-My hand arced out and slapped into Theo’s chest, stopping him in his tracks and nearly setting off his crossbow. His mouth made a little ‘o’ and his wide eyes flicked across the irregular rows of rye. He managed to hold off his questions for two whole breaths. At least he whispered, “What? What?”
The trouble was: I didn’t know ‘what.’ I crouched down and he followed suit. We crept forward. Every single second, my eyes flicked left, right, up, and down. There was something…something…We advanced cautiously, but even with our view completely blocked, it was sinking in that we weren’t about to stumble in on a harvest celebration.
All these small communities have dogs. They catch rats, they warn of intruders, and in a pinch they even fight in your battles. Mostly they run around like idiots and bark at birds, trees, and passing clouds, except now when they had all decided to stop barking. Even more obvious was the lack of children. Country women are either nursing, pregnant, about to become pregnant, or some combination of the three. Old children work the fields. Young children work around the house. Infants yell and play. All of them make a great deal of racket, except now when they decided to be quiet little darlings all at once.
I felt like standing up in front of a crowd and announcing my brand new motto: ‘If I ever approach a village and I hear no children and no dogs, I will not go in.’
I moved to the side of the road, almost into the field of winter rye and, slowly, I raised my hand. Theodemar followed the line made by my outstretched finger. There, far down the road near the gate in the village stockade, the grain was disturbed. Well, I say disturbed, but that is a lie, I mean it was flattened, churned like a few dozen energetic people had burst through there and stormed inside.
That’s when I discovered an addendum: ‘If I ever approach a village and I hear no children and no dogs, AND there is evidence of an armed attack, then I will not go in under any circumstances.’
I waved Theodemar over and leaned in so close my breath bounced off of his ear. “Just back off slowly. We’ll head back down to the crossroads and meet the carriage. We will take the other track.”
Theo shook his head and whispered back, far too loudly, “That will take us around the Sorrow Wood. We don’t have time before the bidding starts.”
Bidding? The lady is supposed to be negotiating a trade deal. I glanced back down and up the road. “Do you think we can skirt the village?”
As the words cartwheeled past my teeth Theo looked askance at me and I realized the answer just as he whispered, “The village is called River’s Bend. There’s only one bridge across and it’s in the middle of town.”
“Of course.” Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Of course there would be an unhappy corollary to my motto: ‘If I ever approach a village and I hear no children and no dogs, and there is evidence of an armed attack, AND I have some kind of motto that says I should make my way anywhere else, then it is an absolute certainty that I’ll have to go inside.’
I shook my head, wondering at what God in heaven or devil in hell was enjoying watching my misery. I quickly came to the decision that one of each were in a bar called limbo, having a friendly drink, and laughing at me. “Looks like barbarians. Hang back ten paces. If you see something, shoot it and then draw your sword. If I run; Don’t ask, don’t yell, just try to keep up.”
Theo nodded and rubbed his chest, obviously missing the weight of his chainmail hauberk. I clapped him on the shoulder and screwed my courage to the sticking point.
No, that is a lie.
It would be normal to say I was afraid, but not accurate. I was cautious. I was even apprehensive. I was blindingly aware of every detail, but I was not afraid. I was pretending to be for the sake of Theo, but it was not in me. The Dark Thing, half-hidden by the Fog, was muttering that this was a waste of my time, and provided no reward for moderate risk.
At least the way in would be easy: I knew the gates would be thrown open for the morning chores in the field. Harvest of this late growing crop would be chilly, it would be quick, and it would involve everybody. We passed the agitated winter rye and I could look down the corridor of trampled plants that led all the way back to the skirts of the forest. The slightly soft soil was torn up by hard boots.
We made the gate without alarm or challenge, but then the smell of rotting meat and pierced bowel wafted across our position. Theo retched far too loudly. Inside me icy cold walls sprang up, transparently separating me from the rest of the world. I was certain that I could tell you everything we would find long before I placed one foot past the gate doors. I wasn’t disappointed.
