by T. A. White
Wilhelm grasped the rope in front of Fallon and pulled. It came easily, sliding into view until he held the end up for them to see.
“She abandoned us,” Wilhelm said in a tight voice.
“She couldn’t be that stupid,” Shea said. “Nor would the Anateri have consented to that, and since he’s gone too, whatever happened, it happened to both of them.”
She took the rope from him, noting the shorn end. It was in shreds and looked like something jagged had been taken to it.
“Not the sort of mark a knife leaves,” Fallon said, his face thoughtful as he fingered the worn edges.
“No, it’s not.” Shea’s voice was grim as she faced the fact that their guide had either abandoned them or suffered a tragic event. She had no idea what had happened to the Anateri, Owen, but she suspected it wouldn’t be good.
They were alone in the mist with something possibly hunting them.
That thought must have occurred to the others as well because three blades were drawn as they faced out, their backs to each other.
Their horses stomped their feet and shook their heads. Trenton’s attempted to rear before the lead tied to it restricted its movement.
The muffled sound of sibilant laughter reached her, and Shea got the impression of something big sliding through the mist around them, up and over boulders like they weren’t even there.
An object flew through the mist. Fallon jerked them back as a body landed in two pieces at their feet—bloody and raw and covered in slime. The person had been ripped apart at the waist, his intestines trailing out in a bloody mess. It was Owen, his face empty in death.
“I’m guessing we’re not alone out here anymore,” Trenton said in a tight voice after a quick glance at his former comrade.
“Where are you going, little mouse?” a whispery voice asked from the gray.
“There’s something on the right,” Witt said.
“My side too,” Wilhelm responded.
“It’s already surrounded us,” Fallon said, his eyes locked on the mist, his body held at the ready.
“Stay and play,” the whisper voice said. “We have soooo much we want to tell you.”
“Last time, you said it was just the voices of our lost. Is it the same this time?” Trenton asked over his shoulder.
“No, I said that they were shades. They have no form and can only lure you through memories. This is something else entirely,” Shea corrected. She had one hand on the rope to her side and her sword in the other.
“The woman said that this isn’t real,” Trenton argued.
“Probably why she’s not here anymore,” Shea said as she looked around.
Lilah could have cut the rope with a dull knife or maybe something did the deed for her. Either way, Shea didn’t think it was coincidence that whatever this was had separated them from their guide and killed one of their number.
“It’s playing with us,” Fallon said, his voice one of grim realization.
Shea thought so too. Whatever it was had the advantage. The mist shielded it from view, making its hunting easy. She suspected it was old and practiced at finding prey, even in a place like this where the senses lied. She couldn’t help but think it might have tried the same technique on those who’d preceded them. The other groups wouldn’t have had the benefit of an additional skilled pathfinder with them.
“Do you think it killed everyone else who came before us?” Witt asked.
The group was silent as they considered that. Shea felt a sense of horror at the thought that this creature had picked each group off, one by one. The only thing that helped, was the thought that if it had, it most likely wouldn’t be hungry by now.
“Either way, we can’t leave it free to hunt the others,” Fallon said, voicing her conclusion before she could.
“You’re right,” Shea agreed.
“How do we kill something we can’t see?” Trenton asked in a resigned voice.
“Attached to each other as we are?” Wilhelm inserted, tugging on the rope. “I assume it’s still too dangerous to risk separating.”
“You’re right,” Shea said. The impossible task had gotten even more difficult.
A form rushed through the mist.
“Down,” Fallon barked.
They ducked and moved as one, barely avoiding the dark shape as it swept past. A horse screamed in fear as the creature brushed it. Shea caught the faint impression of scales and what looked like feathers attached to a huge serpentine figure.
A cackling laugh echoed all around them.
“I don’t think that’s an illusion,” Wilhelm said, his grip on his sword tightening. “And our swords aren’t going to do much against something that big.”
“A bashe,” Shea said in realization.
Trenton didn’t take his eyes from where the creature had disappeared as he asked, “A what?”
“It’s a story,” Shea said. “Or at least I thought it was a story.”
She’d never seen such a creature in real life and would have never given it consideration, if her father hadn’t shared that the mythologicals were back.
“It’s essentially a giant serpent.” Shea looked around them in concern. The shape had been big, but not as big as the stories had said. Maybe they had exaggerated. She prayed that was the case.
Shea pulled them along the path, their footsteps careful and sure as they edged away from the direction the creature had gone. Something slid through the mist, stirring it up so it moved horizontally in front of her.
The movement confirmed her suspicions. The stories weren’t built up—that thing really was humongous, and it’d already surrounded them with the rest of its body, keeping them distracted near its head.
“Smart little mouse,” the voice heckled. “He didn’t say you would be so smart.”
“Who?” Shea asked, backing away from the thick, muscular body of the bashe. She needed to buy time while she thought of a plan.
Again, a dim figure rushed through the mist at them, sliding along the ground in a serpentine zig-zag. Trenton’s blade flashed out, bouncing harmlessly off scales.
Shea yanked on the rope, dragging him and Witt out of the way of the thing’s jaws as it swept past.
