You said that he bled to death,” noted the Toa of Air. “So did this infection bring him back? Could it affect us?”
“Let’s just assume that it can,” nodded the Kaukau Nuva-wearer.
“So will there be others out there?”
The valley looked peaceful in the evening glow. It was hard to believe that anything more menacing than a rain shower could threaten the docile landscape. But there was evil lurking here. Merall could feel its thick stench.
The Toa of Stone heaved a deep inward sigh then froze. There was a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach. She had been alerted to something that was behind her outlying field of vision. Something behind her. Movement. She’d sensed something.
The female Toa craned her neck and scanned the shrubbery.
There was an orange Kanohi Pakari peeking out from behind a bush.
The moment she made eye contact, there was a rustle of foliage and the blurred figure of a Toa of Fire burst out of his hiding place. In the brief second she had to study her attacker, Merall decided that this was an ambush. It was a savage and poorly-coordinated attack from behind. Regardless, this was a challenge that she would accept, even if her aggressor was missing his left arm and covered in black slime.
Another zombified local.
Her fellow combatant’s spiky whip sliced through the air. She ducked back, barely managing to evade the lethal metal tip. Had she hesitated for even a fraction of a second, the swing may well have taken one of her eyes out. Few people could sneak up on Toa Merall. Even fewer managed to do it without getting their arms broken.
Dorvan’s audio receptor’s pricked and he turned his head curiously. His eyes widened in a comical fashion as the infected Toa of Fire advanced. The Pakari Nuva-wearer rose to his feet, mouth hanging half open.
The strange attacker tilted its head in the same threatening manner that the Turaga of Earth had done then broke into a run, charging at Dorvan. The Toa of Air panicked and took a step back towards the edge, Chain Carvers revving into action.
But the infected Toa of Fire was taking no chances. Whatever this infection was, it had clouded his judgment worse than the Turaga. His actions were not his own as he threw himself at the startled, green-armored Toa. Dorvan thrust his weapons up to instinctively defend himself. The weapons mashed up the Toa of Fire’s chest into a black, gory mess. But no amount of damage could stop such a powerful stride. As the dead weight struck the alarmed Toa, he was pushed backwards.
Merall watched in horror as Dorvan lost his balance and toppled off the cliff face, disappearing over the ledge.
“That sure is one beautiful sunset,” sighed Range happily, eyeing the two balls of light that hung in the evening sky.
“Range, don’t you have more important things to do?” snapped Theran.
The Toa of Water glanced over his shoulder at the construction that was going on behind him. Several hours ago, he and Theran had happened across a small Matoran settlement in the lowlands of the region. Initially, they’d been turned around and told to leave for making up fantastical stories of zombies and theorizing an attack upon the village. However, a fortunate encounter with the body of Chaeus had given them both causes for concern. Their own brother Toa had fallen victim to this plague.
Needless to say, the first thing they’d done with the body was loot it of all weapons then drag it back to the Farside Village and demand reentry. Now the elders were frantically trying to restore their defenses. Behind him, Theran, Vorred and Jorag were struggling to repair a hole in the wooden gate that surrounded the numerous dwellings. He was watching over a bunch of Matoran as they labored to sharpen spears and hauled in large tree trunks to bolster the defenses for the looming attack that evening. In other words: he was taking a much-needed break.
“Theran, how many Toa of Gravity does it take to change a Lightstone?” he asked out of the blue.
“I don’t know, Range,” sighed the Toa of Fire heavily.
“One to hold it in place, one to turn the planet around!”
“Unbelievable,” wheezed his teammate, heaving one of the heavy, slanted wooden pillars up off the ground then dropping it back into its correct place. “We get our memories completely erased yet you somehow manage to remember your entire bad joke arsenal.”
Range just chuckled and closed his eyes, taking in the deep calmness of the sunset and enjoying the warm glow that seeped through his eyelids. For every minute that he spent taking things seriously, he would be losing sixty seconds that could be better-spent enjoying life.
Acting on instinct, Merall broke into a run. Not a single instant was wasted on hesitation. Latching her axes onto her feet, the Toa of Stone dove over the edge. Not a single doubt for her own safety penetrated her skull in that instant of selflessness.
Dorvan was heavy for a Toa of Air and Merall was light for a Toa of Stone. But, in the end, the odds fell in her favor and the brown-armored female was able to latch ahold of her friend.
That was as far as she had planned.
The wind was the first thing to touch her and the helpless Toa of Air in her arms. It threw them backwards, against the cliff face. Merall felt a sharp pain in her right thigh. The rough encounter with the side of the cliff also caused her to lose grip over her teammate, throwing him out of the her reach.
“Brace for impact!” she yelled over the rush of the wind.
The startled pair were flying through space, plummeting like two wingless Icebats. Both were instantly aware that the fall would quite possibly be their final resting place. For a split second, Merall blacked out only to be dragged back to consciousness by the air that rushed past her mask, like being slapped in the face with a wet, greasy Ruki fish.
The distant ground rushed up to meet them. It was difficult to tell, but the river seemed to be directly beneath them. Raising her eyebrows, Merall brought her muscular legs together, hunched her back, spread her hands, and prepared to hit the surface in a crouch. Her extra armor and Toa-sized muscles would absorb the shock, although the force of the contact may very well kill both of them.
A tremendous riptide struck the gently moving lake as they made contact. The impact was physical, staggering the Toa of Stone and knocking the breath straight out of her lungs.
By some miracle, she had survived the jump.
Not wasting a moment, she searched frantically for Dorvan. Both of them were still sinking from the force of the fall. The murky water stung her eyes with sediment but she bore the pain and reached out to grab her fellow Toa. His unconscious form sank into view and, for a single terrifying moment, she feared the worst. But, fortunately, his heartlight continued to pierce the dark waters as her fingers locked around his arm.
Reaching out with her mind, Merall called upon her Kanohi. If ever there was a need for her Kaukau Nuva, it was now. Waves of relief rolled over her as oxygen once again entered her battered lungs. She then extended her Kanohi’s powers over to her teammate, who was in far worse shape than she was.
Once safe, the Toa of Stone looked up. The sky was blazing orange. The surface was sparkling with varying shades of scarlet. Clinging tight to Dorvan, she held her mouth shut, waiting as long as she dared. Then, when she was sure that the mutated Toa of Fire hadn’t received such a soft landing, she decided that it was safe to find safety.
Toa Merall began her stride along the bottom of the riverbed. Her heavy steps brought up clouds of filth with every step. But she had succeeded. Her impulse had paid off.
And this Nuva guy was going to experience the full brunt of her fury.
