by Eric Asher
The rough outline of a rectangle glowed in the wall, and Hugh yanked on it. The hatchet swung forward, revealing a very similar weapon behind it, only this one was gray, and had long ago been forged with the tongue of a stone giant. Hugh hesitated, pondering once more that if the flying heads and serpents were there for the hatchet, it might not be the best idea to take it out of the warded safe. But the werewolves were in danger, and Ashley was risking her life. If there was a more opportune time to wield the weapon, Hugh couldn’t see it. He pulled the hatchet out of the safe with quick and careful reverence before hooking it into the leather loop on his belt.
Hugh hurried back to the front room where Haka and Splitlog had nearly completed another transformation. They’d be exhausted after this, especially Splitlog. Rapid transformations could take it out of most wolves. He was thankful Haka had inherited some of his endurance, and Alan was as persistent as a badger.
Alan stomped toward the door, his deep black fur gleaming in the light.
With that, Alan turned and pushed the door open, and the wolves bolted down the tunnel.
* * *
The scent of scorched wood and blistered dirt filled Hugh’s nose as they sprinted out of the tunnel of the brewery. A few smoldering embers drifted around them, but most of the ruins were as intact as when he’d called Ashley. The flying heads had done more damage to the ground covering than anything else.
Hugh lowered his head and ran after the trail that stank of scorched flesh. Even through the rich smells of the trees and the fishy odor of the river, the scent was easy to follow. There was enough of it that he was sure Ashley had managed to damage at least one the flying heads. For if that had been a human’s flesh burning, there would have been nothing left.
They crossed the railroad tracks before the scent shifted, and Hugh changed directions. One foot slipped in the mud as he hurried west through the woods. They left the tangle of vines and branches, finally breaking out of them once more and finding a sight he had not expected.
Two huge serpents waited on either side of a sandbar. Their sleek heads and shimmering scales reflected an eerie light from the late sunrise. Above them, three flying heads twirled and swooped and released their mad screeches. But who stood below them, his feet firmly planted in the sandbar as he lifted the massive stone vest and slid it over his arms, completing the garments of the stone giant, shocked Hugh the most.
A low laugh that was almost a growl escaped the giant’s lips. “Truly a day for surprises.”
The stone giants were supposed to be long dead. The fact there were serpents and flying heads free from their imprisonment told Hugh that some had been released, or had traveled a great distance across the lands. But those old enemies should not have been alive. These grounds had a history, light and dark crushed into one, a balance like few places had.
Twigs snapped in the denser woods behind Hugh, and he risked a glance to see what was coming. Relief flowed over him when he saw Ashley, not much worse for wear other than a few scratches across her face, likely from her own sprint through the forest.
“They brought friends,” Ashley muttered.
A thud and splash drew Hugh’s attention back to the river.
“You would rely on a witch?” the stone giant asked. “From the stories of the wolf, I would have thought you more noble than that.”
Hugh stepped forward, putting more distance between himself and the woods, and the werewolves padded along behind him.
“She is a friend. You would do well to respect that.”
“She smells like a corrupted healer. She wields dark magic.”
In that, Hugh knew the stone giant was right. Ashley had been a green witch most of her life, spent enough time around herbs and potions that she carried their scent everywhere. Hugh had known many healers in many tribes, and while each was unique, distinct, there was a common thread that ran through many of them. But where that soft scent of benevolence once ran, there was a strength now, and Hugh would never call it a corruption. He gritted his teeth at the memory of why Ashley had grown away from the practices of a green witch, and taken up arms against the Fae. Taken up arms against the necromancers.
“She is none of your concern,” Hugh growled.
The stone giant reached down into the waters and pulled up a club. Water cascaded off the massive old tree. It might have been waterlogged, and unwieldy, but Hugh knew one strike from that thing would likely kill any of them. The stone giants were dangerous creatures on their worst days, but at their peak they were a living nightmare.
