Crimson Wind

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “Where do we start?” he asked when she was done.

  “I have no idea. I haven’t seen or smelled him since the wild magic hit us.” She glanced up at the sky. The crimson mist hung thick overhead. They probably had two or three hours to sunrise. Not a lot of time to find a safe place to hole up in, much less track down the mage. If he wasn’t hurt, he’d probably make out all right on his own, but if he was— She’d pushed him into this mess, and she owed it to him to get him out if she could.

  “Any signal we make will just bring trouble down on us,” Alexander said.

  “That didn’t seem to bother you when you were bellowing for me,” Max pointed out.

  “I like you more than I like him. I would leave him to rot, but Valery would gut me.”

  “For a divorced woman being stalked by her ex, you’d think she’d be pleased if he fell off the side of the planet.”

  “You would think,” he agreed, but said no more.

  “Let’s angle back that way and see if we can pick up some sign of him,” Max said, pointing. “If we don’t find him in two hours, he’s on his own. We’ll have to look for cover.”

  She started walking, and her thoughts turned to Jim. She wondered if he’d made it through to her brother’s house. She wondered if her family was still alive and if Jim had told them she was coming, that she’d be there before sunrise. Her stomach churned, and she felt nauseous. She wondered if they were waiting—praying for help that was going to be very late in coming.

  Chapter 11

  MAX STALKED AHEAD, HER HEAD SWIVELING back and forth warily. Alexander drifted to her left, leaving a good twenty feet between them. He watched the ground and trees, periodically lifting his gaze to scan the skies. Wild magic still fell. He could hear unfamiliar sounds, and they set him on edge. He could not tell how normal they might be to a forest or what dangers they might hint at. He had spent most of the past hundred years or so in cities. Even at Horngate, he rarely made the perimeter patrols.

  Smells tickled his attention. Bitter musk, sour mold, mealy ash. He stepped over a mound of crumbled dirt and then another and another. There were a couple of dozen altogether. He eased through on the balls of his feet, wondering what hid inside them.

  A rumble shook the ground just as he reached the last of the mounds. Suddenly black and blue beetles spilled from the tops of each. They were as big as sparrows and covered in glossy feathers. They had rounded doglike snouts full of sharp teeth. They instantly honed in on Alexander, pooling together and flooding toward him.

  Alexander sprang away, grasping an overhead limb and swinging up into a tree. They followed, swarming up the trunk. He crouched on the branch and sprang fifteen feet to another tree, catching himself with his hands. He pulled himself up and made two more leaps before dropping lightly down, trying not to jar the earth and call attention to himself.

  He turned to find Max right behind him. He breathed in her scent and bit the inside of his cheek with the sudden flush of desire that spilled through him. Every time he saw her, every time he was close to her, he reacted like a thirteen-year-old boy. But there was nothing juvenile in his hunger for her. He wanted to rip his shirt off her and see her bare body again; he wanted to push her up against the tree and drive himself into her until neither of them had the strength to stand.

  He ground his teeth together. Now was not the time. But soon, if he had anything to say on the matter.

  Max started away and Alexander followed her, then grabbed her wrist as a faint scent hooked him. Blood, and it had a coppery taste. Human, or close to it. He glanced at her. She’d caught it, too. She nodded. “It might not be him, but it’s the only trail we’ve got,” she murmured.

  He led the way this time. He climbed a hill, and the sound of rushing water came to him, and the smell of blood grew stronger. He went down the opposite slope. The trees grew thicker, the gnarled limbs twisting and knotting together in a thick tangle, making it nearly impossible to pass through.

  White streamers of what looked like torn cobwebs hung like rags in the thicket. Three-inch thorns glistened wetly through the gray foliage. Alexander stopped. There was a presence here, as if something was waiting. The back of his neck prickled. In front of him, the weaving branches untied themselves, leaving a narrow tunnel. It was about thirty feet long. On the other end was a clearing.

  He looked at Max. “Go through or go around?”

  She looked over her shoulder. “Not sure we have a choice.”

