The Attic

by Rachel Xu

  Sweat beaded his brow and his spine prickled. He dare not let his guard down for a second.

  A rush at his side, like a gust of wind, and Kurik raced out from the trees, pelting two large stones at him.

  Ian dove to the side but one rock made impact with his thigh, cracking the femur. He cried out and fell to ground.

  Kurik had vanished again.

  He was like a cat, circling the injured mouse, batting at it with his claws; drawing out the kill to add to his pleasure.

  Ian pulled himself up, favoring his good leg. “Stop hiding,” he growled. “Show yourself and fight me like a man.”

  Silence answered him and he struggled to focus, blinking, head swimming. He ran the back of his hand over his forehead and took several panting gulps of air. His ribs were healed but his thigh was burning like fire.

  A rustle at his right side and a fist came at his face.

  With a jerk, he managed to sidestep the blow, and chopped Kurik on the back of his neck.

  Kurik staggered a few feet away, gripping his neck. “You'll pay for that,” he hissed, charging afresh.

  Ian braced himself, unable to run on his wounded leg, and tried to dodge the blows with dips and dives. Outright blocking them wasn't an option, unless he wanted shattered forearms.

  The first blow to make impact flooded his body with so much pain, he wasn't even sure where he'd been hit. White light filled his vision and he staggered backward, crying out from the pain in his thigh. A second blow sent him flying backwards, slamming into the grass and grinding to a halt two meters away.

  Momentarily paralyzed, Ian lay sprawled on his back, watching helplessly as his brother approached.

  Kurik knelt down beside him, leaned down and whispered in his ear: “I wonder if Auguste thought it was you who tried to kill him that night. He was old and his vision was poor. Can you imagine if he died thinking the boy he raised as his own son had scared him to death in cold blood?” A laugh, his breath hot against Ian's ear. “I want to watch your face as you die, knowing that you failed both Auguste and your precious Lily.”

  Rage surged through Ian's body like an electric shock of adrenaline, numbing the pain and revitalizing his limbs. He narrowed his eyes but made no move.

  Kurik stood to his full height and drew his sword. “This was way too easy,” he said with tone of regret. “I'll make sure I take more time killing Ms. Kline.”

  He lifted the sword and would have driven it through Ian's heart, but Ian rolled to the side and jumped to his feet just as the blade plunged deep into the earth. The brief time on his back had enabled the crack in his femur to finish mending, though his right shoulder felt disjointed. Kurik cried out, letting go of the sword—and in one swift movement, Ian wrenched the sword from the ground and swung it at his brother's neck.

  Kurik ducked his head and raised his arm high in defense, causing the blade to slice into his side between his ribs. If not for Ian's damaged shoulder, which reduced his strength and precision, Kurik would have been sliced in half.

  Kurik twisted away from the sword, the blade wrenching free, and clutched the wound in his hands, blood spurting between his gloved fingers. He wheezed for air with a punctured lung, knees buckling.

  “Please brother,” he gasped, “don't kill me—”

  Ian stepped forward, lifting the crimson blade to Kurik's throat.

  “I have not the strength left to fight,” Kurik said, bowing his cloaked head forward in defeat. “You've won . . . ”

  The heavy sword trembled in Ian's grip, pain screaming in his shoulder, his grip slackening.

  He wavered.

  Evidently sensing the hesitation, Kurik dropped down and grabbed Ian's ankles, flipping him off his feet. The sword dislodged from his grasp and hit the ground. Ian tried to grab it but his fingers closed over air as Kurik snatched it with a screech of triumph.

  “You're such a fool,” he howled, swinging the sword toward Ian's neck. “Time to die!”

  Lily's face flashed before his eyes and he ducked, swinging his leg out at the same time. Kurik fell backwards, his feet swept out from beneath him, but didn't drop the sword—instead he held it out in front like a shield.

  With his last ounce of strength, Ian pounced onto his brother, pinning him to the ground as the blade went through his own abdomen and out the back. He let out an involuntary scream but forced himself to remain focused as stars blotted his vision.

