by Ross Turner
And what could he even do to help her?
Nothing!
She had all this power. As did Malorie. Reaper was an enormous demon. Even the old man Midnight was ruthless.
Kaylm was nothing.
He could not help her.
He was useless.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It took the rest of the day, the entire night, and indeed some of the next day too for Marcii to recover and wake. And even then, when her eyes slowly cracked open and light streamed down to blind her, she was still exhausted.
When her vision cleared her eyes slowly accustomed themselves once more to the cold, winter’s sunlight. Marcii sat up to look around and saw that her friends had covered her in furs to keep the chill at bay.
It was only as she turned to crawl out from beneath them that she saw she was not alone.
“Vixen…” The young Dougherty breathed.
Even that single word sounded laboured and forced. The young orphan girl was sat attentively beside Marcii and cocked her head slightly. She was smiling affectionately, which was strange in of itself.
It was only now that Marcii fully understood who and indeed what Vixen was that she could fully appreciate why she appeared and disappeared in the way she always did.
Some things she had thought she’d always known about the girl, it seemed, were still true, whilst others were not even close.
Marcii knew now that, as she’d always suspected, indeed Vixen did not have parents to take care of her. But instead, for all this time, she’d had a mother beyond all others, and it had been She who’d been taking care of Marcii after all.
Other people had always looked at Vixen, through her even, like she was nothing. But it was only now that Marcii could truly understand why. She gazed upon the scrawny young girl respectfully. Her tawny brown eyes seemed so endless and the twigs knotted in her hair, Marcii noticed, were the same as they’d always been.
It would seem that to have others look through her had been the whole point all along.
Marcii wondered how she’d missed all of this before, and how it was only now that she was coming to realise it.
But the answer to those questions too, it seemed, was apparent.
Mother Nature had intended for Vixen to aid Marcii, and Marcii alone.
Indeed, she had succeeded in that task, in many more ways than merely one. This young orphan was just another example of how Mother Nature had been guiding and protecting the young Dougherty, just like a real parent should.
Marcii smiled back warmly, for a moment saying not another word. Vixen reached over and placed her warm, tiny hand in Marcii’s palm, squeezing her fingers tightly.
“You need to be ready.” The young orphan spoke and her words flowed in kin with the very earth itself.
Marcii only nodded in reply, knowing what was coming and that it wouldn’t be long now.
She had only seen Tyran and his troops on the march. She had no idea when they’d left, so she could only guess when they might arrive.
But Vixen’s words assured her that there wasn’t much time at all.
“There are many more trials to come.” Vixen went on. “And not just for you. All your friends must be ready too.”
Chills ran up and down Marcii’s body at Vixen’s soft, threatening words, brimming with warning.
She opened her mouth to ask what was going to happen, when Kaylm suddenly appeared, followed closely by the others. Marcii caught her tongue and smiled as Kaylm embraced her. Out of the corner of her eye the whole time she could see Vixen’s foreboding, knowing expression, and the mere sight of it filled her with worry.
What did she mean?
What was going to happen?
What were they all supposed to be ready for?
“Midnight and I found some weapons.” Kaylm told them, interrupting Marcii’s concerned, flurrying thoughts.
None of them really seemed surprised that Vixen was there. But then, by that point, how could they have been?
“Weapons?” She queried.
As if on cue the old man Midnight walked in carrying a stack of clanking, heavy looking, metal items with him. There were a few short swords and knives, and one or two larger broadswords and clubs.
Marcii’s expression became critical.
They were old and worn and rusty in places, but they were better than nothing she supposed.
Not that she knew how to use one.
She’d never held a sword in her life.
“How do you feel?” Malorie asked then, slipping in behind the old man and the young Evans.
“Tired.” Marcii admitted, unable to conceal her fatigue.
“You look it.” Malorie commented.
“Thanks.” She replied dryly.
Reaper’s enormous hands wove into motion then and asked Marcii if she was sure she was up to this.
She laughed lightly.
“I don’t suppose I’ve got much choice.” She replied.
His hands spun through the air again and assured Marcii that they would always be here for her, promising the young Dougherty that they would never abandon her to face these trials alone.
Marcii smiled and rose slowly to her feet, steadying herself on Kaylm’s outstretched hand. She crossed the room steadily, pacing gradually over to the colossal demon. She reached up and stretched her arms across his side, holding him gratefully for a moment.
He spoke for all of them, though Kaylm still secretly felt as though he wouldn’t be much help.
The young Evans picked up a heavy sword and held it firmly, feeling slightly better with the weight of cold steel between his hands.
Vixen too stirred into motion, rising to her feet and glancing upwards, out to the clear, cold sky.
Marcii turned to look at her and nodded almost imperceptibly as the young orphan spoke.
“It’s time.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
From the top of Raven’s Keep Marcii could see for miles around. She swept her gaze over the abandoned town and the snowdrifts that still covered the streets and rooftops. Here and there she traced trails of footprints between closely packed buildings, presumably from where Kaylm and Midnight had been searching for supplies.
