Onwards they went, deeper into the gloom. Drew kept ten paces ahead of Hector, now relying on his wolf instincts to lead them to Gretchen. He fought to find a scent over the stench of moss, damp and death. One tree came into focus, slightly larger than the others with a thicker black trunk. Something drew him towards it. His heart pounded in his chest, his ears almost popping as the blood thundered through his veins. A small, cowardly part of him that up until now had remained hidden told him to turn back, turn back and flee. Gretchen is already dead. If you continue, you too shall die. The tree seemed to hold him in its grasp, controlling his thoughts, and he struggled to overcome its power. Crushing the dark thoughts, he glanced back to see Hector was backing up, stumbling away from the clearing in front of the thick-trunked tree.
‘Hector,’ he whispered. ‘Come back. Stay. It’s an enchantment, nothing more!’
Hector stopped his retreat, but would not follow. He stood just within Drew’s vision, a grey figure in the mists. Drew stepped up to the base of the tree and looked about. The bark was pitted and peeling, as with the others, but there were marks carved into it. He squinted to see what they were, but was blind to the details. Running his fingers over them, he thought they were surely man-made. His ears pricked suddenly.
He heard something.
It was low, barely audible, but it was a noise that didn’t belong in the Wyrmwood. It came from higher up in the tree. Drew was about to start climbing when he heard a new sound from the woods, a splashing in the swampy waters beyond his field of vision, as if something heavy had fallen out of a tree. Looking about, all he saw was mist up to his waist and the black silhouettes of trees.
‘Hector,’ he whispered, ‘don’t go anywhere.’
‘I’ll wait right here,’ his friend replied, the nerves in his voice obvious.
Drew shivered and turned back to the tree. Digging his fingernails in for purchase he started to climb. Although the bark was indeed rotten, the bare wood of the trunk beneath provided enough stability for him to get a grip.
About twelve feet off the ground he found a great hole gaping in the trunk, revealing itself to him as he rose higher and higher. Small insects scurried out of the way or sometimes into it. The hole was large enough for him to lean into the rotten chasm. What was stopping him? He craned forward, disappearing up to his waist.
The stench of death was strong in the hollow, his fingertips finding the corpses of small animals and birds piled up at the bottom, wriggling with maggots and buzzing with flies. Drew reached to grab a hold of the tree’s innards for support, but found his hand close around something cold and hard. Taking a grip, he hauled it out, his fingers clenching round bony ridges. In his hand was what appeared to be a human skull. Recoiling, he dropped it out of the hole where it landed with a dull squelch in the mud. If this is where humans have been held before …
His hand searched through the gloom, this time connecting with something soft and clammy. Instinctively he pulled his hand back in shock. He reached forward once more and closed his hand around the soft flesh. It flinched to his touch.
‘Gretchen?’ he whispered. His question was greeted with a murmur of recognition. His hands continued up to find the girl’s face. There was a vine round her mouth, tied tight to keep her gagged. Feeling around Drew found other vines that held her fast.
‘Wait. I’ll get you free,’ he said in the darkness.
He strained at the vine that gagged her first, the fleshy membrane ripping as he tore it apart. Gretchen’s head lolled forward, the young Werefox barely conscious after her ordeal. Drew continued to rip the others loose, every muscle straining as he struggled to free the girl. One after another the vines split apart, sickly sap spattering the two of them in the process. Finally, Gretchen fell into Drew’s arms and the boy slowly began to climb out of the tree, mindful of his footing as he carried the Werefox over his shoulder.
Slipping and sliding, Drew’s feet felt down into the mist for footholds as he used his free hand to grip the withered trunk for support. Moss and lichen came away under the weight of his step and he felt his legs go from under him. The two fell back into the mist, landing on the wet ground with a thump. Blind in the bank of fog, Drew felt for Gretchen, lifting her up.
In the pale light he looked her over. The Werefox’s face was badly bruised around her left eye socket, the lip below bloated and broken. Hooking his thumb and forefinger, Drew scraped earth, bark and vine from the girl’s mouth, clearing her airways. She coughed, her chest heaving as Drew took her weight.
‘It’s all right, Gretchen. I’ve got you now.’
