He waited, frozen, breath held tight. Whatever it was that was torturing Tomas might not be alone. If it had companions, one of them could be within kissing distance of Arturo right now, and he would not know it. Thankfully, after what seemed like an age, Arturo decided that since he was not yet dead that nothing out there had heard him.
What was close, however, were Tomas’ screams. The Wildman’s cries had been reduced to a low, ongoing wail. It would have been difficult to mistake it as a human voice, now, if Arturo had not known of its source.
Maybe it isn’t human anymore, Arturo thought. Maybe the creature has killed Tomas already, and this noise is the best it can do to trap the next hapless fool.
The wailing was so close, Arturo knew any movement he made now could give his position away. If he had been inside any tavern in Espadapan, Tomas would have been in the room with him - he was so near - but the blackness meant that the distance was meaningless.
Alfrond, My Queen, Mouse Spirit, any of you: hear my prayer. Please, let me save my friend. Give me the opportunity to be a hero.
It might have been the prayer, it might have been coincidence, but at that moment the clouds above thinned, and a shaft of moonlight glared through the remaining veil, illuminating the Wilds around Arturo.
That was when he saw the creature that was only steps away from him.
It was dog-like. That was the first thing Arturo noticed about it, although it was twice as big as even the largest wolfhound he had ever seen. Its fur seemed to be black, although he could not be certain in the reduced moonlight. What Arturo was certain of was that the creature was long haired, and those hairs had matted together into thick, worm-like tendrils that hung from the creature’s hide. Those tendrils seemed to be moving of their own accord.
What captured Arturo’s attention, however, what threatened to send him screaming back down the hillside, were the creature’s eyes. There had been blackness in front of Arturo only moments ago, but now that the moon was out the beast’s eyes captured that light, radiating with an eerily pale glow. Unlike a normal dog’s eyes, set inside its skull, the eyes of this creature were bulbous, round orbs that seemed to have been placed on its head as an afterthought, protruding like the eyes of some of the more unusual fish Arturo had spotted being hauled ashore on Espadapan’s wharf.
At sight of the creature, Arturo took a deep breath through his nose, and almost threw up. The air was heavy with the stench of days-old piss.
The beast had not seen him, yet. Its full attention was on Tomas. The Wildman was on the ground, the beast above him, one paw on the Wildman’s chest. Tomas continued his wail, the beast’s head lowered, close to his.
Arturo caught a flash of white, as the creature’s teeth caught the moonlight. It opened its mouth and breathed on Tomas. Arturo almost gagged at the renewed stench in the air as the creature’s breath released a fresh wave of the urine-like smell. Tomas, less than a hand’s span from the source of the fetid gas, had less control, and vomit exploded from his mouth, covering himself and the beast in bile. The creature did not seem to mind, and breathed again on the Wildman, causing his screams to increase in volume.
Arturo gripped his blade, unsure of what to do. He had a sword fighting Knack, but how to bring that to bear against something like this? If he stabbed this creature, would it bleed? Could he kill it?
He held his sword in front of him. Moments ago, it had been invisible, but now it glowed in the moonlight.
Arturo caught himself at the sight of it. Was it the moonlight, or was his blade actually shining?
A surge of confidence grabbed hold of his fear and thrust it behind him, useless and unwanted. He looked at the creature standing over his friend, killing him with its breath. Arturo inhaled, forced himself to focus, and tensed to spring forward.
A hand grabbed him by the shoulder before he could make that leap.
“Don’t,” Yizel said, as quietly as possible.
He exhaled, and felt his body wanting to tremble in relief. He was no longer alone.
“What is it?” he asked, indicating towards the Wilds beast.
“Cadejo. I think. Demon dog. Lures its prey into the night to eat them. Guess we know how, now.”
“It stinks.”
“Yes. It really does. What was your plan, exactly?”
He looked at the Shaven, then down at his moon-kissed sword. “I… I’m a Queen’s Blade. I was going to…” He trailed off, embarrassed.
“Don’t be a half-masked idiot,” Yizel spat back, then thrust a branch into his hand, the head of it covered by a cloth. “Use this instead.”
