Wystan

by Allison Merritt

  Rhia felt the walls were closing in on her as well. “Maybe if we stay within a few yards of the door.”

  Sylvie burst up from the desk as if her dress was on fire. “Thank you! I don’t understand why we have to hide. The sheriff and his brothers will keep us safe.”

  Perhaps it hadn’t been wise to educate her sister on just why Noem wanted them, but she didn’t want to lie about the seriousness of the situation. “They’ll do their best, but we have to do our parts too. I know it’s hard to imagine that Noem would care where we are after all this time, but he’s not stable. He wants revenge for what I did to him.”

  “You should bring the gun outside. You can shoot him again if we see him. Sheriff Heckmaster would probably give you a medal.”

  Rhia wasn’t sure shooting Noem a dozen times with the Springfield would solve her problem. “I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing us scared. Not that I believe he’s here. This is all a precaution.”

  “Then why do we have to stay inside?” Sylvie reached the door before Rhia and opened it, allowing sunshine to pour through. In the beams, Sylvie’s hair glimmered golden-brown. She stretched her arms over her head, arching her back. A miniature angel taking pleasure in the evening light. Rhia smiled, grateful for every minute with her sister, even the moments when Sylvie complained nonstop.

  Please let us be safe here. Let this be a place for Sylvie to grow up out of harm’s way.

  “Move over, you sun hog. Save some for me.” Rhia put her hands on her sister’s shoulders and pushed her farther outside. Sylvie laughed, stepped off the stoop and spun in a circle.

  Though the streets were still empty, Rhia saw a quiet beauty in the town instead of the despair she’d sensed when they first arrived. The people here were trying to get along without trouble. They were strange, too different to blend into other cities, but they carved out a living and had families. Funny how she felt she fit right in. She pictured a life with Wystan—something she’d never thought about before with any man. What would it be like to marry him, to bear his children? They would be a quarter demon, but that didn’t matter to her. For all the Heckmasters’ faults, they were good people.

  She supposed that they would have to destroy Astaroth before that could happen. Wystan would never be at ease until that threat had vanished. That might never happen in her lifetime.

  It was a sobering thought. How stupid could she be to fall in love with a man who had vengeance on his mind? No amount of begging or pleading would draw him away from his mission. Astaroth would always loom over them, always try to destroy them.

  She wrapped her arms around herself. It wasn’t easy picturing a life where she could settle down, not with Butterman’s resources and friends. Someday he might find her again. He’d found her once, what would stop him from doing it again? How could she put a husband and children at risk from that man’s wrath?

  The schoolyard was quiet, which pulled her away from thoughts of Butterman. How long had she been standing here alone, thinking about Wystan and the past? She’d warned Sylvie not to wander off.

  “Sylvie?”

  No answer. Her sister had vanished from sight.

  “Sylvie, where are you?” She hurried around the corner of the schoolhouse, relieved when she saw Sylvie inspecting the tiny sunflower sprouts.

  Sylvie smiled. “Your sunflowers need water.”

  She tugged Rhia’s hand. For a moment, she worried they were going too far from the door, but her sister’s insistence and her own desire to prove Wystan wrong about the ground were strong. Sylvie’s hand tightened around Rhia’s, squeezing harder than she ever had before.

  “Ow. Let go. You’re holding too tigh—” Rhia’s voice faltered as Sylvie’s form melted from a little girl to a large, gangly creature that towered over her. It resembled a mantis, with crooked legs and a long, slender body. Its face was flat, round and gray. A slash of a mouth revealed pointed teeth. Long, lank hair lay around its face and its thin shoulders. Wide wings sprouted from its back, clacking together as they twitched. Needle-like claws scored her flesh. It was more insect-like than human. Gooseflesh rose over Rhia’s skin. A scream rose in her throat as fear skittered through her, but she held it in. Its huge multifaceted ruby eyes glittered with all-too-human malice. Her blood chilled as she thought of it devouring her sister.

  “What are you?”

  Its wings clattered together again. “A messenger from Hell.”

  She wanted to run, but concern for Sylvie held her in place.

  “Where’s my sister?” she demanded.

