by Lizzy Ford
But if the monsters were silent, they had not caught the scent of the human yet, in which case, it was highly advisable to become a statue until it was safe to flee without drawing the creatures’ attentions.
Arthur remained as still as humanly possible. How had the creatures not noticed them? Their olfactory were known to be better than any animal’s; how did they not smell Arthur, Marshall, or the horses?
They melted in and out of the blanket of snow that fell. Ghostlike in appearance, they nonetheless possessed physical bodies like any animal and could be killed. A grouping of them consisting of ten highly skilled warriors, whose weapons were unknown, for anyone who was close enough to determine such, died at their hands. In all the years the Ghouls had patrolled the night, Arthur could not recall one report about how the monsters slaughtered the humans they crossed.
Have mercy, he thought, as one of the creatures turned its head towards him. Halfway hidden behind the tree trunk, and halfway exposed, Arthur did not dare move. A chill worked its way through him, wrapped around his muscles, robbed him of breath, and held him paralyzed.
The wolf growled more loudly and paced out in front of him before lowering herself to the ground once again.
Arthur tried to warn her to quiet, but could not move or speak. His muscles did not respond to his commands any longer. He could move his eyes – and that was all.
I cannot die before I save Tiana. He strained against his body, a prisoner.
The wolf snapped at the creatures. Two more Ghouls glanced their way, and Arthur began to panic silently, certain he would die where he stood.
The creature staring in his direction turned away. Just as suddenly as the chill froze Arthur in place, it released him. He sucked in a breath, unable to help his body’s impulsive response to the release.
The wolf straightened, her teeth still bared.
Two of the ghouls’ gazes lingered on the beast, and Arthur glanced towards her, too, unable to explain how a dog could discourage predators like the Ghouls.
Similar to his own breathing, he heard Marshall panting. Arthur remained where he was until the last of the Ghouls disappeared into the snowstorm.
As if content the threat was gone, the wolf sat on her haunches, ears twitching between Arthur and the direction the creatures had gone.
Arthur sank to the ground beside the tree trunk, trembling.
“When it looked at me, I couldn’t breathe.” Marshall’s voice was hoarse, scared.
“Me neither,” Arthur said.
“We were vulnerable. Why did they not attack?”
Arthur’s gaze settled on the she-wolf. The canine was standing beside his horse, as if to tell him it was time for them to leave. “The wolf,” he said. “I don’t understand it, but she scared them away.”
Marshall was silent for a moment.
Recovering from the most terrifying moment of certain death, Arthur rose.
“Ghouls fear nothing,” Marshal said. “Nothing … normal, that is.”
“Then the answer is plain.” Arthur strode to his horse. “This wolf is not normal.”
“Probably why the skinwalker travels with it. You do not think the wolf is one, too, do you?”
Arthur eyed the she-wolf, who was gazing at him with intelligence in her golden eyes, as if she understood them.
“She is far too small to be anything but a wolf,” he answered. But he heard the doubt in his voice and hesitated to lift her onto the horse’s back.
“The horse would know,” Marshall said. “From what we have seen, horses do not like skinwalkers.”
They don’t like wolves, either, Arthur thought. Their horses had completely ignored the wolf since they captured it. Marshall was correct. This was not a normal wolf.
Anxious to be away from the place where they spotted the Ghouls, Arthur hefted the wolf onto the horse, supported her while she wriggled into a comfortable position, and then mounted.
“I take back everything I said about the wolf,” Marshall whispered. “I am glad we grabbed her.”
“Right now, so am I,” Arthur agreed.
“I would fight a skinwalker over a Ghoul every day of the week.”
“I am not that optimistic. I have seen you fight,” Arthur said, unable to stop his smile. “Your chances against either are not promising. Maybe you can talk them to death, as you try to do me on a daily basis.”
“Then you do the fighting,” Marshall snapped. “I will be sure to tell your father this horrible plan was all your idea.”
