Ander - Part 6: Subchapter 182
182
"Do it for our baby!!"
Kiana's voice echoed through the mill, hitting Ander like a slap in the face. Everything seemed to slow down with that echo, as if every reverberation took minutes instead of moments.
The air was filled with motes of dust, filling the light shining in from the open doorway with millions upon millions of tiny, sparkling stars, spiralling out of control at every gust of wind.
Banno's teeth worked up and down as if he were trying to bite his way through the distance separating them. Flecks of blood and drool flew off his incisors and landed on Ander's muzzle in hot, sticky droplets. His eye blazed, not with fire, but with ice. The white surrounding the black in the centre, which, in turn, was surrounded by the black of his fur, made it stand out in stark contrast, like a ring of snow.
Ander could feel all that hatred, all that hunger, all the desperate desire to rend and tear and bite and feed, pushing against his body, trying to overwhelm him. He could feel the force of it against his hands, in his arms, in his chest. He could feel it in the air he breathed, burning his lungs on the inside. He could even feel it flowing through his veins and into his heart. His brother's single-minded, animalistic urge to dominate and devour.
But in the end, no matter how great his power, no matter how desperate his hunger, he was only a single Wolf, alone, all by himself except for the phantoms created by his own delusional mind. A creature to be pitied as well as feared.
Yes, Ander's muscles ached. Yes, his entire body was shredded. Yes, every time he took a breath it felt like a ball of thorny vines was trying to impale him from the inside out. Yes, he couldn't keep going, yes, he was already past his limit, yes, Banno was stronger than him, yes, he didn't stand a chance. Yes, it was all just too much for him and NO, none of that mattered. Because Kiana was right. He wasn't fighting alone, and neither was he fighting for himself. He was fighting with everyone, and he was fighting for everyone. To lose now would be to lose more than just his life. It would be to lose the lives of everyone who had put their faith in him.
It would be to lose his mate and unborn child and whatever future they might have carved for themselves in this wonderful, unfathomable, ever changing world.
That was his advantage. That was his strength. Unlike Banno, he wasn't alone.
I will do it, Kiana, he thought, pushing back harder, feeling the strain in his arms building into a crescendo of pain, and pushing harder still. I will do it so I can get you down from there, so I can hold you, so I can tell you how much I love you back...
All this time Ander had worried that he wasn't enough. That he wasn't good enough, that he wasn't strong enough, that he wasn't smart enough, that he wasn't Wolf enough to defeat Banno, but that was the wrong way of thinking, because he wasn't alone, and he didn't have to fight alone. Everyone was with him.
Thank you, Kiana, for helping me get back up.
Ander's knee left the floor and his upper body began to tilt forward, pushing back against Banno's relentless force, and now they were like two polar opposites trying to cancel each other out, two mirror images, perfect in almost every single way.
Almost.
Thank you, Mateo, for fighting the scorpion's venom with venom of your own.
Ander kneed Banno directly in the stomach, where the loop of intestine swung freely. Two steaming glurts of blood erupted from Banno's body, one from his wound and one from his mouth, both reeking of mushrooms boiled in blood.
Banno stumbled backwards and Ander kept pace, pushing his advantage, manoeuvring the both of them towards the centre of the mill.
Banno roared, spewing blood through the air in a misty vapour, and swung his arm in a wide, overhead arc, his fingers curled and his claws gleaming. Ander knew it was coming, and he knew it would come from the right, because -
Thank you, Nilia, for taking one of his weapons away.
- his left arm was just a useless tube of meat filled with broken bones.
Ander ducked his head and raised his arm just enough for Banno's blow to glance off into the shadows, making the dust motes spiral in the wake of his claws.
Ander put on a burst of speed, draining away the last of his reserves, pushing Banno towards the grinder in the centre of the mill.
Thank you, Hezzi, for striking at the exact moment when all hope seemed lost.
