Blood coated his knuckles. Most creatures turned into bone husks when they died in the Weald. I did not understand why; something to do with the properties of the realm. An absolute death with no return. Those whose bodies survived were torched with flaming arrows.
Hence the forest’s sparseness. Nothing survived long down here that was not meant for this world.
“You’re hurt.”
“A little hiccup.” Galleron’s bloodied hands carried some sort of firearm.
He walked over, his face haggard and spent, and slumped onto the bed. It creaked, protesting under the added weight. I shifted over, so that he could place the gun down. It featured one barrel, vastly different than the double-barreled flintlock Kalos had once given me. This piece looked more modern and professional than any firearm I’d encountered. It was also far larger than the pistol.
“A shotgun,” he finally said, by way of explanation. Galleron grabbed what looked like a grip and pulled on it. I heard a scratchy ratchet. “That’s the slide.”
“I’ve never seen one before.”
“Just point and shoot,” he said, holding it up to his eye. I could see that a sight had been mounted on top. What looked like a cross was located at its center. For aiming, rather than prayer. “I got it for you.”
His eyes drifted toward the ceiling.
“You went out? But how?”
“No. Someone brought it to me.” The lines at the corner of his cheeks tightened. “They brought these, as well.”
His hand emerged, golden-rimmed shells rolling around his palm. I stared at them, the way they caught the Weald’s strange light. Then I realized that strands of essence were dancing around them. They mingled with some plain munition.
“What do they do?” I said in an awed voice.
“All beings are nothing but energy,” he offered, the enigma meaning nothing. His hand found mine, the shells spilling to the floor. “Do not load them unless I tell you.”
“Why?”
“Rebecca…”
“What?”
“You must promise to listen to my instructions.”
I looked deep within his eyes. “Okay.” The word was unsure, unsteady.
“Promise.”
There was a long silence where I could hear nothing but our breath. I’m unsure who started it, but soon we were kissing, fumbling in the scratchy sheets like there would be nothing beyond that hour. And, for all I knew, that was the truth.
An hour, a day, a month—when it was over, and I lay next to him, hearing his breaths, I said, “Why do you need me to promise?”
In a sad tone he said, “So there’s no hesitation.”
Alarm beat through my bare chest, and I said, “Why would I hesitate?”
When he didn’t answer after a long time, I still didn’t understand.
But I whispered, “I promise.”
And then Galleron stood up from the bed. “It’s time to get dressed.” A melancholy hung in the air. “It is time for you to go, Rebecca Callaway.”
I swore I heard his voice catch.
And then he was gone, down the stairs.
18
Cerberus was neither a Realmfarer nor a Seer, but the ancient dog possessed a sixth sense nonetheless. Either that or he was merely ornery, conditioned into constant suspicion by his ageless task.
I pushed open the door to the barracks and stepped into the open. One of the dog’s three heads immediately turned and snarled, snapping against its chains.
“Quiet,” I said.
The beast’s agitation only grew. Dusk in the Weald always maintained a sort of funereal silence; this outburst shattered the ominous calm like a mirror crashing to the ground. Nearly nine weeks of planning, a careful path mapped out through the similar trees. Galleron drawing both legions away to a far corner of the Weald under the veil of a training mission.
And now this barking hound would ruin it all.
The closest head loomed over, the expression in its hate-filled eyes saying it all. One way or another, it knew that I was up to something. Its neck bulged, veins threatening to pop from the motley fur as Cerberus hurled himself against the chains.
The wooden gate groaned and shook, the ancient timbers holding the dog in place.
“I have no quarrel with you.”
The beast disagreed. It snapped its mighty jaws, spittle flinging down like foul-smelling rain. The chain was too short to reach me by the tower door. No doubt an intentional design, perhaps after some hapless centurions became a snack.
I closed my eyes and revisited the plan. Nothing had changed. Make it to where the realm’s fabric was weakest and simply disappear. I fumbled inside my pockets for the bullets, wondering what the essence-tinged ones did. Cerberus sat and howled, roaring in a doleful, rhythmic manner that seemed almost to carry a tune.
Then I heard a click: a giant key in a massive lock, turning with the force of a thousand gears. I looked up, backing away from the three-headed monster stomping near the massive gate. One iron collar fell away, that head twisting in demented glee at its newfound freedom.
Perhaps there were parts of the Weald I did not understand. Such as emergencies: when, if the beast hummed just the right frequencies, some invisible force would grant a temporary release.
The shotgun shook in my hands as I stood frozen only two steps from the barracks. I could go back inside, pretend it was all a misunderstanding. But the next chance would never arrive. I would always be watched by the hell-hound, and perhaps by whatever other mystic forces existed in this realm.
And, from the size of the dog, there was little guarantee the tower would even survive a direct assault.
I glanced over my shoulder. An empty stretch of terrain separated the gate and its flanking towers from the start of the forest. Between the two points lay nothing but empty space.
So I did the only thing I could.
I ducked my head and ran. The second lock slipped away, the collar crashing to the ground with an earthshaking thud. Cerberus’ bloodlust was tinged with manic joy, his tail rapping against the door like the sound of a war drum.
