The Wretched

by Brad Carsten

  “Back,” Elias called and the hounds retreated. The Hunter staggered back, and his legs almost gave way.

  Elias hit an arrowhead into the burning wagon, and then another, and another. This was for Fayre.

  The hunter snarled. Its sword was out, but it was backing away. Black liquid oozed out of the wound, floating out in thin strands like it was underwater. The sword was hot, and the scent of burning meat filled Elias's nose.

  The hunter lifted its hand. For a moment, the sword flickered, but unlike the arrows it didn't disappear.

  Heated metal was the one thread it couldn’t undo. He'd learnt that much in Galbrock.

  The hunter backed away and had to grab onto his mount’s saddle for support.

  Elias casually pulled the arrow out of the fire and nocked it.

  The hunter swung up onto its horse as the arrow pierced its back. It was thrown forward, but somehow managed to hold on.

  The second arrow struck just below that. The third arrow hit the side of a wagon as the hunter galloped through the circle of wagons.

  Elias turned back to the camp. The scribes were killing off the last of the nightspawn, but far too many of his own lay dead or dying on the ground.

  A burning heat spread up Elias' chest into his head, and he looked at his wound for the first time. Blood had soaked into his shirt, saturating it. It was worse than he thought. He took a step and his legs gave way.

  He was vaguely aware of people crowding around him, but he was battling to make them out. His vision swam in and out of focus, but his only thought was for Fayre. He had to make sure that she was okay. He tried to get up, but someone put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. His strength gave in, and his head dropped back into the dirt. “Fayre,” he mumbled, but even that took effort. “Please, please let her be okay.”

  ***

  A mile away from the camp, Quinn reached a cliff face with the ground dipping into a shallow valley. It wouldn't protect them, but it would keep him out of sight for now. It would have to do.

  His feet hit the ground before the wagon had come to a complete stop and he ran around to the back.

  His hands shook, as he unlatched the door. He wasn't sure what he’d find inside.

  As the door swung open, a dim patch of light fell across the entrance and Fayre's still body.

  “No, no, no.” He launched himself at her, pressing two fingers to her neck. “Fayre, can you hear me? Fayre, Fayre.” He had faced the nightspawn many times over the last few days, but he had never known fear like when her head dropped lifelessly to the side. She was pale. She was so incredibly pale.

  He couldn't feel a pulse, but his hands were shaking too much to tell.

  And then her lips moved ever so slightly.

  “Fayre, can you hear me? You need to hold on. Don't you leave me. Don't you dare give up on me.”

  The belt and cloak had stopped most of the bleeding, but he didn't know what else to do. He tried to open her eyelids, but her eyes rolled back into her head.

  She was dying.

  He looked around for some water, some bandages, some medication, anything, and that's when he noticed the Assessor's links hanging above a shelf.

  He had been all but useless this night to protect her, and even now, there was nothing he could do, but he suddenly had a crazy idea. If those things could truly take him into the space between this land and the land of the dead, as the Sage claimed, then he should be able to find her. He should be able to fetch her and bring her back.

  Thus far, he hadn't been able to sense the Sage and hold onto this world long enough to make that connection, and if he couldn't do that now, he’d never find her.

  No, he would find her! He snapped the links onto her wrists determinedly. He had one chance at this now—one chance to get it right, but he would have to concentrate with everything he had or his mind would slip into another’s story and she'd be gone forever. He knew he wouldn't get another shot at this.

  Holding onto her wrists, he shut his eyes and pictured her face and beautiful smile. He put everything he had into it.

  He had failed many people in his life, but he wouldn't fail her now. He wouldn't!

  Chapter 20

  Voices whispered in the dark, swirling back and forth, but Quinn couldn't see anything but a large shape in front of him. He stretched his eyes, until the shape formed into a woman pressing a finger to her lips. “Shhh. Keep still.” Quinn got unsteadily to his feet, wondering what she was doing there and realised the woman wasn't looking at him after all but at a young girl of about ten or eleven.

