by M. M. Perry
“Hello, ladies. Fine night for a run, isn’t it? I’m afraid I’m going to have to hold my ground here though and ask that you head back without what you came for. I’m not really finding this whole boar’s head thing all that attractive a proposition. I’ve only just finally found a hairstyle I really like,” Cass said.
“You think you have a choice?” One of the aswang hissed at Cass.
“That was my understanding of how it works… have I got that wrong then?” Cass asked innocently.
They charged Cass then. She hadn’t expected them all to come at once and barely got in a blow before she was covered in strong hands, pulling at her hair and armor, clawing at her face. Their huge tusks came rushing in at her, and she did her best to parry them away. They wanted to bite her—to tear at her skin. Cass held them off as best she could. She managed to land a solid slice against one of their upper arms, cutting deeply until her blade bit bone. Another she managed to stab in the gut, but she couldn’t tell how deeply since another of them stepped in and knocked her blade aside so that it tore free of the other, leaving a wide vertical slit that suddenly pulsed with blood. The gutted one backed away, holding itself around its middle.
Cass was a very experienced swordswoman, but five supernaturally strong creatures at once was too many even for her. Four of them, the gutted one held back, rushed her again, this time sweeping her up in their momentum and slamming her hard against a tree. Her head snapped back into the trunk, knocking her out cold. She slumped to the ground, unconscious.
The leader kicked away her sword and snorted triumphantly. Then she sniffed the air, smelling for the big one. She found his absence from the fight odd.
“I’ll take her,” the leader said, “the rest of you, go get the other one. Kill any who put up a fight. But beware; the big one is still out there somewhere.”
The leader picked up Cass by an ankle and began dragging her away.
The four remaining aswang split up, circling around the campsite from different directions, listening for the sounds of those who were left behind.
Two of the aswang approached the largest tent, then stopped suddenly when they heard a sound behind them. The lead aswang turned just in time to see Gunnarr pulling his sword from its now dead companion, slicing it nearly in half as he freed the blade.
The remaining aswang snarled at the huge Braldashad and rushed him. Gunnarr swung his blade but the creature was impossibly fast and stepped inside his guard before he could complete the motion. He grunted as the creature collided with him. He tried his best to counter the impact with his own considerable bulk, but the aswang easily carried him along, slamming him into a tree. Gunnarr pushed back against the attacking aswang with all his might and managed to force it to stagger back a few steps, then open a gap between them for long enough to reposition before it closed in with him again. In his moment of respite, he tore the codpiece off of his armor and pulled himself out, allowing his nether bits to swing free in the night air. He grinned as the aswang let out a high pitched squeal. It stared at Gunnarr’s groin, both transfixed and terrified all at once. It was all the advantage Gunnarr needed. He whipped his sword forward, releasing it with enormous energy. The sword sailed through the air, a blur of rotating, deadly force that met the aswang’s hairy neck and cleanly swept through. The sword’s flight was stopped abruptly as it buried itself in a tree behind where the aswang had been standing. The creature toppled forward, and as it crashed to the ground its nearly severed head pulled away from its body. Thick, deep reddish-brown blood began to ooze out of the wound.
Gunnarr quickly pulled himself back together, then rushed to his sword and freed it from the tree.
Viola was almost done with the spell she was working on. Nat watched her as she poured a few dollops from another set of jars she’d produced from her vest onto the pile of muddy leaves and bracken in front of them.
Two of the aswang entered the campsite then. One was clutching its middle, a well of blood oozing past its claws. They both snarled when they saw Nat pull his sword up and assume a defensive stance. When Callan saw the beasts he let loose a high pitched inarticulate noise and then froze for a moment. He’d never seen anything like the part women, part boar things that were cautiously approaching. He finally came to his senses, and managed to fumble the small dagger that he kept at his waist free of its sheath. His hand shook as he held the dagger out, pointed at the nearest pig-headed grotesquery.
“I need more time!” Viola shouted.