Historic homes became places of ambush, cover, and possible wealth. Rotting animal carcasses were only sources for disease. Bodies of the young, old, and everyone in between were little more than cause for caution lest I slip in a fluid or trip on a limb. None of it mattered to me, personally, which meant none of it mattered at all.
Theo tried to shuffle his features into unmoved professionalism, but his young eyes failed him, “They are all dead.”
I shot him a cold glance, but he didn’t notice. It was for the best, because to my eyes he was transformed into an expendable resource. In fact the emotional color was drained from everything in the village and I don’t know how my face would have read.
I waved the boy guardsman to a stop in the middle of the compound, unmindful of the decapitated old woman next to a spilled wicker basket of half shelled beans. I hissed at Theo, reminding him to quit staring at the body and keep his eyes cast outward. I carefully set the loaded crossbow down in the pile of beans to keep it from going off, and then unlimbered the Phantom Angel. A quick tug parted the thong and I moved across the path carved from the gate, along the front of the houses, and over to the stone bridge.
I set foot on the span. It was wide enough to pass a carriage, made of stones twice the height and width of a man. The age blackened cracks and crevices were so tightly fit not even a razor could be slipped between them. Idly, the back of my head whispered, Dwarves built this. I reached the apex, twenty paces from either bank. I could clearly see the cold fire pit that had been dug in the center of the far square. Some kind of beast of burden had been slaughtered and roasted here for the barbarian celebration. Only the Gods knew how many survivors there had been to act as entertainment. All I could see was even the fire was not smoking, which put us over a day behind. The cold would keep the insects away, but there should definitely be scavengers here by now.
Then the wind shifted.
Out here, just away from the bodies I could smell something that clawed at the back of my mind. It was oily, mossy, and rotten, like a body buried inside the hollow corpse of an old oak tree. The claws grew in size, scraping down my spine as fear, real fear, reached out of the Fog and filled me. Everything inside of me was screaming for me to run, to hide, but the friction of it ignited a raw, rude flame inside my chest. The terror was funneled into hate, a consuming abhorrence of all things.
I heard a stifled yelp and spun around. Theo raised his crossbow at the hint of movement and fired. Even hurried, the boy’s aim was true and I heard the bolt slap into meat. A pig, until now spared from the slaughter, staggered drunkenly out into the road. It seemed to breathe heavily for a minute, unsure of what was happening, bolt sticking out of it and jittering in the air.
Then it started screaming.
The sound filled up the village, echoing from wall to wall as a traitorous tattletale. Theodemar turned his guilt stricken face toward me but before he said a word his eyes flew wide. Without hesitation, I jumped towards him and spun around, the Phantom Angel singing in a deadly arc. With a forge of fury exploding in every muscle I swung the Phantom Angel and hit a weapon, in reality little more than a sharpened rusty bar of metal. Using both hands, I circled my blade over my head and hit it again, and again, each hit moved it further and further from in front of the owner. Finally, the rusty bar jerked just enough out of the way and the Angel bit flesh deeply, blood fountaining out in a black
fan from an ugly gray throat.
The thing that collapsed at my feet could only be mistaken for human in a pitch black room. Three more had gained the far side of the bridge and clawed feet were pounding onto the stone with fierce anticipation.
Their skin was gray and knobby, and it was draped in loose folds despite the obvious power inside of their thick, stunted limbs. Their faces were things of horror, heads melding almost completely into their chests, joined at a massive jaw line that even now opened to expose numerous rows of razor sharp teeth. They yawned wider and wider, spittle flying in gobbets as they gave inhuman voice to alien battle cries. Their mouths were toothed pits large enough to swallow a thigh whole. Their massive manes of white hair were slicked back and stained black with old blood. It dripped down onto crude white leather clothing. They were things of nightmare, and men tried to tame them by giving them names: Goblins, orcs, or redcaps, but nothing could capture the truly inhuman nature of these scavengers. Now they had come for me. Deep inside I always knew they would.
