Mask of Poison (Fall of Under Book 1)

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  She nodded. “I’m going to bed down by the edge of the clearing. The last thing I want is to wake up with one of the refugees taking a piss on me.” No one seemed to know what to do with that statement. She shrugged and walked away. “Good night, all. Or…whatever time of day it is.”

  Heading to the tree line, she went another foot or two into the woods before she sat down on a softer section of grass. She took off her coat and folded it under her head. She must have shut her eyes for no more than a minute before she heard something large approach her. She jolted in shock as that large something abruptly sat in the grass next to her.

  Looking up, it was Cricket. The insect-horse stretched out on the grass next to her and plonked his head next to hers. He let out a long, comfortable sigh.

  “All right, then.” She petted his neck. He nudged his nose closer to her shoulder and chewed on her leather coat. “Hey, none of that.” She chuckled. “I like this coat.”

  Cricket let out an unhappy grunt but obediently stopped chewing on her.

  “Sleep well, you freakish, violent, carnivorous, killer, monster horse.” She petted the creature’s cheek. With everything that was going on, with all the insanity that had been dumped on her in the past few days, she found herself smiling all the same.

  She didn’t know what the future held for her. Or for anyone else. But Cricket had sought her out and had wanted to bed down next to her for the night. She had never slept next to a horse before, let alone one that had shelled plates in lieu of fur, but she certainly wouldn’t turn her nose up at it.

  It was nice to have company.

  Even if it was a freakish, violent, carnivorous, killer, monster horse.

  Beggars shouldn’t be picky.

  Exhaustion won over her thoughts like it always did, and she fell quickly asleep to the sound of the loud, deep breathing of the animal next to her.

  19

  “Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beeeer—”

  An army of undead corpses who followed his every command was nice and all, but Rxa pondered if there was actually a slower way to get to Aon’s estate from Yej.

  Crawling.

  Undead corpses who crawled might be slower.

  But very little else.

  Ants?

  No, ants would probably make it there faster. Efficient little creatures.

  “Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall!” he sang to no one in particular. Fred Two wasn’t much of a conversationalist, just like his predecessor. And all the rest of his new friends. I wish I had someone to talk to. But what’s the point? I’m going to kill them all. Every last one of them.

  Rxa sighed and looked down at his feet. He was walking barefoot, save for a few strips of well-and-truly ruined bandages. He wasn’t sure what hurt worse—the parts of his feet that were healing and therefore could feel the rocks and sticks on the road, or the missing parts of his flesh that were still raw wounds.

  But there was progress. He had all his toes now, which made for much easier walking. It was astonishing how important toes really were for things like balance. He didn’t fall over nearly as much now that he had his toes back.

  “I wonder where my little dove wound up.” He smiled behind his mask. He might have actually grown lips, which would be a wonderful development, if so. “I really hope I see her again. I have so many questions! Oh. I forgot to mention.” He turned to face his army, walking backward as he did. “Nobody hurt the little dove. Ember. Not until I have all my answers. And until I get to taste her.”

  Silence. Well, save for the shuffling and raspy breathing that seemed to be the only sounds his corpses could make.

  “Good?” He grinned. “Good.” He turned back to the road. “Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-eight bottles of beeer—”

  Beer sounded wonderful. Food sounded wonderful. His stomach growled. He’d need to find someone to eat soon. It seemed every time he filled his stomach, a little bit of himself grew back. He was excited to be whole again.

  Maybe everything wouldn’t hurt so much.

  He wanted to lie down in the dirt and die. He wanted to go back to the nothingness. But he couldn’t. He had been brought back to life. And he had a purpose to accomplish. Revenge.

  One slow, tedious, painful step at a time.

  Alone.

  But at least he could amuse himself while he was at it.

  “Take one down, pass it around, ninety-seven bottles of beer on the wall!”

  Ember stayed quiet as she rode. Cricket had followed her around that morning and refused to let anyone ride him save her. It was only once she was on the horse’s back that Cricket humored the idea of Maverick joining her. The poor Elder of Words was still limping from having walked so far in terrible shoes.

  Riding with him also gave her an excuse to stay far away from the rest of the survivors of Gioll. They were unnerved by the people of Under, and she couldn’t blame them.

  Lyon was riding nearby, with Ini perched on the back of his horse. The elven woman was sitting sideways and looking for all the world like they were on some leisurely jaunt to have a picnic, not trying to escape a horde of hungry drengil as the world was ending.

  “Why is it the others stare at you so?” Maverick broke the silence.

  He had answered plenty of her questions. Seemed only fair. “My kind are strange to them. We’re raised to be different, to live outside the cities in the wild, hunting the drengil.”

  “I see. You are considered ‘other.’”

  She nodded. “The only time a hunter is allowed near a sanctuary town or a citadel is for supplies. They’re required to give us what we need, and then we are on our way. I expect most of these survivors haven’t ever seen a hunter before.”

  “Hm. Odd.”

  She shrugged. “It was the way my world worked. I don’t blame them.”

  “I’m glad you survived, Ember.” He was studiously not touching her, which made her smirk. It was a trick to do on the back of a horse, but somehow, he found a way. “I was worried.”