  “Where are the Heckmasters?” it countered.

  “Are they who you want? You’ll let Sylvie go if I bring them to you?” The three of them together could tear this beast to fish bait without blinking.

  “Yes. You will fetch them here and I will release your sister.” It gave her what it must have thought passed for a grin. Dingy teeth snapped together. “An exchange.”

  Trying to appear calm on the outside, she nodded. Blood rushed between her ears, making it difficult to think. She worried that Sylvie was tied up, or hurt, waiting for Rhia to rescue her. “Who should I tell them is asking?”

  “Krazzir. They will know the name. Multitudes fear it.” The creature leaned over her, leering.

  Pointed talons pierced her skin again. She knew it wanted her to struggle, wanted to see her blood drip down her wrist. She wasn’t about to give in. Regret filled her as she remembered Sylvie urging her to bring the rifle, but she wasn’t sure it would’ve helped much against a creature this size. “Let me go, or I won’t be able to summon them.”

  With a flutter of wings, it rose from the ground, lifting Rhia’s feet away from the earth. An involuntary scream left her throat. Then it dropped her and she hit her knees. Krazzir soared to the top of the schoolhouse and paced across the roof.

  “Swiftly, woman. Your sister’s life is in my hands.”

  Rhia’s heart thumped painfully as she ran toward the jail. It seemed to beat with her sister’s name rather than its usual strong thump. Cold fear constricted her chest, leaving her gasping for air.

  Wystan looked up from a book on his desk, his expression going dark when Rhia dashed through the door.

  “What is it?”

  “Krazzir has Sylvie.” Her words ran together, exhaled from the one deep breath she’d been able to take. Collapsing into a chair, she buried her face in her hands, letting her fear pour out in tears.

  “Did you say Krazzir?”

  She looked up and nodded.

  Wystan hadn’t moved, shock evident on his face. “Jesus. Did you see it take her?”

  “No, but it pretended to be her.” She shoved fear aside in favor of anger. “You have to get her back. It wants all of you to go to the school. You can kill it, can’t you?”

  “Of course, but…” His voice trailed away. “Something that big and powerful. Astaroth is sending them through as a test.” Wystan stood and rounded his desk. “Are you okay?”

  “I shouldn’t have let her go outside. She was so bored. This is all my fault—for bringing her here, for not listening when you told us to leave. You have to get her back, Wystan. You promised to watch out for us and now she’s gone!” Rhia stood. “Right this minute, before it does something awful to her. It wants you and your brothers to meet it at the schoolhouse.”

  He caressed the handle of the bowie knife. “Fetch Eban while I go for Tell.”

  Rhia pinned him with her gaze. “Promise me that you can get her back alive, Wystan.”

  “I will. Safe and sound, or may I be struck down.” He didn’t hesitate or show any sign of worry. The calm before the storm. Wystan was cool and calculating.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  He nodded and jerked his head at the door. Rhia turned, leaving Wystan alone in the office. She clutched a stitch in her side as she ran the two
blocks to the clinic.

  Like the jailhouse’s, the clinic door was wide open.

  “Eban!” She stumbled as she crossed the threshold. Placing a hand against the wall to steady herself, she called him again. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks.

  “Rhia?” Eban appeared in the hall, drying his hands on a towel. His eyes widened and the towel fell at his feet. “What is it?”

  “Kr-krazzir has Sylvie.” With fear clogging her throat, she thought he might not have heard her. For a long moment, he didn’t move, still as the angel statue on the edge of town.

  “Krazzir,” he repeated. Without waiting for affirmation, he left the hall.

  “Wait. Eban, please wait.” She ran after him, terrified he wasn’t going to help because she’d refused his company. When she entered his study, he had the saber strapped to his hip and he was tucking vials into the belt.

  “Where is he?” His eyes were steely, full mouth set in a firm line.

  She quickly explained for him.

  “All right. Wystan’s at the jail?”

  Rhia shook her head. “He said he was going to find Tell.”

  “What?” Eban almost dropped one of the vials he’d pulled from his desk. “The last I knew, Tell was at the Pit. He’ll take all day getting there. He…son of a—he’s going to the school himself. Wait here! Do not leave the building, Rhia. I mean it.”

