The Axe – Chapter 1
Vaughn Ashby
The Axe
All books in the Aurora Wasteland Literary Universe are interconnected but are also stand alone novels, and can be read in any order you’d like.
Time doesn’t work the way you think it does.
2018
After a successful social justice hack and a sexy night of celebrating, Micah arrives home to a gift left outside his apartment door. An Axe, that when touched causes Micha to lose time and allow other people to use his body. After one of such events, Micah returns to his body, blood covered and holding the axe, with police knocking on the door. Micah has to use his hacker skills to evade the police and a corporation hell bent on controlling the axe, all while unraveling the secrets of the gift.
1810
In the woods of western Canada, something is stalking and devouring people. Entire settlements have been abandoned, the residents missing. The people refer to the monsters as Demons. Mehall, a demon-hunting nomad, has returned home, leaving a trail of dead Demons behind her. By her hands and her Tomahawk, she continues killing the creatures even as she begins having visions from the future.
3015
The Circle, an oppressive governing religion, is trying to insight an AI genocide while also releasing a plague on the universe to control its people. Life is as normal as it can be for Miko, a social outcast and data broker. While on a routine data delivery gone bad, Miko is chased to the galaxies edge, where she is confronted by a mysterious ship that leads Miko on a mission to stop The Circle itself.
All three lives are more interconnected than they know.
One thing wants them all dead
The Infection
One thing binds them all together
The Axe
Year: 1810
Liquids from the bodies above dripped down on Mehall’s head. They were as cold as the night air. Given enough time it would freeze to her, but for now, the warmth from her body would keep what fell on her as liquid. It ran through her hair and across her cheek. Then dripped a second time down on to the wooden deck of the ship and the etching Mehall had created with her free hand. It was too dark to see how much blood had passed from the bodies above to the deck below. But the bodies had shifted and pinned her there hours ago, so she assumed a significant amount. She’d lost feeling in almost everything in the hours that had passed. Her left hand was the only exception. She’d used it to add to the etching on the boat’s deck. A living history of the crafts many journeys.
The body of a dense, rich white man lay half devoured across her back. Her face down to the wood. His mass prevented Mehall from reaching anything in her bag or belt. She couldn’t roll over, though she knew the stars were there. They lit up the river on cloudless nights like this one. Their reflections kept her sane, her ancestors looking down on her. Though most likely in disapproval. Not that she believed any of that.
The trip to the mountains was supposed to be healing. It was supposed to relax her body so that her soul could heal. But that hadn’t happened. It ached more than ever and felt more distant. She felt more distant from herself.
The boat jolted as it rammed the side of the river. A small amount of water washed over the side, mixed with the blood on the deck, then washed over Mehall’s face. She coughed and woke up. She’d drifted off into thought, back to when she was happy, before. She so often closed her eyes and focused. She tried to will her mind back to the time before she felt this way. Tried to force herself to somehow be able to go back and change things. And maybe her body would follow. It never worked. But that didn’t stop her from trying over and over again.
The boat swayed, this time it had nothing to do with the river. No, someone else was here. They’d waited until the boat reached the shore. Mehall kept quiet. She waited for the voices, and the inevitable derogatory names they’d call her. Red skin, Eskimo, whatever new word they’d just picked up from the other low brows who felt the need to slant entire groups of people for fun or hatred, they both worked. She’d heard them all, and now as much as her brothers and sisters would hate it, she was used to it. Used to what the men from Europe called her.
The water on the deck of the ship rippled through the starlight. Someone, no multiple people were on the boat, and she was stuck. Not that they could do anything to her, well nothing substantial anyway.
The sound of a bird cut through the night air. Though it wasn’t a real bird, a man mimicking the sound, letting the other men know something. Likely that they’d found her. It happened quickly, the dense man’s body was lifted, she was pulled out, and a knife was at her throat.
Two men stared at her, their faces were black with mud, though she was sure they were white underneath. A third was right behind her, his blade on her throat, his other hand holding her up. Mehall’s legs screamed as blood forced its way back into them by way of gravity.
“Is that her?” one of the men said in a deep voice.
“Check her tattoo,” the other man said. He was standing beside her, his tone gave her the impression that he was in charge.
The third, who was holding her pulled her body wrap open at its side. If she was modest, she’d have tried to cover herself. But she wasn’t. A sizeable tattooed circle lay embedded on her skin, over her ribs. It was simple but beautiful. A black ring like Circle, with a tree-like pattern embedded throughout it.
“It’s her,” said the leader.
“I thought she’d be bigger, stronger. Shit, why would anyone be afraid of her?” the first man added, as he bent down to get a closer look at the tattoo. He poked her tattoo and she jolted, blood was returning faster now to all parts of her body.