  “I shouldn’t have survived. It wasn’t because of me that I did.” She had given up using the bit and the reins on Cricket. The horse knew where to go, she could just ask the damn horse for things, and it just seemed insulting to do that to a creature who could understand human speech.

  “Ah. I see. You’re one of those types.”

  “What do you mean, those types?” She glanced over her shoulder at Maverick.

  “The kind that see every ounce of help received as a mark against their own capability. I know this, as I am precisely the same. It’s foolishness.”

  “No, I’m not talking about Lyon rescuing me.” She shook her head and looked off into the woods. “I’m not going to complain about being saved. I’m talking about Rxa. Despite having the perfect opportunity, he didn’t kill me. Twice.”

  “You said he had questions. Alive, you have value to him. That was likely the reason he spared you.”

  She nodded. “I suppose. He might not know there are other survivors.”

  “I doubt he knows much at all. The Ancients love to leave their playthings in the dark.”

  “I don’t think I like them very much.”

  “Nobody does.”

  Cricket whinnied and tossed his head from side to side. Laughing, Ember leaned down and patted his neck. “You too, huh?”

  “Well, why would he be a fan of the creatures that turned him into a horse?” Maverick huffed. “I think he has more of a reason than most to hold a grudge.”

  “Wait…what?” Ember twisted around so that she could see Maverick’s face. “What do you mean, ‘turned him into a horse’?”

  “Ah. Well. Yes.” Maverick shrugged. “It’s simple. Animals in Under come in two species—those created by the Dreamers and those created by the Ancients. The creatures that are summoned by the Dreamers have no souls behind them. Sometimes when a soul is taken to the Pool of the Ancients, t
hey come out resembling their former selves. Like myself, Lyon, and the others. And sometimes, they come out as one of our beast-kin. Like your horse friend here.”

  “Wait…wait. Cricket used to be a person?” Dread, horror, and sadness warred for supremacy as the impossibility of what she was being told washed over her.

  “Mmhm.”

  She jumped off Cricket’s back, not caring that the horse was in mid-stride. “Off. Off, now.”

  “What?” Maverick furrowed his brow at her. He yelped as she grabbed his sleeve and half-dragged him from the moving animal. “What are you doing?”

  “I said off!”

  “I—very well—” Maverick did as she commanded, watching her in confusion. “I know this might seem barbaric, but I assure you—”

  “Shut up.” She walked toward the edge of the road. Cricket, sure enough, followed her. She turned to face the horse and ignored all the strange stares from the people marching past her.

  Either because she was a graedari, or because she was talking to a giant insect horse, or both. “Cricket?”

  The horse nudged her shoulder with his nose.

  “Were you…were you really a person, once?”

  The horse nodded and began chewing on the edge of her coat.

  Her heart cracked in half. “I’m so sorry…I’m so very sorry.” Tears began to sting her eyes as she petted his neck. “To be turned into an animal is one thing…to be treated like one is another thing entirely. I’m so sorry. And here I am, having given you a stupid nickname.”

  “He likes your nickname.” A woman said from above her.

  Ember jolted in shock. She looked up to find the source of the voice. It was Ini. She was sitting on a branch in a tree nearby. Ember wiped away the tears that were threatening to roll down her cheeks, careful not to smudge the black line she had drawn there earlier. “You can understand him?”

  “I can understand his feelings. Like I do with everyone.” Ini tilted her head to the side. “You are crying for him? Why?”

  “Because what’s been done to him isn’t right.”

  “It’s what the Ancients decided was his fate. He was marked, and chosen, and this is how he ought to be. This is his rightful form.”

  “No, it’s not. These Ancients of yours seem like nothing more than cruel children, from all the stories I’ve heard. He didn’t ask to be given this life. He didn’t ask to be turned into a horse and used like a pack animal by his peers.”

  “Oh, sweetheart…” Ini floated down from the branch to hover near her. She reached out a hand and stroked it over Ember’s hair. With her touch came the strange, soothing sensation that accompanied her. “He is not miserable. He is not made upset by his life. He lives well. He is cared for.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.” Ember took a step away from Ini. Now wasn’t the time. “And I’m sorry for my part in it. That’s all.”

  Cricket lifted his head and began nibbling on her hair.

  “He says you are forgiven and wonders if you’ll still want him to follow you.” Ini floated away from them a few feet. “He has taken quite the shine to you. I think he’d be quite sad if you said no. Sometimes it’s better to find peace with the hand we’ve been dealt.”

  “That goes against everything I’ve ever been taught.” Ember stroked her hand along Cricket’s neck. She let him chew on her hair without complaint.

  Ini sighed wistfully. “Oh, the youth. How I love to see you in our world. I hope you do get to stay, Ember. I think you will be quite wonderful.” And with that, she disappeared in a blink.

  Ember shook her head. “Weird woman…nice woman. But weird.” She turned to Cricket. “But I suppose being an ancient, inhuman, powerful immortal would do that to you.” She paused, studying the insect-horse that was still contentedly chewing on her. “Are you sure? You sure you want to keep following me around?”