She scooped up a handful of the small balls she been rolling and dumped them into Callan’s free hand. They felt oddly heavy to Callan and were very smooth and hard, like glass, no longer the malleable material it had been when Viola had started working with them.
“Throw these at them!”
“What?” Callan asked looking at the beads.
“Just do it!” she said, furiously thrusting the rest at Nat, hardly waiting for him to sheath his sword first.
Nat was the first to hurl one of the balls at the aswang. When it hit the ground in front of an aswang an observer would have been hard pressed to say who was more surprised, the aswang or Nat. The bauble burst into a cloud of thick smoke as it hit the ground, which billowed rapidly outward. The aswang immediately fell to all fours, coughing uncontrollably. Callan and Nat looked at one another for a moment, then started to furiously hurl the rest of the balls at both of the aswang. The aswang were soon completely engulfed by the smoke. After a minute of frantic slinging, however, their stockpiles were depleted. They looked to Viola, who was still working over her pile of earth. They looked back towards the aswang. The air was already beginning to clear.
The aswang tried to get clear of the smoke but with their eyes blinded and streaming with tears, they were forced to smell for the fresh air. Each exploratory sniff resulted in another violent coughing fit. But they were making slow progress in the right direction. Already, they’d made it to the boundary where the miasma of smoke began to fade away. They rubbed at their eyes, snarling anew at the quarter of humans before them.
“Maybe we should have used that opportunity to run,” Callan said taking a step back.
“Not necessary,” Viola replied. She stood straight, and let one last drop fall onto the pile, completing her spell. As it struck, the ground vibrated violently. Inez stumbled across the trembling earth to get closer to the men, shielding herself from the aswang with them.
The pile of dirt and debris where Viola had been working suddenly began to thrust up into the air, thickening as it rose, and within seconds a tall cylinder of earth and plant towered above them. When it was two dozen feet in the air, it stopped growing taller and wider, but the top began to mushroom out, giving the whole earthworks a distinct look.
“By the gods! Did you just make a twenty-foot-tall…” Callan began.
“Brilliant, girl!” Inez interrupted Callan.
The totem had an immediate effect on the aswang. Their eyes shot open with unmistakable terror. Their bodies went rigid with fear. They didn’t even move as Gunnarr came rushing out of the woods towards them. His pace faltered for a half-stride as he ran past his companions and did a double take of their newly formed totem. Then he regained his composure, turned to the two aswang, and felled one with a swift, decapitating blow. The other didn’t rouse from its catatonia as he did so, nor offer any resistance as the blade swung round to bite into its own neck. Gunnarr didn’t stop there, instead running out the other side of the camp and back into the woods.
“Where’s he going?” Inez asked, turning to admire the tall mud penis with Nat and Callan.
“Maybe this scared him off. We are standing around a twenty-foot phallus, freshly sacrificed boars there and there,” he gestured to the aswang. “We’re clearly just a high priestess away from diving into a ritual orgy,” Callan said as he replaced his dagger in its sheath.
“By the way,” he added, “Could someone explain exactly how this works?”
Inez snickered, “I wou
ld hope you’d have figured out how to work your own by now, your highness.”
Callan just glared at her, refusing to be baited.
“You should know this,” Inez said more seriously, “because it could save your life again sometime. Aswang are repelled by penises. Real ones, like your own royal nub, work of course, but even a crude phallic symbol can do it. And size does matter, apparently.”
“You’re joking,” Callan said.
“Nope. This is old lore. I’m sure there’s a book tucked away somewhere in your castle library that speaks of it,” Inez said.
“Well, I guess I can’t argue with the results. Beasts dead, me alive. Still, I can’t shake the suspicion that someone might just be having one over on me,” Callan said.
“Well, the gods have a twisted sense of justice,” Inez said darkly, “and Adone… well I suspect it was his way of torturing Lireal. One of the tales says she rebuffed the god of beauty because, well let’s just say his bearded blood sausage wasn’t the most impressive she had ever seen.”