The sickly trees seemed so far away and incapable of helping me. He towered over them by at least fifteen feet, perhaps more. Each would snap like a twig beneath his massive paws, while I would be slowed down by weaving between them.
My eyes shifted to the path that cut through the forest. That had not been what was agreed on. It was far too well-frequented and out in the open. The legion could easily spot me and track my footprints.
I would have deliberated further, but the final collar snapped free. I adjusted my course slightly to the openness of the narrow path, reaching its edge as Cerberus unleashed a bone-rattling howl. Somewhere deep in the Weald, I sensed the legions go on alert.
And somewhere within my heart, there was a twinge. For Galleron was leading them to me.
He had stretched the ruse to its limits. Given me as much time as he could. But his Centurions were too well-trained to be deceived forever.
Feeling these strands, seeing the way things worked seemed more like a curse. Especially because the sensations were difficult to channel, impossible to control. I had made the decision to veer into the path all on my own, since there were no beams of faint colored light to guide my feet.
The entire realm seemed to shake and move as Cerberus staggered forward. His gait was unsteady after years of being chained up. Almost as if he had forgotten how to move. During this, I gained on him. I was able to tell from the force of the vibrations beneath my boots.
And then the large dog figured it out.
I tried to drown out the sense of impending doom by focusing on the rehearsed path. How did it change? But the beast seemed to move with the power of a million horses. I heard him hit the edge of the forest, tearing through the weak trees without slowing.
No way I could outrun him. Totally impossible—whether on the path or off. And I was too far from the exit point to even try.
With noth
ing else to do, however, my legs continued to press on.
Which is when I smelled the burning pitch.
I craned my head skyward, the strange, dusky grays punctuated by an unusually bright light. A wall of flame, descending upon me like a plague of locusts. Methodical and precise, just as the legion had been trained to do.
I dove behind the largest tree I could find as a hail of flaming arrows descended on the forest, death whistling through the barren air. Cerberus let out a few muted yelps, a few of the projectiles well off the mark. But most thundered down around me, the forest filling with the scent of smoke.
The path, once just dirt, looked like someone had ignited a stream of whale oil for over a hundred yards. I hunched beneath the bare branches, pressing myself against the trunk. The volley stopped after a minute, a hundred sixty men pausing to reload and unleash another salvo.
It was remarkable, the clarity with which they zoomed in on my position.
A sickening observation dawned on me amidst the crackling flame: they were all Realmfarers. This is where they kept those who saw, those who understood the workings of the world. Perhaps to keep even worse things at bay, behind that door.
It was a testament to Galleron that he had kept it secret for this long.
But now I understood the truth.
I had not been spared because I was special, or unlike the others.
I had been spared because he loved me.
The ground began to shake again, and I realized that Cerberus was done licking his wounds. Sooner or later, the hailstorm of arrows would get me—if the dog did not snap me in twain first. Running was futile. They would sense me anywhere I went within this realm, anticipate my movements.
Not quite a lens into my thoughts, but close enough for the probabilities to be skewed in favor of the house.
Only by doing the unexpected did I have a shot at survival.
Hands shaky, I loaded the shotgun with the plain shells. Two. No powder necessary, just pop them in and aim down at the target. I stepped out from the tree, noting that the other side of the meager trunk looked like a tailor’s pincushion.
Shotgun thrown over my shoulder, I walked out into the flaming path, toward the oncoming quake of steps. Into the heart of the storm—right at the beast that everyone, including the soldiers of the Weald, feared.
Smoke rising from the scorched earth behind me, I came face-to-face with the three-headed dog within seconds. Trees snapped as it sat down in the middle of the forest, eying me with suspicion. No one strolled toward it.
Especially not after running.
But I walked farther, smelling the fetid breath streaming from its rotten jowls. Cerberus growled in confusion, the ground shifting beneath my feet. A warning to stay away, that the next step would be my last.
I got within twenty yards and stopped. All three of its ugly heads stared back at me, eyes filled with morbid curiosity.
“What are you waiting for?”
One of its noses sniffed the air in response.
“Finish me off.”
I sensed the second volley about to commence from deep in the trees, far away. A grim resolve settled in my bones.
Cerberus pawed the ground like a bull readying its charge.
Raising the shotgun to my cheek, I squinted down the crosshairs. I pulled the trigger, the recoil almost shattering my jaw. The blast hit the dog in its front paw, and it howled, stumbling forward just as I heard the distant whistle of the arrows begin.
Was it a whistle?
Or just a sensation?
It mattered not. The dog lunged forward, quickly closing the gap. Fighting off the pain from the first shot, I leveled the shotgun—against my chest, this time—and lined up the sights.
“One in three chance, Ruby.” A gambler would like those odds. I stayed focused on the middle head, waiting for its jaws to snap forward and pick me up.
I saw the teeth glint.
I saw the foul, diseased purple of its throat.
I saw the pink of the scabbed nose, only inches from my own.
