I just hope he’s ready, she thought. What she’d told him was no exaggeration, their only hope of surviving the next few minutes was if they both executed her hastily conceived plan flawlessly. Even then it was risky and probably doomed to failure. The only people in the empire to hunt bärgeists – at least successfully; no-one ever heard from the unsuccessful ones ever again – were the hunters of the Watch. And even they never did so alone, only taking on the beasts in groups of two or, ideally, more. They also took great pains to avoid crossing paths with them if they were travelling by themselves through the Spiritwood.
That was another thing. Only rarely had bärgeists been seen outside the dark, deadly forest the hunters stood sentinel over, and never south of the mountains. So what is it doing here?
Such questions could wait. All that mattered right now was bringing the beast down, which would be easier said than done. The hunters used long spears, which served to keep the fearsome, thrashing creatures at arms’ length while also being able to pierce their thick hide and muscle. Swords were near-useless, as slashing at their flanks would only serve to aggravate them further. Still, she gripped her blade tightly as she ran, trying not to think about how pathetically small it looked.
At least the first part of the plan seemed to be working. The beast’s growls and grunts were still behind her... and far enough behind so as to not be immediately threatening.
Then Raven reached the rear corner of the hut and the unthinkable occurred.
The dilapidated wooden wall beside her fell away and she planted her foot to launch herself to the right. But then with her next step her foot plunged into a deeper hole, the icy water pouring in over the top of her boot, sending her tumbling face-first into the marsh.
Raven didn’t even wait to catch her breath. The instant her body struck the mud she rolled desperately to the side. A heartbeat later the water beside her exploded in all directions as the beast leapt, landing on the spot she’d vacated only a second before.
There was one long, awful moment that seemed to stretch away into infinity as she felt the creature’s hot breath panting against her cheek, the foetid rotten-meat stench of it filling her nostrils. Then many other far more chaotically awful moments followed swiftly behind like gawkers crowding around the scene of a terrible accident and it was quickly forgotten.
The beast’s head whipped round to face her. Raven instinctively flung up an arm to protect her face, and its jaws clamped around her forearm instead of her throat. Any relief she might have felt was short-lived however. Long, sharp teeth sank deep into her leather bracer, enough to pierce her flesh. A sheet of white-hot agony shooting up the stricken limb. Raven screamed in both pain and anger, then thrust her blade savagely at the creatures hard, bristled flank. More by luck than judgement the weapon’s tip slipped between two of its ribs with a satisfying crunch.
The beast’s despairing howl was an echo of Raven’s own, though muffled by her arm. She drove the blade even deeper, giving it a spiteful twist so as to wreak further damage to whatever foul organ it had found.
It did the trick... after a fashion. The creature staggered as the steel shard ripped through it, then gave a mighty shake of its head to rid itself of its assailant. Such was the difference in their weight that Raven was thrown through the air and landed, face-down in the mire for the second time, a dozen or more feet away.
Pain bloomed in her left arm as she landed, but she tried to ignore it, forcing herself to her feet. The hulking beast still stood in the same spot. It looked stunned, as if trying to come to terms with what had just happened, but she knew its confusion wouldn’t last long. Sure enough, she was barely upright before its jet-black eyes fastened on her and it charged. Dismayed, she saw that her sword still protruded from its side like an enormous parasite, bobbing obscenely up and down as it built up speed.
Two thoughts arrived simultaneously in Raven’s mind. The first was that whatever damage she’d inflicted had barely slowed it down. The second was that the thirty stone rampaging, furious creature intent on exacting bloody revenge now stood between her and Aggy’s hut... her only means of salvation. There was no sane solution to this problem she could see in the few seconds left remaining before her life was snuffed out like a dying candle.
So she tried an insane one instead.
Raven roared, putting as much hurt and anger into the sound as she could muster, and charged straight at the beast. As the distance between them rapidly closed, she was gratified at the faint flicker of uncertainty in its eyes.
In the last moment before they clashed, Raven threw herself forward into a mid-air somersault. Time seemed to slow as she span over the creature’s back, the ridge of long, coarse bristles running along its spine almost close enough to brush her face. She pressed her hands against its back, using it as a springboard to propel herself clear.
She landed in the mud as elegantly as was possible on such a slick surface, and took off once more for the hut. This time the creature’s roar came from worryingly close behind; it seemed that being driven to incandescence by its prey had lent it even greater strength and power.
The side wall of the hut went by in a blur. Then another turn and her feet touched solid ground again, pounding across the wooden boards of the veranda. From behind came a loud growl, followed by the splintering of wood, that could only have been the creature smashing through the post supporting the porch’s rickety roof.
There was no doubt about it... it was getting quicker.
When the broken doorway yawned open to her right, Raven hurled herself into the darkness beyond. As she fell through, she felt the movement of air behind her head. Then came a stomach-churning thunk and howl of pain. She turned and saw Bram had swung down his axe as planned. But either his reactions had been a fraction too slow, or the beast had been moving faster than expected. Instead of cleaving the bärgeist’s skull, the weapon’s blade was buried in its shoulder. Blood sprayed from the wound, spattering the front of the woodsman’s torn coat, while the force of the blow was enough to knock the creature to the floor.