“I thought your plan to usurp him involves putting me in his place.”
“Plans can be changed.”
Arthur snorted. He positioned himself the best he could with his stolen treasure, and then signaled the horse to continue on its path. Leery of the direction the Ghouls had gone, he shifted their course. The wolf had somehow protected them once, but he was not about to take the chance she would do it again. After all, if she understood they were in danger, she probably knew she did not belong with him.
“How do you know we are going the right direction?” Marshall called from behind him.
Arthur held out his hand and visualized their destination. A whirl of snow circled his palm before piling up at the tip of his middle finger, confirming they were to continue going straight. “I paid attention when Running Deer taught us to navigate,” he replied icily.
“So did I. And yet you always know where we are going, while I do not.”
Arthur was silent.
Marshall knew nothing of the particular kind of deformity that ran in the Hanover family. If he did, he would be able to manipulate Arthur or their father, and Arthur was not about to give his political rival the chance to destroy his family’s standing, no matter how much he agreed with a few of Marshall’s views.
Lowering his hand, Arthur petted the wolf’s thick fur absentmindedly, unable to shake the strange sense the Ghouls were waiting for them around the next bend. What bothered him more: recalling a claim Matilda – Marshall’s sister – had made about Tiana.
Tiana had the eyes of a Ghoul.
It did not seem possible, since their mother was a human, but neither did it seem possible for both Arthur and Marshall to be rendered immobilized by a single look. To the best of his knowledge, the Hanover’s had rarely ventured outside the city, let alone survived a Ghoul attack or somehow managed to survive and breed with the creatures that survived off of human flesh.
Tiana’s physical deformity was exactly that – a deformity. Her eyes resembled a Ghoul’s, but that was the extent of the similarities. Birth defects were diverse. Because of one resemblance, it did not mean his sister was a Ghoul. If she were, then so was he, as they had the same parents!
His night had been too stressful for him to feel reassured by his logic. Arthur focused on their destination, the cave where they’d chosen to ambush the skinwalker, and shivered, unable to help it when he recalled how the Ghoul had looked straight through him.
“Thank you,” he whispered to the wolf. “I do not know what you did, but I am grateful to be alive.”
The animal was dozing. The snow was falling hard enough for her fur to be almost white.
Arthur pulled up his hood to shield his eyes, and his horse plodded on. The cave was close and contained natural coverage from rocks and trees that would limit the skinwalkers ability to identify the traps within before he was upon them.
The forest cleared ahead of him, though he was unable to identify the river until he was nearly upon it through the snowstorm. Arthur halted his horse at the embankment lined with a trail, leading down to the river, and he frowned.
The river had been a sheet of ice, covered by snow, when they came this way several hours before.
“A boulder must have come loose,” Marshall said, drawing his horse to a halt beside Arthur.
A steeper embankment hedged the opposite side of the river, tall enough for a boulder to build the momentum needed to pierce the ice. Beneath the solid surface, the river s
till flowed. Gray water splashed out from the middle of the hole onto the ice. Frozen tendrils and streams gave the splashes the appearance of wax surrounding the base of a candle.
They both studied the scene quietly. Whatever had broken the ice had sunk into the hole it created when it hit the river. Arthur gauged how far out the ice had cracked in order to find a crossing point.
The sudden shriek of a Ghoul split the air from the direction they had come.
Arthur jerked and twisted to see behind him, expecting the creature to be close enough to paralyze and eat them.
“They’re a quarter mile off at least,” Marshall said, facing the way they had come. “But let’s not wait to see if they picked up our scent.”
“Agreed.” Arthur urged his horse forward, parallel to the river for a short distance. When he felt certain the cracked ice had not traveled this far from the hole, he loosened the reins to allow his horse to pick its way down the embankment towards the river.
A second shriek drew his gaze hastily to the forest. “I never want to meet those things again!” he said.
“Nor I.” Marshall was at his side. “I don’t believe in magic wolves as much as I do luck.”