The red-haired girl mumbled something inaudible, leaning heavily into Drew, her head falling forward. Drew winced as he saw two deep lacerations at the back of her neck where the top of her spine was visible through her torn and tattered scarlet dress. A thick ochre liquid oozed from the wounds, yellow and luminous against the girl’s pale flesh. Venom?
Drew hefted Gretchen back over his shoulders. He had to get her out of here. Hector would have something in his satchel that would take care of her injuries. He started forward, wading through the fog as he stumbled through puddles and tripped over every root. Gretchen was a dead weight across his back, all arms and legs, limbs trailing against the young Werewolf.
He stopped.
His ears pricked at the sound of something in the darkness. He could see the silhouette of Hector waiting further away in the mist, back the way he’d come, but this was something else. Only bare branches met his gaze as he scoured the area around him. He checked back to the huge petrified tree that Gretchen had been imprisoned in. What was the sound? Calling out to Hector would only alert whatever was out there to their presence.
He heard the sound again: a heavy wet thump that trailed through water. Splash! There was something there, only it was beneath the mists. He looked about to get his bearings again. Hector was gone. There was no sign of him where he’d been standing only seconds earlier. Where had he disappeared to? Had the strange sounds spooked him into leaving?
Drew quickened his pace now, keen to be away from the grim wooded swamp and back on to firmer ground. His legs pumped as his stride lengthened, and he ignored the discomfort that carrying Gretchen brought with it. Gritting his teeth he waded into the mist, the thick blanket rolling in waves against his chest as he cut a path through it. His heavy breathing ruined any chance of hearing the sound again; he just hoped he was leaving it behind.
He cursed as a root caught round his ankle. Pulling his leg to tear it free, what he’d assumed was a root quickly tightened its grip. Drew’s eyes widened with horror. With a sharp tug, the boy was yanked back violently, Gretchen flying from his grasp as he was dragged beneath the fog.
4
The Enemy in the Mist
Whatever it was that had a hold of Drew dragged him kicking and flailing at least ten yards over the forest floor before finally releasing him with a splash in the middle of a large swampy puddle. Drew kicked at his attacker but connected with thin air as he struggled to right himself in the dirty water. Body jarring with pain, he rolled over and attempted to stand, still unable to see a thing in the blinding mist. Before he could rise he felt a heavy impact in the small of his back. He flew forward, spread-eagled into the puddle once more.
Drew felt the full force of his attacker’s body weight on his back. He fought against it, his face submerged in the filthy, stagnant water. He choked as great gulps of liquid rushed down his throat and into his lungs. His enemy would not relent, bearing down, coiling and gripping round his waist as it arched and bucked against him. Trapped under the water, he felt tiny lights exploding before his eyes as his life threatened to fade away.
Not like this, he thought. Not like this.
With the last of his human strength he focused his energies into channelling the unnatural powers within him. The lycanthrope rose fast in response. His jaw strained as his teeth elongated, and his spine cracked, breaking his assailant’s grip. With a mighty heave
he thrust his shoulders back and his enemy tumbled loose, allowing Drew to snatch huge breaths of air. Leaping to his feet he spun about, clawed hands raised as he scoured the swampy forest for his attacker. Every sense tingled and his body trembled with anticipation. His blood was up. His yellow eyes narrowed as he snarled.
Rising out of the mist before him was the stuff of nightmares. A great serpent snaked up into the air, swaying one way and then the other as its black body coiled back on itself, revealing a ribbed purple underside that glistened in the dim moonlight. From the tip of its flat, wide head to where its body disappeared below the milky fog it must have been thirty feet in length. Drew could only wonder at how much more of the beast remained below the surface of the mist.
Its jaws opened, a blood-red tongue flicking at the air as its enormous fangs snapped menacingly. Drew jumped back as they slammed shut where he’d stood a moment ago. This was bigger than any living thing he’d ever seen before, anything he could even imagine facing. It rushed at him again and he leapt behind a tree for cover. The tree provided little defence as it splintered beneath the giant snake’s impact. Drew rolled across the floor in a shower of broken timber, springing up to face his opponent. The monster’s eyes flashed before him, like giant emeralds burning with a hateful inner fire.