Everything became crystal clear as fear continued to fuel my rage. Their cries were cobbled together of the death rattles of a hundred corpses, backed by the screams of a thousand mourning women. My answer was a roar of all life and the living screaming at Death itself. My scalp suddenly felt too tight for my skull. I cradled the Angel in my hands, memorizing every gripping surface of the cold metal of the Phantom’s robes as they came closer. The Fog released images, smells, thoughts and impressions. In a strange way, I remembered their kind, but I remembered them much taller, much bigger. As I glanced down to their brother, who even now was gurgling messily at my feet, the specter in my brain whispered that they can die, and death was my one, true calling.
I leapt back and then planted my feet in preparation. Redcaps are powerful, far stronger than a man though shorter. Inside my head a foreign flavored voice whispered tantalizingly: Be the wind, untouchable and supple. Power is only good if you bring it to a target, strength is only worthwhile if it is concentrated. My hand tightened upon my sword, then loosened as I took a deep breath. Between one heartbeat and the next, I plotted a bladed course through the three of them.
That’s when the Beast erupted inside my chest and began the butchery.
The one on my left came straight on as the one to the right moved behind him to avoid the thrashing redcap. The last came more slowly, allowing the others first crack at the dirty work of murdering me. It turned three into one for a brief instant. The first pulled back his heavy sharpened bar in a blow that could cleave me in half from shoulder to hip, if I let it.
I did not.
It cocked its cleaver in a four fingered hand, but I sprang forward diving under the swing even before it was made, slapping the sharp edge of the Angel against the redcap’s spine. The thing recoiled as the blade slid along its shoulder, severing vessels and unleashing a torrent of black blood leaving it dying quickly behind me. No time for congratulations, because my second attacker was already here and now my sword tip was pointing directly away from the thing’s heart.
The next foul faerie thing was already starting a double handed overhead chop of his own, but I sprang at it, grappling desperately. Well, to tell the truth my Left hand grabbed at his wrist, but that nasty bastard Right slammed the pommel of the Angel into the pouchy throat of the second redcap with the full force of our bodies meeting. Though shorter by a head, the redcap’s dense weight brought me to a dead stop, but not before I felt the grinding, popping vibrations of its throat muscles collapsing. Its crude weapon slid from nerveless fingers as it tore hard nails into its own throat, fighting for air. I had to gasp myself, but with more success as I brought the beast in a harsh embrace, and moved my sword to its chin. I gripped the damnable thing under the arm and heaved it right, allowing the creature’s weight against the blade of the Phantom Angel to sever its own throat.
Yes, it was cold blooded. Yes, it was an act that would horrify anyone looking upon me. At that moment, however, it was just a method to get the corpse out of my way and ensure its death as the last redcap came within striking distance. As the second slumped into a shower of its own juices, I yanked at the Angel and brought it up, ready to impale.
The redcap slung its sword in a circle, leaving me no choice but to lunge forward, mating our chests and making sure the only part of his swing that connected was his arm. The Phantom Angel took the thing low, in the gut, and pierced the faerie effortlessly from front to back. The thing howled, but it did not slow in the slightest.
Remember when I said there were things out in the world that would fight on, even when mutilated and dying? Redcaps are like that, and this is why things stopped going according to plan.
We went down in a tangle of limbs, my sword lodged in the redcap’s entrails and his too long to bring to bear while we embraced like lovers. It abandoned its sword and locked both hands on my shoulders, seeking to swallow my face. There seemed to be no neck, and no place safe to jam an arm while it tried to bite whatever part of me it could reach. I heard Theo shout, but the horrible rotting-meat smell of the redcap’s open maw enveloped my entire world.
It bit once, twice, again, and again, catching nothing but air but nearing frenzy with the anticipation of fresh blood. Left continued to hold him barely at bay using the hilt of the Angel while right continued to play the heavy offstage. The cap dug its claws in and yanked me closer as Right came back into the light with my boot knife.
