by Aaron Bunce
Banus’ materialized out of the darkness, his face screwing up as spittle flew from his mouth. But Roman couldn’t hear him.
Strange voices called out to him, beckoning him from the void. He focused on the knot deep inside, his body sliding further from life. The air around him grew immensely cold, like an endless abyss lay beneath him and he might fall in at any moment.
The ground beneath him dissolved and he started to sink. He felt something cold and massive embrace him, wrapping thick tendrils of ice and shadow around him. He felt its strength and weight, but also a putrid and insatiable hunger.
The knot in his stomach quivered painfully as Banus’ face faded from view. His heart shuddered weakly, and then he was falling. The world rippled above him and then he was staring at his own back, as if separated by a massive sheet of rippling water.
He continued to fall, formless phantoms darting all around him, their ethereal forms passing over his outstretched arms. He tilted and rolled as more icy coils wrapped around him, and as he did, the light from the world above fell upon him and he beheld his nightmare, the specter of death.
Flexing black coils swathed all around him, constantly twisting and flexing like tattered fabric caught in a swirling breeze. The shadowy coils lacked substance, yet as they moved in the dying light something pale shone through, something that looked frighteningly like bones.
Two massive black wings surged on either side of him, their bony structure flashing in and out of view every time they contracted and unfurled. They moved in utter silence, driving him away from the light.
Far beneath him, spanning as far as he could see, was a turbulent ocean as dark as the deepest ink. Its surface broke and exploded into the air, reaching towards him like grasping hands.
He slid closer to the broiling surface, a distant tremor shaking him from within. He felt his heart go still. Roman felt the knot deep inside him constrict before tearing wide open.
He was falling, the pressure on top of him like a mountain of stone. Roman couldn’t look away from the sea of darkness as it loomed, not even when a pain erupted in his chest.
An immense pressure flooded him, washing up within him in waves so strong that he was sure he would split wide. The sensation continued until it was a broiling presence, seething and bubbling its way into every fiber of his body.
The obsidian sea enveloped him, pulling him into the crushing black. A tangle of thoughts erupted in his mind, and then a jolting pain ripped him from all other thoughts.
“Thump.” Frozen muscles contracted and released. His heart quivered slightly, but it felt small and so very far away. A spark flared in the black before him. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were or closed.
“Thump…thump.” Breaking free of the sickly cold his body struggled to defy its natural truth. Another spark ignited in the darkness and this time its light was born a moment longer.
“Thump, thump…thump, thump.” The cold snapped back, moving like an animal, retreating from torch light. Heat bubbled unnaturally within him, popping and surging like bursting coals as horrible aches and pains rushed back to him.
In an instant, Roman’s body became a flashpoint, burning on the inside while freezing on the outside. With the bramble of tension and pain gone, his body was flooded with a violent and kinetic presence. It broiled and seethed, filling him as a tangle of potent sensations.
The spark of light flared once again before him, this time seething violently like an alchemist’s flash. Roman instantaneously became aware of the pressure crushing in from the dark. It was a horrible, smothering weight with thousands of hands crawling over him.
He abruptly felt the need to draw breath, but the hands in the black smothered him, holding his mouth shut and strangling his throat. His impulse was to rise, to swim through the murk, or he would drown. He wanted only to be free from the pain, even if it meant falling into nothingness.
The fiery presence pulled and pushed more violently. It ripped and tore to free him from the black. The spark ignited in the black one final time, throwing the tangled web of a million groping arms into contrast. This time, the spark did not go out. It flashed and burned as a solitary beacon in the darkness, and as the combustive force swirling in his body moved, so did the fire.
Roman slipped through the darkness, slithering like a serpent born of flame. The darkness repelled. Even the horrid, clutching arms pulled away. As the rippling black parted, a face emerged. Roman knew it too well. It haunted his dreams for so long, before finally appearing before him in the orchard.