Part 5[]
Dorvan’s silver Pakari Nuva burst free from the water, followed shortly by Merall’s Kanohi. The Toa of Stone held her delirious teammate’s head above the surface and kicked hard with her feet.
Conscious of more undead wanderers lurking in the surrounding forest, the Toa of Stone waded towards land as fast as her weary legs could carry her. The slope inclined gently. There was an inland beach on the other side of the meander, where the current was weaker. She headed towards it, half power-walking over the shallow shingle, half propelling herself forward with powerful, oar-like hand gestures. When she finally stepped out of the water, she let Dorvan off of her shoulder and placed him down on the sand. The Toa of Air was spluttering and gibbering in confusion. The fall had struck him harder. He wasn’t used to taking heavy hits.
“You… You saved me.”
“It would seem so,” murmured Merall, eying the opposite river bank, searching for silhouettes in the dwindling light.
“I’m alive!” laughed the Toa of Air, sitting up and admiring the world around him with fascination.
“Indeed,” replied the Toa of Stone curtly. “And I’m so pleased that I took the effort to preserve such as master of the self-evident.”
Dorvan swallowed then nodded, containing his emotions. “What happened to my weapons?”
“Believe it or not I wasn’t able to juggle chainsaws while skydiving,” snapped Merall. Only one of her axes was still in hand. The other was resting at the bottom of the lake, as were Dorvan’s weapons.
“Stay here,” she ordered. “I’m going to fetch them.”
The water was shallow as she approached it and activated her Kanohi Nuva once more. Throwing her remaining axe into the sand, she began stomping in, her weight pinning her down until, finally, the tip of her head disappeared and the water’s embrace consumed her.
For several lonely minutes, Dorvan watched the river flowing. His strength was finally beginning to return and he was eager to stretch his legs after the ordeal. He didn’t need to be an expert like Merall to know that nightfall would present many new dangers. When the Twin Suns finally set, he didn’t want to be around.
He tried to picture what it must be like for Merall. Swimming was a scary thought for him, being a Toa of Air, but at least he floated. A Toa of Stone would sink instantly. Their weight defied the force of upthrust. It must be a very different experience altogether for her.
And there was always the question of getting out again. Cut off from their elemental powers as they were, his team mate couldn’t just form a stone pillar and shoot herself out of the water atop it. She would have to find another slope, which could take some time. Perhaps she hadn’t thought this through properly.
But Merall wasn’t the type to charge in head strong without thinking things through first. Any old warrior could do that, though they tended to have a short life expectancy. His fellow Toa was a survivor. She’d fought and won. She had training and experience to know that this was an impossible risk.
She should’ve known that it would take hours for her to return.
Hours of concentration, underwater, as night approached. Soon she wouldn’t have any light at all. She’d have to concentrate the whole time in order to use her Kanohi. And if her mind wandered for even a second…
Perhaps she’d gone down there to die.
The thought was alien and irrational, but Dorvan became more and more convinced as the Twin Suns sank lower and lower in the sky. Half an hour slipped past, during which time the sky turned a deep orange shade. Clouds seemed to burn in the dusk before the greyness of twilight finally encompassed the world.
There was a rustle in the vegetation behind him. The Toa of Air flinched and felt the blood and in his circuits turn to ice. Acting on impulse, he threw himself to his feet and snatched up the axe that Merall had left behind.
The ambush was over almost as soon as Dorvan had realized it had begun. A black and silver-armored figure flitted from the shrubbery and advanced on him, arms outstretched, ready to pounce.
But Dorvan had reacted too quickly and brought the heavy axe down, slicing through his attacker’s right shoulder, separating the entire arm, which fell uselessly to the ground. Instead of screeching like a caged Rahi, however, the assailant only moaned as it slumped to the ground, the axe now buried into its side.
It lay there gurgling and spasming for a long and awkward moment as Dorvan tried to control his rapid, terrified breathing. There would undoubtedly be more Forgotten Warriors and Merall still wasn’t back yet.
To his shock, the Toa of Air felt something hard make impact with his side, then darkness encompassed his vision as he toppled to the ground. In that moment, he’d been certain that the undead would infect him, that the bodily contact would instill the dark plague on to him. But then reality dawned on him and he wished he’d just been infected.
Someone had covered his head with a giant cloth. Not just his head though. As he looked down, it appeared that the second attacker had thrown a sack over his entire upper and lower body. Only the tips of his legs stuck out.
He was inside his own body bag.
The Toa of Air yelped as the sack was thrown over him. It took the undead warrior a few moments to awkwardly pull it down. During those precious few seconds, the prey could easily have torn his way through the thin material. But, to the relief of the onlooker, he just quivered and wasted the one window of opportunity that he had to escape. He was kicked to the ground. Playing dead? Trying to summon Elemental Powers? It didn’t matter. Another sharp kick was delivered to the back of his head and the body lay still.
With the hunt over, the crimson warrior turned to his allies. The former Toa of Fire hovered over the body gormlessly as the others drifted out from their hiding places. The Toa of Earth who had advanced first picked himself off the ground, unfazed by either his missing arm or the axe that was still implanted in his chest. Five empty Toa of various different elements assembled on the sheltered beach.
Their leader remained in the darkness of the shrubbery for another full minute before finally making appearance. She slipped down from an overhanging tree branch gracefully, with the same fluid movements as a Rock Lion.
Her name was Caliga, a Toa of Lightning. She was young, a pleasantry that could not be extended to her fellow hardened, unwashed associates. A sick smile crept onto her Kanohi as she strutted towards the others. She knew them all by name, but what good were names these days? Their brains were decomposing with every passing second. When she’d been recruited earlier that week, all of these infected Toa had been able to speak. A day later, only three of them could string together a sentence. Now they’d all lapsed into dumb silence. As far as she was concerned, she was the new leader of the group. There hadn’t exactly been much opposition to the notion and the others just seemed to follow her like Mahi, which suited her purposes just fine.
Of course, she too would suffer a similar fate. That was inevitable. A few weeks into her new life she would also begin to lose all coherence. But that was a far-off horizon and there was no going back. Besides, being a creature of the night had several rare advantages.
“We’ll search the area,” she ordered coldly. “I counted three cliffjumpers. With any luck, we’ll be able to capture three of these new Toa for Nuva.”
“You’re wrong.”
The voice came from the ground. So the Toa of Air wasn’t unconscious after all. The smile on Caliga’s Kanohi Nuva broadened as she strode over to where the Toa lay then leaned down and tore the thin material apart, revealing her startled captive’s expression. “I work alone,” snapped the Toa in a last-ditch attempt to sound heroic whilst lying in the mud. “I was attacked by two of you freaks. Needless to say, I finished them both off.”