With his other hand, the stone giant settled an enormous helmet over his head. Encased in the hardened garments, Hugh could almost mistake the stone giant for one of the Old Gods like Aeros. And he wondered if the inspiration for their armor had come from one of the stone gods, or somewhere else. But for now, it didn’t matter. For now, all that mattered was getting rid of the stone giant.
“Why have you come to this place?” Hugh asked.
“Because I was called here. Because there are some things in this world of which we have no choice.”
He had hoped for more of a conversation than that. But the stone giant surged forward, his long legs closing the distance between them in a few short strides. There was no blocking the log as the giant swung it. One could not block a tree. It was like standing against an avalanche, but it was not only the wolves here that would be hit. They might survive a grazing strike from the side; the priestess would not.
Hugh snatched the hatchet from his belt and dove toward the incoming log. The old hatchet crashed into the wood, but the crushing impact Hugh had braced himself for didn’t come. The hatchet didn’t just slice through the massive tree, it split it in two with one effortless strike. The log crumbled then crashed onto the beach, flipping end over end, narrowly missing Ashley and the other wolves. The stone giant looked at the tree in his hand, and turned his attention back to Hugh.
“You carry a hatchet.”
“As sharp as it has ever been.” Hugh raised the hatchet and let it fall, splitting the boulder at his feet in two. “The effect on your head would be much the same.”
The giant’s eyes narrowed. The creature took a step back, holding the log in his hand in a more defensive pose as he slowly backed farther away from Hugh. “The stories of the berserkers in this place … they were true?”
Hugh frowned. The berserkers were a byproduct of an old relic. A fragment of a demon who fed on fear. The fragment was placed in Quindaro when the town was still young, an act meant to sabotage the fledgling city, but it backfired spectacularly.
Something screeched in the distance, and the distant storm clouds on the opposite horizons flashed to life with a crash of lightning.
“Go in peace,” Hugh said. “And do not return to this place. Or I will let this hatchet finish its job.”
Even as Hugh spoke, the giant slid deeper into the river. The serpents followed, but the flying heads remained, hovering above the water.
“Are those things going to leave too?” Ashley asked.
“They will,” Hugh said. “Or one of the thunders will annihilate them. And should they fail, I will pursue them myself until the last of them is imprisoned once more.”
These words Hugh spoke to the flying heads, and another earsplitting screech echoed through the skies above. Hugh saw only a shadow of the thunder soaring overhead, but the flying heads saw it too. The creatures knew when they were outmatched. The heads turned, and floated deeper into the mist until they became nothing but shadows.
CHAPTER NINE
“I need to sleep,” Haka said. “A lot. And deeply.”
Hugh inclined his head. “We all need rest.”
“Are you sure those things are gone?” Alan asked.
“For now,” Hugh said.
“The stone giants are not as stupid as some would like to think,” Splitlog said. “Even they can learn, though they may need to be reminded from time to time of what they learned.”
Hu
gh turned to Ashley. “Thank you, Priestess. Your assistance is always welcome.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Ashley said.
“Chasing off flying heads is the least you can do?” Alan said. “I think there’s far less you could have done.”
Ashley gave him a small smile, looking the werewolf up and down, before wringing her hands together. “I have news. Have you heard about Falias?”
“Nothing since Nudd’s … presentation,” Hugh said, the words tasting foul on his tongue.
Ashley nodded. “It got worse. We … we lost Damian. Foster called me.”
The hollowness in the pack magic, the bolts of pain Hugh had felt in his arm … he’d suspected as much. It’s where he’d marked Damian as pack. Ashley’s phone buzzed and she slid it out of her vest. “It’s Elizabeth. She’s heading back.”
He watched as Ashley’s fingers trembled across the front of the phone. She wiped her eyes and angrily pecked out a message back to Elizabeth.
“Are you okay?” Hugh asked.