  He opened his mouth wide as his fangs appeared. Before the stunned Kurik could make another move, he embedded his fangs deep in his brother's throat—injecting venom into the carotid artery.

  Kurik's face twisted in agony and surprise, eyes wide with horror as he let out a silent cry. There was no way his body could heal itself fast enough now. The acid-like venom ate through his veins and arteries, dissolving flesh and bones in a matter of seconds. He gagged and spit out blood as his skin turned purple, then gray; his body withering. With a final gasp, the light went out in his eyes as they shrunk and shriveled into his skull.

  Ian pushed himself up and over, falling onto his side. He tore the sword from his abdomen, fangs retracting and vanishing.

  Trembling all over from the mortal wound, he crawled away from his brother's deflated, mummified body, and soon lost all consciousness.

  Chapter 31

  Lily sat with her back against a furrowed log, huddled in silence with Mike, Varkis, Callamous, and six other gargoyles. They sat resting in a circle under the cover of the forest, waiting for the next command from Callamous, who had joined them a little while ago, much to their relief. Another six gargoyles stood watch nearby. They had no torches but continued to see with the night vision provided by the unicorn.

  It was raining lightly now, helping to wash some of the stench of the swamp from their skin, and they were able to cup their hands and drink from the gathering puddles of rainwater.

  All she could think about was Ian.

  How could he have turned on them like that? Her whole body ached with the memory of his betrayal. Would she ever see him again?

  A terrible cry sounded far in the distance.

  Callamous lifted his head in the direction of the sound.

  “One of Morack's creatures?” she whispered.

  “I don't think so,” Varkis snarled. “Sounded human.”

  “Hush—” said Callamous, eyes darkening with an emotion more like grief than anger. “Stay right where you are. I will go.”

  “Hannah, we must leave this place at once.” The Orealas huddled together, begging the housekeeper to listen.

  “But—how can I leave when Ian and Lily are still out there?” She paced back and forth in the narrow secret passageway at the back of the mansion where they'd been hiding for several hours. Its cobwebbed interior was suffused by faint light radiating from the three Orealas.

  Minutes ago they'd heard a monstrous whoop of triumph from the direction of the web-covered vat on the floor above them.

  “We still have no idea what made that sound,” Hannah whispered fiercely. “It might be nothing at all.”

  “It's him,” the Orealas cried together in the faintest of whispers.

  “I told you—it's Morack,” explained the head Oreala, Miriam, for the second time, her voice calmer than the rest. “They have failed in their mission and he is free. We can not protect you from him. We must leave at once.”

  “I can't leave without Ian,” Hannah said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Ian would want us to get you out of here safely, Hannah—you must know that.”

  “At least let me look out back one more time, just to make sure they aren't trying to get in. They should be here by now.”

  “There are many secret entrances to the mansion—Ian knows all of them.”

  “Just humor me—please. You're asking me to leave behind the man I love as my own son. At least let me have one last look.”

  “It's too dangerous.”

  Hannah
stamped her foot. “I will have one last look at the backyard or I will fight you every step of the way. You'll have to carry me out!”

  “Keep your voice down,” Miriam hissed, her patience clearly waning. “I'll allow you one peek, then we must go.”

  They headed down the passageway with a muffled tread and stopped behind the back of a portrait painting to wait and listen. After a few minutes, Hannah let the painting swing out an inch, and peered into the hall to make sure the way was clear. If anyone saw her there'd be no escape.

  But the corridor was empty.

  They climbed out into the hall one by one and shut the painting behind them, scurrying as a group past Auguste's study, and went to the back entrance doors.

  Callamous burst out of the forest onto the greensward, knowing the scream had come from Ian.

  He came to a halt next to the maiden fountain; the one statue on the property that was truly a statue. The grass and earth around it were scuffed up, and blood polluted the rain puddles—looking like an oil spill with his night vision.

  But there were no bodies.