  He followed her gaze. The path was gone; the trees had woven themselves together so tightly that there was not a hole big enough for a squirrel to get through. As he watched, thorns grew out like porcupine quills, covering every handhold and leaving only the enticing emptiness of the exit.

  He snarled in fury. “It is a trap. I blundered right in.”

  “Both of us did,” she said, her eyes narrowing on the tunnel. “One of us might get through before it snaps shut, but not both.” She stroked her fingers over the rowan wood spear she’d made. “I’m not sure how much help this will be.” She looked up, and a smile curved her lips. “That’s interesting.”

  Above was open to the sky, as if the trees were taunting them. Max looked down at her hand, where Tutresiel’s feather was embedded.

  “I can distract it with the rowan spear while you run through, and then I’ll jump out,” she said. “It can’t be more than twenty feet up. If the feather works, I should clear it easy.”

  Alexander shook his head. “First jump out and make sure you can. Then try attacking from the outside.”

  She raised her brows at him. “You’d better be fast.”

  He smiled smugly. “You are worried about me.”

  “You know you’re about to be lunch food for a big, bloodthirsty bush, right? You might want to focus and get your priorities straight.”

  “Then get going. Feel free to be naked again when I get to the other side.” He ran his knuckles over her bare thigh just below the hem of his shirt. “That is a lure no sane man could resist.”

  “No one ever said you were sane,” Max said, pushing him away. “Here.” She thrust the rowan spear into his hand. “If you come out of here dead, don’t think I won’t make you regret it. I’ll find a Voudon witch and bring you back to life just so I can kill you again.”

  “I am not so easy to kill,” he said, delighting in the fact that she seemed truly concerned. “Just tell me you will be waiting, and nothing will stop me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Cool it, Slick. This isn’t the movies.”

  With that, she bent her knees and sprang. As a Shadowblade, she could easily jump twenty or thirty feet into the air. But the feather made her soar. She rocketed up and in a moment vanished from sight.

  Alexander let out a relieved breath. She was safely out of this mess.

  Gripping the rowan staff, he turned to the tunnel trap. He crouched and sprang forward. There was not enough room for him to remain upright, and that made him slower. He was halfway through when the tunnel began to collapse, the limbs writhing and clutching at him. He used the spear, rapping it back and forth against the shrinking walls, roof, and root floor. The woven wood maw flinched, but otherwise the rowan had little effect.

  He was ten feet from the end, and the mouth of the tunnel was puckering closed. Poisoned thorns grew in from every angle. He could not get through without scraping himself many times. If the toxin was quick-acting, he would be dead or possibly paralyzed before he escaped.

  He did not stop moving. He smashed at the thorns with the rowan spear, clearing room for himself. Outside, he heard Max and saw the flash of her knife as she hacked at the entrance. In another moment or two, it would be too small for him to get out. He dove, flinging himself through the tunnel mouth. Wood and thorns scraped his bare chest and caught at his pants as he plunged through.

  He landed on his shoulder and rolled onto his feet. Instantly, his vision fuzzed, and he staggered. Max caught him around the waist.

  “Easy n
ow, Slick. I’ve got you.”

  “But will you keep me?” The words were slurred. His tongue felt like a stone.

  “Depends. How are you with cleaning bathrooms and making the bed? Or are you one of those men who leave their wet towels and dirty underwear on the floor?” She hitched him closer. “Come on. Get in the water. Let’s try to rinse away some of the poison.”

  She pushed him back. He staggered. His legs were stiff, and every muscle in his body was seizing up. The toxin was paralytic. He hardly felt the chill of the water as he fell headlong into it. Max put her arm under his neck and rubbed gently at the scrapes along his torso.

  “Come on, Slick. You’re wasting the night. Hurry up and heal,” she said, sounding tense.

  He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t move. His heart stuttered, and his lungs felt like bricks. He could feel his healing spells fighting, spreading fingers of heat and light through his body. His head spun as he fought to breathe.