But it was not a mortal one. Incensed, the creature lashed out with a paw the size of a shovel and raked its claws down Bram’s thigh. It tore a deep gouge from his groin almost to his knee. The bearded woodsman fell with an anguished cry, clutching at his leg.
The creature scrambled to its feet, apparently unconcerned by the gaping hole in its back, through which the white of exposed bone was visible. Its attention was solely on Bram, the scent of its prey’s blood filling its nose and its ravening jaws champing in anticipation of the killing blow.
Raven saw her chance and sprang forward. She ripped her sword from the creature’s hide and in one quick movement drove the blade upwards through the soft flesh of its throat. A torrent of gore gushed out of its neck, soaking her arm to the elbow. The beast thrashed, at first in anger, its howls loud enough to shake the walls, then in desperation as its strength faded. Raven drove the blade deeper, hardly even noticing her own screams of triumph and fury.
Letting out a whimper so plaintive in other circumstances it might have been comical the creature flopped onto its side, landing with a heavy thump. Raven was pulled with it, determined not to let go of her sword, the grip of which was by now tacky with blood. She scrambled to avoid the beast’s mighty feet, which pawed at the air. Even as weak as it was, it could still inflict grievous injuries if it connected. After a few moments its death throes ceased and the body fell limp.
* * *
Raven almost collapsed herself as a wave of relief washed over her. Then, gathering herself, she crawled over to the stricken figure lying on the other side of the doorway.
Bram was conscious. He sat propped against the wall, clasping his injured leg. He stared at Raven, eyes wide in a face as pale as the moon. “By the Divine,” he gasped. “The size of that thing...”
“We got lucky,” she told him. “That was a young one. It was only twice your size, rather than twice as much again.”
Gently, she moved his hands aside and examined the wound. They’d been lucky there as well. It had been a glancing blow, the beast unable to put its full strength behind it. It was still a nasty gash, from which the blood was running freely. But Raven judged the woodsman would survive, provided infection did not set in. She tore away a long strip of cloth from his trouser-leg, which was as tattered as his coat, and wound it tightly around the cut.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
“You’ll live.”
A nod. “And you?”
Raven glanced down at her arm. There were red marks and several ragged holes where the beast’s jaws had clamped down. Her bracer was gone, no doubt lost somewhere in the mire. “Me too,” she said.
When she’d finished, Raven tore the sleeve from her shirt and repeated the process, winding it round the injured forearm. She winced slightly as the fabric touched the punctured flesh. It stung, but she didn’t mind, fully aware it could have been a lot worse.
When it was done, Raven straightened and looked around the hut properly for the first time. It was a wreck, but not in the same ramshackle manner as the exterior. Its owner had perhaps once kept it in good condition, and everywhere she looked she saw little ornaments and knick-knacks, books and pictures. But everything inside had been destroyed. A drift of feathers covered the floor where pillows had been torn open, splinters of wood where chairs, tables and cupboards had been smashed apart. Much of the devastation bore the tell-tale signs of tooth and claw marks, and Raven suspected the cause of it all was growing cold and stiff on the floor.
At the back of the hut was a small kitchen and stove. Raven wandered over to it and glanced through the debris. Some food remained on a counter-top, a hunk of bread and scraps of cheese. On each was a thick layer of white and green mould. In the opposite corner was the remains of what she assumed was a deer, judging by the antlers. The bärgeist had not left a lot else from which to identify it.
This place had served as its lair, then. But for how long?
The air inside the hut was thick with the odour of blood and rot, but as she turned away she caught another scent. Faint, though undeniable.
“Do you smell that?”
Bram stirred. “Smell what?”
Raven drew in another breath. “Decay.”
“All I smell is the stink of this thing.” He aimed a boot at the hulking corpse. It barely moved. “But if I did, would that be so strange in this place?”
“No, it’s not the house. Something else.” It was there, beneath the dankness and the stench of the beast. An earthy rottenness that set her nerves jangling. The odour of death. She looked around again, more intently this time. “Have you seen Aggy?”
Bram grimaced. “No. But if she was here when that beast arrived...”
Raven shook her head. “There’d still be some trace. When bärgeists feed they leave a...” she gestured at the devastation around them, “... well, a mess.”
The woodsman’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t here for a love potion, are you?”
“No.”
“Then who are you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think it matters now.”
It didn’t take long after that to find Aggy.
Tucked against one wall, Raven found a ladder leading to a small upper floor, which had miraculously survived the destruction. As she climbed up the rungs the smell she’d detected grew stronger, and even before she reached the top she knew what she would find.
Compared to the immense carcass blocking the hut’s doorway, the body of the old woman looked tiny, almost child-like. It was lying on the bare boards, among a few stacks of crates and boxes.
Raven crouched beside the body. It wasn’t the first cadaver she’d seen – anyone who travelled upon the road for any great length of time would soon become familiar with such sights – though getting so close to one would never be high on her list of favourite pastimes.
It was a strange feeling, after long days and countless miles of searching, to have found her quarry at last. Black Aggy, the crone of the mire. Whatever Raven had been expecting, it wasn’t this.
