Chapter Text
Before me was panic. The white trees and yellow leaves hid the town as I approached the crest of the hill, I could only see the bleak houses. Comprised of gray stone, the round, sad homes sat sturdily among the tides of bugs who erupted into the streets. The volume of footsteps on the paved roads almost overtook the sounds of cries and yells.
To look closer in the city only raised more questions. No fires raged, no blood spilt across the stones, and the crowds ran for the hill where I watched. Carts, bags, and the young streaked past me in the arms of adults. Entire lives were being uprooted and relocated in seconds. It was then that I saw the first sign of danger.
A large red beetle with a black abdomen turned towards the fleeing bugs. The beetle wielded a tall kind of spear that had serrations along the upper blade. Four lumbering arms held the spear tight and close. Around its neck was a grand scarlet cloak, slightly more pink than its carapace. And on its face was a helm that fit snugly down to its neck, protection desired by only the most courageous of warriors.
The beetle surveyed the bugs who fled. Its eyes followed the stragglers from the city, to the crest of the hills, and then to me. I held his gaze with my own, for I had no weapon to draw. I thought it would begin to approach me but it sighed so deeply I looked for my own breath. The beetle then turned its eyes towards roiling clouds and sauntered towards the city center.
I was quick to descend the hill and watched the beetle. On its shell were decades. Edges of its carapace were not torn, but broken and thinned. It was even obvious that the beetle deferred its great stature to the spear like a cane, even on the level paving of the streets. The beetle’s scarlet cloak began to pick up in the wind, the roiling clouds now dripping with intent.
I followed the beetle to the town center, a wide and flat yard with space for all manner of things, things that had been packed and taken only minutes ago. The roads met in a cross with patches of flora in each corner to fill the area to a large square. Around the square sat the oldest of the homes in the town. A few of these were built with more character and individuality than the homes on the edges of the town. I circled the beetle from far behind it, staying to the edges of the square until I reached a small garden sheltered by an overhang of the roof. The garden rested on a windowsill of some kind and I decided I would hide behind the small yet healthy plants.
The beetle stood in the center of the square with his eyes closed, and I closed my own. I had been so tired before reaching this place. The chimneys gave me hope of rest or some kind of bastion, but I had found neither. Even vagrancy has become more difficult. I then opened my eyes, prompted by the rainfall that drummed above my head on the overhang. The beetle kept his closed, head tilted towards the dark clouds above.
The rain continued to pick up as I wondered about the direction of my journey. I was supposed to try and get directions here, the beetle was the last one here to ask but it does not seem like the type for words either.
The wind now released itself from the skies. Lights streaked in the clouds with growls deeper than the sigh of the beetle. Down the wind came, in powerful, rhythmic puffs of force. It was then that the beetle opened its eyes. The scarlet cape blowing profusely in the wind, my shelter must be sparing me the worst of the storm. The beetle then stomped into the pavement, cracking wide concentric circles in the stone, his arms became tense, and his stance became wide. His eyes transfixed on the sky, no longer the soft gaze he had given the fleeing bugs. I looked to see where his eyes had settled in the clouds and then I realized. The winds were not of the storm, but rather, the wind was generated by some massive creature that flew above the clouds. Illuminated by the lightning were 4 massive wings. Clouds parted as it descended, its wings a shining green, black chitin bound to its limbs, and pale white fur crested the beasts’ joints, a moth.
The moth's body, although comparable in size to the beetle, is slim and tall. Its arms are long and it also wields a strange polearm. Equal in length to the beetle’s, the moth’s polearm is double bladed, and without serrations on either blade. It reaches far down the moth’s right side towards the shattered pathway.
“Even now, you defend this land. Why?” The moth’s voice echoed over the thunder, a voice where the promise of death rested on each word like an unheard lisp.
“You know why I stand before you, Cretin.” The beetle Spoke an old and somber voice that rumbled the flowers I sat in. “Begone of this place, or let us take to our duel. And know-” The beetle stamped his staff on the ground, “-I am no longer interested in draws.” The years in his voice are apparent and so is his confidence.
The once arrogant look the moth sported is now annoyed. The moth regripped her spear.
“Do you really wish to die-”
“-Yes” The beetle answers rather swiftly, to the moth’s, and my, surprise. “The people already know of my legend, so what is wrong with wanting an end?” The moth frowned at him, a noticeable change in the rhythm of her wings. Then the wind stopped.
