The Yarnsworld Collection: A fantasy boxset

by Benedict Patrick

  It was Crazy Raccoon who made a move first, striding threateningly towards the Shepherdess. Despite his recent revelations about the man, Arturo could not help but marvel at the bravery it must have taken to do that. Despite the fact that she was not looking directly at Crazy Raccoon, the Shepherdess reacted instantly to the nearby threat, the pitch of her crying raising slightly, making Arturo’s head ache. Her black cloak pulled back all four of its blades, then thrust them straight at Crazy Raccoon. Thankfully, the Bravador had listened to Arturo’s advice, and was ready to scramble back from the attack.

  What Arturo - and the Shepherdess - had not anticipated was Yizel taking the opportunity to strike at the demon when her back was turned. The Shaven dared to only get close enough for her rapier to catch a small section of the Shepherdess’ cloak, but Arturo was surprised to see the shred of fabric quickly turn into ash once separated from the Shepherdess’ body, just like the ash warriors in the cottages outside.

  So, she can be hurt.

  This information, important as it was, almost came at a high cost. To get close enough to make the cut, Yizel put herself well into striking range of the Shepherdess. This would have been fine if the demon had the same reaction times as a normal human, but the Shepherdess was much quicker. Clearly hurt by Yizel’s attack, she reared back, moving impossibly fast, all four points of her black needles aimed at Yizel.

  “No!” Arturo shouted, as the Shepherdess lanced forward.

  Amber sparks danced from Yizel’s eyes, this time. However, instead of using her increased speed and reflexes for further swordplay, Yizel disengaged, rolling to the side, coming to rest close to one of the village men cowering at the church walls.

  And then time slowed to almost a standstill for Arturo. His Knack, still sparking, still fighting against the warping power of the Shepherdess’ presence, seemed to unlock reality at that moment. He could see the strengths of his companions, capable of so much more than him in the art of combat. He could see the Shepherdess, her unnatural talents far surpassing what mere mortals were capable of, but her knowledge of the art of combat was restricted, just like the shade of Procopio that Arturo had fought earlier.

  But right now, more than anything else, Arturo’s Knack was showing him the young men creeping around the walls of the church, edging to safety. He was seeing the patterns of the story they would tell when they survived the ordeal. The legend it would become.

  Like something impossible, something precious he had lost and now found, Arturo saw his future movements, saw himself stepping forward, pointing his rapier towards the demon in front of him. He could almost swear that blade was glowing. On either side of him stood people he had never seen before, but their faces were instantly familiar. Roaming Iguana. Vengeful Badger. Silent Sparrow. El Elephante. The Bravadori of legend, gesturing towards the Shepherdess, inviting Arturo to step forward. The cowering village men would see him move towards his enemy, his sacrifice against an impossible foe would be the tale they would tell, and his name would be eternal. He would exist forever as a Hungry Wolf, the man who faced the Black Shepherdess, the title of Starving Pup a distant memory.

  An unnerving grin broke on Arturo’s face as time sped up again, and he took a step forward. He held his sword aloft. It was not glowing yet, but he could feel himself shaking with excitement. He was going to achieve what he had dreamed about for so long. His father, brother and mother would hear what he had done. Generations into the future, young men would overhear stories about him and his deeds today, and his story would inspire their dreams.

  He took another step closer to the Shepherdess. She was moving between Yizel and Crazy Raccoon now, shifting her focus from one to the other, moving more like an animal than a person, reacting to whatever she perceived as the most immediate danger. She was not looking at Arturo. This was his moment to sell himself for his story.