The pitchfork's handle struck the base of the grinder and the iron tines shot forward about an inch, pushing their way through Banno's chest like weeds sprouting from the blighted soils of hell. The monster opened its mouth, perhaps to roar, but the only sound that escaped that cavernous maw was a deathly gurgle. Blood bubbled up from deep inside its throat and ran from the corners of his mouth in red clouds of froth, but instead of weakening of him, the sight of those three iron teeth protruding from his body only drove Banno to greater depths of anger and insanity. He began to push back even harder, regaining lost ground. Wet, garbled sounds issued from his mouth, but whether they were actual words or just animalistic growls was impossible to tell.
Ander gritted his teeth and, trying his very best to keep his face away from Banno's clamping jaws, he pushed forward with everything he had, driving him back against the grinder.
The pitchfork's handle glanced off the top of the base and scraped over the trough, making the tines jitter up and down before it struck the vertical driveshaft at the centre, bringing them both to a jarring halt. Banno was bent backwards slightly, with the small of his back pressed up against the hard, stone edge of the grinder. The grindstone itself was slotted neatly into the trough just to the left, and cast a black shadow over his face, concealing his features in a black mask that allowed only the cold white ring of his one remaining eye to shine through. Ander was leaning over him, pushing as hard as he could, his teeth bared in desperation, trying to ignore the stabbing pain throughout his body and the growing fatigue spreading through his muscles, making them feel like numb strips of wrung out cloth.
His body was failing him, he knew that, but his mind still functioned the same, looking at everything around him, all the different pieces of the world and how they fit together, and somehow, above all the odds, a plan was starting to form, a way to finish this once and for all, something that not even Banno would be able to rise up from, no matter how immortal his demented brain insisted he was.
This was it. On this grindstone, where wheat was ground into flour to make bread, was where everything would be won or lost. This was the scale that would determine how many would die and how many would survive.
All he had to do was keep pushing. All he had to do was win. All he had to do was get the frozen wheel spinning, and everything would come to an end.
Perhaps sensing the danger, even if he couldn't understand it, Banno fought back, his strength seemingly inexhaustible. Even using all of his weight to bare down, Ander was unable to force him all the way onto the base.
Grunting and heaving, Ander kept pushing, but it was no use. His arms were beginning to shake, and he simply didn't have enough strength to match with Banno's anymore. He was beginning to right himself, and there wasn't anything he could do about it!
Damn it, no! Ander thought, cursing his weakness as he felt his body begin to rise, being pushed away by Banno's insurmountable brute power. We were so close! So close to ending this!
The smile was beginning to creep back into Banno's face. That hideous cut that seemed to wind all the way to his neck, a line of teeth and bloodied gums and twitching lines of muscle fibres. Even now, at the brink of death, there was no doubt at all in that face. He was positive he would win. In his mind, there was simply no other way it could possibly go. Everything that has happened has been for his own benefit, every obstacle and setback just another dash of spice to make the final meal that much sweeter.
The pitchfork's handle began to move away from the driveshaft, scraping across the stone base as Banno began to stand up straighter and straighter, pushing Ander back. The vile tongue crept out from between his jagged teeth and ran across his shredded lips in anticipation, knowing it was only a matter of time before Ander's strength would fail, before he would finally get to taste his brother's death.
A hand rose up from the other side of the grinder, reaching for the air as though its owner was drowning. It slammed down on the rough surface, kicking up a small cloud of wheat dust, and then a face emerged from behind the stone. It was Nilia, struggling for every breath. Dark streaks of hair hung in her face, dripping blood, but the eyes that shone from behind those messy tangles were like torches in the dark, blazing with a furious, internal heat.
"That girlfriend of yours has a really big mouth, Ander, but she's right about one thing," Nilia said, grabbing the pitchfork's handle, her face set and grim. "You're not fighting alone!"
Banno craned his neck, trying to see what was going on, and that's when Nilia leaned back with all her weight, pulling him back across the massive stone slab with such force that his feet actually left the floor.
"That's it, Nilia!" Ander said, pushing Banno down. "Keep pulling!"
