Monstrous- The Complete Collection

by Sawyer Black

  Big Ben set his jaw, and a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Henry dropped into a crouch and roared. The candle held over Big Ben’s head flickered and danced in the hot wind of Henry’s breath.

  Aela flinched back and looked from Henry’s face to Big Ben’s. “Ben?”

  Big Ben shrugged. “He’s just trying to trick us. I told Abraham to keep him out of Solitude, and now he’s trying to turn you against me.”

  Red haze filled Henry’s vision, and Big Ben’s life energy pulsed into existence as if Henry’s anger had flipped a switch. He had to concentrate on the words before he could force them out of his mouth. “Why did the Lost attack Adam? Why didn’t the Dream Lights repel them like Abraham said they would?”

  “How should I know?”

  Aela held up a finger. “My grandfather said you collected the mist for the distillation of the Dreaming Tree’s sap. What did you do, Ben?”

  “Don’t point your finger at me, woman.”

  Kasey pulled his spear around and planted the end between his feet. “Where’s Solomon, Ben?”

  Big Ben set the candle on a shelf next to his shoulder, then scratched the stubble on his chin. “He’s in the cellar. You can go down and see him if you want.”

  The herd of Ravagers declared their presence with a swelling rumble of feet. Henry couldn’t tell if they were right outside or one row over.

  Either they’re running in a circle around us, or there’s a thousand of ’em.

  He looked back at the door and caught Adam’s frightened gaze. The boy was pressed into a corner, his sword held in a desperate grip. He stared at Big Ben with wide eyes. Shock and terror.

  Henry turned back, and showed Big Ben the murder in his face.

  The big man’s eyes flew wide, and he leapt forward, thrusting the sword at Henry’s chest.

  Henry saw him as slow as a man moving through water. He stepped under the thrust with ease, moving to the outside of the big man’s left arm.

  Big Ben’s eyes were focused on the space where Henry had just been. Henry threw his head back and laughed, driving his claws into the meat of the muscular shoulder.

  Big Ben howled as a pound of flesh flew away, exposing the shining knob of his shoulder joint. Blood splattered along his neck and the side of his face. His lunge ended with him driving his good shoulder into a shelf of blankets, crushing the wood into splinters and scattering wool across the floor. Demon Piercer stayed in his hand.

  The Way Home shuddered, thrumming like a stone drum. Henry’s rage rattled the bars of his confusion. Dust fell from the ceiling in a grey cloud.

  Big Ben rose with his bloody arm dangling. He gritted his teeth and looked up, edging back toward the doorway.

  Frank dropped to his knees and pulled Adam against his chest.

  The thunder of feet grew, and Ravager voices rose in a frenzied howl.

  The ground shook underfoot.

  Another smashing beat of the drum, and the walls of the Way Home tilted.

  The corner split.

  Churning bodies and grinning faces in the opening.

  Shouts of victory, and the Ravagers drew back for another run.

  A chunk of the stone ceiling sheared off and crashed into Aela’s shoulder.

  She screamed and fell to her knees. Blood welled from her forearm.

  Henry turned with his arms held out to scoop her up, and she screamed again.

  Her eyes were as wide as they could go. Whites all around, the speck of a candle in her pupil glowing as a shadow grew. Then three feet of black blade burst from his chest, the tip stabbing into Aela’s leather jacket, scraping against her arm to tear through the seam in back.

  Her face turned black with the splash of his blood.

  Cold spread through him, radiating from the sword grinding against his ribs. He couldn’t draw a breath to cry out, and the red haze left his eyes altogether.

  Henry heard Adam scream from far away.

  The blade drew out, and Aela collapsed against him. Blood burst into his throat, and the remaining air bubbled out of his lungs. He shivered from the cold as ice formed in the pit of his stomach.

  Henry fell from Aela’s arms, and his face smashed to the floor.

  The door fell away, washing the gray light of the Forgotten across his face.

