by Alex Aguilar
Only one nymph remained, the one that had been stabbed.
It began crawling towards Robyn, who held her knife out in defense.
The nymph roared with fury and began to release its vines from its arms. They began wrapping around her legs like a snake, tightening and straining the muscles on her thighs. And then Robyn did as the crow had done and plunged the knife into the creature’s wooden head. The nymph froze where it was. The glowing in its eyes diminished into nothing. And then it fell against the dirt beside Robyn, as stiff as wood should be, and its vines loosened and Robyn untangled herself from them.
She began glancing about, half-dazed and queasy, searching for the crow that had come to her aid.
She found it staring down at her from a seemingly motionless oak tree.
They shared a look for a moment… A very brief moment…
And then her body fell backwards against the dirt, her head hitting the ground and rendering her unconscious. The last thing young Robyn saw was the black silhouette of the crow flying towards her, before everything else went black along with it.
* * *
John Huxley was awakened by a cold breeze, the kind that could only mean an impending storm or something comparably as strong. A shiver ran up his spine, though he felt it wasn’t entirely the wind that had caused it. He realized he must have dozed off while the others were still in conversation; only now, everyone in the camp was sound asleep. As he looked around, he noticed there were fewer bodies in the camp than before; two were missing to be precise.
Sir Jossiah Biggs had been assigned the first watch, yet he was nowhere in sight.
John cared, though very little, about the callous knight. It was when he failed to spot the thief Hudson Blackwood, however, that he began to panic. Syrena was still there, lying in the same place where he’d last seen her. She moved subtly in her sleep, unable to find comfort with her restrained hands; the chain was locked to a sleeping soldier’s arm as a necessary precaution in case she had the idea to run off in the middle of the night.
The thief and the witch hadn’t left each other’s sides since they left the farm, and it was strange to see one there without the other. For a moment, John wondered if Hudson was heartless enough to run off without her.
There was a sudden humming nearby that made him twitch.
Jossiah Biggs walked towards the camp, tying up his trousers presumably after having relieved himself. He ignored John at first, and instead glanced about in subtle distress. “Where’s the thief?” he asked suddenly.
And John had no answer for him, for he was about to ask the very same question.
Jossiah gave the entire camp another glance. “Are you deaf, lad?!” he asked stridently, as if accusing John. “Where the bloody hells is Blackwood?!”
The former knight was then silenced by a blow to the head that knocked him unconscious. A dark figure dressed entirely in black appeared behind him, holding a thick branch. John struggled to stand, keeping his gaze up. He searched the dirt for his blade. When he found it, however, it was too late. Hudson placed a heavy foot over it and dropped the branch.
“What are y-”
“Shhhh,” Hudson silenced the young farmer, crouching down next to him. His troubled eyes were fixed on the trees uphill. “Don’t make a sound, mate,” he said softly.
John loosened his grip on the blade and turned his gaze to the trees as well, hunkering down next to the thief. He was surprised Hudson hadn’t attacked him when he had the chance. Knowing very well that there had been plenty of opportunities, John became more uncertain of the thief’s intentions by the minute. It was as if the thief was incapable of holding grudges and instead acted upon impulse without worrying about who was hurt in the process. Either that or the thief admired the farmer’s fighting skills far too much to kill him just yet…
“What is it?” John asked in a whisper.
“There’s something in the trees,” Hudson said.
John took a moment to look back at Jossiah’s unconscious body lying on the dirt. “Was that truly necessary?”
“He was speaking too loud,” Hudson said calmly.
“So ask him to quiet down! Did you have to hit him in the head?!”
“My way’s more efficient.”
“It is not!”
“Well it’s certainly more enjoyable.”
“Where’s the joy in knocking your own ally unconscious?!”
“I will do the same to you if you don’t stop whispering so bloody loudly!” Hudson hissed. There was a muffled shriek in the distance, causing the both of them to turn their heads at once. The trees uphill were swaying, but nothing more. Both of them hoped it was just a crow. But both of them also knew better.