  The Shepherdess sobbed again, and reality rippled. As his spark faded, Arturo caught a glimpse of something else. Hiding behind the faces of the legendary Bravadori beckoning him forward, Arturo saw another future. He saw Crazy Raccoon putting himself into a defenceless position, offering himself up as an easy kill for the monster he was battling. He saw Yizel taking advantage of the distraction, leaping through the air, her rapier finding the Shepherdess’ head, severing it from its body. Arturo saw - for the first time - the Shepherdess die. He saw the villagers able to walk free again. And he saw the young men, terrified at the edges of the current conflict, begin to tell stories. Stories about Crazy Raccoon and Yizel. Arturo did not feature in these tales. Perhaps a brief mention in passing, but his name would not be remembered. The shadow of anonymity loomed large behind this version of Arturo, as if it was something he would never escape.

  Two futures available to him. Down only one path would Arturo become the hero he always wanted to be, only one path offered him the chance to become the legend he dreamt of becoming.

  But down only one path did Arturo see any survivors. The road El Elephante and the others wanted to lead him down did not show him what the outcome would be, did not show the Shepherdess dying and did not show the villagers walking free.

  Arturo did not hesitate to make his choice.

  Reuben approached the Shepherdess, his fear in her presence finally cutting through the rage that had fuelled him since entering the village.

  Drink my own piss. Just… drink my own piss. How the fuck is anyone supposed to fight something like that?

  But the strange thing was, Reuben and the Shaven, they were fighting against the Shepherdess. They might not be winning, but they were definitely not as dead as Reuben thought they would have been.

  The Shepherdess was moving towards Yizel, the demonic figure still sobbing constantly, scuttling along the church floor on the blade-like tips of her cloak like a spider. Reuben saw his opportunity, just as Yizel had when the Shepherdess’ back had been turned on her earlier. He ran towards the black demon and kicked at one of her blade legs, sending her toppling to the floor.

  The howl the Shepherdess emitted made Reuben regret his assault instantly. She rounded on him, her blades poised above her again, her sunken eye sockets infected with her anger. She crawled hungrily towards him, the four points of her cloak stabbing forward whenever Reuben was in range.

  Knowing his fists would do him no good, Reuben ran back from her, dancing around three of her strikes, batting aside the fourth with his duelling glove just moments before it pierced his skull.

  She was fast.

  But so am I. Queen’s drained tits, I may not have a Bravador’s Knack, but I’m fucking fast, aren’t I?

  The Shepherdess stabbed at him again, and once more Reuben was able to defect the attack with his hand. For all of her horror and speed, there was no skill behind her strikes. She was lancing out like an animal, but Reuben’s actions were informed by a lifetime standing alongside skilled swordfighters, and he had a Knack and natural fighter’s instinct born from a childhood of struggling for survival.

  The thrill of battle pumping through his veins, Reuben gave a true smile.

  Aren’t going to get me that easy, are you? Thought my lack of mask meant I was an easy target? There’s no easy target here, bitch.

  He moved back another couple of steps, and behind the vicious blackness of the Shepherdess he could see Yizel readying herself, preparing to gain the monster’s attention to give Reuben a breather.

  “Crazy Raccoon!” Starving Pup shouted, from the other end of the church. “Keep going. Keep hitting her. Jump forward now, go for her face. Give her one for Calvario, and for Espadapan!” Reuben shot the boy a puzzled look.

  Half-masked idiot. Hit her in the face? You trying to get me killed?

  Perhaps he is. Why would he need me alive, now he knows I don’t have a Bravador’s Knack? Reuben reduced, somehow, his confidence draining.

  The only thing that made me worth a damn was that mask.

  The Shepherdess moved at him again, lunging with two of her blades, which Reu
ben jumped away from, slamming his back against the wall in the process.

  Behind the Shepherdess, Reuben could see the Shaven standing ready, but unmoving. The only reason she had survived earlier was because Reuben had distracted the Shepherdess before the Shaven ran out of room to manoeuvre. It was clear the Shaven was not willing to return the favour.

  Bitch. Pair of cunts, her and the boy. Bet this was their plan the whole time, get me killed while saving their own skin. Reuben shot another glance at the boy, this one meant to sum up all of his hate and rage for the young Bravador in a final glare. Instead, Reuben was surprised to see Starving Pup looking back in anxious expectation. The boy was crouched, ready, eyes on Reuben, eyes filled with hope. Reuben looked again at Yizel. She was waiting, too. Waiting for him.