The pitchfork's wooden handle scraped across the opposite lip of the grinder as Nilia leaned back, slowly disappearing from view.
Banno thrashed and flailed, trying to perform every conceivable attack. He was biting with his jaws, scratching at the air with his claws, kicking and punching all at once, screaming and roaring and grunting and even hissing, all the sounds bleeding into each other to create a noise unlike anything any of them had ever heard. One of his wild swings connected with the driveshaft and he grabbed on, gripping it so tightly that the tendons stood out in his wrist like woven cords.
Ander scrambled on top of the grinder, trying not to think about the warm wetness flowing down his leg or the deep, throbbing agony where his other leg now abruptly cut off just above the ankle. He grabbed Banno's hand, working his fingers underneath his grip. Ordinarily this would have been an impossible task, but one of Banno's fingers got broken over the course of the fight -
Thank you, Nilia.
- and he was easily able to wrench it loose.
Banno shrieked as Nilia pulled him even farther along the wide stone base, until his head stuck out over the edge and his neck was positioned just above the slot that the grindstone had worn smooth over the years, tirelessly rolling around and around the same circle, day after day, season after season, crushing wheat beneath its weight.
"There, Nilia! Stop it right there!"
Nilia stopped, albeit with difficulty. She was sitting on the floor in a posture eerily similar to Banno's, with one foot pressed up against the grinder's base, gripping the pitchfork's shaft with her one good hand and hooking the handle beneath her armpit. With only one good arm to work with, there was no telling how long she could keep it up. The strain was already showing on her face, contorted into a mask of agony.
"You better have a plan, Ander!" she hissed between clenched teeth.
"Just hold him!"
Ander reached for the grindstone, standing upon its edge like a giant wheel, hoping that it would prove to be light enough to move by hand, but still heavy enough to... to get the job done.
I'm sorry, Banno. I am so, so sorry it has to come to this...
His fingers had no sooner brushed the rough, surprisingly cold surface, however, than a new problem came to light.
Banno was slowly sitting up. Nilia was grimly holding the pitchfork in place, but Banno was still sitting up, sliding along its length as if it wasn't even there. The three iron tines were slowly shrinking away as though his flesh was actually eating them.
"No!" Ander straddled him and planted both hands in the centre of Banno's chest, just above the middle tine, and bore down with all his weight, pushing him back as far as he could, but because of the curve of the iron spikes and the angle at which the pitchfork had entered Banno's back, his shoulder blades were still several palms above the stone. The point where the teeth came together at the base, where the head ended and the handle began, kept tapping and scraping against the edge of the grinder, creating a frenzied piece of music that reverberated throughout the mill, a melody of iron, stone, and wood, creaking and groaning, about to snap. Banno wasn't making it any easier, either. He was straining, still trying to sit up, still trying to bite at Ander's face.
Dammit, they were so close!
Ander tried reaching for the grindstone with just one arm, but Banno immediately started to rise up again, his flesh and ribs scraping against the metal with a slick, high-pitched skreeking noise that made Ander's skin crawl, and he had no choice but to devote every last scrap of strength he had left to keeping his brother down.
They needed an extra pair of hands!
As if summoned by this prayer, Mateo groggily rose up from behind the grinder, his face all swollen and bloody. He took one look at Nilia and her broken arm, and in a voice that was badly slurred, he said: "Damn, Nil... you're making me look bad..."
"Mateo!" Ander shouted. "Push the grindstone! Hurry!"
Mateo blinked groggily, trying to peer out through a set of eyes that were rapidly swelling shut. He took in the monster thrashing and flailing beneath Ander's body, as well as the pitchfork starting in Nilia's grasp and ending in Banno's chest, and nodded.
He struggled towards the grindstone, limping badly, and began to push, but no matter how hard he grunted or how hard he strained, the grindstone wouldn't budge.
"Push it, Mat!"
"It's not moving!"