“Besides, he had it coming,” Hudson added.
John remained silent, perhaps in indirect agreement. There was a soft mumble behind them. Syrena was trembling while she slept and her head appeared to be twitching as if she was having a rather unpleasant dream. Hudson shrugged it off; having slept next to the witch every night since they met, he was well aware of how restless she was while she dreamed.
“What d’you suppose is up there?” John asked as they continued to observe the trees.
“Not sure.”
“D’you think we’re in danger?”
“Not sure.”
“Then what the bloody hells are we doing?!”
“Listen, mate, no one is forcing you to stay awake… I simply refuse to be woken up by an Arachnian chewing on my legs. Don’t know about you, but I very much like my legs. So you can either keep watch or go right on back to sleep.”
“And leave you to keep watch? Not a chance.”
“I’m keeping a much better watch than that useless guzzler,” Hudson motioned to Jossiah, who suddenly began snoring, blowing dirt into the wind as his face was pressed against the dirt. John smirked at the sight, much to his own surprise. And Hudson noticed it and grinned along with him, as if silently agreeing that neither one was particularly fond of the man.
The midnight sounds filled the air. The wind blew steadily, creating a muffled whistling sound that felt almost musical, over the cackling fire and the chirping of the crickets. For a moment, it felt almost peaceful…
“Tell me… why are you here, mate?” Hudson asked abruptly.
“What d’you mean?”
“You’re no knight. You’re just a farmer. And you’ve no debt with the king, certainly, so why willingly risk your own life for the princess?”
“I’m not doing it for her… or him,” John answered.
“Please, mate,” Hudson chuckled. “Never lie to a liar.”
John was suddenly at a loss for words. A million thoughts raced through his mind upon realizing that he had no definite answer to the thief’s question. A part of him admittedly knew he wanted some form of respect. Whether it was respect for himself or for his family’s name was not entirely clear.
“I suppose I can’t judge,” Hudson spoke again. “There are worse things in the world to fight for than a pair of breasts.”
“Don’t pretend to know it all,” John replied harshly. “You know absolutely nothing of me.”
“I know enough, mate… And you’re either a very brave man or a very stupid one. If you’ve no explanation as to why you do what you do, then I’m afraid you’re the latter.”
“I’m doing this…” John snapped, “…because I’m the only one that’s seen his face. This man, this lord who took her… There’s something not right about ‘im, he… He’s more than what he seems. And if I don’t do this, we… we may all be damned. And I cannot just sit by and watch it happen.”
“We’re all damned either way,” Hudson said with a scoff. “If a war erupts, who do you think your lords and kings will try to save first? Certainly not the peasants… Y’see, we’re all disposable in their eyes, every one of us. Farmers, thieves, soldiers, it won’t matter. They look at us and all they see is pawns, nothing more. So long as they survive, fuck the rest. So,
tell me, mate… why would you fight for a man who wouldn’t put as much effort into saving you…?”
John felt himself sink for a moment, felt the thief’s words tug at his heartstrings.
But something somehow held him back.
Clever, John thought silently to himself. His use of words…Too clever. With a talent like that, who even needs magic?
Hudson underestimated John’s persistence quite greatly. The only person John knew who was just as stubborn was his own sister Robyn. Perhaps it was a farmer thing. Perhaps a Huxley thing. Either way, John had the urge to remain hopeful, if not optimistic. Perhaps his hope would lead to his end, but the farmer was not willing to let it happen without giving the enemy a good fight.
“Like I said… I’m not doing this for them.”
They said nothing for a moment, instead allowing for the peaceful night sounds to linger.