The infected Toa of Lightning’s grin faded and her empty eyes lost the emotion that had inhabited them moments ago.
“Very well,” she announced to her companions. “We will travel to Lord Nuva’s fortress and present him with our prize.”
It sounded like a dismissal, so her teammates began moving. Their weary joints creaked and grinded with every movement. The Toa of Air was cordoned between them and herded forwards. He glared at her as he shuffled along begrudgingly.
It was in that moment that the stunted figure of a Po-Matoran burst through the clearing. He stopped in his tracks and saluted to the assembled Toa, in a manner not too distant from a Bohrok Va.
“I carry orders from Lord Nuva,” he stated plainly, a bubble of black slime popping from the cut in his throat that had killed him. “The Farside Village has learnt of our existence and is preparing to mount an offensive. It has been requested that all nearby warriors must converge on that site to destroy the threat.”
“Understood,” nodded the Toa of Lightning icily. “I will obey the commands of our leader, he who has given us life where Mata Nui chose to impart death.”
The Miru-wearing Po-Matoran nodded sluggishly. He was a recent convert. Matoran only had a short period in which they were useful. After more than a few hours they too became mindless husks no different to an infected Toa in its final stages of undeath. This one was indeed fresh.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Caliga reached down, as if to pat the Matoran on the back, but instead delivered a powerful electrical surge through the fingertips of her Voltage Gauntlets, deactivating the Matoran’s mechanical components and shutting his body down. His message had been delivered and his worth had expired. It was no longer convenient to have him stumbling around.
The body slumped to the ground. Steam singed from the charred armor. It lay still. No doubt it would be reanimated once again in a few minutes, albeit with a shorter lifespan. At least the pain would be short-lived this time.
Was that a hint of compassion? Had she killed the Po-Matoran out of sympathy? Was it an act of euthanasia? Or was it simply for the cold, logical reason that he was no longer of value to Nuva’s cause? She wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was Nuva’s will. Perhaps it was her own desire to spare another of this accursed infection. No reasoning could justify her action. It was still monstrous and she hated herself for it. But the spark that remained of her old self was dwindling.
“You heard him,” she announced. “It is the wish of Lord Nuva that we travel to the Farside Village! And it is there that we will deliver a pointy reckoning to all those who would oppose his name.”
Her undead allies grunted to themselves but continued walking nonetheless. Caliga turned away and glanced back at the river, with the low suns full on her face. Ahead of her to the west was the cliff edge. To either side was an eroded valley that served as a confused jumble of trees in every direction. Just bushed and leaves and grass and nothing much more all the way back to the main city of Balfe Nui, four hundred mio away.
As Toa Caliga turned and walked off with her party, the brown object that she’d glanced over and mistaken for a rock moved. Two narrow eyes opened up like wounds and a sour glow of orange light emanated from them.
Slowly, Toa Merall rose from the watery depths of the lake, water dripping off her muscular form and cascading noiselessly back into the dark expanse she emerged from. She’d observed the entire exchange from afar, having emerged from the water at something of an opportune moment, though not swiftly enough to have prevented the ambush.
The Toa of Lightning had spoken. She had no visible indication of the black gunge from what she could scope out from the distance. Perhaps she wasn’t infected. Maybe she was just another regular member of society tempted by the opportunity to seize power under Nuva, like the Turaga of Earth.
Dorvan had done her a great service. The Toa of Lightning had demonstrated tactical thinking, anticipating that there were others. But her fellow Toa had taken the initiative and covered for her. He’d convinced his captors that he was alone. That there had been nobody else. That he’d braved the wilds alone only to be captured by a fresh squadron of Forgotten Warriors. He’d led them to believe that there was no possible chance of a rescue mission.
How misguided they were.
Merall had managed to locate all three of the missing weapons. Dorvan’s chain carvers now resided in her pack whilst her remaining axe hung loosely in her right hand. The knuckles turned white as her temper boiled and her grip on the weapon hardened.
She’d also gotten a good look at the undead Toa in question. There were six of them in total but only the Toa of Lightning presented any real threat. The others were vegetated beyond efficiency. Yet there was no indication that this would be any kind of easy task. Could she really take on six unstoppable enemies at once?
The obvious answer was no. She accepted that simple fact instantly. Statistically, her chances didn’t look promising. The leader of the group appeared to have a similar physique to Merall. She had the muscular stance and the hardened skin of a warrior but she appeared a lot more agile. She’d crept down from the branches of the tree with incredible ease and the same lanking, piston-like movements as some cat-like Rahi. That would present a problem in the near future.
The element of surprise was still on Merall’s side, however, which was always advantageous. If she was to rescue her teammate then she would need considerably more than that. Details, evidence gathering, surveillance. It was the basis of everything. She would need to find this Farside Village before her enemies so she could spring an ambush. She would need a vantage point from which to watch the Forgotten Warriors from, long enough and hard enough until she got a feel for exactly how she was going to execute her rescue mission.
As the Twin Suns set the endless expanse of wildlife was plunged into darkness. The Toa of Stone would be well-hidden in the gloom and the slight elevation of the land would offer her a good enough view of the whole area. She’d seen how the valley looked from atop the cliff edge. Her enemies hadn’t.
Toa Merall’s heavy foot stomped onto the shore as she began her journey, a drawn expression on her face and fire in her eyes. She stayed vigilant all the way, right up there in the kind of hyper-alert zone that made her feel she could draw and fire a thousand times faster than any opponent. The kind of zone that made her feel she could mine the ore and smelt the metal and draw the blueprints and cast the parts and build her own cannon, all before any opponent got the drop on her.
On the other side of the valley altogether, Toa Brorag was in very-much the same position as his foot connected with a tree root and he tumbled to the ground, before he could even finish cursing. What little innocence remained in his life had been irrevocably tainted.
The Toa snarled and sprang back to his feet violently, then continued running, becoming little more than a phantasmic shimmer of white that shot through the trees. The form was almost ghostly as it traversed the undergrowth with such otherworldly speed. The silhouette of a figure barely seemed to touch the ground.
The death of his teammate had struck him like a physical blow to the chest. There were so many things that he’d wanted to say to his friend. After a forgotten lifetime of working together it was simply wrong to have departed each other’s company through such a ruthless act. So much raw emotion was building up inside the Toa of Ice. So many unspoken words.
And, of course, the unquenchable desire for vengeance. His Kakama Nuva had burst into life shortly after the incident and he’d been running directionless ever since, tearing his way through the undergrowth, burning off his rage.