  “This is a trick to get me to kiss you again, isn’t it? You think I’ll give you mouth-to-mouth. It’s pathetic, Slick.”

  He felt the sensation of movement as she lifted him out of the water and laid him on the grass beside the pool. There was pressure against his numb nose and lips and a remote push into his chest. He heard her take another breath as she repeated the action four more times. Then he heard a cracking sound and felt a weight against his chest as she did compressions.

  She repeated the sequence five more times, and each time more sensation returned to him as his healing spells did their job. By the sixth time, he could feel the warmth of her lips on his. Sluggishly, he lifted his arm and caught the back of her head with his hand. He pushed his tongue inside her mouth, kissing her. She froze an instant, then kissed him back, her hands sliding up to cup his cheeks. Her taste made his head spin. He lifted his head, pulling her closer, slanting his mouth and kissing her deeply. She made a sound in her throat, her fingers curling into fists against his face.

  He pulled away, panting, though whether from want of her or lack of capacity in his still healing lungs, he did not know.

  “So I guess you’re feeling better,” she said.

  “I could use another kiss to really make me well.”

  She grinned and shook her head. “C’mon. We had better get looking for Holt.”

  She stood and helped him to his feet. He grimaced. His jeans were sopping wet, and his boots squelched. He stretched clumsily. His muscles were still stiff, but every moment made them less so. He looked around.

  They stood in a small grass-filled cup. A spring bubbled merrily in a pool at the center and rushed away in a brook. The thorn tree thicket spread across the upslope and down the left and right, cut apart by the brook that ran uphill, against all nature. The downslope ended in a drop-off. Alexander went to the edge and peered over. A gorge opened up below. A golden river wound through it, and a herd of something that looked like buffalo grazed along the far bank.

  He lifted his head, searching for the smell of coppery blood. It was close. “That way,” he said to Max, pointing to the left. The thorn trees grew to the edge of the cliff, blocking their way.

  “I hope he didn’t get eaten already,” Max said.

  “They probably spit the bastard out.”

  “He does leave a bad taste in the mouth, doesn’t he? So how do you want to get out of here? Do you want to try the creek?” She went to the edge of the cliff and leaned over. “We could probably climb across, if there aren’t any rock traps.”

  Alexander grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “Better to take the creek path. Magic will not transform things in running water. It does not care for it much.”

  “Let’s be quick, then. Holt might be bleeding to death.”

  “One can hope,” Alexander said dryly, and followed her.

  She picked up the rowan spear and splashed into the pool, rinsing any poison off the spear before following the creek. Alexander followed. On either side, the gnarled thorn trees twitched and writhed, limbs winding through the air like snakes as they honed in on the two invading Blades. But Alexander was right. They could not break the boundary of the running water. He and Max trotted through the thicket, emerging into a meadow on the other side.

  Along the edge of the cliff were what appeared to be three black and orange plants. Each was made up of six or seven tall, arching stems that pushed up out of the ground in a massive clump. The stems varied in size from several feet in diameter down to a foot. The ends of each flattened into fan shapes, the undersides of which were covered in slitted blisters. The stems slapped the ground and one another with angry ferocity.

  “Déjà vu all over again,” Max murmured. “There’s Holt.”

  The mage was lying on the ground among the three plant creatures. A dome of white energy covered him, holding off the pounding blows. But even as they watched, the dome shrank.

  Alexander and Max moved at the same time. She stabbed at the attacking tentacles with her rowan spear and knife. A squealing shriek cut the night, and the tentacles jerked back, flailing about. They did not like the taste of cold iron or rowan. Alexander grabbed Holt and dragged him out of range. Max followed, backing up and driving off the striking tentacles with sharp swipes of the spear.

  Holt was bleeding from several wounds. He had a deep gash in his left side below his ribs and another on the inside of his left thigh. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and matted the hair on the side of his head. He blinked dazedly at his rescuers.

  “You look like shit, Zippy,” Max said. “And I know what I’m talking about.”

  “You lost your pants,” he pointed out, and coughed painfully.