And then I fired, the shotgun kicking off my chest like a mule. Cerberus screamed, the sensitive flesh within his mouth raked by gunfire. He reared back, off his injured front leg, all three heads howling and aimed skyward.
I dove beneath his massive belly, his huge back acting like a shield. The flaming arrows rained down from above, sinking into his mottled fur and the ground around me. I huddled in a ball, waiting for an arrow to drive through my heart, or the beast to flop over and crush me.
But it was stunned. Dominance is a funny thing—when one only knows absolute power and fear, a reversal of fate is often difficult to understand. The dog understood that it had been outwitted, and seemingly had no answer other than to take its punishment.
A stray arrow stabbed into my calf, the skin burning from the flaming point. Tears stinging my eyes, I reached back and removed it. I flung it as far as I could, screaming curses at the legion. Perhaps they could even hear me.
The assault tapered off, the hum of death replaced only by Cerberus’ pathetic whimpers. With great effort, I pushed myself from the ground and limped out of the beast’s hunched shadow.
It was then that I understood why he hadn’t moved. Not shame or indecision, but simple animal instinct. When he had howled at the invisible heavens, raising his eyes skyward, he had exposed his most vulnerable senses to the rain of arrows.
His muzzles were dotted with charred barbs, like an animal attacked by a porcupine.
But it was not those arrows that had stopped him—and saved me.
Rather, it was those jutting from his blank eyes, the razor-sharp flaming points plunging his world into permanent darkness.
A message came through the Weald, carried by a breeze or nothing at all.
From Galleron.
I’m sorry, Rebecca. A pause, almost as if he was right by me. Put a golden shell within the shotgun. A longer pause. And then aim it at yourself, pull the trigger and think of what was once home.
I did what he asked, fingers shaking as I pointed the gun toward my foot.
The final word came through.
Goodbye.
My form dissolved, splitting into particles like dust carried on the wind.
And then nothingness.
19
“Well, that certainly took you long enough.” I blinked twice as an unfamiliar brightness streamed into my eyes. My senses were overrun with stimuli. Birds chirping. A stream slicing through a forest. Fresh bread in the distance.
All imagined. The sounds and images disappeared suddenly, pain burning at my calf. I looked down, saw the angry red-and-black of the arrow wound oozing hot blood.
“I died.”
“Not quite.” I felt someone else’s hand reach into my pocket. The shells clattered together. “These are a sort of pass between realms. All sorts of ways to take them.”
My vision finally adjusted, and my brow furrowed in confusion. “Pearl?”
The ageless woman looked down at me. “And here I thought you’d forget all about me.”
“But…”
“I’m not big on the past, so I’m gonna make this short and sweet for you, Ruby,” the woman said. I looked around for a sign of the general store. Instead I saw that we were behind a wooden building, around the corner of which lay a strange road.
It was narrow, fashioned of wood and metal. Unfriendly to horses and humans alike, and cutting through the plains to nowhere at all.
“I’m dead.” The throbbing in my calf suggested otherwise, but there was little logical explanation for my continued survival.
“First, you’re going to stop saying that.” Pearl flung her wild looking hair back and glared at me. “Second, that’s a railroad.”
“Railroad.” The word was gibberish. I glanced down at the shotgun, some sort of strange connection forming in my mind.
“Yes, you’re getting it.” Pearl gave me a joyless wink. “Welcome to 1879.”
“But
…”
“Time dilation, my dear girl. One day in that horrid Weald is a year in the sun.” She spread her arms out in faux reverence. “Two, I’ve been watching you since you were born. It runs in your family, this ability.”
“Ability?”
“Anyone can become a wolf or a vampire. Few can become a Realmfarer.” Pearl shrugged. “Your mother—”
“You knew my mother?”
In the distance, some sort of mythical beast blared a long, throaty whistle. The ground shook with its impending survival. I clutched the shotgun and fumbled for my pouch.
“A locomotive,” Pearl said casually, offering no explanation. “I wished to train your mother. She did not wish it so.” She shrugged, the ground shaking further. “And so I took a different approach to you.”
“How’s that?”
“I allowed you to choose your own path.” Something that approximated a smile graced her stern features. “For the most part.”
She dropped the golden-rimmed shell into the tan-colored soil, little wisps of essence flaking off into the breeze. Something clicked: these were not munition at all, but some sort of magical dispersion and travel spell encased within what looked like a bullet. The activation mechanism was merely the gun, but the spell could have taken many forms. “After all, I couldn’t have you dying in that wretched place. But you’re a little seductress, aren’t you?”
My cheeks flushed. “Am not.”
“However you enlisted Galleron’s aid, I will not judge.” The beast—this locomotive—cried louder as it approached. “Come, we have work to do.”
She pointed around the corner, toward the bizarre road, instead of holding out her hand.
“I don’t want to work with you.”
“Some creatures need killing, Ruby,” Pearl said. “And I can’t do it all on my own.”
“What happened to your last partner?”
She raised her eyebrow at me. “Who told you about Morgan?” Then she nodded, a knowing look on her face. “Ah, indeed. Your intuition.”
Ruby Callaway- The Complete Collection Page 63