The Wretched

by Brad Carsten

  The creature was now turning towards her. Its eyes locked, its teeth bared. She raised a hand towards it, and the filth flowed out of her, fueled by anger.

  A fine red mist blew out over the grass behind, and still she drew more power. Chunks of matted hair and bone sprayed across a tree twenty paces away, but not even that could mask the sound of the dying men around her. She drew more power, more power, more power, until it consumed her.

  That scene shifted, and the stranger was looking down at her from his horse. He was saying something. The words had a familiar ring to them, like she should understand them, but she couldn't. She didn't know where she was, or who she was.

  The scene shifted, and she was back in the wagon talking to her driver. He was telling her that they had taken a wrong turn and had missed the village...

  The world was spinning. The same images played over and over again.

  And then her eyes snapped open, and instead of seeing the forest, dark and gloomy, she squinted in the Light streaking in through the window, painting a square across soft blankets and up the wall alongside her. She didn't recognize the room. She didn't recognize the smell, but it was warm and quiet and peaceful.

  Chapter 10

  Night was settling over the village when the bells began to chime. They had only ever rung twice that Liam could recall. Once as a child when curiosity finally overcame Quinn and he found a way into the tower.

  The bell could be heard for miles around, and farmers came running in from their fields with whatever weapon or farm implement they had close at hand.

  The villagers found Quinn hiding up a tree and dragged him by the ear all the way back to his house. His father put him to work in the garden for a month, so that he couldn't get up to any more mischief.

  The second time was after Madam Fullen was killed by the nightspawn. Now, Liam thought about the wretched, and he felt numb. He snatched up his bow and met Quinn outside.

  Quinn was carrying an old shovel. The blade was rusted, but the weight of the head more than made up for it.

  “Did she get out?” Quinn shouted.

  “She didn't get past me,”—Liam slotted an arrow into place—“but if she's hurt anyone, so help me...” He should have used that cursed blade when he had the chance.

  As Liam ran through the village, he caught the bitter scent of wood smoke moments before he saw the black pillar rising above the rooftops. It seemed to be coming from the direction of the mill.

  Madam Loran was running to a nearby house, her milk pail lying on its side in the path. Master Garron had ventured out onto his porch cautiously, his wife's head peering out the door behind him.

  Across the way, the Hanley's six children were all at the window.

  Liam found Master Fullen carrying an armful of old shields that had been decorating the walls of the inn. “What's going on?” Liam called.

  “Nightspawn,” he shouted back over his shoulder. “The cursed things broke through the gate.”

  Liam and Quinn passed the first body near Master Rutland's place. It was Mathom, the cobbler. He was on his side with his neck bent back at an impossible angle, the blood pooling around his head.

  Two streets down, Madam Mosely was also dead, and her sister. Her sister had a spear through her chest. They had taught the children how to read and write as far back as he could remember. Light failing, they had taught Liam and Quinn.

  It looked like the door of their cottage had been forced open, and Liam caught the smell of soup still cooking over the fire.

  He had been terrified of the sisters as a child, but they were good people, and those stern faces were as much a part of the scenery as the mountains, and they had been there for about as long.

  Liam caught movement out the corner of his eye. He stumbled back, as a spear flashed past him. It caught his shirt, slicing through it, and burning into his shoulder. He grabbed onto the shaft, as the creature wrenched it back, pulling him off of his feet, and he stumbled to catch his footing. The creature wasn’t like the thing he had seen the previous night. This one stood on hind legs like a man, but it was unlike any man he had ever seen.

  Sharp teeth snapped down at him, and he turned the spear's shaft up into its neck, pushing its head up.

  The beast was strong—so strong.

  He shouted for Quinn's help, but another one of those beasts had cornered Quinn, and he was swinging his shovel desperately trying to fend it off.

  The spear slipped, and Liam sunk lower to keep its jaws away from his face.

