The Forsaken

Gadya was right.
    Veidman’s breath hitches in his chest. His neck arches.
    “He needs air! Give him room!” Gadya yells.
    “If you get back to the village, tell Meira what happened,” Veidman murmurs. He sounds sleepy. I feel an overwhelming sense of dread. “Tell Meira that I love her.” He coughs, his chest rattling. The knife handle moves up and down.
    “Fight!” Markus says. I see tears running down his face. “Don’t give up!”
    “Tell Meira she has to forget about me. And continue our mission alone. . . .” His words disintegrate into a breathy gasp. His mouth remains open. I think he’s about to start talking again, but then I realize he’s dead.
    “Veidman!” Gadya yells. “No!” Everyone starts screaming and yelling. Liam and Veidman were not supposed to die. Without them, we have no real leaders.
    In desperation, Markus pulls out the knife and tries to breathe life back into Veidman’s body, giving him CPR. But it doesn’t work. More blood flows from Veidman’s corpse onto the grass and dirt.
    Rika wipes at her eyes.
    “It’s not fair!” Sinxen yells at no one in particular. He looks around, frantic.
    “Damn this place forever!” the builder curses.
    It’s then that we hear the rumbling noises.
    They emanate from the thick wall of forest that we stumbled out of just minutes earlier. It sounds like an army is marching toward us.
    We’ve all been preoccupied with Veidman’s death. For once even Gadya doesn’t have her bow ready. Most of our weapons are down, scattered on the grass.
    I spin toward the trees. The others hear the noises too, and grab for their weapons.
    But it’s too late.
    Armed drones step from the forest in all directions. At least fifty of them. All of them have arrows and spears pointed directly at us. We’re outnumbered, backed against the barrier, and there’s no time to run.
    A few hunters race for their bows anyway, but arrows fly and strike them instantly. They fall at once, screaming in agony. The builder dashes for a spear, but gets an arrow through his back.
    All movement ceases. The drones watch the rest of us silently. For once they don’t shriek and yell, or toss fireworks. I’m in shock. There are only a handful of us villagers left standing now: Gadya, Rika, Markus, Sinxen, and me. Everyone else is dead or dying.
    None of us dares move or speak. If these drones fire more arrows, we’re done for. Maybe we can take a few of them out with us, but it won’t matter.
    I don’t want to die. Not before finding the signs of my parents, and the rocks with their messages on them. Not after I’ve come so far, and after Liam sacrificed himself for me. I stand as still as a statue.
    Then I notice something strange beginning to happen.
    Four drones with painted faces slowly emerge from the trees. They aren’t clutching weapons. Instead, they carry a cushioned platform on their shoulders. On top of the platform is a reclining chair, ornately carved from black oak. A small, dark figure sits inside it, bundled in heavy woolen blankets up to his neck.
    I stare at the terrible sight unfolding before me.
    Where the figure’s face should be is a malevolent wooden mask, with two eyeholes and a twisted grin carved into it. It looks like some sort of ritualistic death mask from a lost primitive tribe. In fact, I’m not sure if this figure is alive or dead. He looks so old and hunched over. The drones carrying the chair walk closer.
    I stand there, still afraid that arrows are about to fly through the air toward my heart. We are the victims of a perfectly executed ambush.
    The four drones bring the chair even closer, just fifteen paces away. Then, as if hearing the same silent signal at once, they gently place the chair down on the grass and step back.
    The masked head suddenly moves, swiveling in our direction.
    I gasp, despite myself.
    Behind the eyeholes, I see demented-looking eyes, burning red with fever and sickness. I flash back to what Gadya told me all those days ago about the Monk. That he never talks, never walks. Gets carried everywhere.
    Could this monstrous, disintegrating figure be him? It must be. But why is he showing himself to us now?
    The head moves again, panning stiffly like a camera on a tripod. Taking everything in. All the drones are eerily quiet, like they’re waiting for something crucial to happen.
    “Checkmate,” a raspy voice finally intones from behind the mask. It sounds like this man’s larynx has been burned away. Or