Ashley shook her head. “I will be. It’s just … He’s always been a friend of the coven. Him and Zola both, and the fairies. We already lost Cara …” She trailed off, her lips trembling. “We’ve already lost so many.”
“Vicky and Sam?” Hugh asked, feeling a weight settle in his chest.
“They’re alive,” Ashley said. She took a deep breath. “It’s the only good news Foster had. They got Gaia to drag him into the Abyss somehow. I don’t know any more than that.”
A cool anger rose in Hugh, different than the fury he knew in his wolf form. It was an odd sensation, and one he had not felt in some time. There was the raw rage of battle, and the anger one felt engaging their enemies, but this was different. This was a cold and calculating thing, and Ashley’s words reminded him of the betrayals of the Fae.
It did not take long for him to realize what had happened. Hugh looked at Splitlog and said, “The Heart has awakened.”
“Are you sure?” Splitlog asked.
“I am,” Hugh said. “Can you not feel it, the anger, but the rational edge that holds it in check? The fear, tempered by the knowledge of what must be done.” Hugh shook his head. “The flying heads, the stone giants, the serpents. Even the Piasa Bird has shown itself. Everything is returning to Quindaro because its Heart has awakened.”
“They’re here to take it,” Splitlog said, his voice almost a growl. “We have to stop them.”
“I’m pretty sure we already did,” Haka said. “They ran that way.” He pointed to the river.
Hugh frowned. “He’ll be back. If we’re lucky, won’t be until nightfall, when Camazotz can aid us in earnest. But I am not willing to trust things to luck this day. Come, we make for the Heart.”
Ashley stepped up behind Hugh as they started back toward the woods. She brushed against his arm and for a moment, wrapped her fingers around his wrist, squeezed, and let go. Hugh embraced her with one arm, knowing there was nothing he could say to make the danger her friends were in any less. But he could be here for her, to support the coven, and save those who were under threat of the machinations set in motion by Gwynn Ap Nudd.
“What is the Heart?” Ashley asked.
“An old relic, a dangerous one too, but if the Heart of Quindaro has awakened, the time may be here that it is needed once more,” Splitlog said. He told her the story of the demon that was slain and imprisoned, only to have its very essence used as a weapon. Told her how that weapon was twisted, and brought those who would have been enemies together against a common foe, forming the Heart of the city that was far ahead of its time.
There were some stories about the Heart that it was not Hugh’s place to tell. But there were some of their friends who needed to hear.
Hugh led them single file through one of the overgrown paths, headed for the ruins of the stone cabin, one of the few residential buildings whose ghost still survived in old Quindaro.
“Zola and Philip spent time in Quindaro.” Hugh glanced back at Ashley. “Did you know?”
“No.”
“Seriously?” Alan asked.
Hugh nodded. “Quindaro was a stop, one might say a stronghold, for the Underground Railroad during the Civil War. Many men and women found their way here, though not all survived.”
“The Signal Tree in the graveyard,” Ashley said. “Slave catchers?”
“Catchers,” Hugh said, letting the word trail off. “They were murderers. Those who did not evade them as they crossed the river died. Some of them are buried in the old cemeteries, some in unmarked graves. They almost caught Zola. I suppose you could say they did catch Zola, much as a man catches a rockslide.”
“Good fucking riddance,” Alan growled.
Hugh nodded. “Zola spent time here. And the Heart was one of the things that helped break through her rage. Her bias against all men who could be a threat.”
“So the Heart was what, like a therapist?”
Hugh chuckled. “Not in the slightest. You see, in this place, our nations and white men and freedmen worked together. Not only for the greater good, but simply to be good. United against common enemies, friendships thrived while at the same time the prejudices of thousands of people died away.”
“There are always prejudices among the commoners,” Splitlog said. “That will never change.”
“It can change,” Hugh said. “It may never leave entirely, but it can change, and people can be better for it. And that my friends is what the Heart did.”