“Shit,” Trenton growled, landing on his back. He rolled to his feet, favoring his right side.
Fear made Shea’s hands shake as she struggled to remember everything she could from that long-ago story. Nothing came to mind. No weaknesses to exploit, no easy method of killing it. Nothing.
Wilhelm’s horse shook its head and stood with its legs spread as it whinnied. It didn’t like this situation any more than the humans did.
“Our weapons will do little against those scales,” Fallon said.
“What about the bows?” Shea asked, spotting them on one of the horses.
The Trateri had three main weapons. A curved sabre that was edged on one side, a composite bow, and a long spear with a hook on the end that they used to unseat opponents during battle. Trenton and Wilhelm typically only carried the sword on their person, leaving the rest attached to their horses in the event they rode into battle.
Trenton’s disgusted look answered that question even as Wilhelm shook his head and said, “They’ll be almost as useless as the sword. With something that big, it probably won’t even notice unless we hit an eye.”
Which most likely still wouldn’t kill it.
The same with any attacks on the body. At most, they’d be a minor nuisance.
“That leaves one option,” Shea said in a resigned voice.
“You have a plan, then?” Witt asked, keeping an eye on their surroundings.
“Yup, but I don’t think any of you are going to like it.” Shea’s expression turned sour. If she was being honest, she didn’t like her plan either.
Trenton stared at her for several beats before he shook his head. “No, that’s crazy.”
“It’s the best option we’ve got
,” Fallon agreed, his mind already following where hers had gone.
Surprise and understanding dawned on Wilhelm and Witt’s faces as they realized what she was thinking.
“I feel like your plans get worse and worse the longer I know you—like gone ‘round the bend crazy worse,” Trenton said. To Fallon, he said, “At least tell me we’re not letting her do the honors.”
Fallon’s eyes were dark as he stared at Shea. It was obvious he wanted to order her to abandon their group and head to the Keep by herself, even at the expense of his own safety. It was just as obvious she would refuse.
“No, we’re not,” he agreed with Trenton. “One of us will do it.”
“I didn’t expect anything else.” Shea gave Fallon a half smile. “I could never make that throw. That’s why Wilhelm will do it.”
Wilhelm lifted an eyebrow. “I will?”
“Wait a minute. Why not me?” Trenton asked in outrage.
Shea ignored him to answer Wilhelm’s question. “I’m not skilled enough with a spear. Same for Witt, and the doubter over there is still recovering from cracked ribs and internal bleeding. And if we let Fallon do it, I’m pretty sure Caden would murder us all once he found out about it. That leaves you.”
“Hey!” Trenton protested.
Fallon looked like he wanted to argue, but he must have seen her point. Of the five of them, Wilhelm was the one with the best marksmanship. Beyond all of the other reasons, that was the one that counted the most and Fallon knew it.
Wilhelm stared off into the mist with a considering expression before looking sideways at Shea, his face serious and intent. “We’ll only get one chance at this.”
“Guess you’d better make the shot count, then,” she told him.
“Incoming,” Witt murmured.
They snapped to attention.
“From the left,” Trenton confirmed.
They moved as one, diving out of the way as the bashe brushed past. Shea glimpsed feathers arranged in a crest around its head and vestigial limbs tucked close to its serpentine body. Then, it was gone, leaving them standing once more alone in the mist.
“Let’s move,” Fallon shouted as soon as it was past. In a cluster, they ran for the horses.
Panicked and afraid, the horses were loath to let anyone close, even their human riders.
Wilhelm made soothing sounds with his voice as he crept closer. It would have been safer and easier if they split up and let Wilhelm approach alone, but Shea was too afraid of one of them getting taken by the mist.
He held his hand out, even as Shea thrummed with impatience. They had little time. The bashe could strike at any moment. So far, it seemed to be playing with them, allowing them to get out of the way of each attack. Perhaps it was entertained by their feeble attempts at survival, or maybe it found their struggle humorous. Either way, she didn’t want to wait until it got bored.
The horse dipped its head as Wilhelm cupped its nose and slid his hand along its cheek. With the other, he reached for the spear and slid it free.
Shea took a knife, moving carefully but surely as she cut the leads, so the horses would have a fighting chance in the event they weren’t able to kill the giant serpent.
Trenton grabbed a spear and his bow while Witt watched the mist all around them.
“What are the little mice up to?” A serpentine head crowned with a mane of feathers rose in front of them, its eyes intelligent as its tongue flicked out with each word.
Shea stepped back, her eyes wide as its neck extended until the head towered over them. Somehow its size still managed to surprise her, despite being surrounded by its body.
“Ha,” Shea said, slapping her horse’s rear and sending it running. Trenton and Witt did the same with theirs.
Together they backed away from the head looming in front of them, while Wilhelm lagged behind, so it appeared he was the tip of their little train. He held his spear loosely next to him, not quite hiding it but not brandishing it like a threat either.
The bashe watched the horses flee with interest before its head swung back toward them.
“How fast can you run, Shea Halloran?” the bashe asked, its alien face still managing to express coy amusement.
Shea paused, her feet stumbling to a halt. It knew her name.
