The basement's entrance suddenly felt like the maw of an ancient beast. Valen had never liked going down there; in fact, he never liked closed spaces.
As far as he could remember, he had avoided caves, caverns, and most importantly basements with almost religious zeal. After all, suddenly losing half your strength would make anyone uneasy. The confined spaces made his spear redundant.
And the trail of blood and nails leading down into the dark abyss did nothing to ease his lifelong phobia.
Not to mention the faint sour smell emanating from within.
"So much for the Valiant Valen. Hahaha" Lyra's teasing voice echoed in the empty corridor. Before a dainty hop sent her plummeting down into the shallow basement.
"Ah shit," Valen cursed, forced to follow suit with the seemingly reckless Lyra, though her confident landing made him pause for a fraction of a second. She always had a way of moving like she knew what was ahead.
With a loud thud, Lyra landed on the chiseled floor. A heartbeat later, Valen followed.
"Anyone here?" Questioned Valen, already drawing his sword.
"Valen?" Responded a shaky voice.
"Uncle?!" Valen let out a genuine smile for the first time since the coward came back. His heart eased slightly—he wasn't truly alone just yet. His mother and uncle were alive.
As he thought about it, he realised his father was supposed to have returned that morning. His smile quickly faded, replaced by worry and a tinge of dread. These beasts were nowhere near enough to take on a real army, but his rational mind lost to his heart.
"My boy! You live!" The astute, middle-aged man beamed, bounding across the small basement. His well-built frame enveloping Valen, lifting him off the floor. Argon released a deep sigh of relief as he hugged his nephew close.
"Lyra! You live too! I'm glad!" He did not neglect the young girl either.
Out of the corner of his eye, Valen saw Lyra pinching her nose. Seconds later, a pungent sourness attacked his own.
"Gross! What is that?" Valen questioned, struggling to free himself from the vice-like grip.
His uncle had always been a large man. The sight of him swinging his carpenter's hammer had always amused Valen. Yet that did not mean he was clumsy.
In fact, Valen had never seen someone make such a light hammer look so heavy, every stroke sinking a nail fully to its base.
He remembered when his uncle first arrived, unable to make even a simple shelf without leaving a dent in the wall. Now, he could deftly build whole wardrobes in mere minutes.
Slowly, Argon loosened his grip, letting Valen fall gently. In the dark room, Valen was unable to see much. A faint drizzle seemingly landing next to him.
"Rain? I did not know rain seeped so far into here..." Valen muttered, in disbelief over the impossible stream.
"That is no rain." Responded his uncle. A few nails between his fingers glimmered in the little light available.
"That's a rendling!" Shouted Lyra, startled by the beast hanging above.
"Rendling? Is that what these beasts are? And if so yes. There's quite a few here." Responded Argon, slowly pointing around the room with his trusty hammer.
"You see, during the fight, they stopped chasing me after I was covered by their filth." He explained. "And so I've been hunting them for a while, stashing them here."
Valen's mouth hung open, the revelation of the morbid hunting was eye opening.
"They hunt with smell!" Lyra shouted. Her eyes thick with a strange haze. Almost as if she was remembering something.
"But how? With just a hammer and some nails? That's insane..." Valen muttered, slowly realizing he knew little of his uncle's past.
"Ah young Valen. I forgot to mention it, but, well, I'm a retired adventurer." Argon stammered. Feeling as though he had been caught in an elaborate lie. "I once wielded a mighty great hammer. Those were the days, let me tell you this one time I -"
"Not now." Lyra interrupted. Her voice thick with urgency. "We got to go , NOW!" She shouted, already sprinting to the entrance.
A deep sense of unease spread through her small frame.
Wasting no time at all, Valen began his mad dash to leave the underground pit. He had been waiting for an excuse to leave.
"Wait, let me collect some nails." Argon grumbled, displeased at the sudden interruption.
"There's no time. Trust me." Lyra shouted over her shoulder.
Soon, the trio had left the chieftain's house, never stopping their mad dash. Lyra was leading them straight to the church.
Valen could see a dark cluster forming in the village square. It was moving towards them, and fast.
Argon cursed, struggling to keep up with the two youthful spirits. He placed himself closest to the approaching horde, gripping his hammer tight.
In his other hand lay his five final nails.
"Enough to build a shelf," he thought.
As the trio ran, they saw the rendlings prey. The two guards who had looked for supplies were dragging a cart full towards the church.
They were almost there, but they would not make it without some help.
The church door had already been opened. The elderly nun standing tall in the doorway with a spear she had salvaged.
"Detour. We will help those guards!" Valen called out. Taking a shallow left turn to reach the unfortunate men.
The ground sank with every step, the rain had stopped, but the ground remembered.
The area around the church was littered in small holes, with the dirt having been dumped in front of the side entrance of the church.
Smart, Valen thought. He would only have to protect one door today, it seemed.
The windows once shiny and clean were marred by streaks of muddy handprints, wooden boards barricading the windows.
Each board was charred, some with nails pointing out, waiting for a beast to impale itself.
The survivors of Ashford had clearly been busy while he was away.
As they reached the cart, Valen grabbed onto a handle and yanked.
Before clutching his head, blinded by a shooting pain. His bandaged head beginning to seep blood.
"Go, Valen." His uncle urged. A reassuring smile painted across his thin lips.
Valen hesitated, unwilling to leave his people behind. His eyes locking with the unfortunate guards. His eyes filled with respect, courage truly showed itself in hard times.
"We got this." Said one of the guards. "Leave it to us, Valen." Said the other.
Valen spun, teeth clenched and his eyes shooting flames at the incoming horde. Then grabbed the shield resting on top of the cart.
It was being used as a shield from the rain, a roof to keep nature away.
Spinning around, he rushed toward the church.
Placing the shield on one of the small holes, creating a path for the supplies.
By now, the approaching horde was a few dozen seconds away.
The cart now looking like a fools errand.
Just then, a few more guards appeared out of the church. Each carrying their own bit of one long rope.
"Bring that cart in! Even if it's the last thing you do!" Roared the coward. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the elderly nun. His feet still within safety.
The approaching guards tied the rope to the frame of the cart.
And then they pulled.
And so horde stopped gaining on them, the combined effort of a dozen men overpowering the muddy terrain.
The short legs of the freakish demons were unable to catch the weary cart.
Click. Clack.
The wheels of the cart ran over the shield.
As the cart rolled into the church, the spectating villagers sighed in relief.
The horde did not look imposing when they were surrounded by divine refuge.
"Close the door!!" The coward screeched.
"Get in!" Urged Valen.
Slam!
With a sudden slam, the breeze was cut off. Then, the villages rushed to move the prayer benches in front of the door.
And as they did so.
They heard silence.
Then a calm, crisp knock.