Its eyes were black pits, and as the fire grew brighter, its mouth opened wide. Death’s voice issued forth as a multitude of screams and cries. They break loose from the ghastly creature, escaping from the host of trapped souls inside.
The fire suddenly formed a ring before Roman, swelling and pulsing with the rhythmic pain in his chest. He felt his body move, pulled into the flames by unseen tethers, pulled painfully taught by his heartstrings.
As he entered the burning ring, everything changed. A flash stung his eyes and then he was burning. The broiling presence surged forward, and he moved with it, rocketing through the darkness towards a distant pinprick of light.
Chapter 41
Alone in the dark
Henri reached out, clawing at Dugan’s back, trying to get the old hunter to slow down.
“Where are we going? Our room is back that way,” he whispered, motioning behind them when Dugan finally slowed.
Dugan rounded, wearing his anger openly, his index finger smashed against his lips. Henri backed off, his heart beating a riotous cadence in his chest, but obediently followed the old hunter around yet another darkened corner.
They hadn’t seen the strangers, nor could they hear them, which made Henri even more nervous.
“Are we lost?” Henri hissed. He lost track of where they were, and which direction they were headed a while ago.
Dugan waved him off before pulling on a door. It, like all those before it, was locked. Henri wanted Dugan to knock, but the old hunter was already moving again. He pressed his ear against the door Dugan just tried, but couldn’t hear anyone moving inside.
Henri knew they could have found their way to their room easily enough, but that would have meant moving back past the Dedpit, and that was something neither of them was willing to do.
His hand instinctively clutched to his pocket, and the heavy iron key trapped inside. He would feel much safer in the secure confines of his rented room, behind a locked door and securely shuttered windows. Those thoughts teased him, his mind, unwilling to deal with the deadly reality of their situation, tried to carry him away to a more pleasant place.
With the haunting memories of his children drifting through his mind, Henri didn’t notice Dugan stop and go rigid ahead of him. The hunter, attuned to his senses, clamped a hand around Henri’s arm, but Henri was slipping too far away and didn’t immediately notice.
“Henri!” Dugan hissed when his subtle shake of the arm warranted no response. “There is something above us!”
“What?” Henri stammered, and looked to the dark rooftops as pebbles rained down on them from above.
Dugan pulled Henri out of the darkness, and around a corner. Henri heard something moving above them, shifting and disturbing the loose stone. The debris continued to rain down in the alley behind them, the rubble echoing and rattling loudly off the stone.
Henri turned and stopped, Dugan’s hand slipping off of his arm. The hunter hissed his displeasure, but Henri didn’t care. Something moved in the darkness above them. Henri was sure that he saw wings, but there was no way for Henri to be sure.
Dugan grabbed a handful of Henri’s shirt and jerked him forward. Just as he turned to fall into step behind the hunter, the moon broke free from the clouds. It was just an instant before it was swallowed up by the clouds again. But at that moment, the roofs were basked in cool, bright moonlight, and the dark, moving shape appeared.
It wasn’t Henri’s bir
d, but a woman in glimmering armor. In the blink of an eye, she was gone, driving into the air with great strokes of powerful wings.
“Did you see that, Dugan? Did you see her?” Henri asked, desperate for confirmation.
“See what? I don’t see anything. Now move!” Dugan hissed and pulled Henri along.
“Up there on the roof, I saw a woman - no my bird,” Henri whispered, falling into step behind the older man.
“There you go again, talking about birds. You wouldn’t stop babbling about a bird when you were holed up in bed from that death fisher bite,” Dugan whispered back over his shoulder.
Henri went quiet and followed Dugan, but his thoughts never strayed from his winged specter. He didn’t know if he was losing his mind, or if the death fisher’s venom was still affecting him, but he knew something was wrong.
Why am I seeing a bird, or is it a woman? Why can’t I keep it straight! Henri thought, shaking his head, trying to straighten it all out.
