by Ruth Nickle
Tatterhood waited for him to raise his head or look at her, but he did not.
“I have something important to tell you.” She hesitated, then placed her hand on the prince’s back. He tensed at her touch, and she wanted to rip apart the lhoosh for hurting him so much that a simple human touch unnerved him.
Trygve’s back relaxed a little.
“You’re going to be a father,” said Tatterhood. “I am with child.”
He turned to her, took her hand in his human one at the same time as he struggled to keep his troll hand on the ground. “Are you really?”
“I don’t show yet, but yes, we’re going to have a baby.”
“A baby!” he exclaimed. His lips crinkled into a smile. With the bruises and cuts on his face, smiling must be painful. “A baby,” he whispered. Despair returned to his face as he looked around the room. Storm started pushing against the walls with her horns again, looking for a weakness.
“We need a way to escape,” said Tatterhood. “If we don’t make it out, you’ll die. I’ll die. And our baby will die.” The nattmara had allowed Tatterhood to see things that she normally kept locked up, and she knew, at this moment, that she needed to share those parts of herself with her husband. “I am afraid,” she said. “I don’t want us to die, but I don’t know what to do, and I need your help. I don’t care what the lhoosh did to you—it doesn’t change who you are. I need you, Trygve.”
He lifted his human hand and touched her face. “I have never seen you afraid.”
“Normally I hide it.” She resisted the impulse to turn away and held his eyes. “I never wanted you to see my fear.”
He tentatively touched a few strands of her hair. “Do you think we can escape, even though you are afraid?”
“I do,” she said.
“Then I will do what I can to help you.” He picked up the clothes and raised his eyebrow. “You want me to fight in these?”
“They’re the only clothes I could manage to summon,” she admitted.
“Then they will suffice.”
Trygve stood and began to dress. The bruises and cuts made the process look quite painful, and watching him felt uncomfortable, almost invasive. Tatterhood had seen the prince dress and undress so many times, but this was different. She turned around, giving him his privacy.
“I’m ready,” said Trygve, and Tatterhood turned back to him.
The clothes transformed him, made him a different man than he had been a moment before. This was the man she had married, always crisp, always well-tailored. Trygve’s approach to clothing was the opposite of Tatterhood’s: he gave his apparel great thought, admired fine workmanship, and dressed to assert his own view of himself to the world. Clothed in his wedding outfit, he looked strong and confident, brave and ready to fight.
For a moment, Tatterhood could see into Trygve’s soul. Fine, well-crafted clothing was part of Trygve’s essence, just as her tattered hood and dress were part of her own essence. It surprised Tatterhood that she had not realized this before—surprised her that she had cared so much that he did not understand her, when clearly, she had never understood him.
Trygve’s face still looked battered, but in a rugged, attractive sort of way. Perhaps he was a handsome man, as her maids always said, and perhaps she could admire his beauty even though she did not desire it for herself.
The only incongruous part of him was the troll hand. But really, that was a minor thing, and she feared that if she addressed it now, she might not survive an encounter with the lhoosh.
The prince ran his human fingers through his hair and grimaced.
His comb. He needed his comb.
Tatterhood took a pebble from her pocket and switched it for the comb that Trygve kept next to his bed.
“Thank you.” As he took it, he held her hand for a moment.
He used his comb to carefully, methodically fix his hair. Strange that he would give it so much attention, at a time like this. The way he brushed his hair had always annoyed her, but doing so must help him tap into his essence. She could not fault him for that.
“Now tell me about the lhoosh.” Before he could object she said, “I know it’s hard, but it might be useful. I read your father’s letter—have you encountered the lhoosh before?”
Storm tried to bite his boots, and Trygve pushed her off. “The lhoosh came to my father’s kingdom when I was a lad. She had once been an enchantress, but to gain more power she melded her soul with that of a magical creature. Yet her appetite for power was not satisfied. She decided to strengthen herself through torturing others. She prefers to do it to grown men because . . . ” He stopped, staring at the comb in his hand. He passed the comb back to Tatterhood. His chest rose and fell before he continued talking. “On occasion, she has also drawn strength from a woman or a child. When she’s finished, she leaves the remains of the body for people to find.