‘Vala?’
Her name was quickly out of his mouth, a bold challenge, before he knew exactly who, or what, he was facing. The creature relented briefly, rising up again to survey its smaller enemy. Drew marvelled at the size of it. If this was Vala, then whatever control over his shape-shifting ability he had, or indeed whatever control any of the other Werelords had, it was far surpassed by what she had done. She had fully metamorphosed into her werecreature, not a single element of her human self still remaining. Except for her voice.
‘Sssssso, little dog,’ rasped Vala, her voice steaming with venom, deeper and throatier than anything he’d heard in his life. ‘You crawl before my court, in my palace. Why do you ssssscurry to your doom?’
‘I’ve come for Lady Gretchen,’ he explained, his own voice mingled with a deep growl. He strained to control his lycanthropy and remain calm at the same time, for fear that the animal would overtake and block his human judgement again. He needed to be able to reason with the Werelord. ‘Your Wyldermen mistakenly brought a Werelady to you as an offering. I shall take her from here and be away from your palace immediately.’
‘Misssssssstakenly?’ she hissed. ‘Meat isssss meat, little dog. Human or lycanthrope flesh, it isssss all the sssssame to me. It appearssss,’ she went on, beginning to raise a hidden coil from the mist, ‘that I have an even bigger feassssst to enjoy now!’
Rising out of the bank of fog behind her came a length of her black shining body, curled elegantly around the body of Hector. His face was obscured, the coil firm across his face and lower body, as his hands struggled in vain to pull and push the monster away. Drew could only watch as the Boarlord’s fingers scrabbled against the serpent’s skin, failing time after time to catch a grip. He was suffocating. He was dying.
‘Let him go!’ he yelled, pulling the Wolfshead sword from its scabbard in a hairy clawed hand. ‘If you kill us, you shall anger King Leopold,’ he chanced, desperate to escape. ‘An attack against his subjects is an attack against the king himself! This girl is promised to Prince Lucas. If anything happens to her, the king will bring his wrath down upon you!’
‘Little dog, little dog. I have no king. I am unequalled amongsssst werebeastsssss. I am a living, breathing and killing goddessss. And you forget, even if I were to fear him, he ssssshall not sssssend anyone. He ssssshall never know you were even here …’
‘You’re a monster!’ Drew yelled, baring his teeth. The hackles on his neck rose up as his eyes searched her huge frame, looking for any weak spot. Hector’s arms were gradually falling limp. He had to act swiftly.
‘We all are, darling,’ she cried back. ‘Only ssssome of ussss know that’ssss no bad thing. Take sssolace in the knowledge that your ssssacrifice will ssssstrengthen me. Your ssssspiritssss will live on within my heart and belly!’ She arched up, tongue flicking out once more as her huge eyes narrowed. ‘Enough talk now, little dog, little lordling. You die here tonight. Join your friendsssss and fall before the Wyrm Goddessssss!’
‘I’m no dog,’ snarled Drew. ‘And I’m no lordling.’ Throwing his arms back he leapt high into the air towards her, catching the Wyrm by surprise. He landed on her body beside Hector, slashing down with the Wolfshead blade and tearing a great rip into the coiled black skin. Pale white flesh lit up from within as dark blood welled out. Instantly Vala dropped the Boarlord, bucking her body to send her tail whipping round, striking Drew and sending him flying through the clearing. His sword spun from his grasp and landed with a resounding clatter against a tree trunk.
Drew was on his feet immediately and sprang forward, straddling the huge serpent around her underside, just below her jawline. As her mouth snaked down at him, trying to get a clear bite, he returned the favour, canines tearing at the ripe flesh of her underbelly. Try as she might, her great jaws couldn’t reach the Werewolf, narrowly missing his head as they snapped shut again and again. Gouts of thick crimson blood sprang forth from the serpent’s belly. She let out a wailing scream that seemed to make the forest shake. Her body convulsed violently, sending Drew bouncing off. He landed a great distance away on all fours, exhausted by his encounter.
The Wereserpent crashed and flailed around the misty clearing, disappearing beneath the surface of the fog momentarily before rising skyward to thrash in the air. Her tail came up, flicking and rattling as she spasmed and shook.