He wanted to believe that the woman and the bird were just figments of his imagination, but he could hear large wings flapping overhead. Henri wanted to ask Dugan if he could hear it too, but he was afraid the hunter would get mad at him again. He didn’t want to be left alone in the dark, so he remained quiet.
They continued through the darkened alleyways of Dedpit Barrows, unable to find shelter and completely turned around. By this point every shadowy building looked the same, every alley opened up onto another thoroughfare that looked familiar, yet different.
“Shit!” Henri swore as they rounded a corner. The cathedral rose above them, and beyond that, the sprawling, black expanses of the Dedpit.
* * * *
Frenin overestimated the ferocity of the storm. The frigid wind and pelting snow made him long for his heavy cloak, and even more for a comfortable chair and warm fire.
The ground was slick beneath his feet. The snow drifted and shifted, but beneath that it was treacherous ice. He shuffled along, arms tucked close, trying to conserve his failing body heat.
Frenin knew he didn’t have much time, but he also knew that if he fell in the storm he likely wouldn’t be able to get back up.
Freezing to death might be preferential to a hangman’s rope or a beheading, he thought, but couldn’t stomach the idea of something bad happening to Roman or Dennah. They hadn’t experienced any life’s joys, joys that were well beyond Frenin now. He had already lived his life. They deserved a chance to live theirs.
So he pushed through the storm with as much speed as his body could muster. Frenin Feldershine, who wasn’t an overly religious person, prayed. His teeth chattered, but he mumbled prayer after prayer.
It had been numerous winter thaws since he showed any devotion, not since his wife and son were alive. Their deaths seemed needless to Frenin, so he blamed everything and anything. If their lives weren’t worth sparing, then he figured any deity capable of saving them wasn’t worthy of his praise.
It still angered him, only now he had others to consider. Frenin could not let old grudges get in his way. So as he made his way slowly down the lane towards his home, he asked for Roman’s innocence, Dennah’s safety, and the town’s prosperity…and warmth.
Finally, shivering and quite miserable, Frenin reached his house. He fished the key out of his pocket with numb hands, fitted it into the lock, and turn. The air in his house felt gloriously warm, and he stopped by the fire for a moment to warm his hands.
Wonderful! Quite wonderful!” he said, rubbing his hands together and silently thanking the women in town for maintaining his home for him.
The telltale ache returned to his hands, so he left the comfort of the fireplace behind, stopping to throw a small blanket over his shoulders and light a single candle. He unlocked the door at the back of his living room and mounted the stairs.
The stairs mimicked his discomfort, groaning and complaining as he climbed. An oil lantern glowed brightly from its perch at the top of the stairwell. Everything appeared just as he left it, a fact that brought him a small semblance of peace.
Frenin turned down the long hallway. He passed doors to unused rooms on either side. As a younger man, he worked as a cobbler. His family lived in a simple home while his father served as town elder. Frenin welcomed the bump in station, but also the grand home that came along with it.
But with his family all gone, the house felt more like a mausoleum than a home, and it became a constant reminder of things lost and dreams unrealized. Frenin inserted the skeleton key and pushed through the last door in the hall.
“Hello ladies,” he said.
The fire in the fireplace was merely hot, glowing coals. The window on the far wall was open, the wintry breeze blowing in, whipping the candle flames into a frenzy. Frenin knew something was wrong right away.
* * * *
“The bird, Dugan! The bird will protect us, just like with the death fisher,” Henri said a little louder than was perhaps wise.
Dugan didn’t even bother responding. Henri’s behavior since spotting the strangers had descended quickly into madness. He honestly had no idea what the poor man was rambling about.
Dugan wanted to believe the man when he first started ranting about the massive bird. He looked and listened for such an animal, even thinking the wind or other forces were fooling his ears from hearing the truth. But it had become clear that the bird was just a figment of his imagination.
He picked a rosy time to fall apart, he thought, glancing back at the glassy-eyed man.
He did feel for him. To lose a child was a horrible ordeal, and Henri lost three. But even with the grief, the pain and the loss, Dugan was done with all of it.