“My father sent his soldiers and several witches to try to capture or kill the lhoosh. But her magic makes her virtually untraceable. They even tried traps, using a solitary man as bait, but she would not enter a room or a section of the forest if she sensed any kind of weapon there.
“I was thirteen years old and decided to solve the problem by myself. I traveled across the land until I found an enchantress and begged her to stop the lhoosh. She said she would not do it even if I gave her half the kingdom, which I couldn’t even promise because I was not the heir.
“I told her that there must be a price she would accept, that she must want something. So she sent me on a quest to retrieve a golden feather. I set off by myself—it was not my smartest idea—and it took me three months and tricking a dragon, but I did it.
“I brought the golden feather back to the enchantress, and she kept her end of the bargain. She used her magic to find the lhoosh and bind her in her own invisible fortress, so she could harm no one else.”
It surprised Tatterhood that he’d never told this story before. True, he was not the bragging sort. If they escaped, she would need to spend more time listening to him. Surely he had other stories from his youth.
“If the lhoosh was bound,” said Tatterhood, “then how did she escape?”
“I would need to speak with my father to be certain, but my guess is the enchantress who cast the binding spell died.”
“I thought spells lasted beyond death.”
“Normally they do,” said Trygve, “but some types of spells must be fed magic to maintain them. Or maybe the lhoosh managed to weaken the spell from the inside.”
“So she escaped and came after you for revenge?”
Trygve nodded, and he seemed to shrink a little. “I should have kept a weapon on me at all times.”
“She sounds powerful enough that she probably would’ve captured you anyway.” Tatterhood considered her wooden spoon. If the lhoosh could sense weapons, she might not enter the dungeon and they could be stuck here forever. She switched it for a small wooden spoon, made for eating. It made her feel vulnerable, but at least she could get her normal spoon back at any time. “You said the lhoosh melded her soul with a magical creature. Do you know what sort?”
“No.”
“Well, we’d best create a plan.”
But at that moment Storm bleated in fear and ran in a circle. A blast of wind blew through the light holes and the stone walls themselves seemed to tremble.
“The lhoosh is coming,” said Trygve.
Chapter 9
For a moment Tatterhood stood riveted in position—paralyzed by her lack of plan, the possibility of failure, and her only vague knowledge of the lhoosh. She pinched her arm. Now was not the time for inaction.
She turned to Trygve. He could help her, but not if the lhoosh killed him immediately. The sort of creature who would cut off a man’s hand rather than remove a ring did not value human life. “You will know when to fight. Don’t let h
er realize you’re a threat until then.”
Trygve was pale, but he did not have the beaten look he’d worn before. “Take care of yourself, my dear. If you need to leave me so you can save yourself and the baby, then do it.”
“It won’t come to that.” No matter what happened, she would not leave Trygve behind, not when she was just starting to understand him.
Trygve squeezed her hand and sat down on the floor, in the same spot where he had been bound. The lack of chains, his clothing, and his open, alert eyes made him look much more capable than before, but hopefully the lhoosh would not perceive him as a threat.
Storm bleated and took a defensive position in front of him.
The walls continued to tremble, but still the lhoosh did not enter the dungeon. Either she was actually bad at magic and couldn’t navigate her own fortress or she liked to build up fear and suspense.
The key for defeating—or surviving—any creature was to understand it, and, to a certain extent, to act like it. She had been able to do so with both the trolls and the nattmara. She would need to figure out the lhoosh, and quickly. At least the fact that she avoided attacking armed men meant she feared her own mortality. Some creatures were practically invincible.
Tatterhood tightened her fingers around the small wooden spoon. It did not reassure her, did not have the same life in it as her much larger spoon.