“After what we saw, I believe in magic wolves,” Arthur returned.
“You go first. Maybe your magic wolf will warn you if the river isn’t safe.”
Arthur focused on crossing the frozen river. He ventured forward at a slow walk, not wanting to risk the horse slipping on the slick surface buried beneath a foot of snow. The wolf stirred, as if she, too, were concerned about the shrieking Ghouls.
“Be still,” he ordered her quietly. “We’re halfway across.” His eyes went to the gaping hole in the river some twenty yards away.
“Solid?” Marshall called.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
The embankment ahead of them came into view, beyond the falling snow. Four yards from safety, a deep crack resonated from beneath the ice.
Arthur stopped the horse and looked down but was unable to make out whether or not he was in danger.
“Marshall,” he said. “Are you on the ice?”
“I am.”
“Go back.”
Silence.
“Did you hear me?” Arthur asked.
Another Ghoulish shriek pierced the air, this time closer to the river.
“I’ll take my chances with the ice,” Marshall replied.
“Then cross at an angle! The ice here is damaged.”
“I can’t see you clearly. Are you across?”
“Not yet.” Arthur’s heart was beating hard.
“Dismount. Take some of the weight off.”
Arthur had been debating that approach. Marshall voicing it aloud helped him decide. He swung his leg over the horse’s back and dismounted with the softest landing possible. The ice held, and he reached up slowly to dislodge the wolf from the horse’s back. One of his feet slipped, and he careened backwards with the she-wolf clutched in his arms. He landed on his back with a grunt, the animal squirming in his arms.
“Arthur?” Marshall called. His position had changed; his voice came from almost parallel to Arthur, several meters upstream.
No cracking came from beneath him despite the hard fall.
“Fell. I’m fine,” Arthur said. He released the wolf, which leapt to its feet.
Several Ghouls were screaming in chorus and sounded as if they would reach the river soon.
“Hurry!” Marshall shouted above their racket.
He rolled and rose carefully and then reached out and slapped the horse on its rump. “Go, Tawny!” The horse jolted forward and trotted to safety, trailed by the sound of crackling ice.
“I’m across,” Marshall reported.
“Grab my horse,” Arthur directed him. “I’ll be right there.” He shifted away from the weakened ice before starting forward towards the shore.
Only when he set both feet on the frozen bank did he release the breath he was holding. Marshall was waiting, mounted and holding the reins to Arthur’s horse.
“Let’s get out of here,” he yelled over the sound of Ghouls.
“Without her?” Marshall pointed.
Sudden silence made his shout ring out across the river.
Arthur turned, already suspecting what he would see. Concentrating on his own journey across the ice, he had assumed the wolf knew to follow him.
Her figure was a slash of black against a white world matched only by the large, piercing, unnaturally black eyes of the Ghouls. Ten figures lined up on the opposite side of the river.
Abrupt silence replaced their shrieks.
The she-wolf’s low growl was the only sound not muted by falling snow. She had paced to the center of the river once more and was glaring at the creatures, teeth bared.
The monsters watched her, as if they were trying to decide whether or not to face off with the otherworldly wolf.
For the first time in his life, Arthur was able to see the Ghouls full on, in a way no one else had ever lived to tell of, without trees or fear clouding his judgment as they had during his first encounter. The creatures had human forms, though their features were decidedly not human, and their fingers twice the length of a normal man’s. They were of a similar height, perhaps six feet tall, dressed in white furs over white robes, slightly hunched, and bearing no weapons he could see.
The cracking of ice pulled Arthur out of his fearful daze, and he tested his body to ensure he had not been frozen in place again. While he was unable to see the ice beneath the snow, he saw the subtle shift of snow above the crack. The broken ice was slowly making its way towards the wolf at the center of the river.
“Let’s get out of here while we can still move,” Marshall whispered.
“We can’t leave her.” Arthur’s eyes went to the she-wolf that stood alone in a silent battle with the Ghouls.