Once again, his foot snagged itself on a tree root and he came crashing to the ground. But this time he didn’t even bother getting up. His teammate was dead. What hope did his fellow Toa have against this infection? What if they’d all contracted it? There was no guarantee that any of them were cautious enough to avoid contact with the disease-carriers. Range would probably go up and try to lick the strange black gunge, given the chance.
A flash of memory tore through his fragile mind. The Toa of Ice moaned in agony and clutched his head. Shapes and images and colors and tingling sensations burned through his head. Fractures glimpses of the past bled through all at once. He was driving himself insane at the same time he tried to restore clarity to his long and turbulent past.
He saw snapshots of factories and buildings, of craggy coastlines and desolate villages, of rugged wave and fragile boats, warm fields and tropical grasses. Voices and songs and sounds screamed in his head. Whatever it was that had erased his memory, he was resisting. There was a single tiny crack in the wall that barred the Toa from recalling events, through which a light shone.
And that light was blinding him with its glare.
Struggling into a crouching position, Brorag panted ruggedly, shaking all over, flecks of mud dripping from his Kanohi Nuva. The horrors that he had witnessed today would undoubtedly haunt him for the rest of his life. But other dangerous thoughts were entering his mind now. He was lost and alone and scared and confused suffering from an internal crisis. His mind was at war with itself.
He hadn’t wanted to become a Toa. Or had he? He couldn’t say that for sure without first remembering his life as a Matoran, but in that moment he just wanted rid of it all. He couldn’t take the extra responsibility. He was weak. An Archives Mole had no place in a world of Burnak. He couldn’t imagine any possible scenario in which he would willingly accept such a life.
Brorag didn’t hear the twig snap in the distance but he sensed that there was another presence in the clearing he had crashed in. Cringing and whimpering, he sat up, only half-heartedly interested in fighting for his life. A boxy, Toa-sized figure stepped out of the darkness and into the blue glow of the moonlight. The night was still young and the light was dim, but this was not another victim of the plague. This was another living Toa.
“Peace, brother,” she murmured in a fractured but still reassuringly feminine voice. “I mean you no harm.”
Brorag tensed then forced himself to relax. He couldn’t see her Kanohi but it sounded like it was fitted with some strange breathing device or mouth guard. Her voice was muffled and robotic.
“I’m lost,” he whimpered pathetically. “My brother Toa has fallen victim to a deadly infection.”
“Fear not, Toa of Ice,” she whispered soothingly, the silhouette of her staff bobbing as she hobbled towards him. “Your team is scattered but they are in good hands.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
He couldn’t see it but Brorag sensed a warm smile stretching across the female Toa’s Kanohi. It must have a tender expression.
“When we are at our lowest point, it is easy to find comfort in the heavens,” she murmured. “Turn your gaze upwards and find your answer resting on a most auspicious star.”
The Toa hesitated then rolled onto his back to see the last slivers of sunlight escape the sky, like breathe departing the dying lips of a cold body. The world was cloaked in darkness. Long ago he’d been told that each Toa had a special Spirit Star – a distant dot that adorned the dark tapestry. There were no clouds to obscure the Wall of Stars tonight and hundreds of little lights presented themselves. Someone had once told the Toa that his group’s Spirit Stars were located in a particular constellation way off to the far-right, but he knew that was wrong. It must be different for each Toa. Dead ahead, straight in the center of the sky, was a hexagon of six dull specks that seemed familiar.
One of them was red.
There were several other red spots infecting the Wall of Stars, around a hundred. He guessed that they represented Toa infected with the virus. Still, it was reassuring to know that his teammates were safe. None of their lights were out.
“Your friends are alive,” stated the stranger sincerely, drawing closer. “But there is no guarantee that they will last the night.”
“I’ve been searching this jungle for hours,” lamented the Toa of Ice, pulling himself back into a standing position. “How am I to find them?”
“All Toa are kindred spirits,” replied the strange shadowy female. “And you share a bond with your brothers and sisters. These are mysterious lands, but there is nothing inhabiting these swamps with the power to deter a righteous Toa from his pledge to Mata Nui. There is no bush too thick, nor tree trunk too wide, to block a Toa from fulfilling his duty.”
Brorag said nothing. The words inspired a flicker of hope within him, but it still seemed like a hopeless task.
“Go now,” commanded the female. “Be with your fellow Toa. This is a night of great consequence and I have matters to attend to. But who knows? I may yet be able to save your teammates. The land is infinitely wide in the darkness inviting of lost strangers.”
Brorag nodded sullenly then closed his eyes and breathed in heavily. He knew what he had to do.
“Thank you, sister-Toa,” he muttered. “I will continue on my quest. But, please, before I go, what is your name?”
The female hesitated then sighed. “My name is Xafri. I would prefer if you did not speak of my presence here. As fruitful and bearing as these lands are, there are those who wish to see me removed.”
The Toa nodded once more then, sensing that he had outstayed his welcome, turned and ran, his Kanohi Nuva activating and leaving a powerful gust of wind in his tracks.
Xafri stayed and listened for a full twenty seconds before the distant sound of metal striking rock sounded half a mio away, accompanied by another curse.
She smiled again then turned and limped away wearily, in the direction of greater adventure. This was a night of great consequence.
Part 6[]
Merall stayed in the woods until she was well north of the river. Then she tracked forwards until she saw a well-trodden dirt road, which was floored with loose shale. There were piles of earth and spoil on either side. Ragged weeds and saplings were forcing their way through. It was potholed and rough. Pebbles and gravel gleaming gray in the moonlight. She stayed in the shadow of the trees and followed it north, hoping it would guide her to her destination unnoticed.
The road wound up a mountainside in tight hairpin bends. A sure sign it led to something worthwhile, otherwise the labor consumed in its construction would have been meaningless. After a mile of winding and what she estimated to be a thousand bio of elevation, the final curve gave out to more jungle.
There was no way of knowing that she was heading in the right direction. She’d overheard the infected Po-Matoran’s orders and watched the swiftness with which he had then been eliminated. This Farside Village must be some kind of stronghold that was soon to experience a complex military siege. A swift and barbaric raid. Undoubtedly there were going to be Matoran casualties. Maybe even prisoners. One thing was for sure: this group of Forgotten Warriors were behaving differently.
They hadn’t infected Dorvan. In fact, they’d gone to tremendous efforts to throw a piece of cloth over him and not make physical contact. They weren’t looking to convert wandering Toa. They were intent on capturing them for Lord Nuva. Maybe for experimentation. Maybe for entertainment. Maybe to serve as living trophies. It was grotesque and Merall knew she had to put a stop to it.
The Toa of Stone neared the end of the treeline and stepped out into a clearing. The path ended here and gave way to lush, well-kept grassland. A wooden sign hung from an overhanging tree branch.