She swallowed. Her mouth was dry, but she had given her husband the rest of the water. Why wouldn’t the lhoosh just come? She shifted her weight back and forth between her feet, as if she were a peasant preparing for fisticuffs. They would need to kill the lhoosh. She had already come after Trygve once out of revenge, and if they escaped she would surely pursue them. And Tatterhood was no enchantress—she had no way to bind her.
A light flashed and a section of the stone wall liquidized. Tatterhood glimpsed the room beyond—it was packed with animal traps, building supplies, and other items she could not make out.
A silver-cloaked creature walked through the entrance: the lhoosh. The wall re-formed behind her. It was a rather showy spell, which probably meant she could do simpler things like walking straight through the wall. And if she could walk through walls, how to stop her from fleeing when they attacked?
The light from the ceiling holes hit the lhoosh, illuminating her features. Her silver cloak was long and elegant, with no adornment or embroidery. Like a nattmara, she had the shape of a human but the poise of a predator.
The strangest feature was her face. It was like the lhoosh had layers—two parts on top of each other, semi-translucent. In the light, her face looked human, with beautiful, flawless skin. But beneath that layer was the face of a creature, a monster, with wild, red eyes and fangs. The lhoosh took one more step forward, out of the light, and the layers switched places: the creature face on top, with the beautiful, human face visible beneath it.
The lhoosh stopped suddenly, noticing Tatterhood.
“Welcome,” said Tatterhood, extending her hands with graciousness, in the manner her mother used for greeting foreign dignitaries. Her mother had taught her to control her face, to never reveal her emotions no matter how repulsive she found her guest, something which took great control with the creature before her. This creature deserved death for what she had done to Trygve and so many others.
“What are you?” asked the lhoosh coldly. “And what are you doing here?” Her eyes took in Trygve on the floor.
“It was a very nice tree,” said Tatterhood, trying to buy herself time and learn more about the lhoosh. “And that’s a very nice man. But I think he looks better dressed than in chains.”
The lhoosh smiled in a calculating way that accentuated her fangs and revealed her teeth. Her teeth had been human, once, but now had designs chiseled into them. The indentations were dyed with colors. Red, like the blood of man. Purple, like the blood of dark beasts. And orange, like a consuming fire.
Perhaps the grooves in the lhoosh’s teeth were part of the ritual she had used to bind herself to the creature of power. Or perhaps they were another ploy to intimidate. But Tatterhood would not cower.
The lhoosh lifted her hand. Instead of fingers, the creature had claws. Sharp, pointy claws—the clear source of the cuts on Trygve’s body. The lhoosh began to mutter, and Tatterhood forced herself to remain still. She could do nothing to prevent the use of magic, nothing at all. And if she let her fear show, the lhoosh might kill her or Trygve.
The lhoosh snapped. Snakes shot out of the walls, wrapped around Tatterhood’s arms, and transformed into heavy chains.
At least this was a threat she could handle. Tatterhood smiled. “Oh, these are lovely, quite lovely. But I can make them prettier.”
She swapped out the chains for the rest of the curtains in her room.
The lhoosh snapped. Another dozen snakes shot out of the walls, binding Tatterhood as they became chains. The weight of the metal pulled her down. Her knees crashed into the stone floor. That would leave bruises. She bit her lip, stopping herself from crying out. She must not show pain.
“What a fun game!” Tatterhood exclaimed. She switched some of the chains for the curtains in Ingridr’s old rooms and the rest of the chains for her parents’ curtains. It was a good thing her mother had replaced all the curtains in the castle so they all matched—before there had been a hodgepodge that she would never have been able to keep track of. Of course, if this lasted much longer, the palace would run out. Free of the weight of the chains, Tatterhood stood, pulling off the fabric.
The lhoosh twisted her face in rage. Both her creature and human faces distorted for a moment, as if attacking each other. She stepped closer to Tatterhood and snapped again.
