The Scarlet Thread

by D. S. Murphy

  Sitri came up behind me and grabbed my waist. “You’re waiting too long, and coming in too straight.” I could feel his firm body behind me as he stepped closer and wrapped his fingers around the handle of my sword, covering my hand. For a moment I wished I wasn’t wearing gloves, so I could feel his skin on mine.

  “Swing to the side, curve back and stab the heart at an angle. It’s one fluid movement, not two.” He showed me what he meant in slow motion.

  After fifteen minutes of practice, I could hit the heart about a third of the time.

  “Keep practicing like that, and you might be ready in a year,” Eligor said from behind me. I glared at him.

  “Today’s not about skill, it’s about knowledge,” Sitri said. He led me to another dummy in the second row. This one was wearing a metal plate over its chest.

  “The hunters might be wearing armor—usually silver trimmed with gold. It’s softer than iron, but doesn’t leach energy. And it’s still pretty damn hard. A very powerful weapon might pierce it, but it’s safe to assume you won’t be able to. If they’re wearing armor, shoot for the head, aim for the eye. If you put a sword through their eye, they’ll heal, but they’ll be out of the battle. A shotgun blast, point blank in the head, might be enough to finish them.”

  Sitri handed me the shotgun, and showed me how to load it and turn off the safety. “Keep the barrel down. Don’t point it at anything you don’t want to kill,” he said. He held the shotgun with his left hand and a sword in his right. “If you get trapped by a hunter, and he’s coming for you, shoot him in the chest—or the head if you’re sure you won’t miss.” Sitri pulled the trigger and the shotgun blasted the dummy backwards. As it bounced back up, Sitri put the sword through its eye and left it there.

  “Your turn,” he said, handing me the shotgun. “Remember, you only get one chance at it. If you miss, you’ll die. But no pressure.” He put a foot against the dummy and pulled out his sword, wiping it against his leg. The shotgun was awkward in my left hand. I stood right in front of the dummy, tightened my grip, and squeezed the trigger. The recoil threw my elbow into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. The dummy bounced off the ground and attacked me with its wooden beam, pushing me off my feet.

  I heard laughter and turned to see Mist enter the field, followed by Dion and Tori. “Isn’t that adorable,” Mist said. “She thinks she can fight a hunter, but she can’t even beat the dummy.”

  “We’re just showing her the basics,” Sam said. Mist knocked two arrows and fired them at the same time. I flinched as they whizzed over me and thudded into the dummy I was facing, sticking out of its head where its eyes should be. “She might have a better chance if he was blind,” Mist said.

  “We just came to get a little practice,” Dion said. He was holding a long staff and leaned it casually against his neck. Tori was wearing bright red lipstick and some lightweight armor that put her cleavage on display, under a flowing white gown. I wondered how she could keep so clean out here in the woods—my shoes were muddy from the hike in. She fixed me with her mesmerizing eyes and approached, swaying her hips like a cobra. She kissed me on the cheek, just as I felt the blade from a concealed knife scrape against my neck.

  “The boys won’t teach you everything you need to know,” she whispered with a smile. “Including the most important—as a woman, you can distract and charm. Most men will underestimate you, or hesitate from killing you. If you have to fight, use your natural advantages.” She ran her fingers over the outside of my sweater, grazing the side of my breast, and winked at me.

  “You know that stuff doesn’t work on hunters,” Mist said. “Besides, it takes too long. Why seduce them when you can skewer them?”

  “They understand lust,” Tori said. “And they were made to appreciate beauty. Isn’t that right, torch?” She wrapped her arms around Eligor and squeezed his butt. He shifted uncomfortably.

  “I don’t know how you can stand to be that close to one of them,” Mist said, turning up her nose. “They’re so creepy. And they were made to kill us.”

  “But this one didn’t,” Sitri said. “Don’t you get that yet? He’s here because he refused. And he has a name, by the way.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We’ll never be able to trust them. What if Zeus lets them come back, but only if they kill ten heirs? Or a hundred? Don’t tell me they wouldn’t scramble back to him.”