Ander cursed beneath his breath, struggling to keep Banno's snapping jaws at bay. Was the grindstone really that heavy? It was solid stone, yes, but it was still a wheel, of sorts. Once they got it moving, it should be easy to roll. Unless...
Ander looked at the grindstone, really looked at it for the first time since Old Jon gave him and Kiana the tour on that bright, sunny day when he first stepped out into his new life in the 'Glen. A thick, wooden spoke connected the grindstone to a driveshaft, which rose all the way straight up into the ceiling. Above that was a tiny little room. Ander had barely been able to climb up the ladder and fit his head through the little trapdoor to get a look at all the clever gears spinning around in there. Ander still remembered how neatly all the teeth had meshed together, and how the wood had groaned as it spun around and around, clicking and clacking in a soothing, repetitive pattern.
Ya see the big log-lookin' thing up there? Jon had shouted from the bottom of the ladder. That's the windshaft. It's called the windshaft 'cuz it's connected to the blades outside. The wind blows, the blades spin, the windshaft spins, and that turns the brake wheel (that's the big'un on its side, with all them little wooden teeth stickin out), and that turns the wallower, which is pretty much the same thing, 'cept smaller. That changes the spinnin from sideways to downways, see? Now the wallower's connected to the driveshaft, which is connected to the grindstone, so when the wallower spins, that spins the driveshaft and that gets the grindstone a rollin', which grinds the grain an that's how we make flour. Simple, eh?
Mateo wasn't just trying to push a single hunk of stone across a bigger hunk of stone. He was trying to push all the inner workings of the mill with his bare hands, a task which normally fell to the winds outside. There was plenty of wind, to be sure, but the sails had been taken down. Not only that, but something Jon had said kept repeating itself in his mind, words he used to think of as clever, but now only filled him with quiet dread.
Brake wheel.
Banno strained against Ander's grip, bending his body into impossible positions in an attempt to get away, seemingly oblivious of the iron spikes ripping his chest open.
Die, Banno, please, just die! I can't do this anymore! I can't watch you going through this!
Banno arced his back, actually lifting Ander up and almost pitching him forward. He had to brace his hand against the bedstone to keep from falling, and that's when Banno jerked his head to the right and slammed his jaws shut on Ander's forearm. Pain exploded through his flesh, all the way into his bones. In that moment, looking down at his big brother as he bit down on his arm, harder and harder, his mouth dripping blood and his single eye glaring out of the shadows, what gripped Ander's heart the most was not fear or panic. It was pity.
Banno was incapable of change. All the pain and suffering he had caused and all the pain and suffering he was going through, all of it was because he didn't understand. He didn't understand the thoughts and feelings of others, therefore they simply did not exist. He did not understand that what he was trying to do was wrong. He did not understand love, or compassion, or hope. He didn't even understand the concept of death or mortality. To him, everything was fake, nothing was real. He was the only living thing in a world of blackness, and that was such a terribly lonely thought that Ander couldn't even bring himself to dwell upon it. All he knew was that, if he had felt that way, that he was the only living thing in the entire world and everyone else was just a ghost...
He would have gone insane, too.
Banno was an animal. A trapped, dying animal that was far too savage and feral to succumb to fear, so it lashed out instead, because that was the only thing it understood.
"Why did you have to be this way, Banno!?" Ander shouted into his brother's face, hoping he was still somewhere inside that monster's flesh, but even more than that, he hoped that the 'brother' he had grown up with really did exist, and that he hadn't been just a mask to hide this... thing. Because, terrible though he was, he was still Ander's big brother, and he had known him all his life. He had feared him, had hated him, but, deep down, a small part of him had always loved him, too.
Because he was family.
The bitter sting of tears welled up inside of him, burning like fire. They dripped from his face and fell down onto Banno's teeth, where they were quickly swallowed by the blood gushing out of his arm.
Why did it have to be like this?
A shadow fell across the bedstone, a small shape with big ears, elongated by the early morning, but faded by the thick clouds. Ander looked up, and standing in the doorway that opened to the outside, framed in a square of greyish light...
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