  Adam’s scream fell into a lilting rhythm. Henry couldn’t make it out. Soft and beautiful, he heard the fear and panic beneath it, but there were no words. When he recognized the song of the Trackers, Henry didn’t have the energy to tell the boy to stop.

  You’re delivering yourself into their hands, kid.

  Stomping feet on the floor of the Way Home. Shouts and clashing steel.

  I’m not fucking worth it, buddy.

  Amélie’s face hung in front of his closing eyes. She looked so much like Samantha. Pushing her hair away from her forehead. Just like her mother.

  Lucky she didn’t take after… the monster.

  Gold light broke on the other side of his eyelids. He didn’t have the energy to look.

  Sleep now.

  Suffer no more.

  The booming voice chased Henry’s thoughts into darkness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Henry opened his eyes, expecting fire.

  A cracked plaster ceiling. Vaguely familiar. A soft bed holding him up. A rough blanket scraping against the edge of his bandaged chest.

  Movement over his head, and he flicked his eyes up.

  Clocks.

  Henry drew breath for a sigh, and pain lanced up into his neck. He coughed, and blood filled his mouth. The gagging spasm continued, and his mind filled with panic. He was drowning.

  A warm hand on his arm, and the coughing slowed. Eased. Henry swallowed the blood and took in clean air. His pounding heart slowed, and he drew sipping breaths, afraid that a deeper inhale might invite the cough.

  He turned to see who was touching him. A large hand carved from pearly granite. A rusty cuff on the wrist below a bulging forearm. Henry followed the arm up and smiled.

  Ramiel sat in the chair that Sister Gladys had occupied the last time Henry woke in Solitude. The Tracker. His guardian angel.

  They had met outside Adam’s cell under the Viazo Grand.

  The Tracker reeled back, and the sword dropped from his hands. He caught his balance and dropped to one knee. One fist over his heart, the other pressed into the ground in front of his feet.

  I swear fealty to you.

  “Hey, Remmy,” Henry whispered. A dry croak of noise.

  “Hello, Henry.” Ramiel’s deep voice, warm and comforting like his hand on Henry’s arm. Washing over him and pushing him deeper into the down. “Sleep now.”

  Suffer no more.

  Henry woke with a jaw-cracking yawn.

  He stretched with a painful pulling deep in his chest muscles, rolled over with a groan, throwing the blankets aside and touching a tentative finger to the wound under the crease of his right pec — a hard ridge of scar tissue like bone.

  He looked down, and his lips curled in disgust. The width of his hand, a hard rise of skin, black and puckered. Tendrils of darkness radiating away from its center, like the rot that consumed the Ravager in the wake of Adam’s touch.

  Henry dropped his hand and sighed.

  He reached for the porcelain ewer of water on the bedside table, but instead of healthy fingers grabbing the handle, his twisted nubbin bumped it and sloshed water over the rim. He drank the water in a few desperate gulps and waited to catch his breath before returning the pitcher.

  A soft knock from the hallway.

  Henry pulled the blankets over his lap and looked at the opening door.

  Sister Gladys poked her head through. She smiled when she saw Henry, and she threw the door wide, entering with another pitcher of water.

  She turned the handle to his waiting fingers and sat while Henry finished another gallon. His belly swollen with liquid healing, Henry nod
ded as he set the pitcher next to the first one. “Thank you,” he said, his voice the deep rumble he had gotten used to in recent months.

  She smoothed her robes beneath her legs as she sat. “You’re quite welcome, Henry.”

  “So, what’s happeing?”

  “Oh, same old, same old.”

  Henry chuckled, but he saw the tightness around her eyes. The hollows of her cheeks. “How long have I been here.”

  “Three days. The angel came to the gates with you under one arm and Aela under the other.”

  A hard anxiety twisted his guts. “Is she okay?”

  Sister Gladys grinned. “She’s fine. A broken shoulder and blood loss. Exhaustion. The angel healed her once he was inside Solitude.” She pointed at the scar on his chest. “He did the best he could by you, but his power had limits.”

  If Ramiel healed me, then Adam must be …

  “Where’s Adam?”