Kaylm was wearing armour now, freshly cleaned and oiled by the smell of it. He had a heavy sword clamped at his waist and he rested one hand permanently upon the hilt, as if merely the touch of steel against his fingertips made him feel better.
Midnight had chosen a smaller sword that he too had tied at his waist, though he hadn’t bothered with armour and remained in his crumpled old suit. Marcii didn’t question it. Remembering back to how easily the old man had dispatched the wolves in Newmarket, she wasn’t overly concerned.
He’d abandoned his cane entirely now, not that he’d ever needed it.
Reaper’s expression was sober and pensive. Too much had happened in such a short space of time.
He was worried about Marcii.
She might have been trying to hide it, but it was obvious to the enormous demon that she was still exhausted.
There was no chance to do anything about it now though.
They’d quite simply run out of time.
“There.” The old man Midnight suddenly said, pointing out across the rooftops and towards the horizon.
“Where?” Kaylm asked, squinting to see.
“One man.” Midnight reported, knowing the only other one amongst them with eyes as good as his was Reaper. “He’s alone.”
“Alistair?” Marcii whispered.
“No.” Midnight replied curiously, trying to make out the face of the man from so far away. “It’s not Alistair…”
They looked on for a few more moments before the old man spoke again.
“He looks like…” He began again. “He looks like Kaylm…”
They all turned suddenly to the young Evans, as if he held the answer.
Kaylm spread his hands, just as perplexed as they all were.
The figure
drew slowly closer and closer into view until they could all just about see him, but they were still none the wiser.
Outlined like a black shadow against the snow the single figure of a man approached, surrounded by endless white. He moved quickly and purposefully as if he was on a strict deadline, heading to the end of the world as he knew it.
“How can…” Kaylm suddenly began, his voice trailing off as his eyes grew wide. “It can’t be…”
“What?” Marcii asked, still confused.
Kaylm just looked on in silence for a moment, his mouth dropping open, unable to find the words he needed.
“Malcolm.” He eventually replied, dumbfounded. “I think it’s Malcolm…”
“Alone?” Marcii questioned aloud. “How can that be? He’s with Tyran…”
“I don’t know. Maybe he isn’t any more…” Kaylm admitted. “I really don’t know…”
Without his aged armour Kaylm felt naked and exposed.
His fingers itched to feel the handle of his heavy sword between them and clenched slowly in and out of tight, balled fists.
His friends had convinced him to leave his armour and sword behind. They had all seen from atop Raven’s Keep that Malcolm wasn’t carrying any weaponry.
Or he bore no obvious arms at least, Kaylm thought to himself as he crossed the snow.
In his distrust, which ran deeply to say the least, Kaylm had fastened a small blade to his back, beneath his shirt and jacket, just in case.
Better to be safe than sorry.
His friends remained behind him, just within the border of Ravenhead’s outskirts. All except for Marcii that was.
Exhausted as she was, she refused to leave him.
Though, the longer they waited for Malcolm to come within sight and earshot, the tighter Marcii’s grip on Kaylm’s hand became, as she battled her fatigue endlessly.
Malorie and Reaper stood together, only two dozen feet or so behind Kaylm and Marcii.
Nonetheless, even from there Reaper’s form was as menacing as ever.
The orphan girl Vixen stood alone, as did the old man Midnight, and indeed Raven too, all looking on with expressions unreadable.
Malcolm eventually came into view amidst the vast whiteness and Marcii glanced across at Kaylm briefly, throwing him a quick, flickering smile. He returned the gesture, though it was admittedly very forced.
He turned back to watch his older brother approach them, making his way across the lonesome landscape.
Marcii sighed and frowned slightly.
She had expected an army to appear on their doorstep.
But instead there was only Malcolm.
What did he want?
Had Tyran come up with a plan to lure them out? Using Kaylm’s brother as bait?
She had no idea.
But, she supposed, one way or another, they were about to find out.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Trudging slowly through the thick snow Malcolm’s boots and trousers were soaked through. His body shivered violently against the freezing cold and his muscles cramped over and over again.
Nonetheless, he ignored the mild inconvenience, focusing instead upon the difficult path that lay ahead of him.
The day was bright and he’d been able to see the abandoned town Ravenhead for hours, but it had been only recently that he’d grown close enough to make out the movement of several figures amidst the grey, stone buildings.
The enormous demon Reaper was the most obvious amongst them and Malcolm’s lip peeled up into sneer when he saw him.
As he drew nearer however, knowing he must fool them, the troubled Evans schooled his face into a more trustworthy expression. It became a mixture of shock, despair and relief that would hopefully perfectly match the fictional story he and Alistair had fabricated.
He saw they had come down from their high tower.
How considerate of them, he thought coldly to himself.
Pulling his furs tightly around his frozen body, shrugging his shoulders deeper into them, Malcolm approached cautiously. The witch Marcii stepped forward to greet him, alongside his cowardly brother Kaylm. They looked different somehow, though Malcolm couldn’t quite discern what had changed.