  “For myself, personally, I could not. And I imagine the other torches are the same, though I cannot speak for them all,” Eligor said stiffly.

  “You dare talk to me?” Mist said, her eyes burning with fury. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by the rumble of thunder.

  Sitri and Heph moved in front of Eligor warily.

  “Whatever. I’m going back in the house if you’re going to play with vermin.” She spit on the ground, glaring at me.

  “No, you stay.” Sitri said. “We were just leaving. Besides, the weather has turned.”

  We walked back to the house through a light rain. I fell in step next to Eligor. I understood Mist’s comment about torches being creepy. The dark shadows around their eyes made them look like zombies—like life had buried them and they’d crawled up through the ashes. It was especially noticeable next to the freakishly good-looking members of Able’s family. When we exited the woods, I could see several dozen of them, spread out around the house like sentries.

  “I don’t understand, you’re here to help them, to protect them, even though they say bad things about you?” I asked him.

  “I don’t work for them, I work for Able. Able offered me a place here, and I promised to serve and protect him when needed. I cannot go against my word. It would be a fate worse than death.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One doubt opens the way to uncertainty. Suddenly, questions become possible. But if we question everything, more and more truths are undone. Some torches keep digging, relentless, unsatisfied. They burn everything, until they believe in nothing and no one, and become shadows of themselves. They are husks—empty shells. We call them roaches, because they are like insects.”

  “They’re hardly conscious, apart from a ferocious despair and anger, and which drives them to suck out every little bit of magic or happiness from the world—an echo of the command which destroyed them, the command we first refused. That command we refused on accident. I can’t explain it, it just felt wrong. When I was cast off, and Able offered sanctuary, I swore myself to him. He was my life raft. He offered me purpose. If I break that promise, if I defile my honor again—intentionally this time—I’d be lost to myself. I could break more promises. Start lying. Each moral question becomes a dangerous choice; perhaps the last choice I make before becoming a roach myself.”

  We split up once we reached the house, and left Eligor behind with some other torches. Sitri excused himself to go find Able. Sam took me back to Stephanie’s room. We passed through the armory, and waved at Matt and Priya. Their faces were flushed and they looked guilty; I bet we’d almost caught them making out. My clothes were wet from the rain, so I changed them quickly. Sam waited outside my room, then escorted me upstairs.

  Stephanie’s room looked different than I remembered it. Against the wall was a black sarcophagus with gold leaf decoration and hieroglyphs, showing a young woman with dark bangs, and there were two onyx statues of tall, black cats I don’t remember seeing before. It smelled like incense and jasmine.

  Stephanie had changed her appearance to match. She was wearing thick eyeliner and blue eye shadow, with thin band of shiny gold under each eye. Her hair was up in a bun, and held in place by several long golden needles. Instead of the pretty youth she’d seemed last time, today she was dressed as a dark mistress, and looked devastatingly beautiful.

  She prepared a pot of tea and poured two glasses. I waited for mine to cool.

  “Learn anything useful?” she said, nodding at the sword.

  “Yeah. As long as all the hunters stand perfectly still and let me sta
b them, I’ll be fine.”

  “Nobody expected you to learn how to fight in one day,” Stephanie said. “The sword is a last resort. We have something else for you, to make sure you don’t have to use it.”

  She grabbed a stocking cap from the table near the window held it up to me. It was made of thick, black yarn.

  “Um, thanks?”

  She put the cap on her head, and disappeared.

  “Well actually, it’s my husband’s,” her voice continued, though I could no longer see her. “It’s a very old form of magic. And rare. I just made its current form. The magic is in the yarn.”

  “Invisibility?” I asked.

  Stephanie pulled off the cap and tossed it to me. I caught it in one hand, rubbing the fibers between my fingertips.

  “Wear it as much as you can, even while you’re sleeping. And take this as well.” She reached behind her slender neck and undid the clasp to her necklace—a glittering design with flat links of gold framing a handful of large red rubies.

  “I’ve been wearing it since last night, so it’s charged with my energy. If you keep the stones against your skin, you should heal as quickly as Able or I.”