Two more snakes shot out of the walls, this time near Trygve. Storm intercepted them, biting off their heads before they could form into chains. Trygve crouched on the balls of his feet, ready for action, but did not stand.
The lhoosh stepped closer, but not close enough for Tatterhood to grab her. Tatterhood dared not approach her, for if she made any aggressive movements, the lhoosh might flee.
“You have a powerful creature,” said the lhoosh. “How did you force it to stay in goat form?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Tatterhood. “She likes it that way.” Better not to mention that Storm was truly a goat. A talented, opinionated, and sometimes challenging goat, but nothing more.
The lhoosh stepped closer, but not quite close enough. “What is it you want?”
Tatterhood stared into the lhoosh’s two layers of eyes—a human blue and a demonic red. In that moment, she realized that the lhoosh was afraid of her. Yes, she’d summoned chains, but she hadn’t actually attacked Tatterhood. The lhoosh was trying to understand her, just like she was trying to understand the lhoosh.
“I want to know why you kill people,” Tatterhood said truthfully.
The lhoosh became very still—as still as death. Trygve yelled “Watch out!” and pushed her to the ground. Tatterhood barely got her hands out in front of her face to break her fall.
A burst of fire shot out at the spot where her head had been. She could feel the heat from the flames, even with Trygve on top of her, shielding her body.
Tatterhood panted. Her chest shook. She could be dead. She should be dead. She had misjudged the lhoosh, said the wrong thing, and would’ve died for it, if not for Trygve. How had he known? He must have seen her anger many times, and been able to tell when it hit a boiling point.
Tatterhood lifted her face a little off the stone floor, looked up at the lhoosh. The flask with Trygve’s hand still hung around her neck, pressing uncomfortably against her chest.
“I see,” said the lhoosh. “You didn’t just track the ring. You gave it to him.” She smiled, and the grooves in her teeth looked like they were dripping blood. “You’re his wife.”
The lhoosh held out her hand and summoned a sword. A stran
ge buzzing filled the air, and the blade dripped with sweat. It was a long, slightly curved, single-edged saber. There was no guard or knuckle protector on the handle, probably so she could hold it with her clawed hands. The lhoosh strode toward them, swinging the saber down at Trygve.
Tatterhood twisted her arm back, grabbing a fistful of Trygve’s coat. She needed to switch it for something—anything. What could save him? “Please work,” she mumbled, thinking of her father’s chainmail in the great hall.
There was suddenly pain on her back where Trygve was pressed against her, and the sound of a sword hitting metal. The lhoosh shrieked in rage.
Storm ran around the lhoosh, making a fuss, standing upright on her back hooves and ramming the creature with her front hooves and horns. Both Trygve and Tatterhood took the opportunity to get to their feet. Trygve looked a bit strange with the chainmail on top of his fine green shirt, but it wouldn’t hurt for him to have an extra bit of protection right now.
The lhoosh raised her hand toward Tatterhood, ready to perform a spell that would surely kill her and Trygve both. Tatterhood raised her hand in return, as if to do some equally terrible spell. The lhoosh froze in place.
“What are you?” shrieked the lhoosh.
Tatterhood reached out with a wisp of magic, pushing it toward the lhoosh. But instead of exploring what the lhoosh desired her to look like, she nudged it to discover what the lhoosh feared. Desires and fears were connected, like two sides of a coin. Tatterhood turned the magic back on herself, letting it change her appearance.
“I am what you fear,” said Tatterhood. She did not have a mirror, so could not see how her face had changed, but her hands looked like rotting purple claws.
Both layers of the lhoosh’s face—human and creature—flickered, like a candle flame blown by the wind. The lhoosh turned and fled toward the wall.
“Grab her, Storm!” Tatterhood yelled. She must not escape, not now—she must not get through the wall.
Storm bit the lhoosh’s silver cloak, pulling her to a stop right in front of the wall.