Henry Neff - The Maelstrom

“Ignis!”

The unnatural darkness vanished as the tent burst into flames. A great surge of heat washed over Max, scorching his eyes as the tent’s walls curled and collapsed inward like the petals of a dying flower. Through the billows of smoke, he finally glimpsed his attacker.

William Cooper stood ten feet away. He was breathing hard, standing astride a mound of dark, twitching fur. He held a long knife in each hand, but one had been broken, its blade sheared cleanly in half. Firelight danced upon his grim, pale features as he scanned about for his target. When his eyes settled on Max, the man raised the unbroken blade and spoke in a hoarse, alien voice.

“Atropos a-kultir veytahlyss. Morkün i-tolvatha .”

Max could not even raise a hand to defend himself. The poison had numbed his limbs and he was rapidly losing consciousness.

But even as Cooper went to finish his victim, something stepped between them.

It resembled a lithe and living shadow. When Cooper sprang, it rushed to meet the attack. There was a blinding flash and a sharp crack as of lightning splitting a tree. A howl erupted, so hideous and resonant it could not have been human. From outside there came screams and a stampede of boots as though onlookers were fleeing.

Max felt someone take a firm hold of his arm. He was dragged outside, away from the flames and smoke and into the welcome cold. The stinging in his eyes subsided and Max found himself gazing dazedly up at the stars. They seemed to be descending, growing ever larger until they were radiant jewels, every facet polished to an astounding, unearthly gleam. Max was weakly aware of a pressure at his neck. At first, the sensation was comforting and warm. But then it intensified. He moaned, but the person only held him tighter, sucking and worrying at his throat like a vampire.

The agony became horrific. Every nerve and blood vessel seemed to be fraying, splitting down the middle. He writhed, but the vampire refused to let go. The pain was unbearable. It invaded Max’s being, rousing the Old Magic so that its vast, dreadful power came roaring forth in answer. Instead of pain, Max was soon transfixed and horrified by the forces amplifying within him. He was becoming a bomb, a mass of energy that might suddenly ignite and incinerate everything for miles. His hands shook uncontrollably. Surely his body must burst, shed its mortal coil and explode.…

And then the pressure stopped.

The Old Magic retreated, surging away like a riptide. With a sputtering gasp, Max exhaled and felt his sensibilities return. He heard frightened voices nearby and tried to glimpse those around him, but everything was hazy. A coarse blanket was draped over him, smelling faintly of lanolin and tobacco. Once again the stars were their proper size, sharp and scintillating against the wintry sky.

A larger crowd had gathered by the time Max could sit up. A score of the Trench Rats were in a perimeter about him to keep curious onlookers at bay. Reaching tentatively for his throat, Max felt nothing but smooth, unblemished skin. The cut Cooper made had disappeared. Pushing the blanket off, he rose unsteadily to his feet.

“You should be dead,” muttered a voice.

Max turned and saw Ajax. The battle-scarred captain was crouched within the guard’s perimeter, leaning on his sword and eyeing his commander warily.

“I didn’t know she was a witch,” Ajax breathed.

“What are you talking about?” said Max.

“That girl Umbra,” replied Ajax. “We came running when we saw the tent go up in flames. She was already here and dragged you out of the fire. One look at that wound and I wrote you off as dead, but she did something to you … some sort of blood magic.” He gestured at something on the ground. “She left those for you. Said we weren’t to touch ’em.”

Looking down, Max saw the gae bolga and his ivory brooch lying on the bloodstained grass. He gathered them up, pocketing the brooch and sheathing the deadly blade.

“Where did she go?” he asked.

“Dunno,” replied Ajax. “Hunting that assassin, I think. Scariest guy I ever laid eyes on. Would have opened me up like that beast if I hadn’t backed off.”

Max nodded. His wits were returning slowly. Everything had happened so fast, but his mind began to piece events together.

“Wait,” he muttered. “What beast? Where?”

Ajax hooked a thumb at the smoldering remains of the tent where a smaller crowd had gathered. Max slipped between his guards and hurried over.

Grendel was lying on his side, breathing slowly and bleeding from a gash across his belly. The Cheshirewulf’s powerful form faded as he breathed, growing translucent with each inhale. No one had dared come to the animal’s assistance; a glance at his jaws explained why.

“He’ll have your arm!” cautioned a woman.

Ignoring her, Max crouched down to examine the injury. It was a grievous wound, but perhaps only one of Cooper’s blades had been poisoned. Pressing the tear closed, Max scanned the surrounding faces. Most were his own troops, but he spied one delicate face peering from between a pair of archers.

“Kellen!” Max cried. The faun stepped hesitantly forward, gazing with a mortified expression at Grendel’s wound. “Do you know any healing spells?”

“Non,” blurted Kellen, reverting to his native French. “Mais YaYa est de retour—elle se repose au refuge!”

“Go get her,” Max ordered. “Right away!”

Dropping his basket, the faun dashed off. Max gazed down at Grendel’s broad muzzle and bloody snout. It had been the Cheshirewulf he spied slipping into the tent. He thought it had been attacking, but it had been trying to protect him from its maddened steward.

“Hang in there, Grendel,” Max whispered, stroking the animal’s ruff.

But as the minutes passed, Grendel’s low growling subsided and finally ceased altogether. The wound was no longer bleeding, but Max grew anxious as the Cheshirewulf’s brilliant yellow eyes began to dim. Max spoke quietly to him, but the animal’s breaths came ever more slowly.

From the growing crowd there was a shout, followed by a parting of bodies—some in awe and some in alarm—to make way for YaYa.

The ancient ki-rin slowed to a walk as she approached, oblivious to the surrounding press of humans. A dim radiance outlined her, a dusting of moonlight that shone upon her black fur and illuminated each plane of her noble, leonine face. YaYa stood taller than a man at the shoulder, but her massive paws barely made any impression upon the snow and grass.

The Cheshirewulf responded immediately to her presence, whining in his throat and straining to rise. Dipping her head, the ki-rin nuzzled Grendel still and then settled her bulk alongside him. He looked a mere kitten by comparison.

Turning to Max, YaYa gazed at him with a pair of blind, milky eyes. “You may leave us,” she said gently. “I will look after him.”

“It was Cooper,” said Max, shaking his head sadly.

“I’m aware,” replied the ki-rin, turning back to Grendel. “I know when any steward has harmed their charge. William Cooper must answer for this.”

There was an ominous edge to the ki-rin’s words. Max remembered the day when he and his classmates had been matched to their charges. On the occasion, each student had signed a book in YaYa’s presence and pledged to always honor and care for their creatures. Max tried to explain that Cooper was possessed, that he was not responsible for his actions, but the ki-rin was unmoved.

“You may leave us,” she repeated calmly.

This was not a request, but a command. Max stood, gazing down at the Cheshirewulf as YaYa cleaned his wound and brushed her ivory horn against it. A ki-rin’s spiral horn was known to have wondrous healing properties, but YaYa’s had been broken during the Siege of Solas centuries earlier. Max gazed dubiously at its chipped and jagged remains. He prayed it would be enough.