Arturo took a second to look at it, then nodded. “Together, then?”
Yizel nodded back, grimly.
“Okay,” he said, tensing again, certain this time of what he was about to do. “Go!”
Together, they rushed forward, and at the same time Arturo pulled the blanket from the top of the branch. The flame had been reduced to low embers by the smothering blanket, but with a new feed of air the fire quickly grew again, licking up from the dry wood with new vigour.
Not able to help himself, Arturo shouted mindlessly as they charged. The Cadejo turned to face them, its fish-eyes bulging with their pale light.
“Don’t get too close,” Yizel shouted. She was at his side, her own sword drawn. “Its breath brings madness.”
Not hesitating, Arturo ran straight up to the creature, shoving the burning branch into its face. The Cadejo howled at the sight of them, and hunched down low, covering Tomas with its tendrilous belly. The beast opened its mouth, and Arturo expected an almighty growl to come forth, but the actual noise was worse - it was the sound of a baby crying, coming from this filthy, unnatural creature, an uncanny lure that had pulled them all from the safety of the campfire.
The beast did not want to leave its prey.
Arturo shouted, thrusting the branch towards the demon. The Cadejo snapped at the burning brand, but Arturo’s Knack warned him to pull the fire away just in time. As the Cadejo stretched out its neck, Yizel darted forward with her own sword, jabbing the dog’s black flesh.
The child-like noise from the demon dog’s throat leapt up an octave.
Arturo swung the branch at the Cadejo again, and it whimpered, shuffled back, revealing Tomas underneath. Arturo’s heart beat like a victory march in his chest. It was falling back, retreating. The demon was scared of him. Of the fire, yes, but also of him and Yizel, working together to protect their fallen comrade.
“Back, beast!” Arturo shouted, stabbing at the Cadejo, this time making contact with the demon’s face, the flames from the branch igniting some of the black hairs that writhed over the creature’s body.
The demon dog scampered backwards, screaming shrilly, the sound of tortured infant not at all matching the hellish vision in front of Arturo. Something congealed on the Cadejo’s matted fur must have been flammable, as the fire began to spread across its coat, the demon becoming an orange brightness in the dark of the night. Spitting, it rolled on the ground, doing its best to put out the flames, and failing.
“Help me with him,” Yizel ordered Arturo, grabbing the unconscious Wildman’s shoulders.
With the Cadejo’s child-like screams pursuing him through the night, Arturo took hold of one of Tomas’ arms and began pulling the Wildman back towards the distant campfire.
Something was very wrong with the Wildman, and he was starting to piss Crazy Raccoon off. It might not have been the little man's fault - it was the morning after Starving Pup and the Shaven had disobeyed his orders, and Crazy Raccoon was still fuming about that.
After the boy and the Shaven had returned to the campfire, dragging the Wildman between them, Crazy Raccoon had been shocked to see them all alive, and the sight of them had silenced any protests he might have had about their actions. He had taken the rest of the watch, but none of them had slept. The Shaven stayed beside the Wildman, mopping his brow and trying to calm him down. The Wildman was gibbering nonsensically,
and Crazy Raccoon could only guess at the horrors they had faced in the black. Starving Pup had pulled his bedroll closer to the fire, and had lain on it after the Shaven had insisted he do so, but Crazy Raccoon could see the young Bravador's white, wide eyes, staring at the figures that danced in the tall flames. Crazy Raccoon found it hard to look at the boy, as if Starving Pup was trying to make him feel guilty for not joining them in battle.
"What the hell's he talking about?" Crazy Raccoon shouted at the Shaven after the Wildman's most recent outburst. He picked himself up and wandered over to the little man's bed. The Wildman's pupils were huge, almost draining the rest of the colour from his eyes, and the remaining whites were bloodshot. Tomas was staring forward, eyes not fixed on anything in particular, tongue hanging out of his mouth.
"Cheese! It watches now, the dandelion, Rosetta! Take me to the kitchen. Eat the pot."
"Drink my own piss," Crazy Raccoon said, realising the Wildman was suffering from more than just simple shock. "What did this to him?"