You are now entering the Farside Village. We do not take kindly to the bringing of weapons into our community. Have a nice day.
The path continued downhill into a circular expanse of rich land about the circumference of an entire Akilini stadium. In the centre stood a small ring-fortress. Torches burned, casting a warm, gingery glow over the foliage. It illuminated the outskirts of the village, as if someone had taken the time to paint the ground a different color.
The barriers of the village had been freshly-reinforced. Hostile, beady eyes protruded over the walls of the stronghold. The bitter stiffness of tension hung in the air. The natives were preparing for an attack. This was most definitely the place she was meant to be.
But Merall’s thoughts weren’t with the villagers. There was a full-scale military siege in play. The Toa of Lightning had displayed ruthless tactics when she’d captured Dorvan. Under her leadership, the Forgotten Warriors would almost certainly be able to overwhelm this reclusive little settlement.
The Toa of Stone tracked back then slipped into the outlying trees. The flora in this region was fertile, yielding many strange fruits.1 Some of the trees had been picked clean of their produce. Others had been left to mature. The female Toa ran her hands over the closest specimen then plucked it from its branch. The outer shell was rough to the touch. Hard but brittle spikes protruded at odd intervals along its cracked and weathered surface.
The Toa of Stone lay her weapons out on the ground. She was armed with a single ax, both of Dorvan’s chain carvers, and a hard piece of fruit. She couldn’t guarantee any kind of accuracy while throwing her axe unless she managed to sneak up to a few meters distance from the pack leader, the chain carvers were too noisy for a tactical stealth operation, and the spiky fruit couldn’t even be considered a legitimate weapon. But she would think of something. She had arrived before her attackers. The terrain was hers to command until they arrived.
She as going to do what needed to be done. Or she was going to die trying.
Exactly a hundred-and-forty bio behind, Dorvan was trusting to the same instinct.
Toa Caliga regarded the Toa of Air coolly as the group marched forwards, trampling foliage underfoot. The cordon had dissipated, leaving the powerless novice to walk freely. But the balance of power remained unchanged. She was irrefutably in command. Her captive could be restrained at any moment. A single touch from her Voltage Gauntlets could fry his core processor. At any moment of her choosing, she could simply stop in her tracks, about-turn with a wicked grin on her face, and clamp her cold, metal palm down on his head.
She would just tell Nuva that it was a necessary precaution.
He wasn’t particularly spirited. Thus far he’d made no attempt to break away or fight. He wasn’t a warrior. It was basic profiling. He traipsed around flowers and took extra care not to stand on plant life of any kind whenever possible. This Toa was a pansy. He was soft and weak and saturated. A new recruit who had never suffered a day of hardship in his life.
But there was brave intelligence in his eyes. He never looked down at the ground. Instead his attention wandered around, head held high, almost as if he was expecting a rescue. She’d watched him fight from atop the tree. The axe quite clearly wasn’t his. He’d reacted quickly in the moment of attack and it was clearly a one-handed weapon, yet he’d used two hands and driven it deep into the side of his attacker. The weapon was still lodged in the black-armored Forgotten Warrior’s side. It was a skinny Toa of Earth whose name eluded Caliga. Already dark slime was creeping down onto the metal handle.
There was nothing happening. The whole forest was deserted and silent. Quieter than silent. It had the same total absence of sound that was left behind when a busy place got abandoned. The natural sounds were long gone. It was almost eerie. The undead Toa of Lightning strained her audio receptors, but heard nothing at all. Silent as a grave.
After several minutes of uphill trekking, she emerged at the top of a large incline. Her fellow undead Toa and their prisoner eventually caught up. They could not traverse the wilderness with as much grace as she. Even in death she was still energized with the same refinement as a Mahi frolicking in a field of flowers.
“Behold, my warriors,” she declared, curtly gesturing towards the brim of the forest, “the Farside Village. Now, we need only wait for our brethren and I shall lead us to conquest.”
She was met with no response from the empty husks. One of them twisted its neck to stare at a nearby tree. Obedience in its purest state.
“And what of me?” snapped the captive Toa of Air sullenly. “I assume that I’ll be made to watch this injustice as you bring it upon the world?”
“No such luck,” grinned the former Toa of Lightning hungrily, extending her right hand.
A burst of electrical energy flared from her fingertips, ripping though thin air and connecting with the Toa’s chest. The prisoner’s eyes widened in sheer shock as the lethal energy surged through him, like a physical punch. His body arched like a bow and he threw his head back, insides glowing, head back. He clenched his teeth and refused to scream, his eyes staying wide open in their sockets. The fierce, galvanistic crackle of power sent the Toa hurtling backwards. He made hard contact with the ground several bio away, then went limp. His armor singed and crackled with residual energy as he lay sprawled on top of a bush. His eyes fluttered then closed with a heavy groan, and all life seemed to drain from his expression.
Once upon a time, Merall might have screamed at the sight of a teammate being gunned down.
Her past remained a mystery. It was locked away in the shadowy recesses of her fragmented memory. She could have been anything in her past life. She might have been a farmer, a trader, even a flax maker. There was no way of knowing with any degree of reasonable certainty. But as she watched Dorvan’s body get lit up with an intense electrical current for all to see, she knew that no loss of recall could change her identity.
She was a warrior.
Bringing herself to her upright, Merall eased herself out from the shrub she’d been squatting down behind and crept over to the closest of the undead Toa, her awkward footsteps masked by the crash of her teammate against the foliage. This one was straggling away at the rear of the group. The Toa of Lightning still had her back turned but it was no use attacking her directly. At least not yet. The Toa of Stone shut her eyes for a second and conjured the image of Dorvan sketching a landscape back into her mind. It bled through from her subconscious. His innocent Matoran eyes, ignorant to any wrong-doing in the world.
Then she crashed out of the bushes and skipped up behind her target. With every ounce of inner strength, the female Toa smashed her remaining axe across the back of his skull. It was a large, blunt weapon and she felt the bone explode under it. The brown-armored warrior went down in the dirt like a felled tree. He lay facedown, slime oozing at his back.
Adopting a stiff posture, the female warrior hung limply on her feet, standing in for her victim should any wandering eyes venture back in her direction. Fortunately, the ambush had gone unnoticed.
Working her way through the Forgotten Warriors like this was not a welcome prospect. At any moment the Toa of Lightning would turn around and notice that her followers had reduced in number. No amount of rigid posture could protect her if that happened.
The Toa of Stone roved the other Forgotten Warriors with her eyes, assessing them for weaknesses with which to silently exploit. To her surprise, she was met with the sight of her other ax, which was still firmly implanted in the side of an undead Toa of Earth. He stood gangly and diseased, his right arm a messy stump and the weapon that Merall thought she would never see again protruding from his flesh.