There was not much left but bone; the insects of the marsh had seen to that. The body was face down, as if she’d gone to sleep and never risen. Grey, brittle hair still clung to the skull lacking eyes or skin. Raven tried to picture what she would have looked like in life, and to marry that image with Conall’s description of the hag that had interrupted their banquet and cursed his brother. But it was impossible. Why are you here, Aggy? she thought. How did you die?
Gingerly, she turned the head around and found her answer. This side of the skull was stoved almost completely concave, a cobweb of cracks radiating out from a jagged hole in the temple. Raven frowned. It was highly unlikely such a wound was caused by the creature below. She searched the rest of the body for injury, and confirmed what she already suspected. There was no sign, on the arms, legs or anywhere else, of an attack by such a vicious beast.
An image began to form in Raven’s mind – of an old woman, frail and near-insensible from the heavy blow to her head, dragging herself up the ladder to the attic, terrified by the sound of the approaching bärgeist. It was possible such exertion had seen her fall unconscious straight away. But she may well have cowered for hours up here, listening to the destruction below; safe from the creature but eventually succumbing to the killing blow that had already been struck.
But by whom? And why? It wasn’t witch-hunters, that much she knew. While they weren’t above a bit of mindless killing, generally they wanted to be paid for their services. Not only that, but from the condition of the body, it had lain here undiscovered for several weeks at least – which meant that by the time the duke had engaged the witch-hunters’ services, Aggy was already dead.
Raven tried to piece together what she knew. There would have been time for Aggy to return after that fateful night at Strathearn. Perhaps someone, angry at what she’d done, had followed her home and struck her down...
No, that doesn’t make sense, she thought. Why would they do that then leave and say nothing, when the duke would handsomely reward the one who caught the witch? And in any case, that still didn’t explain the bärgeist’s presence.
Was Aggy even the one who’d interrupted the feast and cast the curse? Now that Raven was here, in what remained of the old woman’s home, she had her doubts. From Conall’s account, she would have expected to find some evidence of witchcraft, but there was none. No strange runes or arcane symbols, no animal bones or carcases – beyond the deer the creature had dragged in – no spellbooks or potion bottles. Nothing in fact that would mark it as being anything other than what Raven now believed it to be: the dilapidated home of a old, lonely woodcutter’s widow.
But people believed she was a witch, she thought. Maybe that was enough. She felt the beginnings of an idea surface in her mind, but it slipped away before she could grasp hold of it properly.
There didn’t seem to be much else to learn from the body, so Raven left Aggy where she was and climbed back down the ladder. She eventually found Bram on the porch, leaning against the outside wall. “I just needed to be out of there,” he said by way of explanation. “Did you find Aggy?”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
“No.”
He made the sign of the Divine over his chest. “The beast, did it-”
“It wasn’t the bärgeist. Not unless it somehow used a hammer to crush her skull.”
“Hammer?” Bram’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. “I don’t underst-”
“When were you here last?”
“About a month past, I reckon.” He saw the accusing look in Raven’s eyes and started. “Hold on, you don’t believe I had anything to do with this?”
Raven held his gaze a moment before replying. “No,” she said at last. “I don’t think you killed her. But I think you and those like you ar
e the reason she’s dead.”
Bram’s cheeks flushed red. “Now just you see here,” he began.
“No, you see here!” Raven yelled, rounding on the startled woodsman. “You all left her out here alone, an old widow hardly able to fend for herself, in a rotted house unfit for human habitation, coming out once every month or so to assuage your guilt.” The shamed expression on his face told her she’d struck a nerve. “Then one day someone comes to her door, bashes her brains in and sets that... that... thing on her, and there’s no-one around to help.” It was the first time her brain had linked the creature to Aggy’s killer, and at once it felt right. “She died frightened and alone, and lay up there undiscovered for weeks, all because nobody cared enough to find her a place to live in town.”
“I did what I could,” the woodsman protested. “It wasn’t my place to uproot her from her home.”
“And it’s easier to ignore a problem than deal with it, isn’t it?” Raven said coldly. “You and all the others. Easier to think her a witch than as someone in need of help.”
Raven could feel her anger building and, worried that she would strike him if she stayed any longer, she instead stalked back inside the hut and pulled her sword from the beast’s throat. When she emerged back into daylight she crossed the porch without looking round and started back along the wooden walkway.
“Wait,” he called after her. “What should I do?”
Raven turned. “Do what nobody was willing to while she lived: look after her. Take her back to town and give her a proper burial. That’s all that can be done for her now.”
With that she left, turning her back on that house of horrors for good. As she made her way back through the mire, keeping a eye out for her mount as she went, Raven ran over everything she’d learned in her mind. She’d come to the mire in search of answers, but was leaving it with even more questions. Was it really Aggy who had cast the curse? Who had killed her, and why?
It might simply be coincidence, but Raven’s every instinct, honed to a razor-sharp edge on the road, told her otherwise. She felt certain that both paths would lead her to the same point, that both events were part of a web woven by the same cunning hand; her true adversary. And that meant that Raven was no longer simply breaking a curse.
Raven's Edge Page 13