  A warm realisation exploded inside Reuben.

  They’re waiting for me to hit her.

  They think I’m good enough to hit her. After everything, after losing to the bandits, after finding out about my Knack, they’re still expecting me to do something nobody in the history of the Wildlands has ever done before.

  The Shepherdess thrust at Reuben again, and once again he batted her blade away from his chest, but this time, instead of retreating to safety, he attacked. He grabbed onto the Shepherdess’ extended weapon, holding tight to the black blade that was meant to end him.

  The Shepherdess locked eyes with him. Her formless face did not often betray her emotions, but Reuben could feel the confusion in her actions. He grinned wickedly at the Black Shepherdess.

  “Bet you never thought anyone would do something like this before. But then, you’ve never fought anyone like me.”

  Instinctively, the Shepherdess withdrew her blade, trying to yank it away from her prey. At the same time, Reuben pushed with both feet at the church wall behind him, using his force and the momentum of the Shepherdess’ movement to propel himself through the air, a ball of madness aimed directly at the centre of his enemy. Reuben’s fist hit the Shepherdess’ face like a thunderclap. Her head twisted to the side, and her sobbing stopped.

  For a brief second, all of the combatants were still, except for Reuben, falling prone to the ground in front of the Shepherdess.

  He was the first to make any noise.

  He began to laugh. Reuben’s laughing continued even as the Shepherdess cracked her neck back around, her sobbing beginning anew. She hung over him, her prey now lying on his back, with no chance to escape her blades.

  Still, Reuben laughed at her.

  “You didn’t expect that, did you, bitch? You should have though. You should have, picking a fight against me. Want to know why? Because, even without my mask, even without my name, even without my Knack, you know what? I’m still the best.”

  The Shepherdess sobbed, raising two of her blades above the laughing man.

  “Yeah, I’m still the fucking best.”

  She should have been confused by what was happening, on so many levels. In the last few minutes, Yizel had found herself fighting side by side with two Bravadori, not as a servant, but as an equal. The boy, Starving Pup, seemed to have taken command, issuing orders to her and Crazy Raccoon. It did not seem presumptuous of him, however. It seemed right somehow, right that someone with his abilities could be trusted to point her in the best direction. What was most strange, however, was Crazy Raccoon. This bastard of an individual, this man who represented what Yizel most hated in the world of the Bravadori, was suddenly her ally.

  Yizel had known what Starving Pup’s command to Crazy Raccoon had meant, just as Crazy Raccoon must have known as well. The older Bravador was now vulnerable, having drawn the Shepherdess’ entire focus, opening Yizel up for the kill. But Crazy Raccoon had done it, trusting that Yizel would finish the job, save his life.

  Yizel prepared to move, ready to finally play the part of the hero, though she would never truly be one. Just like with the Cadejo, just like with the bandits, she would not get the credit for this kill. The villagers would crown the Bravadori as champions of the day. More than likely, Crazy Raccoon would be the one to return to Espadapan and claim victory for himself, casting Yizel back into the gutter as he had done so twice before.

  Time slowed as Yizel paused to contemplate her position, two of the Shepherdess’ black blades raised high above Crazy Raccoon, the mad Bravador lying laughing in the face of his enemy.

  Wouldn’t it be better, she thought, if Crazy Raccoon never made it back to the city? Then there’d be nobody to spread lies about her. Starving Pup would probably back up her claim to victory, and the villagers would follow his lead and call her a hero. After hearing about a Shaven who had rid them all of the Black Shepherdess… well, how could Yizel not be reinstated as a Bravador then? And Dielena… well, then Dielena and she could have that conversation that has been due ever since her friend stabbed her in the stomach.

  “Now, Yizel,” Starving Pup shouted, bringing her mind back to the task at hand.