Damn it all to hells, Hudson thought to himself. Caught in the act… And by the very same man that caught me before, no less. But there was no way the farmer could have seen anything. No way could he have read the thief’s thoughts. No way could he have known what was hidden in the thief’s pocket…
As for Hudson, his own thoughts weren’t all too clear to him either. Surely there was no hurry to kill the farmer just yet. Despite being loose about the gravity of their relationship, the thief forgot nothing. And very rarely did he forgive. But an impending fight could surely wait until his freedom did not hang in the balance. One clash of steel and the entire camp would be awake and with their weapons drawn.
The matter would have to wait…
John felt the thirst kick in. He hadn’t had a proper drink since that morning. He wasn’t sure, however, if it was actual thirst or if it was the guilt. He had challenged and caught Hudson without hesitation, but it was also Hudson that saved his life just hours before. He had to say something. Anything.
“L-Listen, Hudson… Back at Val Havyn… I w-”
Shhnnnnng.
They became suddenly startled as a silver longsword loomed in behind them.
“What exactly is the meaning of this?!”
John and Hudson turned their heads, only to see Sir Viktor Crowley standing over them with his weapon ready, as he examined Jossiah’s unconscious body.
“The farmer did it,” Hudson teased, rising to his feet.
“I did not!” John argued.
“Fine. He did not. But he told me to…”
“I said no such thing!”
“With his eyes, he did…”
Viktor stepped closer to the thief and shook him ruthlessly by the collar. “What are you playing at, Blackwood?!” he shouted.
“By the gods, did you check for meat in your teeth, mate? That’s quite an awful stench,” the thief grinned and shook Viktor’s hands off him. Before he spoke, he fixed the collar of his beloved coat. “That hound of yours was being an obnoxious arse and nearly gave us all away.”
“Gave us away?!” Viktor asked a bit too loud. “To whom?!”
Suddenly, there was a piercing shriek coming from the trees uphill.
The wind began to pick up, blowing dust and old leaves towards the camp.
Syrena, startled and fully awake, sat up and began gazing about hesitantly. When her eyes met Hudson’s, the tension in her shoulders eased, though the look in her eyes remained.
The rumbling of the trees grew louder.
The leaves appeared to be moving in a wavelike manner, approaching them…
“What is that…?” asked the voice of a naïve young man. Cedric could not believe his eyes. He tried to force himself awake, wishing it were all a nightmare.
Only it wasn’t… The leaves were moving, all right…
Something alive and hungry was approaching them.
“We must leave… We must leave now!” Viktor Crowley was shouting as he rushed to prepare the horses. He kicked Jossiah along the way and yelled, “Get up, old dog!”
Jossiah growled awake and instantly rubbed the back of his head with a befuddled expression.
“Wake up!” Cedric shook Thaddeus Rexx’s shoulder and proceeded to do the same to the rest of the men in the camp. “Wake up! Quickly, now! Something’s coming!”
Syrena, the witch of Morganna, knew exactly what was coming. With tension in her eyes, she approached the knight commander in charge. “Wait! You there!” she said.
Viktor came to a halt, realizing this was the first time Syrena had approached him directly. The witch spoke very little and therefore when she did speak, it was quite hard to ignore.
“Uncuff me,” she said, her lustrous orange eyes captivating him.
Viktor’s brow lowered. And it kept the sweat from burning his eyes. “Pardon me?”
“You gonna kill them? Because they mean to kill you. Now uncuff me!”
The shrieking grew louder. A rope snapped and three of the horses in the camp ran off into the darkness, their echoing neighs drifting away.
“Shit,” Viktor grumbled. “There’s no time!” He then turned to his men and shouted, “Come on, you lot! To the horses! Now!”
John and Hudson ran towards their mounts, grabbing their stuff along the way.
“Are those Arachnians?” John asked.
“I’m afraid not,” the thief said. “It’s something far worse.”
Every soul in the camp was by then fully awake, packing and mounting their horses as fast as they could. The thunder echoed all around, but it wasn’t exactly raining. What was falling was more like thick heavy droplets, just a handful every few seconds, not nearly enough to soak them.
The shadows above moved closer and closer.