Her death throes, Drew hoped, looking about for Hector and Gretchen before the dying serpent could do the two of them any more damage. Many men must have faced the Wereserpent down the years, and no doubt all of them had fallen. Drew thanked Brenn for his lycanthropy, the only thing that had stopped him from joining them in their swampy graves.
He combed the surface below the mist for bodies, instead recovering his own cloak and armour, which had been discarded as he shifted form under attack from Vala. Finally finding the Werefox beneath the fog, Drew bent to pick the girl up, hooking his clawed hands under her arms and dragging her away to safety. When he’d hauled her clear, he returned to find Hector, who was already trying to scrabble free, having slowly regained consciousness. He was overjoyed to see Drew, who pulled him to his feet. As the pair stumbled towards higher and more stable ground, the cries that signalled Vala’s demise disappeared into the background of the Wyrmwood. Reaching Gretchen, Drew lifted her on to his shoulders and they made their escape. Drew spared what energy he had to control his lycanthropy – it was too soon to relinquish the inhuman power it gave him.
‘My sword,’ said Drew suddenly. ‘I dropped my sword!’
‘You’ll have to leave it,’ said Hector, rubbing his throat. ‘Find another one.’
‘I can’t,’ said Drew. ‘It’s my father’s sword. I won’t leave it.’ He hoisted Gretchen off his shoulder and placed her carefully on the ground. ‘Wait here.’
‘Drew!’ cried Hector desperately, but it was no good. The Werewolf was running back to the clearing, stumbling through the mire.
Drew’s alert eyes scoured the mists, looking for Vala. Her body would be beneath the fog, lying still in the brackish swamp. He spotted his sword, the blade buried in the rotten bark of a nearby trunk. Wading over, he grasped the handle and tugged hard. The Wolfshead blade came free, sending him staggering backwards as a frighteningly chill wind blew through the clearing.
Momentarily, the mists recoiled, swirling out of the way to reveal the swamp that lay beneath. He could see now that the pool was littered with the bones and carcasses of hundreds of offerings, both animal and human. The surface shimmered, deep red blood spreading through the filthy waters. But there was no sign of the Wereserpent. Drew ran from the scene, away from the monster’s lair and back to his companions. Hector was inspecting the wound
s on Gretchen’s back, his face grim. Drew lifted the Werefox in his arms and they continued their escape.
By the time the three arrived at the outer edges of the Wyrmwood, Drew was ready to collapse. Every muscle in his body cried out for rest, each and every step proving more exhausting than the last. He and Hector had taken it in turns to carry Gretchen’s prone body, but his strength was fading at an alarming rate. Without instruction his body had returned to its human form.
Drew had tried to ensure that they hadn’t returned to the Wylderman village – another skirmish with them was the last thing they needed. He’d managed to navigate their way out of the haunted forest some way south of where the savages’ settlement lay. The trio collapsed into a bed of reeds within staggering distance of the Bott Marshes.
Seeing that his friend was in a sickly state, Hector took up the lead, shifting Gretchen across his shoulders and beckoning for Drew to follow. They couldn’t stay here, so close to the Wyldermen and even closer to the Wyrmwood. They had to keep moving, find firmer and safer ground beyond the marshlands. Hector strode on, his body straining with the exertion and crying out for rest. Drew stumbled and crawled behind him, dragging his feet all the way.
As the sun slowly began to paint the sky pink in the east, dawn finally showing her face, Hector pressed on, urging Drew forward with words of encouragement. For Drew it was a groggy, surreal affair. He could still taste the Wereserpent’s blood in his mouth, the metallic flavour tinged with something else – harmful toxins that made up Vala’s poisonous bite. They were battling his efforts, sending dizzying waves of nausea that had him on his knees intermittently, his body weight seeming to quadruple as the venom took effect. He could hear the thundering of Hector’s footsteps as occasionally his shadowy form passed before him, the bottles in his satchel clinking and Gretchen slumped across his shoulders. When Drew’s body finally gave up on him and he slipped into unconsciousness, he could hear the sound of birds singing in flight as they raced across an open meadow.
Rise of the Wolf Page 19