Stories of Calik – Lata the Lawless

A steady stream of fine drizzle fell from the heavens as the blood-soaked lumbering figure staggered through a particularly dense thicket of thorn needles.

Sharp incisors pierced his exposed flesh adding fresh pain to his already writhing body.

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His foe was closing in and he knew only sharp actions would save him from this relentless pursuer, someone he should not have crossed.

The trail he was leaving could be followed by a child, a far cry from his expert ranger skills and careful concealment normally placed to rid himself of such deadly predators.

Exhausted, defeated and unable to continue he slumped beside an enormous Yarrow Tree gasping at the sight of the gaping hole in his ruptured side. Blood was flowing freely from the crossbow bolt that had struck home and his vision began to blur.

In desperation, he flailed at a nearby large Boloa Bush with its massive colossal leaves in an attempt to stem the flow. Clutching at a couple he stuffed them into the wound elevating the pain to greater levels. This was not the way to stop the bleeding but he had to do something, anything.

The sounds of pattering raindrops became pronounced and the intense agony ravaging his body somehow temporarily magnified his senses.

Was that the sound of footsteps approaching?

‘Well, well, what have we got here”, came a raspy tormenting voice at the edge of his consciousness.

Tanor was now beyond caring and prayed for a quick death from his captor, better known as Lata the Lawless.

‘Pathetic worm’, sneered Lata, towering over the defenceless victim. Slowly he unsheathed the shimmering long knife at his waist otherwise known as ‘Glitter’ and stalked around the hapless ranger in a slow deliberate calculated pace.

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Lata revelled in the whole experience of death; the look in the eyes just before the knife cut into the flesh and the flickering vanishing light as the life drained from them never got old. He was insane and knew it.

In a smooth stroke, Glitter ruthlessly plunged into the throat of the victim showering the killer with a deluge of bright red-hot blood.

A single stab was not enough and the knife was repeatedly withdrawn and driven down until Tanor’s neck was reduced to an unidentifiable bloody massed pulp of sinew, shredded skin and blood.

The ranger deserved this; that he was sure about. Nobody disrespected Lata the Lawless unless they wanted to die, and to let this incident pass without retribution would be considered a sign of weakness.

‘Sorry friend but I have a reputation to uphold’, he growled softly to the corpse without a shred of empathy.

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The mostly jungle world of Calik with its unending rain had its advantages to some ‘trades’. Lata figured by the time he returned to the realms of civilisation that any signs of blood and gore would have long washed away.

Drizzle was a rare sight to see and the more normal persistent torrents of rain could be seen moving in from the east over the Vale of Ganner.

It had felt good to kill again.

Original Fiction (c) Slobberchops, July 2019.

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