“Ugh,” Callan said covering his face with his hands, “I have got to learn to stop asking you questions.”
Gunnarr weaved through the trees, as silently as a minnow through the rushes despite his size and haste. He stopped every half dozen paces, looking for the trail he was sure he would find. Aswang weren’t known for their stealth, nor did they generally claim a large range for their territory. Their lair was likely nearby. Gunnarr knew the aswang had probably scented the three women in their party from their lair, come out to investigate, and then waited for a good time to strike.
Gunnarr stopped running. He’d returned, as best he could tell, to the area he’d last heard Cass’ voice coming from. He cursed himself once again for losing her. When she had shouted out alerting them all about the aswang, a wind must have picked up the sound of her voice and carried it away. Gunnarr had gone left when he should have gone right, and Cass had been left to fend for herself.
Gunnarr knew she was likely still alive. The aswang would want to add her to their brood. They would bring her back to their lair and keep her there as long as it took to turn her into one of them, feeding her their blood and breast milk until she finally began to change. Gunnarr was most worried that Cass was sure to resist, that she would try to fight them and the rough beasts would injure her in the process. They might even break her legs and arms to keep her still so they could force feed her. It wouldn’t matter once the transformation set in—all her injuries would be healed as she shifted for the first time.
Gunnarr caught a glint of something. He got down on his hands and knees and felt around the ground gingerly where it had been. After a few minutes of slow, cautious searching, his fingers pressed against something cool and hard. He carefully felt down the length of the blade to its hilt. The blade had blood on it, already drying and sticky. He smiled. Cass had gone down fighting.
Gunnarr picked up the blade and tucked it into his own sheath as he stood. It didn’t fit very well, being a slimmer blade than his own, but it would do for now. He circled very slowly, looking at the ground all around where he’d found the sword. Then he noticed the set of parallel ruts in the leaf mold on the ground. He was in luck. The aswang hadn’t even bothered to make the slightest attempt to cover its trail at all.
Gunnarr followed the trail, moving as quickly as he dared. He didn’t want to take a wrong turn and lose it in the dim forest. He briefly wondered at the wisdom of challenging an aswang in its den on his own. Gunnarr would have liked to have Nat by his side. He knew that, though green, Nat was brave and enthusiastic and, perhaps more importantly, smarter than most would credit him with. Someday he would make an excellent warrior. But Gunnarr couldn’t risk Viola’s life. He couldn’t be sure how many aswang were in this brood, and if he failed in his attempt, he didn’t want to die knowing he’d left Viola undefended.
The slight incline of the ground he’d been mounting began to rise more sharply. The earth began to transition from mostly soil to mostly rock. Gunnarr slowed considerably then, not because the trail had become harder to follow—in fact, the trail was fresher here, and more of the light from the moon filtered down through the thinning trees—but because he recognized that in this part of the forest, the rocky outcrops he was seeing signaled that he was in an area likely rife with caves, an area perfect for any of the shadowy things that lived on Tanavia to lie in wait, many worse than aswangs.
Gunnarr approached a particularly large face of exposed rock and crept along it, keeping his eye on the trail. It led into a dark, narrow cave that disappeared into the rock. If he was lucky, this group of aswang was small, a fledgling brood looking to get a foothold in these lands. If he was unlucky, this would be well established aswang territory. Gunnarr doubted that was the case. This area was heavily travelled by people heading upriver to Chulpe. Warriors would have been called in to rout out any known, established den of aswang before they claimed too many people, and Gunnarr hadn’t heard of any such requests.
Even so, he entered the cave cautiously. Just one aswang could easily fell an unwary warrior. Gunnarr guessed he would find Cass with the leader, who would have assumed that role by proving in battle with the others to be the deadliest among them.