  The arrows tumbled out of his quiver. He shifted his weight allowing the spear to fall. The creature stumbled forward. Liam snatched up an arrow and swung it around into the creature's neck. Blood sprayed out the wound, and the creature collapsed into the dirt.

  Seeing Madam Mosely's lifeless body filled him with anger and he grabbed the spear, and slowly and deliberately raised it above his head. His arms felt tired and numb. The creature snarled, and Liam thrust down as hard as he could.

  Quinn had backed into Master Browning’s place and was swinging the shovel in front of him like a flaming torch. Blood ran down the creature's armour, and its helmet had been knocked to the side, but Quinn also had a gash across his face and another up his arm.

  The creature pounced, snapping at Quinn with its massive jaws.

  Liam ripped the spear free, and summoning the last of his strength, he charged.

  The tip pegged through its back and out its stomach, pitching its mail armour, and Quinn finished it off with his shovel. “What in Corgin’s name is that?” he shouted, in a high voice.

  Whatever it was, it measured at least seven feet tall, and was dressed in mismatched armour that it must have scavenged from other raids.

  Quinn doubled over to catch his breath.

  “You okay?” Liam asked.

  “Well, I still have all my fingers, so that's a good sign.” He used his coat sleeve to dab some blood off his cheek and cursed again.

  Someone shouted. It was angry, more than afraid, and a few seconds later Master Hartfeld ran past, with an old rusted breastplate clamped over his large stomach.

  Liam breathed a sigh of relief. He worked free the spear and tossed it to Quinn. “That should work better than the shovel. Come on. We have to get to the gate. Master Hartfeld said that's where they were getting through. Just keep your eyes on the shadows.”

  The gate reached almost to the top of the wall, and was thick enough to keep anything out, but age hadn't been kind to it, and it wasn't as strong as it used to be.

  A few men blocked the gate, as they struggled to hold the bulk of the nightspawn back. Master Blithe, the innkeeper, was one of them, swinging his sword and shield and shouting orders at the others. He was one of the few people with military experience and was trying to keep everyone in a line. More creatures spread out beyond the gate—many more. The gate funneled them at least, but they were slowly driving the villagers back. If they broke through the gate, the village would fall.

  Inside, clumps of men struggled against those that had already broken through. Master Lowold, the blacksmith, was holding one back by its spear. His shoulders could haul a plough, but even he was struggling to keep it back.

  Liam fired an arrow, hitting the creature in the side, but still, it fought on like a demon. He fired three more arrows which finally brought it to its knees. Master Lowold slammed his giant hammer down into its skull, crushing it. Breathing hard, he offered Liam a curt nod of thanks.

  More of those creatures were arriving at the gate. Liam had barely a dozen arrows left in his quiver. He could spread them out to weaken the nightspawn, but that would hardly make a dent in their numbers.

  “We have to get the gates closed,” he shouted. That was the only way. He fired off another three arrows, but it was difficult to find the gaps without hitting the villagers.

  “How’re we supposed to do that?” Quinn shouted. “The gates open outwards.” They'd have to find another way.

  The nightspawn h
ad set fire to some of the houses near the entrance, and among them was Master Langley’s thatchery. Flames, at least ten feet tall, licked through the blackened windows. With all the grass stock, it would be burning for a long time yet, but the flames hadn't reached everything. His wagon stood a few feet away from the barn, piled with more thatch. Either it was being loaded or someone had pulled it away when the fire started, but it gave Liam an idea.

  “I know what we can do. Just keep them off of me.”

  “Where are you going? We need to help with... urgh,” With an unsure glance back at the gate, he took off after Liam.

  A nightspawn ran out at them with blood staining the fur around its mouth. Even without the spear, those teeth were deadly.

  Quinn blocked its thrust with the spear butt, and swung the spear around, slicing open its neck. Blood sprayed in a fine mist across his face.

  They reached the wagon, and Liam threw his shoulder into it. The thing was heavy. “Come on, come on,” he urged.