  “They took him, Henry. The other Trackers took him away.”

  That painful twist in his guts again, and Henry doubled over, tears squeezing through his eyelids. “Ah, fuck,” he gasped.

  In his mind, Adam’s face floated up beside Amélie’s, and they each had the same sad smile.

  I failed them both.

  “How was I supposed to save them?” Snot dribbled onto his lip. Tears dripped into his lap.

  I couldn’t do it.

  “I’m just a fucking comedian, for shit’s sake.”

  Her small hands on his shoulder were like twisted steel, digging into the base of his neck. She pulled him into an embrace, and even through his pain, a nun of Solitude comforting a demon pushed his sorrow aside with awe.

  He held her against him and cried into her shoulder.

  “No, Henry. Don’t blame yourself.” She rocked him. Like Samantha had rocked him. Like he had rocked Amélie.

  “He’s dead.”

  “No, Ramiel says he’s not.”

  Henry shook his head and pushed her away. He wiped his nose on his forearm. “How does he know?”

  “Because Adam was taken. If the Lord’s true intention was for Adam to die, they would have killed him right then.”

  Relief brought fresh tears, and he nodded with a smile. “I guess that makes sense.”

  “It does.” Sister Gladys smoothed her robes and drew her hood back over her head.

  Henry pointed to a glistening smear on her shoulder. “Sorry about that.”

  She looked, and a sad smile that reminded him of his daughter spread across her lips. “You’re not the first person to cry on my shoulder today.”

  Henry scrubbed at the tears with his knuckles and sat up straight. He took a deep breath. “What’s happening?”

  She shrugged. “War has come to Solitude.” She leaned forward and patted his knee. “Get dressed and come out to the Tree. Someone has been asking about you almost non-stop.”

  “Who?”

  She would only smile as she eased the door shut behind her.

  His wrinkled and stained backpack sat empty in the corner, its contents neatly stacked next to it.

  I guess people don’t leave other people’s shit alone in Solitude.

  He didn’t bother with the boots. Somebody had cleaned them, but they were torn and the soles were pulling loose. Black canvas jeans and a black tee. The dark color seemed morbid, but they crowned the pile.

  Out in the hall, he threaded his way through the line of bustling nuns. Instead of avoiding him, they moved to include him, and he even saw the flash of a smile accompany a wave or two.

  Progress.

  In the chamber that housed the Dreaming Tree, he stepped to the side and watched the activity. What looked like a frenzy soon settled into a pattern, and in the center stood Aela. Guiding and pointing, leaning into the ear of a nun, both of them pulling apart with a nod once she delivered instruction.

  He leaned into the wall and crossed his arms, content to look at her while she worked. The lines of worry that had creased her forehead were gone. Her jaw still firm, set with the fierce determination that flashed in her eyes, and despite everything that had happened, she appeared oddly satisfied.

  As if noticing his scrutiny, she paused as if she were listening for an echo, then turned to greet his eyes. Her grin hit him like a fresh breeze, and he barely got his arms open before she was against him with her cheek pressed to his chest.

  Her scent rose up, that earth and spice that reminded him of fresh bread and pumpkin pie. He filled his lungs. She stepped back, and he kept his nubbin on her shoulder, pushing the fall of her hair from her face with his other hand.

  She grabbed his forearm, hanging onto it like she was dangling from a branch. “How do you feel?”

  “Like shit.”

  She laughed, and her breath parted the dark hair hanging across his forehead. “To be honest, you look pretty bad, too.”

  He shrugged, pulling his arm out of her grasp. “Well, you can look good for the both of us. What’s going on?”

  She frowned. “My grandfather won’t let me outside. He sent me here to organize the harvest instead.”

  “What are you harvesting?”

  She turned and led him to the trunk of the Dreaming Tree. “Mostly what everyone had been dreaming about lately. Weapons and medical supplies.”

  “Sister Gladys said war had come to Solitude. The Ravagers?”

  “And more. Henry, there’s so much more.”