“Don’t be deceived, if the stories of her are true, and I’m sure they are. We better take this slowly and carefully.”
“Did she do all of that?” the man with the knife to her neck said, as he let go of her body wrap so that it would fall back in place. He motioned to the pile of bodies Mehall had been caught under.
For the first time, Mehall got a good view of the mountain of carnage she’d been trapped in. It was taller than her. Bodies stacked on bodies. Some more intact than others. Some just bones, others looked fairly fresh. All very dead.
“Likely,” the leader said, as he pulled a rope from his belt. He fashioned it into a couple of loops and stepped towards Mehall.
“And these?” the man holding her asked the leader, this time he motioned to the engravings on the deck of the boat. The water that had washed over the side now lay inside many of the engravings, reflecting the moonlight up to the sky like a mirror. Some engravings seemed to be just random shapes. Like a large ball with what looked like a thick liquid running over it. Others were scenes of people, mostly killing each other. A few though, seemed almost personal. The same family of people appeared to be a repeating theme.
“Likely,” the leader repeated as he slid the rope around Mehall’s wrists, then pulled it tight. “Madam, my name is Pierre. We are taking you to the nearest HBC fort to collect the bounty on your head. We don’t want to hurt you, so please,” he eyed The Tomahawk hanging from her hip. Mehall didn’t take her eyes off of him. He knew better than to reach for it. “Don’t make me take it.”
“Maybe we should report the boat and the bodies, and then take her in after a few days, increase the bounty and all,” the deep voiced man said.
“You think we’ll live that long with her near us, Ned?”
The deep-voiced man, Ned, shook his head, “Probably not.”
“She’s not very talkative,” the man holding her said, he hadn’t released his grip on her even with the knife to her throat.
The feeling was finally back in Mehall’s legs. Though she didn’t move.
“What was it that they called you?” Pierre asked. “The warrant just says your given name, Mehall. But don’t your people have a name for you?”
Mehall didn’t answer.
“You’re right, Ira. She is quiet. But you’re new at this so let me give you some advice. Don’t loosen your grip on her, because she is definitely more than she seems.” Pierre leaned in close to her and tugged the rope tight. He smelled disgusting.
“Nomad,” Ned added. “They called her a Nomad, which is ironic coming from a group of people who are all nomads. Out of everyone, they call her Nomad. Nomad of the Nomad people. Why, what did you do? What happened to you?”
Mehall didn’t reply. They didn’t deserve her story. They were nothing. Insignificant. She had work to do, and they were just getting in the way.
“What did she do?” Ira asked, his knife was lower to Mehall’s neck now. He was softening to her.
“The bounty, did it say?”
“Does it matter?” Pierre asked.
“Probably it does.”
“It shouldn’t. This is the job.”
The sun was starting to crest off the trees. The first couple rays of light reached across the sky. And that’s when Mehall saw it. In the trees just off the boat. Had it been there the whole time? Was it following them? Was it the one she was looking for? To her surprise, Mehall felt the man, who was holding the knife to her, Ira, flinch. He’d seen it too.
“Did you see…” Ira started saying, but before he could get it all out, Mehall had slipped The Tomahawk from her belt and sliced a few of Ira’s fingers off. Before he could cry out in pain, Mehall had already kicked Ned back into the freezing water and had taken Pierre over by kneeing him in the chest. The air rushed out of his lungs. For a second she stayed on top of him, though she didn’t bother looking at him. Her eyes were still locked on the creature in the trees.
Seconds later she was over the side of the boat and in the river, heading towards the creature. The bushes rustled as the thing ran. The men shouted behind her, but they didn’t matter. She was locked in.
The water was ice cold, but her muscles felt like they were on fire. She reached the shore and sprinted into the trees. Her legs burned, but she pressed harder. She squeezed The Tomahawk in her hand, ready to force it through the creature’s head at any time. She wanted to kill it so badly. And if it was The One she was looking for, well, it was going to die suffering. They all were. Her anger fueled her, and she forced her muscles to run faster. Her vision started to blur. Blood was being diverted to other parts of her body. She’d been laying on the boat for so long, and not everything was working properly yet, she’d hoped that…
“Sir, if you just come over here with me,” a funny looking man said, from across the room. A room? She was just outside, the trees around her, she was chasing the creature, a demon. She had to get back there. But where was she? The materials from his dwelling looked so strange. She was used to wood and fabric, simple and basic. Whatever this vision was showing her, it was hard to understand. Where was she? Mehall spun around. Taking in the room further. Blood covered the floors. Two bodies were on the ground. Men in strange looking expensive suits were rushing around the room. She ignored them. The man was still trying to talk to her. She ignored him too. What really threw her was the large floor to ceiling windows, she’d never in her life seen anything like those before.