  Cricket let go of her hair to nod. She appreciated his forethought. She didn’t really much want to have her hair yanked.

  “You know I’m probably going to die soon, right?”

  Cricket stomped the ground with one of his hooves, and then nodded, if smaller than the first time.

  “All right. Well…fine. As long as we have an understanding.” She rested her forehead against the horse’s cheek. “I’m still just…this is all so much in such a short span of time. My world is gone. Everything I’ve ever known is gone. Magic is real…floating blue naked women are real. Werewolves are real. And you’re real.” She shut her eyes. “I’m holding on by a thread. But I guess that’s all I’ve ever had—a single thread.”

  Cricket nudged her shoulder, letting out a loud puff of air through his nose.

  “We should go. Before we get left behind.” She patted his neck. “But this comes off, right here and now.” She removed his bit and bridle and tossed them aside. “We go together. You aren’t my slave.” She climbed up onto his back. “And thank you, friend. Let’s go get Maverick before his feet fall off.”

  She was answered by a loud whinny and a sudden burst of speed as Cricket, quite happily, charged through the group to catch up with the others. Ember did her best not to scream.

  And she mostly succeeded.

  “What in the name of the void?”

  Lydia walked up to the window next to Aon and looked out at the yard of his estate. And blinked. “Oh. Um. Shit.”

  Streaming out of the woods and along the road that emptied into the front grounds of Aon’s home were people. A lot of people. She could recognize Dtu from a distance, and several of his other shifters that were in their full forms.

  But following along with them were figures huddled together as they moved. They were hard to see clearly in the darkness.

  Aon let out a long, disgruntled sigh. “We have guests.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes. Aon had packed so much loathing into that one word, it might as well have been a dead rat he dropped onto the carpet. “Fine. I’ll go say hello.”

  “What? No. They are uninvited. Under no circumstances should you greet them.” Aon turned to face her. “Dtu and his ilk do not enjoy being indoors, and as for the rest, I do not know who they are. I am under no requirement to be hospitable to them.”

  She raised her eyebrow at him.

  Silence ensued as they stared at each other.

  “The world fell. They might know what’s happened.” She opened the window. It split in the middle, the two panes swinging outward on hinges. “I’m going to go say hi. You can stay here or not.” She climbed up onto the jamb and jumped out the window without another word.

  The woods slowly turned to a field. The road they were riding on transitioned from wilderness into a huge estate. Grass stretched in two directions, marked with winding stone walls and oddly shaped hedges. And at the end of the road, she saw an enormous building. Light shone from the windows, glittering in the darkness of the constant night.

  “Where are we?” She turned her head to ask Maverick, still mounted behind her.

  “Aon’s estate,” he replied with no small amount of dread. “The home of the King of Shadows.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Pray to your gods that you don’t have to stay here long.”

  “Why? I—” Ember watched in horror as a creature unlike anything she had ever seen soared up into the air. It was an enormous, winged snake, as far as she could tell. Turquoise wings with glowing feathers filled the night sky. With each flap of its powerful wings, it left swirls of light like the auroras she had seen in the winter. It had seemingly come from the building itself, somehow.

  Its face was a ghastly, glowing white skull. Its body was black, only discernible against the sky because of the absence of visible stars. And at the end of its long, tapered tail, was another tuft of those glowing turquoise feathers.

  She shrank down in fear, unconsciously leaning back against Maverick.

  “Oh, thank the Ancients.” The Elder of Words let out a sigh of relief. “We might not all be dead before
the morning.”

  “What—what do you mean? What is that thing?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the creature that flew over them, swirling slowly. The other survivors of Gioll screamed and cowered together. A few tried to bolt back into the woods but were stopped by Dtu’s people. The strange shapeshifters seemed to be accustomed to playing guardians and shepherds at the same time.

  They’re used to hunting and rounding up mortals. Just not in their own world.

  The snake flew lower before landing on the road some distance away from them all. The creature was easily two hundred feet long, and the tips of its wings acted like claws, like a great wyvern, as it looked down at them. More glowing feathers flowed from its head like a mane behind its glowing, ghastly skull.

  “That, my dear mortal, might be the single reason you and your kind survive our visit to this place.” Maverick patted her on the shoulder and then dismounted Cricket. “Come along.”

  Several others were already heading toward the snake. Dtu, Ini, and Lyon led the way. “I…um…” Just because the royals of Under didn’t view the snake as a threat didn’t mean it wasn’t to her. “It…what is it?” She hopped off Cricket all the same and kept her hand on her new knife as she walked along behind the Elder of Words.

  Cricket followed her anyway.

  She watched in astonishment as the giant snake seemed to…shrink. In a matter of seconds and a small burst of turquoise light, the snake was gone. In its place was a young woman. She had long, blonde hair, and was dressed in shades of turquoise. She wore no mask. Her face lit up in a smile as she ran toward Lyon before jumping up to give him an enormous hug.

  The King of Blood caught her and twirled once before setting her back down on her feet.

  Maverick was smiling faintly. “That is Lydia, the Queen of Dreams.”

  20

  “Exactly how many mortals are standing about on my lawn?”