I watched as the Moth took her spear as a lance to begin the fight. Her wings folded behind her and she dove for him. The beetle moved his back foot in a circle, then he halted, his leverage was in the correct spot. She dove and he deflected, like a dance that had been rehearsed so many times before. The bright green wings of the moth swirled around the center of the scarlet cloak, blowing in all directions. Like a painting, a beautiful dance, I could not longer see a fight, but shapes, colored and beautiful on a background of gray in strikes of light. It was too fast to watch.
There was no change in pace the entire fight, just a vortex of bright green and red that refused to mix, refused to compromise, but stayed rigid in their shapes, their ideas, in themselves. It was beautiful.
The rain continued with the fight, weaving its own story as time went on, independent of what was happening below it. But in time, the rain began to clear, and the brilliant light of the sun crested the edges of the golden forest. Rain glistened on the green wings and the red cloak as they separated for the first time in hours. The polearms were noticeably more dull, the serrations showing their superiority in their ability to stay deadly, but such an advantage was not enough. The beetle and the moth had separated, their momentum carrying them to either side of the square. The moth Stood up, and placed her spear at her side, but she knew she had won. The beetle stayed down, resting on his hands, he was still holding his spear.
Then the beetle collapsed. His spear cluttered onto the road. His cloak stopped catching the wind. He pushed his head off the ground for one last deep breath. He inhaled… and he fell.
The moth’s knees collapsed together. She leaned on her spear as she almost fell to the ground, breathing profusely. Now that the fight was over, I dared not move. For warriors like them, my existence is not even of value, let alone a challenge. I watched as she rested and regained composure. She stood with her spear again, her posture now straight, and walked towards the beetle. Her knees rested at the beetle’s side as she reached for his cloak. The cloak was untied from the neck that had fought with it so beautifully. She held it in 2 of her hands watching it slowly wave in what was left of the storm’s breeze. She then slyly turned her head towards me.
“You. Leave those flowers, come here.” Her already powerful voice was uncontested by the silence of the empty town.
I dare not refuse the orders of a normal warrior, especially not a flying warrior who has easily shown she is the greatest fighter of anyone I have ever seen. I approached timidly. As I weave closer I realize that my life now lies in her very mood.
She is taller than I had expected, my eyes barely crested the bottom joint of her leg. But then again, I can’t even see over the back of the great beetle as he lies dead on the floor, for I am kinda small, and these two are, Rather Large. I look up at her, the weight of my horns almost makes me fall backwards.
“I noticed you at the end of the fight, how much did you watch?” she asks, as she picks at her spear.
I cannot speak, and never have been able to. This is something I have had to deal with, forever, I guess. If she gets mad, then one simple flick of a spear and now I have lost what life resides in me. I can’t think of anything to do besides a gesture. I spread my arms to their full length, hopefully to convey all of it.
She looks down at my pathetic gesture and cocks her head. “A long time, huh. Are you too a warrior?”
If I answered yes would she kill me? I shake my head no at what I think is a reasonable pace. At this point I realize I am shaking.
She stabs her spear into the ground on the other side of her and grabs the scarlet cloak with all four of her hands and brings it to her mandibles. She then starts chewing on the cloak, I relaxed slightly, as the spear is now in the ground. She stops chewing on the cloak and kneels down to me. She takes out a small square of the scarlet cloak and ties it around my neck. For a second, she looks at me straight on.
“You have a delightful pair of antlers.” One of her free hands gestures to the mess of horns on my head while the other three tie the cloth behind my neck.
“There,” she says, “Now you are a warrior.” She pulls it tight around my neck. “And when you are of passing skill, you will find me or I will find you, and then we will fight, both as warriors.”
She looked down at me when she said this, her wings starting to unfold once again. And when she finished her sentence she turned around. Her wings began to beat once more, I instantly toppled due to the wind, and she flew away from the sunrise.
I looked down around my neck to the Scarlet bandana she placed there. It had no design and was sturdily tied to my neck. I reached to feel the structure of the knot only to perceive some cacophony of fabric that she had put together. This would not aid my attempts to hide from anything. That moth had made my journey so much harder with a piece of fabric, but I liked it. And yes, my antlers are unruly