  “But—”

  Eban was half out the door already. “I’ll bring her back to you.”

  Wystan watched Krazzir pace the length of the schoolhouse roof. The creature’s opaque, shining wings fluttered with nervous energy. Sylvie was nowhere in sight and Wystan guessed Krazzir had the girl hidden well away.

  Stepping out from the shadow of the buildings across the street from the school, Wystan whistled. Krazzir’s long neck twisted as it faced Wystan. A wicked grin crossed its face.

  “The Heckmasters arrive one by one. Heckmaster. Funny name for weakling half demons with no legions of their own, whose blood is tainted with that of humans. You’re no masters.” Krazzir clicked its long fingernails together. “When you join the true master in Hell, we shall see if you beg for mercy.”

  Wystan drew the bowie knife, letting the sun glint off the blade. He weighed the knife in his hand, comforted by the smooth hilt and the perfect balance of the weapon. “You’re a pawn, Krazzy. You must know that. How often does Astaroth ask you to serve?”

  Krazzir’s wings fluttered. “It is an honor.”

  “To die over and over and…” Wystan grinned. “Over?”

  “An honor!” Krazzir repeated. Fury burned in its bulging eyes.

  Sweat beaded between Wystan’s shoulder blades, making his shirt damp and his skin sticky. The demon in him knew that if he pledged service to Astaroth, he might someday come into command of a legion of his own. The human side was repulsed.

  “I guess you might not mind dying one more time then.” Krazzir growled. “I will wait for the others to arrive.”

  It clicked then, what the insect demon intended. To draw the Heckmasters into a circle that would transport them straight to Hell. Wystan couldn’t have that. He drew his shoulder back and threw the bowie knife with all the force he could muster.

  The glistening blade sank into Krazzir’s chest. The beast screamed, grasping the hilt, but lost its footing and tumbled from the roof, landing with a thud. Wystan put his boot heel across its throat. Krazzir gasped.

  “Where’s the girl? Where’s Sylvie?”

  Blood trickled from the demon’s mouth. “Quest…ting. Bea…” Krazzir gagged and spit a dark globule of blood to the side. “Questing beast.”

  The shadow that fell over Wystan blotted out the figure at his feet. Moments before, his blood had been boiling. Now a chill descended over him with all the force of a hard winter. Krazzir shuddered, eyes going blank as its hellish essence fled its body to return to Astaroth’s prison. Wystan sensed a presence behind him, and cursed himself for being led into a trap.

  “No fair sneaking up on an unarmed ma—”

  The beast’s huge clawed foot raked through the air and took Wystan’s legs out from under him. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes, concealing the creature from his vision for a moment. Long enough for it to advance and hook a claw beneath his suspenders to lift him from the ground. It raised him to eye level. A low growl that sounded like rhuck-rhuck-rhuck-rhuck came from between its snarling lips.

  The questing beast was incapable of human speech. Battered and bleeding from a cut on his cheek, weaponless, and outmatched, Wystan drew in what might be his last breath. Unlike Krazzir, he wouldn’t return from death in a new body. This was his final stand.

  “I want the girl,” he ground out. “She’s got no part in this.”

  The beast made the rhucking noise again. Wystan grimaced as the sound pierced his eardrums. Pebbled scarlet flesh covered the beast’s frame. Big yellow eyes watched him while long, pointed, mule-like ears pricked with interest as Wystan swung by the suspenders. The long tail swished back and forth, throwing dust into the air.

  It was waiting for Eban and Tell, of course. Beneath its placid expression, behind those thin, scaly lips, it had row after row of jagged teeth that chewed, ripped, and mangled its victims. He wondered whether Astaroth would let it eat him. Perhaps after he tortured Wystan and his brothers for an eternity each.

  Something flew past Wystan’s head and shattered against the beast’s chest. Its rhuck-rhuck turned into a furious scream. Flinging Wystan away, it whirled, big feet scraping the ground, tail knocking against the schoolhouse wall.