The cave was murky and cold, but the narrow passage opened up expansively after a few yards. The cavern was pitch black, except for a dim light that guided Gunnarr across it at the far side of the blackness. When he reached the other side, he found the light was coming from a fire, the light reflecting down another narrow tunnel. He followed it silently, able to hear muffled noises coming from the lit area ahead. He knew the aswang had an excellent sense of smell, but he felt a draft moving against him towards the exterior of the cave. He hoped it would be enough to keep his scent from alerting the aswang. As he got closer to the lair, he was overpowered by the musky smell of animal and the copper scent of blood.
When he reached the end of the tunnel, he was able to finally see the full blaze of the huge fire stoked at the center of the aswang’s lair, a massive natural cathedral with uneven ceilings that dipped and soared dozens of feet overhead.
Near the bonfire was one of the aswang, shifted back to her human form. She was still naked and streaked with blood. She was crouching over Cass, who was clearly unconscious. A troubling amount of blood also streaked Cass’ cheek and neck, which the aswang was periodically stooping over to lick from the side of Cass’ face.
Gunnarr noticed Cass’ boots tossed aside, nearer the bonfire. The aswang was attempting to take Cass’ armor off, but clearly having difficulty with all the intricate clasps. She became impatient and began tugging at the heavy leather material instead, trying to tear it off. Gunnarr lifted his sword carefully and took a step closer, trying not to make a sound as he approached. He knew that while it was in its human form, the aswang would be weaker, though not by much. Surprise was still Gunnarr’s best chance of defeating the creature.
Gunnarr was nearly in striking distance when it began to speak.
“You don’t really think I’d be so stupid, do you? I know you’re there, human,” the aswang said, turning its head slowly to let its yellow eyes fall on Gunnarr.
Gunnarr froze under the gaze. The woman stood. Her mouth was ringed with Cass’ blood. Where she wasn’t covered in it, her body was caked in dirt. The smell rolling off of her was horrendous. Gunnarr lowered his sword into a defensive stance as she stepped toward him, her eyes glittering in the firelight.
“A man dares come inside our lair?” she said, her voice threatening.
Gunnarr flourished his blade, hoping it would distract the aswang from his free hand, which he moved to his groin. If he could unclasp his cod piece, it might be enough to frighten the aswang and give him a momentary advantage.
“Uh-uh. If that hand moves another inch, I will tear out your throat before you can blink,” she said.
Gunnarr halted his left hand. His right hand tightened on the hilt of his blade.
“You cam
e, in here, just for her?” the aswang asked.
“Give her to me, and I’ll let you be, creature,” Gunnarr said.
The aswang chuckled, a sound like a cough, a laugh, and a mule’s bray all rolled together. The sound was like nothing Gunnarr had ever heard.
“You think to frighten me? Foolish man. I am Lireal’s daughter! She fashioned me from moonlight and blood and spite, and gave me the power to rend men like you into strips of flesh for the eating. You must have killed a few of my get, or you wouldn’t be here now. They were just half-breed whelps. You’ll find a true daughter of Lireal is something entirely different.”
Then the aswang began to change before Gunnarr’s eyes, impossibly quickly. Her flesh bulged in ways no flesh should. Tusks thrust out of a jaw now too small to hold them. Fur sprouted all over her flesh. Claws slid out of her fingertips. It all happened in less than a few seconds. Before he knew what was happening, she leapt at Gunnarr, roaring.
Gunnarr managed to fend her off with a quick parry as he fell onto his back and to the side, kicking her as she flew by him, adding to her own momentum and redirecting her enough to smash her into the wall. He quickly spun around and got up to find the aswang grabbing its head in pain. It glowered at him, screamed with rage, and charged again, this time its head low, trying to get under Gunnarr’s guard and topple him again. He managed to dart out of its direct path, but as it passed, one of the aswang’s claws scraped across his leg, tearing at his armor to get at the skin beneath. Gunnarr stole a glance at his leg and saw small trickles of blood welling up in several scrapes there. He’d need to thank his smith when he got it repaired. The armor had saved him from a blow that would have severed his leg otherwise.