Edging closer, the female Toa took a deep breathe, then grabbed ahold of the handle and yanked the weapon out, spinning the undead puppet around. The ragged Toa fell limply to the ground in a spray of viscous black gunge.
To her dismay, this one didn’t stay down, and the rustle of the leaves made too much noise. The Toa of Lightning’s head snapped around and her crimson eyes pierced Merall instantly. Her glare was petrifying.
But no Toa of Stone in the history of the Matoran Universe had been deterred simply because of a bad feeling. Merall narrowed her eyes and rose to the challenge.
With a single swing of her weapon, the Toa of Stone managed to club the black-armored Forgotten Warrior on the back of the neck, with the heavy sap. His head nearly came off from the savagery of the blow. The body flopped down, leaving a clear, unobstructed line between Merall and the Toa of Lightning.
An impulse in the back of her mind told the Toa of Stone to fight her opponent nobly. That impulse may well have gotten her killed as another bolt of lightning blazed through the air, this one much more intense than the one that had downed her teammate. The Kaukau Nuva-wearer arched her body and sucked her belly in, bending like a contortionist, only just managing to evade the fatal reach of the lightning bolt. She heard leaves tearing and ripping as the misfired energy burst smashed into the trees beyond them.
“You’re a slippery little Ruki fish,” grinned the zombified Toa of Lightning, gauntlets crackling with blue sparks.
“And you’re a Kavinika!” challenged Merall, with a threatening smile of her own.
Before another insult could be thrown, the Toa of Stone hooked the edges of her axes into a low-hanging tree branch, then vaulted up into the air, propelled by her own impressive upper-body strength. She wasn’t strong enough to breach the canopy layer, but she did manage to deliver a solid kick to her enemy’s midsection, pushing her back.
“I had a strong suspicion that your ally wasn’t alone,” the Toa of Lightning chuckled, absorbing the momentum of the strike but completely impervious to whatever pain it also entailed. “Though, I must admit, I hadn’t expected you to track me here.”
The Toa of Stone swung one of her axes. It was an underhand swipe that should have cleaved her opponent’s chest in half, but the undead Toa thrust a hand out to catch the weapon in her sleek, mechanical fingers.
“Protosteel,” she smiled darkly, yanking it out of Merall’s grip and swapping it into her right hand.
Gritting her teeth, the Toa of Stone tried not to let that last move irritate her. But, as much as she tried, rage consumed her. Tightening her grip, she swung her remaining tool with all her might.
Brutal. Savage. Wild. Uncoordinated. Her opponent ducked back, throwing Merall hopelessly off balance. The Kaukau Nuva-wearer barely had time to bring her axe back up and deflect the Toa of Lightning’s next swipe, nearly slicing her own fingers off in the process.
The parrying continued for three more swings. Merall stayed on the defensive, her opponent very-much the opposite, each time driving the Toa of Stone further and further back until, finally, she beamed crookedly and flung her stolen axe at a tree trunk, where it dug into the bark with a hollow thud.
“Where did a Toa of Stone such as yourelf learn to fight?” inquired the Toa of Lightning with as much sweetness as an Ice Bat. “On a construction site?”
Merall didn’t answer. Partly because she was concentrating, partly because she didn’t actually know. She let the words bounce off of her. Her enemy was trying to intimidate her, to trick her into aggression then take advantage of her illogicality.
Another beam of electrical energy coursed from her rival’s mechanical fingertips. This was a weaker voltage, but it caught the Toa of Stone regardless. She hadn’t been given a chance to dodge and bore the full brunt of the attack. It felt like her entire body was being beaten by Kolhii Staffs. It burned with deathly intensity. A hot, numbing, tingling, sensation surged through her whole body and she was frozen for a second or two.
But Toa Merall wasn’t the type to doggedly roll over and die. With a mighty grunt, the Toa of Stone tensed her muscles and locked her adversary with a steely glare. In that instant, she wasn’t a Toa. She was wild and uncontrollable, unhinged by morality. She was brute force. Her expression was not unlike a Kane Ra ready to charge.
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” chuckled the undead Toa of Lightning darkly. “I’m sure that Lord Nuva will be pleased when I hang your Kanohi on a plaque in his Hall of Trophies.”
“You talk too much,” snapped Merall coldly, flinging her remaining axe with all her might.
The Toa of Lightning swore and sidestepped as the weapon sailed through the air, grazing the armor of her left shoulder and bringing up a spray of black, viscous blood.
In that single moment of confusion, Merall reaching into her pack, grabbed one of Dorvan’s chain carvers, and whipped it out. The contraption let rip a mechanical roar instantly, which shattered the silence of the night. Her adversary yelped in shock as the chainsaw was thrust towards her chest. In an act of desperation, the Toa of Lightning flung a hand up, grabbing the teeth of the weapon in her right hand.
There was a horrific grinding as metal bit into metal. Sparks flew, followed by a blinding flash of light. The undead Toa bristled then recoiled her hand. Pieces of circuitry and chipped metal flaked from the ruined device. One of her gauntlet’s three fingers was missing and an all-too-familiar black slime began to bubble out of the holes.
“Well… that does complicate matters,” grunted the Toa of Lightning sardonically. She indulged in a dry chuckle before raising her remaining gauntlet and launching another burst of electrical energy.
But Merall saw it coming this time and threw herself to the side. She hit the deck as the vicious electrical storm snapped its jaws shut in the air she had once stood. Her fellow combatant snarled and drew her leg back.
The kick caught the Toa of Stone on the shoulder but bounced off easily as she rolled to the side, landing first on her back, then on in a press-up position. With a militaristic, well-rehearsed thrust, she sprung back to her feet, relying solely on her upper body strength.
Her white and blue-armored enemy made a ruthless grab for Merall’s throat, but the Toa of Stone ducked down and slammed forward, hitting her enemy once in the head. It was a savage and abrupt blow from a huge fist, powered by blind anger and crushing physical momentum. It caught her solidly on the side of the jaw and her head snapped back. The infected Toa staggered backwards unevenly, her head stuck at an angle.
“I think you just broke my neck,” she chuckled darkly, forcing it back into place with a repulsively sharp crack! She swayed around, uneven on her feet for a moment a dark cloud of realization dawned upon her. Merall sensed it too as she picked Dorvan’s chain carver out of the undergrowth. The infection was beginning to take a deeper root. He had received critical damage that rightfully should have killed her. Her mind was beginning to deteriorate at a much quicker rate now. The sharp coherence that had one resided in the spry Toa of Lightning’s eyes was growing duller by the second as she teetered about drunkenly.