  Callamous surveyed the shadowy yard for any lurking intruders.

  He sniffed the chill autumn air. Ian was nearby. There seemed to be a dark mound of something laying on the ground near the corner of the mansion on the right-hand side. He perked his ears and strutted forward, hooves slurping in the muddy grass. The coppery smell of blood temporarily overtook all other scents and his nostrils flared with disgust.

  He drew close enough to see the mound clearly.

  On the ground before him lay a skeletal corpse that looked like it had been dead for many weeks. Its whole face was shriveled up, there were no eyes in the sockets, and its mouth was open in a silent scream.

  I'm too late—

  Something else caught his eye, around the corner of the building.

  He stepped around the corpse and approached a second body.

  All hopes of saving Ian left him fully.

  Ian lay on his back in the waterlogged grass, lips slightly parted and eyes half open staring blankly into the night sky. His face was gray.

  Callamous dipped his nose down to investigate further. There was a gaping hole in his gut and a bloodied sword lay on the ground a few feet away.

  “Your suffering is over now, Ian,” he whispered, flicking his damp mane and letting out a snort of sorrow. “Rest in peace, dear friend. You did what you came to do and now Kurik is dead. I applaud you. I will take care of Lily now.”

  Ian's bottom lip quivered.

  Callamous stiffened. Was it . . . possible?

  He lowered his muzzle to Ian's neck, checking for a pulse. Ian's skin was like ice but a faint pulse beat against his snout—so weak it could have been the kiss of a butterfly. Ian was probably within seconds of death. There was no way his healing abilities could repair such advanced damage within enough time to save him.

  Without a second thought, Callamous lay down next to Ian and draped his snout over Ian's impaled midsection. He closed his eyes, breathing steadily in and out.

  The outer flesh of Ian's gouged abdomen crawled back together like fingers—interlocking, sealing, shutting. Color began to seep into his hands and up his neck.

  Weakness engulfed Callamous' body and he broke contact with Ian.

  The healing wasn't complete but it was all the life energy he could spare without killing himself in the process.

  Ian would have to do the rest.

  The unicorn rose on unsteady hooves and staggered a few steps as though drunk, looking down at Ian to survey the remaining damage. His lips were no longer gray and there was breath in his lungs now, though he hadn't yet regained consciousness. There were probably extensive internal injuries but Callamous was confident Ian could now finish healing on his own.

  A movement caught his eye.

  The back door to the mansion opened a crack.

  Hannah peeked out.

  The greensward was black, the moon hidden behind an overcast night sky. She opened the door a little further. There was a form, a body, laying on the ground a couple of meters away from her.

  A crash sounded in the mansion from an upper level.

  Two of the Orealas squealed in fright and barreled out of the mansion, pushing the door open all the way and nearly knocking Hannah to the ground. She hurried after them.

  “Quick, close the door,” Miriam hissed to the others, “but do it quietly—don't draw attention to us. We'll circle around the estate and make a run for the road!”

  Hannah didn't wait to see if the Orealas closed the door or not—she was certain she'd seen something looming nearby.

  Two red orbs hovered far above the ground.

  If those were eyes, the owner must be massive.

  “What—is that?”

  Miriam grabbed Hannah's wrist. “Run,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “No.” Hannah jerked her hand free and withdrew a gun from the waistband of her skirt. “What if that's Ian or Lily laying on the ground over there?”

  Miriam put a hand out to stop Hannah. “Stop. Let me.”

  The Head Oreala stepped forward in the direction of the glowing orbs. “Show yourself, creature of the night,” she said loud and clear. “Are you a friend or foe?”

  “I'm neither your friend nor your foe,” came a deep, gravelly voice. “But I recognize you as Ian's comrades. Therefore, I will not kill you.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” Hannah said with a huff, stepping forward. “If you don't want to be a friend, that's fine with me—I have plenty. All I care about is whether that is Ian or Lily over there.” She pointed at the shadowy mound on the grass, too far for her to see clearly.

