Барб Хенди - Of Truth and Beasts

The barkless tree behind him felt like a cold fire on his back, its suspicious chill penetrating his dead flesh. It might not know what he was, but it wanted him gone—not just from this place, but forever. Amid this, all Chane could cling to was what he wanted: Wynn, safe and always within reach.

This was the only clear desire left in place of his reason.

Fear of any threat to him—to her—grew too much. It wrapped around that one desire as the forest prodded him without mercy, trying to uncover what he was. And that wild woman now eyed him, as if some living beast within her sensed the unliving one within him.

He saw her hand clenched on her white blade’s hilt. The beast inside him howled to face this threat. But Chane saw only the threat to Wynn.

Chane lunged around Wynn, and she sucked air so fast, her throat turned dry. Snarls erupted from the pack and even Shade, as well. Wynn instinctively grabbed for a hold on any dog she might get.

Shade swerved in and rammed Chane’s knee with her shoulder. His sword jabbed and stuck in the earth as he toppled over the dog.

Wynn was still confused as to what had gone wrong with Chane. She was about to rush in before he and Shade turned on each other.

He pushed up with his hands to all fours, and Wynn saw his face. He looked like some pale beast gone mad.

Vreuvillä’s eyes seemed to glow in shock. She raised her blade and took a step toward Chane as the mottled brown male bolted around her legs, trying to come at Chane from the far side.

Shade spun, charging at Chane.

“No!” Wynn shouted.

But Shade pushed off with her hind legs, and Wynn had to duck away.

Shade went straight over the top of Chane. She landed and threw herself straight at the mottled brown male.

A horrendous thump hit the earth. Wynn felt the impact through her feet and spun toward the sound.

Vreuvillä landed in a backward hop as earth, mulch, and moss splashed up around where Ore-Locks’s staff had struck. Ore-Locks jerked the iron staff back up, lashing its end when Vreuvillä tried to advance.

Stunned that Shade had tried to both stop and defend Chane, Wynn didn’t know to do. She didn’t understand what had driven Chane into this sudden assault. But Shade was being harried by two more of the majay-hì. Ore-Locks spun his staff, the butt end swinging out at a third dog. They were all outnumbered, and the pack would be on them far quicker than the last time.

Chane came up on one knee and reached for his upright sword. Ore-Locks whirled the staff around overhead and took a thundering step toward Vreuvillä. Wynn looked at only Chane.

His eyes were on the priestess, and his face twisted into the mask of a monster. When his lips curled back, she saw his teeth had changed.

Wynn could see only one choice.

“No—at Chane!” she shouted to Ore-Locks. “Put him down!”

Ore-Locks blinked once, slack-faced. In a second blink, fierce determination tightened his broad features. Wynn had an instant of frightful doubt when the iron staff changed directions midswing.

The iron bar struck Chane’s head off-center, glancing downward with full force on his shoulder.

The crack and ringing sound wrenched the breath out of Wynn.

Chane wobbled like one of those wind-whipped branches. He dropped onto both knees but didn’t go down, and the staff’s end struck the ground. Wynn again heard—felt—thunder in the earth.

Ore-Locks turned the staff over, stomped forward one step, and brought the staff’s other end down with his full weight. Wynn whimpered as she thought she heard bones break, and Chane crumpled to the ground like a sack of stones.

The whole clearing went silent except for Shade’s threatening snarls and ragged breaths. All the other majay-hì held their positions. Ore-Locks stepped in, his eyes on Chane, the long iron staff poised in his large, tight fists.

“Enough,” Wynn gasped, trying to push him off.

Vreuvillä was watching them all, and Wynn feared if the priestess got closer, she might see Chane bleeding something other than red blood.

“What is this?” Vreuvillä demanded.

Wynn needed to get Chane away from here. “I’m sorry. It’s the forest. You know it can affect some humans.”

It was a feeble lie, as Wynn well knew. The Lhoin’na forest would not turn any human into a mad beast.

“He’s ill,” she added. “We should get him back to the city.”

“Clearly,” Vreuvillä returned.

“I won’t forget your help tonight,” Wynn said.

“I will not forget you.”

It was a sharp ending, as the priestess turned away. The pack was slower in following her. The last to pause at the clearing’s edge were the silver-gray female and mottled brown male. The female lingered an instant longer, watching Wynn as her mate dove into the underbrush.

“Did you learn anything else?” Ore-Locks demanded.

He hadn’t heard everything that she had. Only she—and for some reason Vreuvillä—could feel and hear the Fay speak. All he cared about, still flushed from battle and hovering over Chane, was whether she could better serve his own ends.

“Pick him up,” she said shortly, looking in panic at Chane’s limp form. “We’re leaving.”

Sau’ilahk still hung on the plain, pushed so far through rage and fear that he had grown ignorant of what might have happened with Wynn. He would not allow himself to sink fully into dormancy’s comfort. Only just so far that the night around him appeared darker than it should.

Sau’ilahk ...

At that thundering hiss in his mind, he answered.

Yes ... my Beloved.

Why do you leave the sage beyond your sight? Dog her, drive her, at any cost. Serve—if only to serve your one desire.

Sau’ilahk grew so very still in that half slumber upon the edge of his god’s dreams. He could only do as commanded if Wynn still lived. And being so ordered, did his Beloved know so? It brought him thin relief, though he wondered how, even for a god, Beloved knew this. Wynn’s life was still for his taking, when the time came.

But there and then, he was so weary and depleted. He doubted that he could conjure another servitor or even summon some beast to bind as another familiar. Certainly not—not unless he fed yet again.

Sau’ilahk wondered at his god’s determination, but he dared not argue nor reveal doubt or suspicion.

Yes, my Beloved.

Wynn reached her room at the guild and opened the door, and Shade trotted in. She held it while Ore-Locks carried Chane inside, and then breathed a short sigh of relief at having completed their rush through the redwood ring.

Even late at night, there had been too many sages about. Wynn had urgently clanged the outer gate’s bell and then hurried in when the attendant came. She’d quickly dismissed his offer of aid or to fetch a physician when he saw Chane hanging limply over Ore-Locks’s shoulder.

At least now they were behind a closed door.

“Lay him on the far ledge,” she said.

Ore-Locks nearly dropped Chane onto the ledge. Chane landed with a thud, but his eyelids didn’t even flutter.

“Careful,” Wynn yelped.

Ore-Locks backed away, not bothering to straighten Chane’s skewed limbs. Wynn pushed past and tried to make Chane comfortable, but as she lifted his dangling left arm onto the bed’s edge, she stalled.

A dark stain—not red, but black—had spread around a slash in the side of his shirt. It was still wet. She tried to think of what to do as she tucked his arm against his side to hide the stain. How did one tend the wounds of a vampire?

“Yes ... I saw it.”

She didn’t jump at Ore-Locks’s low voice. Perhaps out in the dark, Ore-Locks hadn’t noticed the stain’s true color.