  Thwack. Something slammed into the side of the house, and all eyes snapped towards it. The girl whimpered, and the woman covered the girl's mouth.

  Something hit again, and this time the woman jumped.

  The girl screwed her eyes shut, and tears leaked onto her cheeks.

  The thudding moved slowly along the wall as though whoever was out there was taunting those inside.

  Quinn reached for his spear, and realised he didn't have it with him. He could hold his own in a fight, but after dealing with the nightspawn, he didn't know what would be coming through the door, and his eyes darted around for something else he could use.

  There came another thud, and Quinn threw out his hand to direct them back. He was no hero, but he wouldn't let anything happen to them. He should have been able to touch the girl, he was only a foot away, but somehow, she stretched out of reach.

  This place seemed familiar. Not the house, but everything else—the way it all moved, and the taint of evil soaking through the walls.

  He tried again, and again she stretched out of reach. He couldn't touch her, but stranger than that, she didn't even seem to notice him there. Neither did the woman, clutching the shivering child in her arms.

  Thud. Thud. Thud. The sound turned the corner slowly moving towards the door. Quinn scrambled in front of the girl and everything shifted.

  He was standing outside, knee-deep, in the snow wondering how he got there. White-capped fir trees towered around him. Flat gray clouds covered the sky from end to end diluting the sun. He could look at it without hurting his eyes.

  A young girl ran past chatting away happily to herself. She put on a stern voice. “No, that's not the way we behave around here! When things need to be done, we do them.”

  She sighed, and her voice returned to normal. “Okay Mother, but I don't want to leave for Thamaria, and not with Lugarn. He's horrid as can be.”

  It was the same girl from earlier, but she was at least two or three years younger.

  She put on that stern voice again. “Why, I don't care what you want. You need to go. Your father, the chief—no, no, the king—yes, he’s the king. He’s ill, and he needs a dispeller. The whole kingdom is relying on you.”

  “But Lugarn? He's just a stable hand, and he says horrid things about me.”

  She picked up a stick and swished it like a sword. “Get back. Get back.”

  Behind, dark clouds were gathering across the horizon. Not snow clouds, these were different. There was something ominous in the way they churned and rolled that sent a shiver down his spine.

  By the time he turned back, the girl was disappearing over a shallow rise. He covered the distance in a single step. That took him by surprise, but at the same time it felt familiar somehow.

  The girl hummed contently, as she leapt from rock to rock. She swiped her stick along the ground showering snow out in front of her, and she made a whooshing sound. She was about to leap to the next rock, when she noticed a large black shape covered in a layer of snow.

  Her back stiffened, as did Quinn's. It was one of those cursed hounds, but it wasn't moving.

  She stared at it for a long time, and finally, licking her lips nervously, took a step closer. When nothing happened, she threw a handful of snow into the trees. A gentle breeze ruffled the creature's fur, but it didn't move.

  She reached her stick towards it and prodded it. Still nothing.

  Up
close, its jaw hung open, and its eyes stared forward without moving. She stepped around it carefully, and a look of wonder crossed her small face. Eight scrawny puppies were climbing over each other trying to drink from the carcass. From the shape they were in, they couldn't have eaten for a long time.

  The girl sat in the snow and lifted one of them onto her lap. It didn't move like the others; it was too weak. Its eyes creaked open to look at her, but it didn't have the strength to keep them open.

  She dug a hole in the snow, under a shrub where the snow and the wind wouldn't reach them. She lined it with her fur cloak and carefully laid the hound inside. “There you go. It's a lovely, soft home for you. It'll keep you nice and warm. I think I'll call you fluffy.” She picked up another hound and it cuddled into her neck. “And you'll be Cuddles—Cuddles the cuddly bear.” She put the others into the cloak, but they were hungry and climbed back out again to return to their mother.