"Cadejo," the Shaven replied, not moving her eyes from the stricken Wildman.
"Fuck. Fuck. How the hell're we going to get him over the rest of the Wildlands now?"
"I'll carry him," she said.
Starving Pup rose from his nearby bedroll. "Won't he be better in the morning? He's going to need carried?"
This time the Shaven did look at Crazy Raccoon. She knew just as well as he did - it was only the boy who did not understand.
"Well, you tell him," Crazy Raccoon invited the Shaven, taking what little humour he could from the moment. "Together you brought him back. Tell the boy what you risked your lives to save."
Crazy Raccoon did not care for the brief flicker of hatred across the woman's face, but she followed his command without hesitation.
"The Cadejo steals sanity with its breath," she explained to the young Bravador. "Tomas is gone, now. He will not get better."
It was not often Crazy Raccoon got to see something like that, to see hope die so clearly on someone's face. It wasn't dissimilar to the moment when someone's soul left their body after being impaled on the end of a sword.
In the morning, Starving Pup and the Shaven spent some time binding together a stretcher for the Wildman, and took turns to drag it across the dirt of the Wildlands. Crazy Raccoon never offered to help - the man was not his burden, after all - but he never complained about the loss of time the stretcher created. They travelled a day like that, nobody really speaking to each other, all tired after the lack of sleep the previous night. Tomas continued to rave, making no sense whatsoever, eating food whenever it was placed in his mouth, but otherwise not giving any indication of recognising the others were even there. Crazy Raccoon noticed that when it was not Starving Pup's turn to pull the stretcher, the young Bravador’s mood would deepen, and the boy’s eyes would rarely lift from staring at his own feet.
Probably feeling guilty, Crazy Raccoon thought. I remember the first time I lost a friend on the job. Never easy. Would've been fine if they all just listened to me,
Still, can't have the boy getting too mopey about it. No point in travelling all this way to the village if the only other decent fighter is too caught up in his own head to be any good in a scrap.
That night's sleep was uncomfortable. Starving Pup took most of the watch - he was supposed to wake the Shaven, but never did - but the Wildman's ravings continued until dawn, stealing the joy of oblivion from the rest of the travellers.
The next morning brought respite in the form of a river. There were a number of old canoes beached along the bank - probably some kind of communal Wildfolk arrangement for travelling to and from Espadapan - and the Shaven spent a good half hour checking along the bank to find the two that seemed least leaky.
"You take poor Tomas," Crazy Raccoon announced loudly to the Shaven as they got ready to pack the Wildman in. "Let Starving Pup have a break from him - he's been stuck listening to the madman all morning."
The Shaven looked back at him suspiciously, but did not argue. Crazy Raccoon knew she did not like him, and the arrangement was probably her preference as well.
Starving Pup was pale and drawn, due to lack of sleep and drained spirit, and put very little effort into his paddling, to Crazy Raccoon's annoyance.
Right, time to whip some sense into him.
"None of this would've happened if you'd all just listened to me."
"What?" Starving Pup turned around to face him in the boat, and Crazy Raccoon was surprised by the anger on the boy's face. Perhaps he had misjudged how to open this encounter.
"If you'd all listened to me, we'd be better off."
"If we'd listened to you?" Starving Pup almost shouted the words back at him. "Why in Alfrond's name would I listen to a coward who sits on his arse instead of drawing his sword to protect the innocent?"
Crazy Raccoon checked only for a second to make sure that the Shaven, further on up the river, was not looking in their direction. Then he stood up in the canoe and hit the boy, knocking him onto his back. Starving Pup grunted, but did not retaliate, so Crazy Raccoon hit him again, two, three times. He sat down and looked the boy grimly in the face. There was no threat of him fighting back - Starving Pup understood that was the price he paid for speaking to Crazy Raccoon in such a manner.
Crazy Raccoon pointed at the young Bravador. "Now, you listen here - I warned you that wasn't a child crying in the night. If you'd all listened, there'd be four able bodies making this trip right now."