Cautiously, she approached them. The world outside looked strange. Then she looked down. The room she was in was part of a tall building. Taller than she’d ever seen, let alone been in. Her hands pressed against the glass. She noticed she was holding an axe, but it felt like The Tomahawk in her hand.
“Excuse me, sir,” someone put their hand on Mehall’s shoulder. Spinning quickly, and in a smooth motion, she used The Axe to remove the man’s hand. He screamed and fell to the floor clutching his arm.
Other men rushed to his side, Mehall didn’t care. These visions had long lost their usefulness. They’d taken her to many different places. Granted none had looked like this. She killed the other men who rushed to aid the man whose hand she’d cut off. Blood splattered on the tall windows. Within seconds everyone in the room, other than Mehall and the original man who’d been talking to her, was dead. It was just her way, kill them all, especially in these visions. She cleaned The Axe head off with her shirt, it was then that she noticed her hands were that of a man’s. Whatever, she’d been in a man’s body before. She yawned, and stepped towards the talking man…
Trees and grass, the smell of her world. She was back. Back in the forest. She…
“I only want to help, sir. Please, may The Axe have mercy on me,” the talking man said.
Why hadn’t this vision ended? She’d only jumped further in time in it. Strange. That was different. New.
The man was on his knees in front of her. Mehall smiled, raised The Axe, and brought it down through the man’s head. That felt better. Was that why she was here, to kill some random guy? Whatever, she’d be…
The demon’s large, clawed fingers wrapped around Mehall’s head, her back was on the ground. Her right arm ached. She knew she was cut badly. She couldn’t move it. A tendon or something must have been severed. She rolled over and kicked one of the creature’s legs. It screamed and tightened its grip on her head. Its claws sliced into her skin. She screamed and reached for her Tomahawk. It wasn’t on her belt. She must have dropped it.
The creature’s claws sliced deeper as it pulled her from the ground by her head. Raising her up like a straw doll. She could feel her own warm blood running down her body. She didn’t have long. She’d pass out again soon, or worse have another one of those visions.
Its massive jaw opened as it moved her head up closer to its own. So many teeth. Its dark grey muscle, hardened skin rippled in excitement. She’d seen this happen many times before, but never from this angle. In a couple of seconds, she was going to intimately meet those teeth, and it was going to hurt. But that was only the start. And though she was willing to accept what happened after that. She wasn’t done here. Not until she found him. And this wasn’t him. This wasn’t the demon she was looking for.
In the distance, she heard the men’s voices calling to her. They were arguing. One of them had seen the creature, and the others didn’t believe him. With the possibility of three souls to devour, the creature turned its attention to them. And that’s when it died.
The Demon’s claws loosened, Mehall gripped its wrist and flung her body around on top of it. It’s forearm bone snapped, and it dropped Mehall to the ground. Instinctively, it chomped at her like a stupid animal. So predictable. When it lunged at her, she, like a dancer, swayed to the side. It’s jaws just missing her. She punched it hard in the throat. It stumbled back. Gasping for air.
The Tomahawk called to her, it always did. When she first had it passed down to her, she received visual clues. Now she just knew. She could feel it’s anxiety of being away from her. Like everything else in this world, Mehall believed it had a soul and a purpose. It called to her, and she knew exactly where it was. In the tall grass next to the tree, on the other side of the creature.
Maybe the creature or demon or whatever you want to call it sensed something. It could feel what Mehall was feeling. It was going to die now. It was in the air. Death. The creature turned and ran, trying to fight its fate.
Mehall was only a half step behind it, she picked up The Tomahawk while still accelerating, jumped, and brought the blade of The Tomahawk down through the demon’s head. It screamed. Somehow still alive. It dropped to the ground. Mehall pulled The Tomahawk out and brought it down again. And then again. And again. It was hard to tell which parts of the creature were its insides and which parts were its outsides.
Early morning wind rippled through the trees. Mehall could feel the cold on her skin, where the wet insides of the creature were on her. Her head burned. The claw marks stung. She closed her eyes, and prayed for the souls she hoped she was freeing.
Again there was the sound of the bird, the same one from the boat. The men had found her. They were a nuisance. She’d have to teach them. But pain interrupted her thoughts, the back of her head throbbed. Her head filled with stars, and she passed out ever so briefly.
She pretended to be still knocked out for longer than she really had been. She knew she was on a horse. Thrown over it’s back like a bag of shit. Her hands and legs were bound; she was also bound to the horse. No running this time.
The men were quiet. They knew she was awake. They were smarter than she gave them credit for. That was different. New.
Mehall opened her eyes as a large Fort came into view. Her arm still ached. She sighed. She knew it well. It was one of the Forts she’d murdered a fair number of people at.
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