  I put my palm to my chest and felt the bump of my necklace against my collarbone. I took it off and put it in my pocket carefully. Stephanie moved behind me, lifting up my hair so she could fasten the necklace. I felt a surge of power as it touched my skin, and my eyes widened.

  “You’ll feel stronger and faster with it on,” Stephanie said. “But don’t let it fool you. You’re still weak compared to the hunters, and with zero skill there is no way you’d survive a fight. When they come, you disappear and let us deal with them.”

  “It doesn’t feel right,” I said. “It feels selfish to sit back and let other people protect me. Die for me. I don’t want to be the cause of any more death.”

  Stephanie laughed harshly. “As if they would die for you. But if you feel bad about it, learn to control your gift.”

  “But how?” I asked.

  “Genetic heritage usually activates when life is threatened. We’ve tried that with you, so we have some sense of what you’re capable of. Now you need to learn to do it intentionally. Pain is the fastest way to sharpen focus.” She pulled one of the golden needles out of her bun.

  “I studied medicine for a while, you know. I was never as good as Alice, but I did find one thing useful. The practical application of pain. This little needle, through an eyeball or a testicle, under a kneecap or fingernail, into a kidney or liver, can cause considerably more anguish than your sword. And I could kill you with it in a hundred different ways. If you want to truly know yourself, explore the boundaries of your pain.”

  She handed me the needle. Goose pimples raised over my skin. What did she expect me to do, torture myself?

  “When I was a young girl,” Stephanie said, “I fell in love.” She turned her back on me and returned to her flower arrangement.

  “His name was Peirithous, and he was my whole world. We planned to marry as soon as we were old enough. Then one day I was out picking flowers, and I heard thunder—but it was the galloping of mighty hooves. A magnificent carriage pulled up next to me, and out stepped the most handsome man I’d ever seen, wrapped in a thick dark cloak. He swept me off my feet. What can I say, I was a poor country girl and he was a cultured stranger. I was captivated.”

  “Able?” I asked. Stephanie nodded.

  “We ran away together, and got married in secret. He bought me a fine house and gave me everything I’d ever wanted. I figured Peirithous would forget about me, but he didn’t. My mother and all my friends convinced him I’d been abducted against my will. He came after me, to rescue me.”

  “When he arrived, I was too ashamed to speak with him. My husband invited him in and had him sit on a stone chair, but he cursed it first. The stone seat enveloped Peirithous and turned him to stone.”

  “Why would Able do that?” I asked.

  “Jealousy. Spite. Or just for a passing moment of entertainment. We were all capricious back then. Mortals meant little to us. Later, when Zeus took over, he killed my mother—his own sister. She wasn’t a warrior, she was just a woman. A gardener. If I’d have stayed home, maybe I could have protected her. Saved her. Instead I’d run away with Able, leaving her all alone. And Zeus killed her. First my lover, then my mother. One killed by my husband, the other killed by his brother.”

  She turned around to face me, her eyes flashing with anger.

  “So I don’t care how guilty you feel about your dead brother, or how selfish you feel being protected by us. You don’t matter at all. I’m doing this because my love was cut down in its youth, and dried up and turned to ash in my mouth, and because I’ll never again taste the sweetness of youth without biting into the bitterness of regret.”

  Her pupils were black voids, rimmed with a line of ice blue that flickered like fire. A breeze tore through the room, causing the shutters to slam and a painting to fall off the wall. Stephanie’s dress flared out behind her, and her voice grew larger, more powerful. Shadows flew around the room, cast by an unseen source. Her voice dropped several octaves, and roared through the room.

  “I have caused death. I have lived it. All the while, I’ve been waiting for the instrument of my revenge. If that’s you, the sniveling girl standing in front of me, I’ll use it. Because those I’ve lost to Zeus deserve justice. And because of that, I protect you—but make no mistake, it’s not because I care what happens you. And if I need to hurt you to make you stronger, rest assured I will do what’s necessary.”