Fallon yanked hard on the rope, dragging her out of the way as the bashe’s head snapped forward, its mouth wide open, the serpent fangs fully extended.
It missed them by bare inches, close enough that Shea could’ve reached out and touched the scales as it slid by.
There was a scream of rage and a violent jerk from the bashe as it sank back into the mist.
Shea looked over at Fallon as he lowered a bow, his face cruelly victorious.
“You’re right, the eye was a good target.”
“Nice shooting,” Trenton said, appreciation in his voice.
There was a rattling hiss that seemed to echo from everywhere, the mist bouncing the sound so it wasn’t clear where it originated.
“You will pay for that,” the bashe said, his voice full of rage. “I will swallow you whole and then spit out your bones. I will crush the life from your insignificant bodies.”
“It’s coming back around. You need to be standing in the exact right place when it strikes,” Shea told Wilhelm. “It needs to come from slightly above. If it closes its mouth on you, I’m pretty sure you’ll be dead.”
Worse, like the snake it resembled, the bashe was ridiculously fast. Until now, it’d been testing them and not displayed the speed it was capable of. A typical snake could cover a significant distance when striking, and this one was no different. That last attack had shown them exactly how quickly it could strike. The only reason they’d evaded it was because of Fallon’s lucky shot and the movement of the mist just before it appeared.
“You should cut me loose,” he told her. “Given the size of that thing’s mouth, you’ll be standing in its way if you’re still tied to me.”
She was already shaking her head before he finished. “I do that, and there’s a good chance you’ll be lost to us. There’s no reason to think it won’t lose interest in you and come after us in that event. We do this together. It’s our best chance at survival.”
Keeping their footprint small and tight would insure the bashe came after the proper target. The downside was, if the bashe won this little battle it could snap them all up in a single mouthful.
It was the story of Shea’s life. A little good wrapped in a whole lot of bad.
In the end, the place they chose to make their stand was the best location Shea could find on short notice. Cliffs hemmed them in and the large boulders along the narrow space remaining meant the bashe was limited in the direction from which it could attack. With several boulders positioned at their backs and others strewn randomly in front of them, Shea was fairly certain the bashe would have to come from the front and to the right of them.
That was how Wilhelm came to be standing slightly to her right, with Trenton and Witt in front of both of them, shielding them from view.
They were silent as they waited, fear putting all of Shea’s senses on heightened alert.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and her skin tingled, sensitive to the slightest brush of air. That internal beacon that constantly buzzed telling her which way she needed to travel to escape the mist, beckoned, a warm glow in an otherwise fuzzy world.
Waiting, she’d found, was always the hardest part—it was the time where thoughts preyed on even the most disciplined. Wants, desires, and wishes for the future all began crowding in. Once the action started, adrenaline and fear blanked your mind leaving only your body and instinct to take over.
“Here it comes,” Trenton murmured as the mist swirled and moved like a living thing.
They tensed. Act too soon and they’d tip their hand and miss; too late, and Wilhelm would never get into position in time.
The bashe snapped toward them
, impossibly fast. Trenton and Witt moved, pulling Shea and then Wilhelm into position.
The bashe’s jaw unhinged, its mouth stretching impossibly wide, the two sets of fangs on top and bottom curved back like a real snake’s.
Wilhelm stepped forward with his left leg, his right hand back by his ear, the spear parallel to the ground. In one smooth motion, he completed his step, his arm shooting forward and the spear arcing through the air in a graceful line.
Unlike with an arrow shot from a bow, with a spear there was no way to attack from a distance with any degree of precision. It also wasn’t meant to be thrown, which was why the bashe was only steps away when Wilhelm launched his weapon.
It landed exactly where they wanted, penetrating the exposed soft roof of the mouth. It sank in nearly a foot, the speed of the bashe’s strike working with the spear’s advance, impaling it further onto the spear, forcing it into the brain.
Still, that didn’t deter its strike.
Time seemed to slow to a standstill as the bashe’s still open mouth came closer and closer.
Trenton, Fallon and Witt jerked on the rope, helping Shea yank Wilhelm out of its path. He stumbled back, as it hit the dirt with a thud, already dead.
CHAPTER FIVE
The bashe’s head and body thrashed violently in a death convulsion. It whipped into Trenton, sweeping him off his feet and sending him flying, taking the rest of them with him. Shea’s arms jerked, her shoulders protesting as she was yanked forward before falling hard.
Trenton landed with an oomph. The bashe rose and fell around them, its body a spasming riot as nerves repeatedly misfired.
Trenton groaned once the beast had finally stilled, and gingerly sat up. He cradled his arm to his side. “I just got these ribs healed.”
Shea shifted next to him, wincing as her palms stung. Blood dotted the skin and tiny specks of dirt and rock decorated them. Her muscles protested as she scrabbled to her feet, her sleeve torn and ripped, along with the knee in her pants.
“I can’t believe that worked,” Wilhelm said as he climbed to his feet next to her.
Neither could Shea.
“You know, when you first assigned me to her care, I thought you were punishing me for some unknown transgression,” Trenton told Fallon as he staggered upright, his face a mask of pain. “Little did I know you were giving me the most dangerous assignment in your army.”