He would lock himself in his room for the night, but in the morning he was leaving. He would take Dylan and travel southwest, to the wilds of Barden’s Reach, where he would find a young woman for his son to marry. He would find someone along the way to help mend the young man’s eyes.
It would mean many cycles of travel, made more difficult as winter set in and the snow mounted. But it was time for a change. Dugan held no delusions. He knew he was an old man, and despite his relatively good health, he could feel his reflexes fading with each passing thaw. He intended to die a very old man in his bed, surrounded by grandchildren, not as a meal to some festering monster in a pit.
“Henri, move!” he said angrily, reaching back to grab at Henri’s sleeve, to pull the man along.
It was hard enough navigating himself through the dark safely, keeping his footfalls quiet without having to babysit a grown man. As a tracker, and a hunter, Dugan relied on his ability to read trails and tracks, but those skills were useless here. Now he was forced to react on senses alone. The roles were reversed. This time he was the prey. It was a terrifying realization.
Dugan moved along the buildings, giving the Dedpit a wide berth. No matter how much distance he put between himself and the pit he couldn’t help but feel like a deer at a watering hole. All of his instincts told him to run away, to not look back.
Henri followed several paces behind him, his head tilting back to watch the sky. He wasn’t watching where he was going and tripped. Dugan turned and lurched for him, but he couldn’t catch him in time.
Henri grunted as his head struck the stone corner of a stair, the noise of his scuffle echoing exaggeratedly off of the stone buildings. Dugan lurched awkwardly for him, but it was no good. Blood ran freely down Henri’s face, seeping out of a gash on his forehead.
“Henri, are you alright? Henri!” Dugan whispered, tearing a chunk of his shirt off and wadded it up against the crease on Henri’s head.
Dugan pulled Henri’s arm over his shoulder and hefted him off the air. His weight made Dugan’s legs wobble, and he cursed the man with every labored breath. But Henri appeared oblivious. His head lolled back, the bandage for his head forgotten as his eyes stared drunkenly into the black sky.
“Feathers! So many feathers!” he said suddenly, his eyes opening wide.
Not again! Du
gan thought angrily as he rounded a corner. The inn was on this lane, he even thought that he could see its outline in the distance. I am going to make it.
With the inn in view, Dugan threw caution to the wind and pulled Henri down the middle of the lane.
The large lanterns swung noisily from their pole-mounts above him, sending shadows dancing crazily against the buildings. Dugan pushed forward as quickly as he could, but Henri seemed to grow heavier and heavier. A bead of perspiration trickled down into his eye, but he couldn’t stop to wipe it off.
“Pretty bird! Flying high…in the sky. Waiting for me…to…die,” Henri sang in an eerie voice.
A noise echoed behind him. It was strange, like a chirping bird. Goosebumps popped up on Dugan’s skin.
Don’t turn. Don’t stop, he thought. Then he heard it again, louder and much closer.
Is it Henri’s bird? What does it mean if I can hear it too? Do I want to see it? Had Henri been telling the truth? He thought, and before he could stop himself, he turned.
Standing twenty yards away, in the middle of the lane, was one of the strangers. It stood upright, and cloaked in shadow, looking horribly like a man. Then it stepped forward, and Dugan could see it in all of its horrible glory.
The stranger’s double hinged neck elongated as it moved forward, cocking its head from side to side. Its eyes were large and dark, with no discernible pupils. The stranger’s skin was pale and mottled, and its hair fell in dirty, messy clumps down over its face.
Dugan took a frightened step back as the creature took a bouncing step forward. It moved strangely, in a jerky, disjointed fashion, before stopping and opening its mouth. The stranger’s jaw unhinged, exposing jagged, broken teeth and a dark, and a forked tongue that flicked out.
Dugan looked over at Henri, and the blood running down his face. The cold wind rolled against his back, tousling his hair and blowing around them. The stranger’s tongue flicked out, tasting Henri’s blood on the breeze.