Sarwat Chadda: Dark Goddess

They launched forward, bursting through the hedge and loping over the field in a blur. Moonlight lay silver on their backs, but within seconds they were fading.

Pelleas sprang up. “Quick, Billi! What’s over there?” He pointed his rapier toward the far edge of the field where the wolves had run.

Out there? Billi racked her brain. She’d checked the map only an hour ago… “A farmhouse.” Oh no.

Pelleas swore and pushed himself through the hedge.

“Pelleas,” Billi hissed. “The others.” Their eyes met. Two knights might take one werewolf, but the odds shifted badly one-on-one. They should wait for reinforcements. But she could see the fire in his gaze. Pelleas was rake-thin, but as tough and fast as a whiplash. He wasn’t going to let the werewolves go, not after having lost them the last time.

“It’s our duty, Billi.” He jumped over the hedge and ran.

Duty. Always duty. It was their duty to fight, no matter what the odds, no matter who the foe. To fight and, if necessary, to die.

Wasn’t that what Templars did best? They called it martyrdom, but it amounted to the same thing. Wasn’t it one of the Templar Rules?

You shall keep the company of martyrs .

They needed backup, and now. Billi’s thumb hammered out farmhouse on her mobile as she flicked her sword free from its scabbard. Wakizashi aloft, she turned her body sideways and tried to use her long legs to clamber over the hedge. It scratched and pulled at her, but eventually she broke through. She ran after Pelleas.

A HOWL, PART BESTIAL CRY AND PART HUMAN SCREAM, ripped through the night air. Billi pumped her long legs harder, closing the gap between her and Pelleas. But as she caught the glint of moonlight on her naked blade, the dread slowly gave way to something else-excitement. Fire rose up through her guts, along her arteries and into her heart. Her knuckles whitened as they gripped the sword hilt tighter.

Ahead she heard glass shatter, then more screams-these very human.

“Come on, Billi!” shouted Pelleas. He was over a low wooden fence in an instant.

She hadn’t gone far, but Billi’s heart pounded in her chest as though she’d run a marathon. She tumbled the last few yards and crashed into the fence. She knelt there, shaking her head clear. Howls, screams, and Pelleas’s battle cry echoed. She wiped the snow off her face and saw Pelleas charge into the house, rapier raised. Then she heard a man’s cry, cut off suddenly and ending with a spluttering cough.

Any sane person would turn around and get the hell out of there.

But what part of Billi’s life had ever been sane?

“ Deus vult!” she screamed, scrambling over the fence and steaming toward the farmhouse. Broken glass from the French windows littered the yellow paving slabs. Billi jumped through the door frame and into the kitchen.

A man was dead. He lay askew on the flagstone floor, his chest ripped open and his lifeblood pooling around him. His legs, still in a pair of striped pajamas, twitched, but just for a moment.

Old Gray, snout and teeth red from its kill, moved warily in front of Pelleas, searching for an opening past his deadly steel. Behind it, Big Red had finished its own murderous work. A woman wearing a blood-washed dressing gown leaned against the coarse brick wall. Her eyes bore only the dimmest life. Big Red seemed to be holding her up, its right paw pressed against her chest. Then it slowly pulled outits talons, each one coming free of her body with a sticky slurp. The woman slid gently down the wall.

Billi froze. Suddenly her sword seemed puny against those dripping talons. These were natural-born killers, bred to it through thousands of generations. Every ounce of muscle, every inch of bone, was built to slaughter.

“Mummy!” The scream drew everyone’s attention. Kneeling at the top of the wooden stairs was a blond girl, maybe eight or nine, wearing a pair of pony-print pajamas. She stared at her parents’ corpses, her face deathly white. Then she turned and ran.

And so did Old Gray.

Pelleas slashed the air, and the old werewolf backed away. Billi darted through the sudden gap. The werewolf spun and Billi ducked as its claws swiped the air. The five lethal blades clicked together but caught only a few strands of her black hair. Billi took the stairs in three bounds, leaving the carnage in the kitchen behind her. She reached the top of the stairs just in time to see a door slam shut. She ran to it and twisted the handle. Locked.

“Open up!” Billi cried. The white door had vasilisa fixed to it in small wooden blocks. A few bounced off as Billi smashed her sword hilt into the thick wood. “Let me in, Vasilisa!”

The stairs creaked.

“Pelleas?” Billi looked down the corridor. Please, please let it be him . “Pelleas?”

A long lupine head appeared out of the darkness, and predatory green eyes glowed. Its snarl was deep and low, so elemental that the air quivered. Big Red stepped closer, dragging its long, still-bloody claws along the plaster, digging deep grooves along both walls. There was no way past it. Behind Billi was a window and a thirteen-foot drop. She was trapped.

“Vasilisa…” But the door remained firmly locked. Billi backed away, wakizashi held firmly in her right hand, its tip pointed directly at the werewolf’s heart.

They were a few feet apart. Red’s black lips crept into a snarl, letting Billi see each of its murderous canines. It leaped.

The charge knocked Billi over and sent the sword flying. Red dug its claws into her shoulders. Billi shoved her feet into its belly and pushed as she rolled backward. She almost didn’t make it; the beast was heavier than she’d thought. Her legs trembled, but she squeezed every ounce of power she had into the throw, and suddenly the werewolf tumbled over her and crashed through the window. Its howl broke into a yelp, and there was the sound of more glass shattering outside.

Then silence.

The floor swayed as Billi stood. Her muscles burned with pain, and blood streamed down her back from the claw wounds. She leaned her head, eyes closed, against Vasilisa’s bedroom door.

“Open the bloody door. Now,” she whispered.

There was a click and a light scurrying of feet.

“Thank you.”

The girl sat in the corner of the unlit bedroom. The house was quiet, and that wasn’t good. Billi couldn’t let that bother her; she had only one priority and that was getting out of here. But where was Pelleas? Was he still alive? She closed the door and pushed the bolt. Then she went to the window overlooking a long front garden. Thick vines covered the wall, and a trellis ran from the guttering down to the ground. To the side she saw a greenhouse, the roof broken where the werewolf must have fallen through, but nothing stirring within. In the far distance headlights were coming down the country lane that passed along the farmhouse garden.

Dad’s coming, thank God .

“Come here, Vasilisa,” Billi said, grabbing her arm.

“No!” Vasilisa squirmed and scratched, but Billi just tightened her grip. Vasilisa scurried back, knocking over her bedside table. The lamp broke, and Billi caught sight of something shiny rolling across the floor.

It was one of those Russian dolls: open it up and there would be another inside. Then another inside that and so on. What were they called? Whatever the name, it was beautiful. Delicately painted with a red-and-gold shawl, flowers on its blouse, its cheeks rosy. So polished it glowed.

“Ow!” Billi cried. Vasilisa hung on to her, her tiny white teeth sunk deep into Billi’s wrist. “Let go!” She shook Vasilisa off. The bites left a neat arc of red dents. Didn’t the girl get it? Billi was trying to save her!