  “What are you doing?” Quinn shouted. He added his weight, and together they managed to get it over the rut.

  “I'm going to use it to block the gate. Just get something to light this with.”

  The fire spread rapidly across the dry straw, and by the time the wagon was hurtling towards the gate, the heat was unbearable. “Out the way. Get out the way. Move.”

  The villagers scrambled aside, and the wagon hit into the nightspawn. Burning straw toppled onto them and howls went up along with the stench of burning meat. The wagon wrenched to the side and slammed into the pillar of the gate. They wouldn't get the gates closed now, but at least it blocked the entrance.

  Some of the nightspawn had broken through, when the line scattered, and the villagers fell on them.

  One of the creatures was cut down, and Master Lowold brought his massive hammer down on its head, over and over, until Master Fullen dragged him away. “It's dead. It's dead. Save your strength.”

  The fire would keep them back for now, but it wouldn't last forever.

  “Get more wood,” Liam shouted, to those around him. “We have to keep it burning.” It had to burn long enough for them to find a way out of this. “Wood. We need more wood.” Even if they burned everything in the village, how long could they keep those things out? The villagers were tough—most worked the land, but they weren't soldiers, and dawn was still at least ten hours away.

  Elder Malumn came to stand alongside Liam. He had a gash across his cheek and was breathing hard. For a man in his early seventies, he was still as tough as a bullrog. He had to be tough to keep the Branbills and Tarplewolds in line.

  “Light failing, I don't know where these things are coming from, but there's a lot more of them out there. I don't know how much longer we could have held them off, but that was quick thinking on your part.”

  “It's bought us some time if nothing else, but there’s still a lot more work ahead of us if we're going to make it through the night.”

  Villagers carried everything that could burn to toss on the fire, while others took care of the injured.

  Cries went up all around them as people discovered the dead, or dying.

  Madam Chatlin was clutching onto Master Chatlin the baker. He was always a cheerful man. When Liam and Quinn were young, he'd sneak them each a crust, whenever Madam Chatlin's back was turned.

  Madam Pickerton's red stained dress had come up when she fell, exposing her legs. She had always been so proper and conservative—always scalding the young ones for kissing and cuddling in public. Madam Farcort, her closest friend, sobbed as she straightened the dress to allow her some dignity in death.

  There was Master Gorrick, and Master Gladstone, who was Short Norris's father—a quiet man, always falling asleep at the council meetings.

  Liam couldn't breathe. He wrenched his collar open and had to double over to stop from sicking up.

  A lot more people had arrived. Villagers were carrying weapons out of their houses; weapons, tools, farm implements, anything that could hold those things back, but they were still outnumbered at least four to one.

  The creatures reorganised very quickly, and Liam realised, to his dismay, that unlike other beasts that relied on muscle and sharp teeth, these things could reason. An enemy that could think was a lot more dangerous.

  They lined up behind the wagon with spears and branches and Liam suddenly understood what they were doing. The cursed things were going to push through.

  “Hold the wagon,” he shouted, as the creatures drove forward. Liam threw his shoulder into it and other villagers ran to help, but it took them a while to break the momentum. The wagon cleared the entrance, and Elder Malumn and others ran at the sides to stop them from getting past. Through the flames, and waves of scorching heat, Liam could see how many more had arrived since the battle began. They now numbered close to a hundred, maybe more. They must have underestimated the village and attacked before the rest of their forces arrived, but if they broke through now, the village would be overwhelmed.

  “Push,” Liam shouted.

  With the wagon no longer moving, the creatures turned to the giant water wheel. They began hacking off the scoops, and using them to carry water back to the wagon to douse the flames.

  Liam cursed. Three or four of those scoops would douse the flames completely.

  The villagers bunched around the wagon, getting ready to defend themselves.