At precisely the same moment, the infected Toa came to the same conclusion. Her expression darkened into a hateful snarl and she turned to address the other Forgotten Warriors, who had obediently stood aside to let their leader have her moment.
“Kill the Toa of Air,” she snapped, falteringly. She extended a vague gesture towards the undergrowth. Merall turned in horror. Amidst the tension of the battle she had completely forgotten about her ally. Sure enough, her horrors were fully realized when her eyes focused on the shrubbery only to find no trace of her friend.
But equally unnerving was the fact that Toa of Lightning looked confused. Dorvan had escaped her attention too.
For that single terrifying moment, the Toa of Stone feared the worst: that her unconscious teammate had been dragged away from under her nose whilst she’d been fighting. The thought chilled her to the bone. A cold flush engulfed her and she staggered back, searching frantically.
It was at that moment that a flash of silver caught the corner of her eye. Merall adjusted her gaze just in time to see a double-pronged blade slice through the air, striking her opponent and drawing a fresh, bubbling fountain of stale, inky blood from her knee. The infected Toa of Lightning looked up, unfazed by the pain, and glared in the direction that the blade had been thrown.
But, as soon as the two female Toa had locked eyes on the vague vantage point of the thrower, a second blade was thrown. This one barely missed the Toa of Lightning’s neck and buried itself into one of the Forgotten Warriors’ chests, causing him to topple to the ground. It easily could have taken an eye out, maybe even slit a throat.
Merall watched as the Forgotten Warrior groaned then struggled back to his feet, pulling the weapon out of his left breast then throwing it aside. It bounced twice then settled and lay still, glinting in the dull moonlight.
She had seen that weapon before.
She frowned and cast her mind back. The image of that particular, double-pronged blade was familiar to her. She had filed it away in her memory somewhat recently. It couldn’t be more than a few hours old. The Turaga? One of the Forgotten Warriors? The brave Le-Matoran who had died on her watch?
One of her teammates.
Sure enough, a flash of white came roaring into view from the treeline behind her opponent. His expression was one of resolution and fool-hardy determination. His eyes fixed on his target. He thundered forwards at an impossible speed, his momentum increasing rapidly. Like an Alkini player. An athlete. A full-blown marathon runner!
His left foot stamped on the ground and he propelled himself into the air. His right leg hung back. His eyes narrowed.
The kick was detrimental. It was a truly physical force to be reckoned with. The Toa of Lightning turned around to notice him just in time to see the tip of his metal Feet Addition boot her directly in the eye. Her Kanohi shattered beneath the force of the kick. Her neck snapped around once again. The warped, jagged metal of her Kanohi bent inwards. Instead of protecting her head, the sharp pieces tore her face apart. A spray of black mist hung in the air as she too toppled backwards, falling against a rock and cracking her head open.
She lay very still.
The Toa of Ice landed with as much grace as a Muaka in a Ko-Matoran ice rink, but he still managed to keep on his feet. He winked at Merall. One of her axes was in his hand. He must have picked up the one that she’d thrown, which raised the question of exactly how long he’d been watching the skirmish before stepping in.
The Toa of Stone growled as the other Forgotten Warriors moaned and advanced, sensing that their leader had finished her sport. Their nightmarish eyes fixed on Merall and her icy brother. Now was not the time for a scolding.
“I already moved Dorvan to safety,” nodded the Toa of Ice, gesturing towards a nearby hill. He shot off once again, then reappeared on her opposite site, her other axe in hand. “Now let’s get you out of here.”
Sensing that she had outstayed her welcome, Toa Merall revved up the chain carver in her muscular hand and took a swipe at the closest Forgotten Warrior, a Toa of Air. His emotionless face disappeared beneath a forest of inky blood and metal. The body shuddered before toppling backwards, hitting the ground like a tightly-bound bundle of Harakeke.
In that single instance she could have taken on the world. Drops of black blood freckled Merall’s Kanohi. There were three Forgotten Warriors left on their feet. Long ago she had learnt how to channel her rage in battle. Even now, with her broken memory, she thought on instinct. It had been drilled into her. She was aggression and anger and brutality. She could callously tear these undead warriors apart limb from limb with her bare hands. She felt like she could draw the blueprints, build the furnace, cast the mold, craft the metal and furnish her own sword with which to impale any opponent before her current enemies lifted a finger. She was the alpha female.
It was in her nature.
A hand reached up and grasped her shoulder as Merall tensed and prepared to throw herself forwards. Confused, she held back to see that her white-armored teammate was tugging on her.
“Sister,” he implored innocently. “We must go. Dorvan needs medical attention.”
The Toa of Stone grunted in frustration. She turned to yell a torrent of abuse at her fellow Toa, but then she saw the Toa of Ice’s pleading eyes. They were big and wide. They were soft eyes, ones that should perhaps be placed in a Matoran’s skull instead of a Toa’s.
“Ever the voice of reason, eh Brorag?” she snapped, puffing out her chest as the infected Toa of Lightning began to stir. She had been drawn back from death once again. Her empty eyes locked on Merall. Then her head twisted sideways, as if admiring her horizontally would induce some kind of recognition. Just as the Turaga of Earth had done.
Content that her enemy had truly suffered the bitter sensation of defeat, the Toa of Stone nodded to her teammate then hurried off. The two Toa locked hands then disappeared in a blur. They were just two brown and white figures flitting through the undergrowth like phantoms.
Partners in crime. Complete opposites in every way, shape and form, yet roped together in a bond designed with greater magnitude than the three virtues.
Epilogue[]
Shortly after departing the outlands of the Farside Village, Brorag led Merall to the base of a tall and majestic tree trunk to find Dorvan lying sprawled and inert beside it, a Husi pecking at his armor. When it saw them approach, the docile Rahi squawked and fled as fast as its long legs could carry it.
The Toa of Stone instantly declared that they would need a higher vantage point if they were to survive the night. Thus, with tremendous difficulty, they climbed the tree trunk, each holding one of Dorvan’s wrists in one hand. The going was tough until the Toa of Air returned to consciousness halfway up and lashed out, mistaking his allies for thralls of the undead. Merall attempted to calm her compatriot down only to receive a solid punch in the abdomen, which dislodged her entirely from her perch and sent the unfortunate warrior tumbling to the ground ten bio below.
Fortunately, the hardy female Toa landed gawkily in a patch of wild foliage, which provided marginal cushioning for her hard-boiled body. She lay still for several minutes, staring hopelessly up at the sky, too exhausted to get back to her feet and throw her clumsy teammate out of the tree like a spear. There were still so many unanswered questions floating around in her head. As she gazed up at Wall of Stars, searching for answers, her mind wandered.