* * *
The sun rose higher into the sky as they reached the overgrown ruins of the stone cabin. There were few people left alive who knew what the Heart of Quindaro was, and even fewer who knew where it was hidden. So when they crossed the threshold of the stone cabin, Hugh froze when he realized it was not a shadow across from them, but a Fae dressed in obsidian armor.
Hugh’s arm flashed out to the side, bringing his allies to a halt. The surprise was apparently not his alone, because the Fae slowly folded his arms and took a step back himself. “I thought this place was abandoned.”
“Mostly,” Hugh said.
“Who is that?” Ashley hissed. Her hand flexed against the coil of the nine tails at her belt, its leather creaking.
Hugh gave her a tiny shake of his head, and she stilled.
“What brings a knight of the Unseelie Court to Kansas City?” Hugh asked.
He thought it best not to play dumb, but the stiffening backs of Alan and Ashley told him they hadn’t had a clue this Fae was Unseelie.
“Kansas City, you say,” the Fae said, slowly nodding his head. “And here I thought this was called Quindaro.”
Hugh narrowed his eyes. “My words were not meant to deceive you. We are quite literally within the limits of what they call Kansas City.”
“I am aware, wolf,” the Fae said.
Hugh studied the intricate lines etched in the fairy’s armor. There wasn’t much he recognized until the Fae turned slightly, and a circle of spires was plain to see on the Fae’s shoulder. Murias. He’d not known many Fae who had kind words to speak about the old fairy city.
The Fae lifted his helmet and tucked it beneath his arm, revealing a grayish skin that almost looked like the dead. Shadows flexed behind the fairy, and it took Hugh a moment before he realized part of the fairy’s wings were translucent. Only the scarcest edge of an outline even betrayed the fact that they were there.
The fairy took a deep breath, and a small smile curled the edges of his lips. Hugh had seen the expression on the faces of a hundred men. It was a promise of violence, the hatred of generations. And the words that came out of the fairy’s mouth surprised him not. “This will not end well for you.”
“There is no need for conflict this day,” Hugh said, keeping his voice even and calm. “Be on your way. Go in peace and my people will not strike at you.”
The fairy slid his helmet back on, the scorched black of his eyes almost vanishing in the shadows. “Peacemakers. Your way is folly, b
ut I am not without generosity. Your death will be swift.” The Fae raised two fingers, and the woods around them exploded into fury.
CHAPTER TEN
“You risk much, asking favors of Murias once more,” the dark-touched vampire sitting in the corner said, drawing Nudd’s eye.
Nudd’s pacing slowed, and he studied the figure for a moment. Without its helmet on, he could almost see the similarities to the fairies of Murias, the gray skin and pitch black eyes, though the dark-touched were different. Some scholars suspected they were half Unseelie and half Eldritch. Nudd always thought they looked too humanoid for that. But their strength was uncanny, and perhaps there was something to the rumor.
“My debt to Murias will be paid,” Nudd growled, failing to hide his anger entirely. “Your masters will be compensated as agreed.”
The dark-touched smiled, revealing a glint of its fangs. “You’ve already lost your weapon. How many years, decades, centuries…” The dark-touched drew out the word. “How long have you been plotting, only to fail again? Your obsession with the sons of Anubis has led you nowhere. You cannot mask that fact from my masters. And given that, they have withdrawn much of our forces.”
“I did not fail,” Nudd snapped. “Given time, those fools will try to save Vesik. If they mean to save him, they’ll have to bring him back to this realm. And then I will reclaim my prize.”
“Then why send soldiers to Quindaro? Your logic fails. It is not in pursuit of our goal. It is clear you are lost, and your promise to us has gone unfulfilled. We seek a better path.”
Nudd looked away, the flexing of his jaw hidden from the vampire. He didn’t want the dark-touched to abandon their alliance, but he could see their perspective. See how they thought he’d already failed. As if the fools believed Damian was his only card to play.