  I cringed, and Stephanie seemed to calm down. She straightened her dress and redid her bun, taking the golden needle back from me and sticking it into her dark hair.

  “The more you lose, the stronger you get. But you might be our only chance to win this war. So when they come for you, don’t do anything stupid. You put the cap on, and you hide. Got it?”

  I nodded, then reached for the teapot on the table with shaky fingers and poured myself a cup. I’d just taken a sip, savoring the taste and aroma of the tea, when a blinding flash of lightning evaporated the ceiling.

  15

  The tea cup shattered against the floor. The lightning bolt had pierced through the ceiling with tremendous force, sending a cascade of sizzling stone and charred wood down on us. I looked up into the rain to see four more bolts of lightning. Wait, not lightning. I could see figures in the flashes. Hunters.

  They tumbled into the room, weapons drawn. Stephanie killed two of them before they took their first step. I heard a high pitched whine as her golden needles found their marks. The other two fell between us. “Run!” Stephanie shouted. I could barely hear her above the roaring wind.

  I dashed out of the room with a hunter right behind me as Stephanie faced off with the other. I raced around a corner and pulled on the stocking cap, then flattened myself against the wall. The hunter sailed past me. I held my breath as he paused and looked back at me, narrowing his eyes. His wings shimmered like liquid mirrors behind him. Then he kept going. I was invisible.

  I was supposed to head to Able’s study and hide in his secret room behind his bookshelf. But I could hear shouting and fighting in either direction. The best thing to do would be to stay put and hide. I ducked into the corner next to a window. I could see what was happening outside, while also watching the hall.

  I saw Stephanie leave her room and head downstairs. Another hunter crept in from the right. They were dressed identically, with form-fitting, heavily decorated armor so shiny it gave off a ghostly glow. I held my breath as he passed me. Two torches charged up the stairs and attacked him with fury. The hunter’s wings folded behind him, like a shimmering cloak. His long sword sizzled with blue energy. Soon the torches were lagging. They were going to lose.

  I pulled the shotgun out of my bag, careful not to make any noise. If I could get close enough to shoot the hunter, it might distract him long enough for one of the torches to finish him off. I crouched
in the corner clutching the shotgun, my heart pounding, looking for an opening—but the flashes of steel, the thunderous din of battle petrified me. It was way too fast. And Stephanie had told me to stay hidden.

  The hunter slashed through one of the torch’s legs, disconnecting it from his body just below the knee. Thick, black blood oozed out of the wound like tar. The hunter turned and stabbed the torch behind him in the heart with lethal accuracy, then spun and decapitated the one standing on one leg. Both bodies fell to the ground. I felt dizzy and thought I smelled vomit. It might have been my own. The smell reminded me of Dennis. I realized I hadn’t thought about him much since I’d been here, and I felt bad about it. When you see someone murdered in front of you, you should remember.

  “She was with Stephanie, she must be up here!” a voice shouted. Matt’s voice. I put my hand over my mouth to keep from shouting a warning. As the hunter turned towards the stairs, a beam of light illuminated his face. Now that he’d stopped moving, I realized that I recognized him. Puriel. His noble, strong features made him look like royalty in his gold and silver armor. He flicked his sword, and it tossed a splatter of black blood against the wall. It looked like an ink blot test. Part of me wanted to stare at it until I saw something meaningful.

  The other part of me watched, in horror, as Priya and Matt raced up the stairs towards him. Priya was nearly invisible in her camouflage. I saw a flash of a blade as she hurled herself at Puriel. He caught her easily by the neck and threw her aside violently.

  Matt sprouted a pair of horns and charged at Puriel, ramming him with his shoulder. He pushed the hunter across the hall and lifted him up with his horns, pinning him against the wall. Puriel’s blood sparkled like silver glitter and I saw him gasp in pain.

  He reached up, then smashed his elbow downwards so hard he broke through Matt’s horn. He tore the horn out of his own stomach and tossed it aside. Puriel’s sword flared with energy, heating up like molten metal, and he pressed it against his own abdomen. I heard his flesh sizzle as the wound sealed itself.