  She took his hand and led him from the room. The activity continued unabated, and Henry realized she had just been filling a role required by Abraham. No matter how much she resented it, she had been pleased to follow orders.

  Maybe for the first time in her life.

  He felt foolish following her, being led by the hand down stone hallways, ducking under clocks and through doorways. No scandalized gasps and old ladies recoiling in horror, but there were more than a few raised eyebrows. Looks from the side of an eye.

  They came to a wide stairwell spiraling up into a broad tower. She slid her hand from his and charged up the steps taking them two at a time. He tried to follow with the same zeal, but two flights later found him leaning on the stone rail with spots swirling in front of his eyes.

  He couldn’t get a deep breath and he tasted blood. He forced himself straight and continued his ascent with a more measured pace.

  Aela came back down, running at an angle, her face shadowed with concern. He waved her away. “Just a little out of shape, that’s all. Gimme a minute.”

  “Oh, Henry. I’m sorry. Do you want to go back down?”

  “Fuck, no. I’m this far. Lead the way. I’ll make it.”

  He focused on his feet slapping flat on every step. His hand sliding along the rail.

  The air cooled, and the light turned from the orange of warm fires to the gray of mist surrounding the Forgotten.

  The rail fell away, and Henry almost fell without its support. His feet thought there was another step, but the floor extended into a wide landing. His knees locked, and he waved his arms for balance. Aela slid up under his arm, and he leaned on her as she led him through a doorway that opened onto a view of the crumbling city.

  At another railing, Henry bent over and planted his elbows on the top. Three bright lights swelled in the darkness of the mist below him.

  The structure that was Solitude spread out in every direction. Like a thousand different parts of a thousand different cities.

  Below him, the three lights swelled, and Henry heard the beating of powerful wings. Mist parted under the air, and the lights were revealed as angels. Three Trackers hovering, armed and armored. Black blades and shields, but the one in the center held a sword that Henry remembered.

  Ramiel.

  The mist continued to swirl away, uncovering a line of Ravagers and demons looking up at the angels in fear.

  A clang drove a vibration into the floor, and Henry looked behind the angels to a giant door that slid open on the clank of a giant chain.

  "They go f
rom one hidden entrance to the next,” Aela said. “Rotating with them as they open.”

  “Almost like they know where they are, huh? Like they’re being led to ’em?”

  “Yes.”

  So, Big Ben’s still alive.

  Through the door poured a neat file of soldiers. Men and women of Solitude, armed with spears and swords. Arrows bobbing over their shoulders. Abraham ran at the head of the line, a sword in his hand instead of a cane. Kasey ran with him in lock-step, his spear held against his chest. The soldiers followed to form a line below the angels’ feet.

  The wings cleared more mist, and at the edge of the courtyard stood a row of cultists from Order From Chaos. Long robes glowing with power. Hoods obscuring their faces in shadow. They lifted their hands in a gesture that Henry remembered from outside the Viazo Grand when Pastor Owen sent a fireball bursting down the hill.

  That was probably what killed Ezra.

  Their hands glowed with growing power, and they raised their fists. Colored flames burst from their fingertips, and a wall of fire rolled above the dark army waiting to attack.

  Trackers unfurled their nets. They spread to join each other, snapping together to make a single shield that caught the fire before it could hit the walls of Solitude. The cultists raised their hands again, and on some unheard cue, the Ravagers and demons charged, their screams ripping into Henry’s ears.

  The soldiers of Solitude rushed forward as the wall of fire boiled in the air, growing as it neared the smoking nets above the Trackers’ heads. Henry turned before the two armies met. “I need to get down there!”

  “You can’t be serious. You barely made it up here.”

  “You don’t understand. I need to feed.”

  Realization dawned in her eyes, and her disgust bobbed to the surface.

  He grabbed her arm. “It’s what I am. I’m not asking you to accept it. I’m just asking for a little goddamn help!”

  Aelsa set her jaw and nodded, then reached under the back of her jacket. Two blades appeared in her hands with a hiss. She turned to lead the way back down the stairs, throwing the occasional worried glance over her shoulder.