  “You would do well to shut your trap, woman, before you draw all of Morack's creatures to your side,” the gravelly voice continued. “They have the hearing ability of wolves.”

  “Woman!” she gasped, ignoring his warning. “I have never been treated with such disrespect—”

  “Hannah, shush,” Miriam whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. “He's right—we're being much too noisy.”

  Hannah snorted. “All this talk of monsters and I've yet to see a single one.”

  “Then what am I?” the creature said, stepping forward out of the darkness.

  Hannah's hands went limp at her side and she nearly dropped the handgun.

  It was like an otherworldly Black Beauty, its jaws open from ear-to-ear exposing jagged thorn-like teeth, and no flesh at all on its skull. It stared down at her like a Gytrash steed, ready to cart her off to hell.

  Miriam clamped a hand over Hannah's mouth, stifling her scream, and wrapped her other arm around her, pinning her in place. Hannah struggled to break free. Her elderly heart pounded against the prison walls of her chest and she struggled to breathe.

  “It's a unicorn, “Miriam whispered, “one of the most dangerous and respected creatures in Alvernia.” She didn't let go but turned to address the creature. “So, what are you doing here, Great Unicorn? And whose body is that over yonder? Is it dead or alive?”

  “My name is Callamous,” it said, “and I'm here to help the girl, Lily, destroy Morack.” His eyes flashed. “Forget about the body. The one you care about is over there, around the side.” He gestured to the right side of the mansion. “Ian.”

  Hannah squealed behind Miriam's soft hand and struggled once more. Ian, no, not Ian!

  “I'll let you go,” Miriam said gently, “but you have to promise to stay still and be quiet.”

  She nodded her head, acquiescing, and Miriam let go.

  The terror Hannah had felt at the sight of the unicorn was long gone with the overwhelming fear that Ian was dead. Every bone in her body ached to rush forward but she stood stock still, looking at the unicorn; waiting for a cue to proceed.

  “His brother did this,” said the unicorn, gesturing from them to follow with a toss of his snout. “Kurik.”

  “I'll kill him,” she growled, plunging forward and slipping on the wet grass. She wind
milled her arms to keep upright.

  “Already done,” said Callamous calmly. “That's Kurik's dead body back there.”

  Hannah continued her advance, this time with cautious steps; squishy in the grass. She reached the unconscious form of Ian and dropped to her knees, oblivious to the icy rainwater soaking her skirt. She took his hand in her own and held it to her cheek. It was warm. His eyes were closed, breathing labored.

  “Ian? It's me, Hannah.” She could barely make out his features in the dark. “Are you with me?” she asked, running a loving hand over his cheek. Her fingers touched something rough and bumpy. She recoiled, gasping. “What happened?”

  “A knife wound,” the unicorn answered. “It happened many hours ago and is healed. But the scarring is extensive.”

  Him being alive was all that mattered. And with his fortune he could easily hire the best plastic surgeons to repair his face if need be. If he'd let them of course. But if not, she'd get used to his new face and love him just the same.

  “We need to get going,” said the unicorn. “We need to get him out of the opening.”

  “Yes,” said Miriam in a hushed tone, looking up at the mansion. “Morack may soon be upon us.”

  The unicorn's body went rigid. “What do you mean.”

  “I'm almost certain I heard him in the mansion just a couple of minutes ago.”

  “But that's impossible—Ian stopped Kurik just in time. Unless . . . Quick—check the body for the keys to the trunk, and the Jubaka's venom.”

  Miriam went to the shriveled corpse and rifled through the pockets. She let out a squeal of delight. “The keys! I've got the keys.”

  The unicorn snorted in apparent relief. “Great. And the venom sacs?”

  She continued her search and then stood, wiping her hands on the side of her gown. “There is nothing else.”

  Callamous stamped his hoof in evident frustration, splashing rainwater on their skirts. “Curses!” His eyes flared an even brighter red. “Morack is indeed free.” He clenched his thorny teeth together and narrowed his eyes into slits.