  Crazy Raccoon’s laughing continued, mocking Yizel’s weakness, warning her already of the future that he would shape if she let him live.

  One second’s pause, and Yizel could be free of the shackles that had held her down for the past decade of her life.

  Except, Yizel realised suddenly, as she leapt into the air, muscles propelled by the spark of her Knack as it ignited, those shackles were already broken. Those idiots back in the city want to call her Shaven, want to spit at her, want to take her hair and her dignity? Let them. Let them try. Because, unlike them, she will have killed a demon, killed a god. Saved a village. No pox-faced Bravador will be able take that from her, will be able to steal the dignity she was about to earn.

  No man, not even Crazy Raccoon, even after all he had done to her, needed to die so she could be free.

  Her rapier did not glow golden. It did not shine with the light of the Queen’s blessing. But it did pierce the shrivelled heart of the Black Shepherdess.

  The creature screamed as it died.

  There was a brief silence in the church, empty of the sound of combat, the weeping of the dead finally ended.

  The first to make a noise were the village men, somehow having survived the horrors, cheering and rushing to the two fighters who took on the demon.

  A key unlocked. A cellar door opened. More innocents flooded the room, mourning their loved ones and celebrating the heroes.

  Another man looked on, forgotten as his companions were praised, his unused sword still in his hand. He saw the children clutching their mothers’ skirts, and he gave a small smile. For him, that was enough.

  A breeze came from the open doorway, pulling at the heap of ash decorating the floorboards, trailing it out to the Wildlands, dissipating in the sunlight that broke through the clouds.

  The sky remained grey, but nobody paid it much mind. In the Wilds, the sky never got much better than that.

  Some distance from the village of Calvario, a pocket of ash formed on the ground, caught in a small hole between some rocks, where the wind could not properly reach. Any passersby would swear that the collection of ash almost had the form of a human face, although none from Calvario were abroad on this day, and few others visited this part of the Wildlands in the heat of the summer.

  By coincidence, perhaps, an old lady stopped by the face in the ash. The woman was naked in the sunlight, the many folds of her flesh giving the impression of a half-melted candle. She did not appear ashamed by her nakedness, and looked upon the face in the ash with disappointment.

  “Please,” the face in the ash croaked, a wet sob breaking the silence of the plains.

  The old lady, her wrinkled skin covered in the brown dust of the plains, said nothing, but raised a grey eyebrow at the face’s request.

  “Please,” the face continued. “One more chance. Give me one more chance to prove myself.”

  The old lady tutted before stamping once on the face of ash, causing the grey dust to puff up from its shelter, catching the breeze and spreading across the flats of the
Wildlands, never to form a face again.

  Then the old lady turned to observe the distant village, her eyes narrowing.

  “I had thought the Bravadori of Espadapan to be a fading menace,” she mused aloud. Two folds of flesh under her distended belly parted, revealing a toad-like tongue that tasted the afternoon air. She reached down to this new mouth and put a long fingernail inside to loosen some meat stuck between the sharp teeth. “It appears I was wrong.”

  The old lady smiled, using the mouth below her belly and the mouth on her face, and a gust of wind struck up, blowing the dust from her body. As the dust began to disappear, as if carried away to some secret place, so too did the old hag.

  “Perhaps it is time to turn my attention again to the City of Swords, to rid myself of their threat once and for all.”

  Arturo sat outside the village, watching as the Wildfolk inspected the ruins, some already rebuilding their homes. Somehow, he felt it was wrong to be among them, when so many in Calvario were in mourning. The only thing Arturo had lost was a boyhood daydream of the future.

  The edges of his eyes itched where the new mask rubbed at them. It had felt wrong putting it back on, but the villagers seemed to have expected it, when they emerged from the church cellar, blinking in the sun that streamed through the breaking clouds, asking for the Bravadori. They had seemed lost and fearful when a small man with a sword approached them through the dust of their enemies, but when he had put his mask back on their confidence in their protectors had been renewed.