And young Cedric’s eye caught something at that very moment… One of the shadows hung on a branch right above them. Under the moonlight he saw it, the rough brown surface of what looked like a wooden arm. Cedric began to panic, realizing his horse was among those that ran off, and all of his belongings had been tied to that saddle. Like a reflex, his right hand moved to his belt, feeling the wooden handle of his trusty dagger.
It was all he had left, that dagger… And he felt lightheaded at the thought…
Before he could even begin to faint, however, he was knocked back against the dirt by something rough and woodlike… The shock was enough to wake him. He came face to face with one. A nymph, just inches from his face. It shrieked loudly at him and he smelled its fowl breath, like that of rotting leaves and tree sap.
Among the dirt Cedric crawled back, not believing his eyes as they looked up at the creature that stood before him. It had a scrawny body made of wood and its head was long, with dozens of sharp twigs sticking out at the top like hairs. It had hollow holes where its eyes should have been and its mouth was lined with sharp wooden teeth.
“N-No… no please,” he begged, as the nymph inched towards him. It was showing no signs of mercy in its hollow eyes. All that was there was hunger.
“Hey!” someone shouted, and the nymph craned its neck away from the young man. Syrena of Morganna may have been cuffed, but she reckoned the nymph had to know… Somehow it had to sense her, feel her power through the ogreskin… At least, the witch hoped.
But the nymph began to crawl towards her, hissing at her hauntingly. Cedric managed to stumble to his feet and walked backwards, leaving the witch behind. She gave him a glower. She had saved him, but Cedric was far too afraid to return the deed.
“Oi, kid!” a deep voice shouted. Thaddeus Rexx was atop his horse, beckoning Cedric to come his way. Without hesitation, Cedric hopped on and they ran off into the dark path. Syrena felt the fury in her chest. Had she not been cuffed, her hands would be roaring with flames at that very moment. She swore she could smell the ogreskin burning away from the inside somehow. Then again, she swore she could smell it every time.
At that moment, more nymphs began to drop into the camp, and the company began struggling against them. Three of them caged in on Syrena, hissing at her, inching towards her with their claws exposed. The witch watche
d them in horror. But it wasn’t horror at the sight of the nymphs, for this was neither her first encounter nor her last. It was the way they were looking at her… Normally they could sense her magic from yards away and they would hide, and she would be lucky to even catch a glance. But through the layer of dead skin, they sensed nothing.
Their hunger was far stronger than the rest of their senses.
She felt defenseless… But before the first tree nymph could attack, a sword sunk into its neck and the wood snapped. The nymph fell dead. John and Hudson had come to her defense, swinging their blades in such different forms and yet both of them with equal speed and polish.
“Their heads, mate! Get their heads!” Hudson shouted.
John listened and his wrist twisted in ways he had no idea were even possible. To train in a barn was one thing. But to fight for your life was another altogether.
The nymphs fell dead, one by one. The two men stood on either side of the witch with their blades held up, as if shielding her. When the last of the nymphs fell headless on the dirt, the three of them glanced at each other in turns. And they took a moment to catch their breath.
“You there!” a sudden voice shouted.
Jossiah Biggs, drenched in sweat, approached the three of them. They realized they weren’t the only ones fighting. “My horse has run off!” Jossiah shouted. “I’m taking the witch’s horse! One of you must take her with you!” With that, the former knight mounted said horse and trotted after Viktor Crowley into the foggy path between a cluster of trees.
“Hey! Come back! You bloody bast-”
“No time to sulk, darling!” Hudson Blackwood took a step towards Syrena and grabbed her by the waist. “You heard the man,” he lifted her onto his horse and then leapt up to sit behind her, reaching for the reins. She sat sideways, her legs hanging over the horse’s ribcage, for there was no way she could have kept her balance with her hands in chains.
“You’ll have to wrap your arms around my neck!” Hudson told her, to which she grunted.
“I’ll be fine.”