If Brorag not been there to hold her back what would have happened? Would she have spiraled into a blood-lust killing frenzy? Could it even be considered killing? She liked to think that she followed some kind of moral code. Although moody at times, she generally did the right thing. There was a distinct difference between tactical thinking and brutality. There was a fine line that divided Rahi from Matoran. Had she crossed it today? Had her honor been compromised? Her integrity irrevocably tainted?
Merall had seen her fair share of suffering and injustice in the world. Although no specific memories came to the foreground of her mind, she could feel them lurking in her subconscious, reminding her who she was. The feeling came naturally to her, as did the unpleasant numbness of angst, which gnawed at her belly.
After roughly an hour of lying where she had landed and silently tearing herself apart on the inside, the Toa of Stone heard whispers coming from atop the tree. The tree branches rustled as two leaves were plucked from them, followed by a hushed curse. Her fellow Toa were pulling straws to decide who was going to check on her. Sure enough, a moment later, Dorvan’s silver Kanohi Nuva popped around the side of the branch that he and Brorag were perched on.
“Hey, Merall,” he called guardedly. “...Sorry for kicking you out of the tree. I really appreciate the daring rescue.”
The Toa of Stone’s sad eyes fixed on him for a long moment before she sighed and swallowed her feelings up. Once again, her steely façade reconstituted on her Kaakau Nuva, carrying with it the aged wrinkles of an experienced warrior. Whatever traces of vulnerability were left in her mind were instantly flushed out in favor of her impenetrable expression, which looked like it had been hewn from solid rock.
She began scaling the tree trunk instantly, pulling her heavy, battered body up one branch at a time until she was finally on the same level as her brother Toa. Then she just sat back and observed the view.
Fire.
Far off in the distance, a small village was burning. Small, shadowy silhouettes of the Matoran villagers ran off into the undergrowth, scurrying like Protodites in the midst of slightly larger insects.
“I’m not sure what village that one’s called,” sighed Brorag heavily, the orange flicker of the flames reflecting off his pure white armor. “I passed it while I was learning to control my mask just before sunset. A raid was the last thing on their minds.”
“Two villages in one night?” frowned Dorvan. “Why are they attacking all of a sudden? And why did they show up on the same day as us?”
“You know why,” shrugged Merall coolly. “Nuva – their leader. He’s ordering them to attack the settlements.”
“Well thankfully they’re not doing a very good job,” remarked Dorvan. “It’s a stroke of luck that all those Matoran are getting away unharmed. Perhaps we should go help them?”
“They’re not after the Matoran,” countered the Toa of Stone, eyeing the far-off siege. “The ones who captured you went to great lengths to bring you to their leader. They threw a sack over your head so as not to contaminate you.”
“The one Chaeus and I encountered didn’t do that,” frowned Brorag.
“Yours must’ve been acting off of old orders. We were attacked by a fresher batch with a newly-recruited Toa of Lightning at the helm. If the Turaga became a mindless husk after a few hours then I doubt Toa can last much longer. She must’ve been infected today.”
“Your point being?”
“Nuva changed his plans today. He took a radical step forward and accelerated everything, launching offensive strategies on at least two local villages. He sent out that team to capture us. He knew that we’d arrived.”
Brorag and Dorvan exchanged glances.
“So let’s keep our heads up,” warned the Toa of Stone. “I’m going to assume that Chaeus is dead. Am I right?”
The Toa of Ice’s expression became even graver and his eyes sank in their sockets. He nodded sullenly.
“He got infected… I had to…”
“You did him a justice,” muttered Merall sympathetically. “It may not have been morally right, but it was what had to be done. Like putting down an injured Mahi. He was in pain.”
The Kakama Nuva-wearer nodded. Right then and there, he was going to ask himself that question over and over again many times before he too died.
“What about Theran and Range?” asked Drovan, changing the subject.
“Theran is a good leader,” muttered Merall. “From what I can remember, he was a smart guy and I can see him lasting the night. He is at one with nature and knows how to survive in the wilderness. Range, on the other hand, has never lived a day of turbulence and hardship in his life.”
The three Toa fell silent, mourning their distant friends who they knew were doomed in this hardy landscape.
“So what’s the plan?” asked Brorag, taking a deep gulp.
“We avenge our brothers,” stated Merall. “We track down Nuva, then crack some heads together.”
Her two followers nodded in agreement.
"Everything struggles to live,” announced the Toa of Stone, placing a hand on the thick branch she was perched on. “Look at this tree growing up in the middle of this jungle. It’s a lot younger than the others. A couple of centuries ago, it wouldn’t had what little nourishment trickled down from the canopy above. It sprouted from sour earth, but it grew strong precisely because of that hardship. We must be strong too if we are to survive.”
The two timid Toa exchanged glances once again, little-knowing of exactly how true Merall’s words would ring.
Casting the theory from their minds, they looked towards their leader, only to find her gazing deep into the flames crackling in the distance. A number of small bonfires were dotted across the darkness of the valley, piercing the all-encompassing shroud of night. Like tiny planets orbiting around the sheer enormity of the land.
“Everything is going to change tomorrow,” muttered Merall. “You must remember: keep your wits sharp and your blades sharper.”
Characters[]
- Toa Merall
- Toa Brorag
- Toa Chaeus
- Toa Dorvan
- Toa Theran
- Toa Range
- Toa Xafri
- Vorred - Mentioned
- Toa Caliga - Infected; Vegetated
- Caliga's group of five Forgotten Warriors - Infected; Vegetated
- A Turaga of Earth - Infected; Inactive
- An unnamed Le-Matoran - Deceased
- A Pakari-wearing Toa of Fire - Infected; Inactive
- A Calix-wearing Toa of Stone - Infected; Inactive
- Several Rahi - Infected
- Several Matoran in the Farside Village - Unnamed
Trivia[]
- In Part 3 BobTheDoctor27 had Brorag euthanize Chaeus following his contamination with the undead infection, thereby preventing him from suffering through the transformation period. Thus, Chaeus became unable to speak and was reduced to an empty husk upon his reanimation. The reason behind this was to provide an explanation for why the Toa of Earth did not speak or show any of the side-effects of the transformation during the events of Uprising in spite of being a freshly-converted Forgotten Warrior.
- Whilst writing Parts 4 and 5, BobTheDoctor27 created his own imagined map of Balfe Nui, which was complete with arrows and character chips, something that he has never done before whilst planning any of his stories.
- In Part 6, Merall resolves to spend the night searching for Dorvan or to die trying. This is a reference to the story serial's original title: Die Trying.