  “Well, his brain isn’t quite fried,” she told Alexander.

  “Too bad,” he said, and unbuckled Holt’s belt, using it to tie a tourniquet around his leg.

  In the meantime, Max sat the injured mage up and pulled off his shirt, making a makeshift bandage for the wound in his side. Holt gasped and gritted his teeth beneath their ministrations, but he did not cry out. Alexander had to admit to grudging respect for the other man’s strength.

  They helped him up and carried him between them. Alexander guided their steps back north. They were able to avoid any potential trouble until they were a bare hundred yards from the edge of the enchantment, when a chorus of howls erupted from the trees and rocks littering the ridge behind.

  “Is it me, or do those beasties sound hungry?” Max said.

  “We could leave them Holt to feast on. That should give us plenty of time to escape,” Alexander suggested. At her exasperated look, he shrugged. “Worth a try. Take him. I will keep our howling friends occupied.”

  She passed him the rowan spear and hoisted Holt up into her arms. The mage’s head lolled against her shoulder and dangled over her arm. He had fainted. She started away, picking her way carefully as she looked for traps.

  Alexander followed close behind, watching over his shoulder. When the hunters came, they flowed silently over the ground like a rolling fog. They were grizzled gray, with narrow heads, long pointed jaws, and skeletal bodies. They stood about three feet tall at the shoulder, with a ruff of long fur that ran thick around their necks and down their bellies. Their bones protruded sharply through the hairless skin covering the rest of their bodies, and a long wedged tail like an alligator’s slid through the air behind. Their feet were broad paws with wickedly hooked claws. They loped across the ground, splitting and braiding back and forth. There had to be forty of them. They were silent now, heads dropped low as they hunted.

  They spread out as they approached, circling wide. Max hurried faster. Twenty yards more, and she and Holt would be clear. The trouble was, the beasts had to be following the scent of blood; nothing Alexander could do would distract them.

  “Jump with him,” he ordered. “Break the blood trail.”

  To his surprise, she did not argue. Instead, she collected herself and leaped. She flew up into the air like she’d been thrown. Ahead
, he could see the southern edge of the town of Weed, the highway lined with cars, and dazed-looking people wandering about, staring toward the erupting mountain. Between that old reality and this was a shimmering curtain, like heat waves rising off desert sands.

  Something grabbed his foot. He jerked it back and look down. A hairy green hand with pointed black nails slid back beneath a clump of purple-headed clover. The plant twitched and stilled as if the creature waited. More clover spread away in an apron of rich green. How many of the little beasts hid there, waiting to swarm some blundering idiot? He glanced over his shoulder. The noose of gray hunger was closing on him. He could see the snarling lips and yellow teeth of the hunting beasts and hear their soft panting breaths.

  His grip tightened on the spear. With the other hand, he drew his .45. He edged sideways until he reached a smooth boulder humping up out of the ground. He leaped on top of it. It was barely five feet across and no more than two feet high, but it gave him the advantage of high ground.

  He knew he could not hold them off long. He scanned the terrain again. The clover field narrowed considerably about thirty yards away. If he could kill some of the gray beasts, he could toss them into the clover and perhaps distract the hidden hunters. He could then make his escape.

  He hefted the spear and tensed as the circle of beasts closed around his perch. There did not seem to be a pack leader. The animals paced in a narrowing spiral, watching Alexander with white eyes. Their pupils were slitted like a cat’s. He shifted his weight, and six of them instantly leaped at him. Almost as one, they dug into the ground and lunged up, teeth snapping.

  Alexander swung the rowan spear, smashing the ribs of one and knocking it into two others. They fell in a snarling tangle, biting and tearing at one another. He shot a fourth one, ducking down as the fifth came at his chest. He twisted and thrust his shoulder under it, flinging the creature off. Hot streaks flared as its claws raked down his back. The last one fastened on his right forearm. He heard his bones snapping, and he dropped his gun. He thrust the spear deep into the animal’s stomach. Black blood spouted over his hand and sprayed his legs. The beast yelped and dropped away.