  “No, don't go back there. You'll freeze to death in the snow.” She spoke in a soothing voice, but they weren't listening. “Okay, just wait for me here. I can’t take you home. The people back there are scared of your kind, but I'll be right back with some food and some goat's milk, Okay? Just wait here.” Without her cloak, the cold bit into her, and her teeth began chattering, but she started back the way she had come with a determined look in her eyes.

  Quinn started to go after her and found himself back in the small room.

  The door shuddered. The woman’s breath caught. With the next hit, the wood split along the hinges. It was giving way.

  The woman scrambled to her feet, knocking back a chair in the process, but it was too late to worry about making a noise now. Whoever was out there knew that someone was inside. She wrenched open the shutters, and a spear of light pierced into the room falling across their terrified faces. “You've got to go.” The woman lifted the girl up to the small window, but she squirmed. “No. Mother. No. Please.”

  “Run. Get out and run. Don't look back.”

  The hammering got louder, faster. The door shook as though whoever was outside was no longer trying to frighten them but was now just trying to get inside.

  “I'll be right behind you.” The woman glanced back at the door in fear. “I'll be right behind you, I promise.” But even Quinn could see that the opening was too small for an adult. She lifted the girl to the window, and this time, the girl didn't try to resist.

  Behind them, the latch ripped free, and the door burst open.

  “I love you, I love you, I love you,” the woman said.

  A large man stepped into the room. He stood at least ten feet tall, and his scarred face was like that of a demon’s. Black eyes like empty graves looked her up and down, and his mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

  Out in the snow, the young girl screamed for her mother to come, to follow her, and Quinn watched her young face turn from hope to fear as she realised that her mother wasn't coming.

  The giant drew a hammer as tall as a man from his belt and slammed it to the floor causing the whole room to shudder. He reached for a length of thick rope hanging over his shoulder and slowly and deliberately began to unwind it.

  “Go, Fayre, run,” the woman shouted. Tears spilled down her cheeks. With trembling hands, the woman threw a wash jug at the giant of a man, but he brushed it aside without much effort.

  She backed into the wall. Her legs gave way, and she slid down the wall, sobbing.

  Quinn didn't lose his temper often, but a searing rage burned through him. The spear appeared in his hands, and he ran at the giant of a man, but the room turned black, and he found himself running outside again with the cottage growing smaller behind them. Women and young boys and old men lay dead in the snow. There were so many. Some of the boys, clutching spears and axes, couldn't have been older than ten. One still had a determined look on his face.

  The girl ran for the trees, just as determined, but the ground seemed to suck in her feet as though she was trampling through a marsh. She had to fight for each step, while her mother's screams bored into her head. She covered her ears and tears streamed down her cheeks, but she kept going. She kept fighting for each step.

  The trees were just in front of her, and yet no matter how far she ran, they never got any closer. Dark clouds blew over the village, stretching from the ground up for miles, until they covered the village completely, but the mother's screams never faded. That storm was getting closer, and somehow, he knew that it brought death on its wings.

  The girl tore into the village on a giant lumbrock, with seven more barking behind her. She scrambled off before reaching the house and stumbled to catch her footing. She called for her mother over and over, but her voice echoed in the stillness around them.

  Nothing moved. Doors stood open. Washing hung lifeless in the dappled sunlight. She tried to ignore the other bodies around her, as she kept those fearful eyes on her front door.

  She had been afraid when the man was breaking through it, but now, a different kind of fear took hold of her.

  Everything inside the cottage had been turned over when the giant ruffled through their things, and in the middle of the shards of broken wood and clay lay a lone figure sprawled out on the floor.

  “No. No. No. Mother. Mother.” She flung herself over the body, and her shoulders shook. “Mother, Mother talk to me.” She pried open her mother's mouth, and when that didn't help, she beat her fists against that lifeless chest. “Wake up. Please, wake up.” Her strength gave in and she dropped her head onto her mother's stomach and screamed. Quinn turned away. He couldn't watch any more.