  “I need a weapon,” Liam shouted. “Someone get me a weapon.” As soon as the flames were out, the nightspawn would swarm over the wagon, and then his bow would be useless. More and more were gathering on the other side, snarling, clattering their spears against their bucklers. Others were adding their weight to the wagon.

  Liam dug his feet into the dirt, pushing as hard as he could.

  At least the slope was working in their favor—about the only thing that was.

  Quinn hit the wagon next to him, screaming.

  Liam angled his shoulder down and forced more weight into it, and that's when he saw her;

  The wretched was barefoot, walking slowly through the chaos as though she was confused.

  Water washed over Liam, carrying burning cinder over the front of his shirt. He fell back as the nightspawn swarmed over the wagon like ants. Still on the ground, Liam ripped the bow off his shoulder, when the Wretched stepped past him.

  She turned her hands out in front of her like she was turning an invisible ball of twine. The last of the flames exploded. Heat washed over Liam and he threw up his arms to shield his face. Fire rolled forward in waves washing over the enemy. They howled and thrashed and scattered, and still the woman drew more power. She snarled and the tendons in her neck stood up as the flames grew stronger, higher, until they rolled up above the height of the wall. She pulled her hands apart, and the wall of fire fell like water falling from a bucket. She flicked her hands out and the wagon and everything behind it tore apart. Chunks of wood and flesh blasted away, leaving smoke trails that landed at least a hundred feet into the field.

  Their ranks were devastated. Those that weren't smouldering heaps crawled along the ground. She raised a hand and knots of them rose above the gate, kicking their feet helplessly and grasping at their necks as though that's where she was holding them and they were trying to pull her hands away. With a final shout, she clenched her fist and their heads exploded.

  It was undoubtedly the most terrifying display of power that Liam had ever seen. Like every other wide-eyed villager, he stared at her, suddenly understanding why she hadn't shown a hint of fear when they came across her all alone in the forest the previous night. He understood very well.

  When it was all over, she collapsed to her knees.

  Master Blithe cleared his throat. “We uh, we need to finish off any that didn't... Some may still be alive.” No one was listening. Liam stared at her, hardly moving, hardly daring to breathe, and wondering what in Fate’s name just happened.

  Chapter 11

  The villagers didn't
know what they should be doing or feeling. Those who had lost loved ones during the attack shuffled off to be with them. Old Master Ballow sat alongside his wife, her head resting on his lap, and he was stroking her long white hair. She had always kept it in a plait, but that had come loose some time during the attack, and her silver hair was now stained red.

  Elder Malumn was the first to speak, and his voice sounded too loud in the silence that had descended over the village.

  “My friends, my dear neighbors. Tonight, will leave a dark stain on this village for many, many years to come.” As he spoke, his eyes kept straying to the wretched.

  The fallout from using her power first brought waves of nausea washing through the villagers, and then it brought the flies. Hundreds of them descended on the nightspawn carcasses—thousands even. More than one person traced a circle around their foreheads as a sign of protection while looking at everything but the wretched.

  She was on her knees in the dirt, her head down and her hair hanging in front of her face, and she was dry heaving. She hadn't eaten for a day and didn't have anything left in her stomach to bring up.

  Madam Blithe knelt beside her placing a hand on her back. Gently, she lifted the hair out of her face, moving carefully, like she was lifting a kerchief off of a basket of scorpions.

  Elder Malumn cleared his throat and tried again.

  “We lost some good people tonight. People we all loved and cared for. People we have known all our lives.”

  His voice suddenly cracked with emotion, and he turned away until he could get control of himself again. “They were all good people, every one of them. Those of you who need to be with your loved ones, go and look after them.

  For the rest of you”—he took in the fire and the burnt shells of houses around him and shook his head sadly—“we need to get these fires out and then that gate cleared. I uh—I don't suppose there are any more of those things left, but we need to get these ones out the village. We can build a fire outside and burn them. I’ll not have them here as a reminder to all of us, or—or bringing anymore flies.”