The boy's lip was pouted, petulant and beaten. "And when Tomas left?" He turned to look Crazy Raccoon in the eyes, not bothering to hide the tears of anger that streamed down his face. "When he was dying out there in the dark? Did you bother to come and help us bring him back?"
Crazy Raccoon grinned. "You think you brought Tomas back?"
Starving Pup's fury died on his face, replaced by confusion.
Crazy Raccoon continued, "You've seen him. See any sign of the Wildman you knew? D'you think his wife'll be better off with you bringing a cripple home to her?"
The anguish on Starving Pup's face deepened. He clearly had not considered that.
Crazy Raccoon pushed his point. "Oh, she might thank you. Make a song and dance about how you risked your life to bring her poor husband back to her. And then you'll leave her with a raving lunatic for the rest of her life. She'd have been better off if you'd gone back to sleep and let her husband die out there. She'd have mourned for a bit, then found someone else to warm her bed and bring her food."
Crazy Raccoon leaned forward, closing in for the kill. "You risked your life to make hers worse. Does that seem worth it to you?"
"We didn't know," Starving Pup whispered. "We had no way of knowing. We had to try, otherwise we wouldn't be Bravadori."
"I knew," Crazy Raccoon said, smugly, sitting back on the canoe. "Told you at the time and you didn't listen. Should've listened."
The boy did not argue. He knew Crazy Raccoon was right.
"But look," Crazy Raccoon continued, not wanting the other Bravador to sink into complete despair, "you’ve got to focus on what you can do right now, do right by poor Tomas and his family. They're in trouble. He risked his life to come and find you. That was a smart risk to take, a good choice. It might've cost him, but he's bought a chance for his village by finding us."
Crazy Raccoon gave the boy another punch, more playful this time. "But even that effort will have been a waste if you let one mistake drive you Wilds-dry crazy."
Starving Pup looked up at Crazy Raccoon, and Crazy Raccoon gave him a grin back, encouraging him. "For Tomas. You’ve got to get over this, for Tomas."
The boy gave a weak nod, then turned away from Crazy Raccoon, renewing his paddling.
With Starving Pup's back turned, Crazy Raccoon allowed a big grin to break across his face.
Like putty in my hands, he thought, paddling weakly, allowing Starving Pup to take most of the burden this time.
Dull my blade, I can play that boy
like a whore begging for pennies.
The river trip lasted most of the day, and when they came across a stick plunged into the riverbank with ‘Calvario’ painted on it in ochre, they left the water. Starving Pup began making Tomas comfortable for the night, and Crazy Raccoon paid him no further attention.
The Shaven was sorting out the contents of her pack, keeping to herself, as usual. Crazy Raccoon fished at the purses on his belt, and pulled out one of the heaviest ones.
He threw it at her feet.
The Shaven looked at it briefly, then turned to him, confused.
"For a job well done, last night," he said.
The conflict was clear on her face. She looked with longing at the purse, then back at him. "I didn't do it for money," she said, eyes returning to the purse. "It was the right thing to do."
"I don't believe that for a second," he said. "Even when you were a Bravador, I’d guess you still did things for yourself. Maybe for coin. Maybe sex. Maybe power. Bet you can't think of one time you truly thought about others. I'll let you into a secret - none of us do, not even the best of us."
Her hand inched towards the purse, but she hesitated.
"Go on," he goaded her. "I know what you Shaven are like - all about the coin, all about trying to stay alive one day at a time. That thing you did with the dog - never heard of a Shaven doing anything like that, so you deserve the best payment a Shaven’s ever been given. There's enough coin in there to keep you in room and drink for a few months."
Probably more than she’s seen in one place since she was shaved.
As if not fully under her control, the Shaven's hand shot out and grabbed the purse, clutching it tight to her chest. She gave him an equal look of shame and gratitude.
"And there's more where that came from," he told her.
The Shaven's suspicion returned. "Yes?"
He nodded. "You did well last night - probably saved the boy's life. Could get rich from a job like this, if you play your dice right. Could never have to sleep rough again, could get to choose who you work for, and when you work."
The Yarnsworld Collection: A fantasy boxset Page 61