  Wystan landed hard on the earth, winded for the second time in a matter of minutes. He blinked, trying to clear the dust from his vision, clutching his ribs with one hand. From the corner of his eye, he made out Eban’s form, dancing around the questing beast like a suitor engaging his intended in a waltz. Eban had always had a kind of grace Wystan could never hope to obtain. He tried to rise, but the pain in his ribs was too much. There was a weakness in his body he’d never experienced before. It was all he could do to get another breath. In front of him, a crooked row of green shoots rose defiantly out of the reddish dirt piled around them.

  Rhia’s sunflowers.

  A true miracle in a place abandoned by the divine when Wystan was a child. He wanted to watch the flowers climb toward the sky, to the heavens where his mother surely smiled down at him. Wanted to see Rhia’s face when she told him that he’d been wrong, that things could grow in Berner.

  He reached out to touch one of the shining green leaves blowing in the wind and dust. It was soft beneath his fingertips, fragile like Rhia, but strong like her too. From the corner of his eye, he saw Eban slash at the questing beast and Tell rounding on the monster as he reloaded his crossbow.

  There was a head-splitting shriek and Wystan looked up to see a silver bolt piercing one of the questing beast’s nostrils. The silvery arc of Eban’s saber sliced through the air.

  Too late, Wystan realized he’d ripped the leaf off the sunflower plant as easily as Eban severing a monster’s head from its neck. He had to apologize to Rhia, but before he could think of getting to his feet, darkness closed in.

  “I don’t remember. It’s all blurry. Stop that, Rhia. I’m not a little girl. You don’t have to wash my face!”

  Sylvie’s voice ripped Wystan out of the blackness fogging his brain. He tried sitting up, but his ribs protested like he’d been run down by a buffalo. He barely managed to raise his head from the pillow supporting it.

  “I don’t know how it got here, Eb. I’ve been watching that hole with both eyes. Never blinked. It didn’t come through when Krazzir did. Maybe before.” Tell’s voice was nothing more than a sharp, worried whisper. “I came back as soon as I saw Krazzir. I almost rode my horse into the ground getting here.”

  The gang, it seemed, was gathered. Wystan could almost
feel the hum of silver weapons, wet with the blood of Hell’s demon lords.

  “He’ll send it back. Or he might try to come through on his own this time.” Eban sounded fierce, less like a gentle doctor and more like a demon-slaying warrior. “When Wystan wakes up, I’m going to hit him hard enough to knock him into yesterday. Stupid, quick-tempered, irrational…”

  “That was a trap for sure,” Tell answered. “He should’ve waited for us.”

  “This is the last time. I’m not patching him up again.” Eban’s frustrated voice carried across the hall.

  Tell snorted. “Right. We’ll go make a peace offering with Astaroth. Ask him to stop sending his followers through the Pit.”

  “Go to hell, Tell.”

  His brothers’ bickering was enough to convince him to get up. Feeling a hundred times more human than any other day he could remember, he swung his feet to the floor. The boards creaked beneath him and his spine popped as he stretched to his full height. Nevertheless, he was alive and mobile—a good way to end the day.

  Tell said something unintelligible.

  “Why don’t you go back to the Pit like Wystan’s watchdog?” Eban snapped.

  “You’re sore because you had to kill something. Wake up. There’s a war on.”

  “That doesn’t mean I have to take a side.”

  “Will both of you stop?” Wystan forced himself to stand tall as he left the room and faced them in the hallway.

  “Oh, good. You’re still alive. Now get out of my clinic.” Eban’s blue eyes burned with fire. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  Wystan ignored Eban’s demand. “You took the questing beast’s head off?”

  “How else do you kill one?” Bitterness turned Eban’s voice harsh. He looked away as he folded his arms across his chest.

  “The body?”

  Tell shook his head. “Too big to drag back to the Pit. Probably have to burn it. You feeling all right, Wys?”

  “Just old.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Sylvie checks out? No parasite imps?”

  “Nothing. Getting her back was no easy task.” Tell, who never looked bothered by blood or gore, shuddered. “Questing beasts carry their captives in their chests. Took a fair bit of cutting to get her out. Left quite a mess out there beside the school. We decided it’s better if the Dukes stay here tonight.”