by Jags, Chris
”Mother sent you,” Sasha said without inflection. She paused, awaiting confirmation, but did not appear to require it.
“Don’t kill me,” the youth begged, shielding his face with one shaking arm, “And I’ll tell you who hired me, I’ll tell you, just don’t.”
“You don’t have to.” Sasha moved his arm aside gently.
He whimpered but did not resist her, unable to escape the lightless, mesmeric depths of her eyes. She folded in on him, savaging at his neck, tearing strips of meat from his throat and slurping them back greedily. Simon fought an urge to vomit, wondering if he shouldn’t try to snatch up his axe and put it through the bruxa’s head before he and Niu joined the mounting pile of corpses.
When the unfortunate hunter had ceased digging furrows in the turf with his heels, Sasha wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood. Simon could barely look at her; not only because she was splattered with the liquid remains of several human beings. A strange look haunted the girl’s face; confusion, hunger, anger and sadness swirling in her obsidian eyes. Her tensed muscles and rigidly furrowed brow seemed to take an eternity to relax. Neither Simon nor Niu moved a muscle.
“I won’t kill you,” Sasha said at length, “If that’s what you’re thinking.” She jabbed a finger at Niu. “I like her, after all.” She tossed her head and started walking. “That was the last of them. You should return to the cabin.”
Simon and Niu exchanged helpless glances. Niu peeled several wet strands of hair from her eyes and nodded slightly. Tugging at Simon’s arm, she started to turn, then stiffened.
“What is it?” Simon wondered wearily, uncertain how much more tension he could take. Niu jerked her head.
Not twenty paces away, a hulking figure stood watching them from the dark, dripping shadows. His appearance seemed to startle even Sasha, whose heightened senses had failed to detect him. The newcomer was human-shaped at least, if much larger than the average man. His enormous bulk was draped in a mismatched hodgepodge of furs and hide: fox, deer, bear, and Vanyon only knew what else. Contrasted by a gravity-defying upturned white mustache, a straggling black beard crawled down his chest like moss; it was impossible, in the half-light, to see where it ended and the furs began. He cut an imposing figure, but most alarming of all were the antlers which jutted from the crown of his vast, shaggy head.
“Not bad! Not bad.” The giant applauded, two huge slabs of meat colliding awkwardly and without rhythm. His voice reverberated as deeply bass as Simon would have expected, but with a hint of wheeziness. “You handled them hunters good, girl. Never seen a bruxa in action. Maybe I’ll get to try my hand against one, one day. Not you, of course. Not now. Not looking for trouble today. But I’m rambling.” The man jerked an enormous thumb over his shoulder. “Looks like the three of you could use a roof to dry off. Come along. Follow me.”
With that, he rounded his back on the three of them and stumped off.
Trap? Niu moved her lips soundlessly.
Simon frowned, contemplating, then shook his head slowly. Maybe. But whatever he is, he can’t be more dangerous than this storm.
As for Sasha, she was already following their strange new benefactor. Coming to the decision that things probably couldn’t get much worse, Simon sighed deeply and followed suit.
XI
Wrapped in furs, Simon and Niu sat shivering by the hearth in the small but cozy cave of Oswald Maccrone. Their clothes hung on pegs near the fire. Beyond a thick curtain of hanging vines, rain continued to drum the forest floor mercilessly, but the cave was blessedly dry.
Oswald seemed like a peculiarly inappropriate name for the imposing antlered giant, though he appeared to mean them no harm. He’d brewed them each a mug of a hot, somewhat bitter drink which Simon didn’t recognize but gulped back gratefully all the same. Sasha declined both the drink and a change of clothing, which had creased their host’s brow, but he accepted her decision with the provision that she remain on the doormat until her gore-splattered, sodden dress had dried.
“Hezben doesn’t like a mess,” he explained. “You’ll meet Hez shortly, I’m sure; don’t be put off by his manner, he treats all strangers the same. That is to say, he’s not fond of ‘em. Not sure which he likes least – strangers, or a mess. He’ll no doubt take to you more if you’re not both. Messy strangers, that is. But I’m rambling.”
The mysterious Hezben’s fastidiousness manifested itself in a cave which was clean and tidy, the exact opposite of what Simon would have expected a mountain man’s den to look like. Tucked into the north and west corners of the rocky chamber, the beds - one significantly larger than the other - were neatly made; tears in the sheets and pillows had been artfully patched with what looked like leaves. The small stone table at the center of the room was free of crumbs and stains and all eating utensils had been tidied out of sight. Both the windowsills and the shutters had been meticulously dusted, as had a wall of weapons and tools, each carefully mounted on the appropriate rack. Even a stuffed elk’s head, glassily overseeing the scene, had been recently groomed and dusted. Upon feeding a handful of logs into the fire, Oswald hastily swept up any droppings left behind with one eye on the door as if at any moment Hezben might burst in and accuse him of sullying the place.