I plunged it into the thick mass of arteries I hoped the redcap had hidden in its armpit, took it out with a twist. Hot, sticky blood burned over my fist. Four rows of teeth snapped shut next to my face. I stabbed again. The teeth came even closer, rubbery lips brushing my throat apple as I removed the blade with a twist, aimed the tip of my weapon for the ball joint in the shoulder, and rammed it to the hilt. The thing screamed. The hands loosened. The arms slackened. The mouth snapped again…and again…slower and slower.
I heaved, throwing the creature from me as it trailed thick ribbons of black blood that streamed from a dozen wounds. My boot knife trembled in my hand as I lunged at the redcap. It began to roar, straining not just against me, but the sword buried in its chest and the host of dagger wounds I had given it. It was a matter of only a second to guess at the right spot, drive the dagger in deeply into the back of the skull, and remove it with a twist of grinding bone. I smiled obscenely as it died.
Then the moment was stolen from me as Theo yelped again, accompanied by the fading sounds of a dying pig and the distinctive ring of shattering steel. Momentarily I considered letting him die. I had a dozen aching muscle groups, stinging scratches across my back, and a strained finger that was starting to throb insistently. Then he cried out again and something whispered that it would be a shame to waste all that effort I had spent getting him to worship me. I hawked a gobbet of phlegm on the head of one of the bleeding bodies, scooped up the Phantom Angel and ran to his rescue.
Theo stood on the north bank of the village, his sword truncated by the strike of a redcap’s weapon. The creature pressed its advantage, swinging a stolen axe wildly. The boy dodged back and forth as his enemy cleft posts, sliced through a tree limb, shattered a sapling, and threw whole clods of soil into the air. Every strike seemed to shake the entire world, and splinters of wood, blades of grass, and specks of dirt hung suspended by fear and adrenaline in the air.
Veiny, powerful muscles even made the air cry as the dull wood axe split it into invisible pieces. The guards-boy ducked and weaved between the paths of the steel death warrant, but he wasn’t looking into the future, simply captured in every second for fear it was his last. It would be his undoing.
The ‘cap backed him to the log palisade of River’s Bend and struck to his left, burying the axe deeply in the wood. Theo stared at the dull metal head, pondering his near death for a second too long, and the redcap gathered the boy into its disgustingly strong grip. One hand on either one of his upper arms, the faerie drew him forward and roared like a lion into hi
s face, and then leaned back with opened mouth preparing to bite. The thing leaned back, back, back…
It would be his undoing, but not today.
And then a flash of blackened steel severed one of the redcap’s wart strewn arms.
Theo scrambled on his rear along the fence away from the thing trying to eat him. His wide eyes took in my merciless hand twirled into the redcap’s bloody mane, pulling back with all my might. I doubt he noticed the equally important knee planted in the small of the redcap’s back, which goes to show my genius largely goes unappreciated except by my victims. And who cares about impressing them? Who are they going to tell?
He watched as the Phantom Angel rose and fell again as the other arm came up to strike at me. Another flood of black blood, another meaty thump as the limb struck the ground. Theo screamed as the fairy-thing continued to thrash and bite at every bit of nothing it could reach. I brought it around and kicked it to the side, sending it sprawling onto a chopping block. It flailed momentarily, trying to find purchase with the stumps of arms, before there was another dark flash and I used the Phantom to pin it face-down to the wood. Still it raved, still it screamed, as I moved heavily away and sat down on the grass, back against a nude apple tree.
I flexed my aching hands and arms, wiped off a thread of black blood that had splashed across my face, and sighed. I heard Theodemar’s rapid breathing to my right, and a quick glance told me he was close to fainting.
I had to yell to be heard, “Are you hurt?”
“Aren’t you going to finish it?”
My head turned left and right, but I honestly couldn’t tell what the hell he was talking about. “I said: Are you hurt?”
“No!” but I didn’t think he was answering my question. He pressed both palms against his ears and sought to squeeze the unearthly screams of the dark fey I had unceremoniously stapled to the axe-scarred block. “Can’t you make it stop?”
I Know Not: The Legacy of Fox Crow Page 6