“This was a terrible plan. We can escape now and just go home!”
Anger warmed Arthur from the numb tips of his ears to the cold feet in his boots. He wanted to punch his companion in the throat. Or better yet – toss Marshall to the Ghouls. His friend made sense - their plan was probably going to fail at this point, if they were forced to keep running from the Ghouls that had their scent.
“I’m not leaving without her,” he said firmly and shot Marshall a look.
“Don’t be stupid!”
“She saved our lives once and now she risks her own to do it again,” he said. “Go, you coward. I always said you Cruises were nothing but talk. None of you have contributed to our city in any way since your ancestor discovered the city five hundred years ago!”
Marshall appeared surprised rather than angry.
Not caring what the Cruise heir decided to do, Arthur snatched a length of rope from his saddlebag and tied one end quickly to the branch of a tree overhanging the river. He stripped off his cloak, weapons, and over garments to eliminate as much of his weight as possible. Gripping the other end, he took a deep breath and stepped onto the frozen river. He walked forward slowly, eyeing the shifting snow as the broken ice expanded several feet away.
The wolf’s growls remained the only sound. Afraid to look at a Ghoul and lose his courage or worse, end up immobilized, Arthur stayed focused on steady breathing and on the she-wolf displaying more courage in this situation than Marshall Cruise would over the course of several lifetimes. The sound of a horse scaling the embankment did nothing but anger him more, and Arthur struggled to put his disappointment and fury at the Cruise family aside to focus.
The tug of the rope at his hand frustrated him more as he realized he did not have enough length to make it all the way to the center of the river.
The breaking ice was close to the she-wolf’s back legs.
Arthur released the rope and continued.
“Hey there,” he said when he was within a yard of the wolf. “If you can understand me … the ice is breaking. You need to move.”
The animal did not answer but cont
inued to glare and growl at the Ghouls lining the river.
The shifting snow was at her feet.
“You have to move,” Arthur said more urgently.
The wolf’s growl ceased, and Arthur held his breath, praying the ice held.
One of the Ghouls wailed, and the wolf snapped in its direction.
Arthur sneaked a glance at the rope seven feet away.
Something smashed into the ice on the other side of the wolf.
Arthur glanced up, startled. One of the Ghouls had hefted a rock the size of the wolf and flung it into the ice.
“No, no, no,” Arthur whispered.
Everything happened at once.
A Ghoul shrieked. This scream was different – not the normal hunting cry, but jarring enough for Arthur to sneak a look towards the line of creatures.
A massive bear had tackled one of the Ghouls, drawing the attention of all of them. The strange scream was one of pain. Blood spurted from the body and splattered the white world with crimson.
The ice groaned and cracked beneath the she-wolf.
Arthur dived for her just as the river’s frozen surface crumbled beneath her feet. Frigid water splashed his face, and his fingers grazed her fur as she fell. Before he could adjust, he felt the ground give out from beneath him, and he plunged into the icy river below. The shock of cold was followed by a mouthful of water.
Arthur surfaced, sputtering water, and gave a strangled cry at the searing cold. His vision blurred by droplets, he saw only white and red on the embankment. More wailing filled his ears.
The she-wolf was beside him one second and then suddenly, gone, sucked under the ice by the river.
“No!” Arthur shouted. His hands already going numb, he tried to grab her, only for his wooden fingers to fumble. The river shoved him against unmoving ice. He sucked in a deep breath and ducked under.
Where is she? He demanded of the magic that allowed him to navigate without maps or the visibility of sun or stars.
The river pushed him. Something grazed his hand, and he snatched at it without reaching it.
Again! He ordered the magic.
The river pushed him again, and this time, he collided with a mass of wet fur. Unable to feel his fingers, Arthur wrapped one arm around the she-wolf and extended the other into the cold water. His lungs burned with their need for air, and the edges of his mind were frosting over from the cold.