Only a long counter running along the east wall and its companion basin bore signs of obvious use. Here, a bloodied butcher’s cleaver lay untidily between a haunch of venison and a spilling bucket of potatoes, while several huge knives soaked in the dirty water half-filling the basin. It was easy to see which small stretch of the cave Oswald claimed as his own.
Simon wasn’t sure he would have been able to find Oswald’s little retreat on his own. The small trail leading to the front door could easily have been mistaken for any of a number of animal tracks criss-crossing the forest. The exterior of the cave was an unremarkable bulge in the forest floor, overrun by mosses and vines; the surrounding trees pressed so close that several trunks scraped the walls and dripping boughs arched lazily across the rooftop. Beyond a small, crumbling storage shed, there was no indication of a yard. The giant’s home had been largely reclaimed by the forest. Even the column of stone which served as a chimney might well be mistaken for an odd natural formation.
When he’d revived enough to set aside any immediate fear of pneumonia, Simon began to worry about Oswald’s intentions. The fact that their host was some manner of supernatural creature didn’t bother him so much as his uncharacteristic new difficulty to place much faith in the trustworthiness of isolated folk. Whether this was Niu’s voice whispering in his mind or the nagging remembrance of his encounter with the wendigo, he did not know, but his view of the world had changed. Still, Oswald seemed friendly enough and sooner or later, Simon was sure, the giant’s incautious tongue would reveal the truth of his intentions.
“Don’t see many folk out here,” Oswald said, draining his outsized mug in one mouthful. “Hez sees to that. It’s nice to talk to someone new for a change.”
Talk at turned out to be more accurate. Oswald didn’t appear to concern himself with his guests’ origins. He asked no questions. Instead, he collapsed comfortably onto his protesting bed and began to relate a series of stories about life in the shadow of the Banshee’s Teeth. Many of these tales – which Simon wearied of almost immediately, preoccupied as he was with his own problems – involved hunting, trapping, and fishing. Some were obvious exaggerations, such as a transparent big fish story about landing a hydra. Others concerned his glum friend Hezben, whose caustic reactions to trivial incidents he seemed to find hilarious. The humor did not translate well, as all of them were in the you-had-to-have-been-there-to-appreciate-them vein. Even Niu’s eyes glazed over quickly.
Oswald didn’t seem to notice his audience’s disinterest. He regaled them with tale after tiresome tale, punctuating them with short, sharp barks of laughter which at least provided Simon the cue to smile weakly at auspicious moments. Only Sasha, now seated cross-legged on her mat, listened with any atte
ntion. While her expression remained impassive, her dark eyes fixed upon their host with something like hunger. Perhaps she yearned for someone like this boisterously genial man in her strange, shadowy half-life. Perhaps she was just wondering how giants might taste.
“And then, would you believe it, Hez’s boot slipped on the rock and in he went – splash – came out spluttering and right pissed off, but - would you believe it? - there was something flopping about in his pocket. No, ladies, that’s not what I meant…” He winked hugely at Niu, despite the fact that the handmaiden hadn’t so much as blinked in reaction. “And there it was! The very critter we’d come to catch, the Blue Leech!”
His grin enormous, he spread his huge hands as though awaiting applause. Simon, who’d never suffered through an epic so long-winded yet with such little payoff in his life, smiled weakly and nodded.
“Amazing,” Niu said politely, misunderstanding that the story had been intended as humor. “The coincidence is incredible.”
Sasha just stared.
Oswald’s splitting smile faded slightly. “Well, now,” he chuckled ruefully. “I’m rambling again, it seems! Hez would have something to say about that. Never was much for my stories, Hez. Perhaps because we’ve spent so much time in each other’s company that he’s in ‘em all. ‘Remember that time we got ourselves trapped in that pit with that jaggermund, Hez?’ I’ll say, and he’ll give me that stare of his and say ‘Of course I do, you fool, I was there.’ But I like to talk, even if he don’t like to listen much. Bit of a character flaw, I s’pose.”
“You do like to talk,” Sasha agreed.
Twining thick fingers in his beard, the giant nodded ruefully. “Well, perhaps I should hear you tell of some of your adventures,” he said. “More fuel for the fire, you know. Be able to tell Hez a thing or two he hasn’t heard before. Where are you headed?”
“Jynn,” Simon said without thinking. Niu smiled slightly.
“Jynn,” the giant mused, scratching his head thoughtfully. “Long way east o’ here. Long way. Three kingdoms worth o’ travel, and if you’re avoiding the roads, like you three clearly are, well…” he chuckled. “You’re in for quite the trek.”