He saw the old man Midnight, whose part in all of this still confused him slightly. Not that it really mattered. Alistair wanted him, and in exchange for his help, Malcolm got this chance to make his brother suffer too.
Next to him stood a young girl with messy hair. He didn’t recognise her and his eyes quickly skipped over her to Malorie and the monstrosity stood beside her.
Even from a distance Reaper still looked enormous. Malcolm shuddered as he remembered facing the monster, when they had been pursuing Marcii through the wilderness.
Over and over the two of them had seemed to slip through their fingers.
But no longer.
This was it.
This was the end.
He would make sure of it.
“Malcolm.” Kaylm breathed, unable to conceal the slight quiver in his voice.
Marcii squeezed his hand a little more tightly, though Kaylm wasn’t entirely sure whether that was out of support or exhaustion.
Likely a combination of the two.
“Kaylm.” He replied, to some extent falsely mimicking his brother’s apprehension.
“Why have you come here?” Kaylm asked. “What do you want?”
He was fairly certain he already knew the answer to those questions. His brother had never really been that fond of him after all.
Malcolm however, it seemed, had a few surprises for his cowardly younger brother.
“You haven’t heard?” Malcolm replied, feigning shock.
“Heard what?” Kaylm asked, taken aback somewhat, for he had not been expecting anything from his brother other than accusations.
Malcolm sighed heavily, though perhaps just a little too theatrically. He had picked up much from Alistair it seemed, even in such a short space of time.
“It’s Tyran.” He replied. “He’s a madman. He threw me out. He threatened to kill me if I didn’t leave.”
“I could have told you that.” Marcii cut in.
Her voice had much more of an edge to it than Kaylm’s. Though she could not see straight through Malcolm’s words as she would have liked, she certainly didn’t trust him. Not after everything that had happened.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Malcolm’s gaze, but only for the briefest moment.
“I found our parent’s bodies…” Malcolm went on, feigning sorrow. “They were killed by the wolves…”
He secretly revelled in the look of utter dismay and grief that consumed his younger brother’s face at his words.
“I went to Tyran about it…” He continued relentlessly. “I begged him to seek out the beasts.”
“Why?” Marcii asked, suspicious.
“To slay them!” Malcolm burst out, throwing his arms wide. “You were gone, and you’d taken your demons with you.” He gestured wildly towards Malorie and Reaper as he spoke. “But the wolves kept returning! They’ve killed hundreds!”
“They went back again?” Marcii questioned, raising her eyebrows slightly, turning round to glance briefly back at the old man Midnight.
The old man’s face was distraught. Even now that he was no longer there, he realised his younger brother would still prey upon the weak regardless.
It seemed there was no escaping it.
“What did Tyran say?” Kaylm asked.
“He refused.” Malcolm replied simply. “He wouldn’t even consider it.”
“Why?”
“Because of her!” Malcolm stated, a sinister-mocking tone coating his words as his finger singled out Marcii. “Because he’s so obsessed with finding you, and that bloody monster of yours…” He went on, pointing next at Reaper. “He didn’t even give the wolves a second thought!”
Admittedly it was an elaborate lie. However, the main thing that gave it credibility was indeed the fact that it was s
o believable.
It was exactly the kind of insane, rash decision that Tyran would have made.
“He’s out of control.” Malcolm sighed. “I used to think he was trying to protect us. But now he’s gone too far. He’s leading an army like they’re his personal guard…”
Marcii nodded, but she did not speak.
Perhaps there was truth in Malcolm’s words.
She had seen Tyran’s army herself, in her most recent vision.
“He means to destroy you.” Malcolm warned, his voice growing evermore grave and serious as his eyes bore into Marcii’s. “He can’t control his own rage.”
The young Dougherty didn’t doubt that either.
“And you’ve come here to warn us.” Marcii replied, her voice level and full of undisguised venom. “How very gallant of you. Pity you weren’t so considerate when you were forcing Kaylm to join his cause. Or is beating your younger brother senseless acceptable in your eyes?”
Malcolm was forced to hold his tongue.
Marcii smiled inwardly at the silence.
He hated the witch with all his might, but he hated his brother more. If he gave himself away now, she would undoubtedly make sure he didn’t even reach Kaylm, let alone have chance to kill him.
His eyes flickered briefly to the menacing figure of Reaper, stood only a stone’s throw away.
Sighing deeply again Malcolm feigned another sorrowful expression, filling his eyes with false regret.
“I haven’t come here for forgiveness.” He replied, his voice full of steel.
That much was true at least.
“I’ve come to make sure he doesn’t have his way.”
“And how do you plan to do that?” Kaylm asked. He’d found his voice again at last and this time it rang with gritty anger.
“All I can do is warn you.” His older brother admitted, shaking his head slightly and shrugging his shoulders. “I presumed you would run.”
“And take you with us!?” Kaylm replied, almost spitting the words. “You want us to keep you alive you mean!”
Malcolm shrugged again.
“If you would have me.” He said. “If not, I’d find my own way.”