  The woman was dead. Angry welts covered her neck and arms. Her face was swollen, and that wasn't the worst of it. Quinn couldn't breathe. With one hand leaning on the wall, he staggered out the cottage into the cool afternoon air. Where was he? What was happening here? He walked away from the cottage so that he wouldn't have to hear those gut-wrenching cries coming from inside.

  When the girl stepped outside, she had no more tears in those eyes, just anger—anger and determination. She climbed onto the back of a hound and shut her eyes. Her head tilted up as though she was listening for something, and then her eyes snapped towards the trees, quite suddenly, as though she'd heard something. Like Liam, she must have been a gifted tracker, even as a child. Like an arrow, she took off in that direction without deviating from it. She leaned into the dog, galloping harder, faster. The wind blew her hair behind her and on she went.

  Trees grew thicker. Evening was settling over the forest.

  A beaten path wound between the trees, with the snow churned up as though many people and animals and wagons had recently passed through. She followed the path a mile and then abruptly turned into the trees, her hounds galloping behind her. They were barking when she first set off, but now they fell silent like wolves stalking their prey.

  Trees flickered past, and then Quinn stood in a clearing. A group of men sat around laughing and drinking. Others sorted through the goods they'd pillaged. A man stood in the center, heartily telling a story. He threw in an obscene gesture, and the others roared with laughter.

  One of the men, a large bearded thug of a man glanced up moments before the hounds broke through the forest. His grin didn't have time to slip before the hound ripped his throat out.

  Someone yelled. Others went for their swords, but most couldn't even get them free of their scabbards in time. With drink in their bellies, their hands weren't all that steady, and the hounds tore through them. It was a massacre.

  The girl leapt off of her animal, landing with a thud on the ground.

  A large fellow with cruel looking eyes sat propped up against a tree clutching the side of his head. Blood poured through his fingers where a large chunk had been bitten out of his face. A hound leered over him, its bloodied teeth still bared.

  Quinn recognised him as the giant that had broken through the door, but he wasn't nearly as tall as he had been in the village. He wasn't taller than any other man, and his hamme
r wasn't any bigger than a blacksmith's hammer.

  Someone behind them screamed. His arms flailed as a hound clamped its jaws around his head. With the sound of crunching bone, his skull gave in and his body convulsed.

  The once giant's eyes moved from his companion to the girl, and he swallowed. “What do you want?” he said. “Call them off. We're—we're just travellers passing through.”

  Without saying anything, she reached for the rope looped around his shoulder, and he gave it to her eagerly.

  “You want the rope? It's a nice one, isn't it? Take it. Take anything you want. We have much of value here. There's gold. In that chest over there. It's yours if you want it.”

  She tied a simple knot in the rope and told him to put it around his neck.

  He hesitated, but she reached a hand towards the hound, and he scrambled to obey. “Who are you. What do you want?” His eyes suddenly narrowed in thought. “Wait, you're from that village aren't you? I recognise you.”

  The girl tossed the length of rope over a low hanging branch and gave it to the hound to hold in its teeth.

  The man realised what was happening, and fear crossed his rough face. “Do you know how many of us there are? If I don't make it back, they'll send others... Hundreds of men... Thousands. What you saw in your village will be nothing compared to what happens to you. Do you know what they do to young girls? They—”

  She whispered to the hound and it darted forward, jerking the man up onto his feet. His words cut off in a choking sound. He clawed at the rope but couldn't get his fingers under it.

  The girl whispered again, and this time, the man was lifted up off the ground. His boots kicked out frantically, but he couldn't find anything to grip.

  His tongue fell out of his mouth as he gulped for air.

  The girl crouched with her back to him and covered her ears so that she didn't have to hear him dying.

  Again, the world changed. She was no older, but she was dirty and had lost a lot of weight. Her hair was knotted, and she lay in a small hollow hugging her knees. Three of the hounds lay around her to keep her warm. One was licking her arm tenderly, but she didn't seem to notice.