“Three… kingdoms?” Simon repeated blankly. It occurred to him that he’d never really studied a map before, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to read it or accurately interpret the scale. He’d assumed that Jynn was simply east of Cannevish, but the distance involved hadn’t really intruded itself upon his attention. No wonder Niu had looked so surprised when he’d offered to escort her home. Once more, he was reminded of what a peasant he truly was: until he’d begun this journey, he’d known next to nothing about his own backyard, let alone those of his neighbors.
“Well, sure,” Oswald gestured vaguely. “You’ve got to pass through Verivista first of all – small kingdom, large army, not over-friendly. And that’s just the first of ‘em. Of course, Hez an’ me, we’ve been there… tough to cross the border, strong military presence on both sides. The king of Verivista’s been hoping to invade Cannevish for years, Vanyon only knows why, but the queen keeps him in check. But for a pair of woodsmen like Hez an’ me, it’s not impossible to find ways through the mountains, unguarded trails. We tracked a wounded Mountain Kelpie across that border once… big old thing, still have the hooves somewhere. I’d put a pair of arrows into it… dunno if you’ve seen a Mountain Kelpie, but they’re scaly bastards, skin hard to pierce. Hez said – typical Hez, really -”
“Could you show us the way?” Simon interrupted.
“Suppose I could point you,” Oswald mused. “Won’t be taking you though, if that’s what you’re asking. Hez has become a bit of a homebody, don’t like to leave him long.”
“Perhaps you could draw us a map,” Niu suggested.
“Aye, that’s doable. Bear in mind that you can’t get through the mountains directly from here. Impassable, really, unless you can fly. But from the town of Sallinger…” The giant sat up straight; the bed groaned in torment. “You can head into the hills from there, and leaving the kingdom should be easy enough with a little perseverance. Should be able to sketch you out a rough map of the area. If I can just remember where the…” He paused. The wet vines had rustled apart like a tent flap, and a lean figure was framed there against the undying storm. Simon and Niu shrank together instinctively, but Sasha, seated directly in the newcomer’s path, just looked up curiously.
Hezben, if that’s who the stranger was, was not human. His black-eyed pallor suggested some undead creature, but if Simon was at first inclined to place him on the vampiric family tree on a branch near Sasha’s, he soon reconsidered. Hezben’s skin was silvery, ghostlike, very nearly transparent. Simon could see the shadowy lines of his skeleton beneath, knotted like wood, not bone. Lichen matted his head in place of hair, though whether it grew there naturally or had claimed an opportunistic perch, Simon could not say. His fingers, unnaturally long and thin, reminded Simon of twigs.
“Interesting,” Sasha said, unmoved. “I’ve never seen a leshy before.”
A leshy. Of course, Simon thought. His grandmother had told unforgettable tales of these mysterious beings. This was the ultimate creature of the forest, mystically attuned to every plant and tree in his leafy domain. If the legends were true, the leshy could observe every corner of his realm through the eyes and ears of the woodland beasts roaming within. These creatures were potentially extremely malicious; cautionary tales from Simon’s childhood warned travelers away from the deep woods, where beings such as the leshy murdered those who trespassed uninvited.
Shrugging off a dripping raincoat, Hezben hung it up with great care just inside the door, taking care to make certain that the sleeves hung at equal length. Stooping, he carefully unlaced and removed his boots one by one, setting them pointedly on the mat beside Sasha, at whom he glared most viciously because she would not move.
“Visitors, Hez,” Oswald said cheerfully – though not without a faint tremor of trepidation – as the vines rearranged themselves into a curtain.
“Indeed,” Hezban said coldly. “I have been watching them for some time. Why have you brought a bruxa, a human, and a heartstopper into our home?”
Simon peered at Niu in confusion. If Sasha was the bruxa, and he the human, then what had Hezben called Niu? A heartstopper? Was it then she who had caused all the miracles he’d attributed to Vanyon? She’d who caused several men to drop dead, to say nothing of a…
…Dragon. Only I was present when the dragon died.
A cold swell of horror welled up in Simon’s gut. He felt four pairs of eyes fix upon him. Niu pulled away from him as though he were diseased.
“A… a what?” he said with mounting fear.
“Hmm,” Hezban grunted. “He doesn’t know. He was not born as such, then.”
“I… I felt something back there, in the forest,” Niu breathed, eyes wide. “And before, at the inn in Vanyon’s Parade… a tremor in my heart, but I did not think…”
Simon’s mouth worked. He wasn’t sure what to think; he only knew Niu was regarding him as though he were some virulent plague-bearer, and he couldn’t bear the look in her eyes.
“I didn’t know, Hez.” Oswald was on his feet now, hands spread. Simon sprang up too, his throat seizing. “I wouldn’t have brought him here if…”
The leshy held up one fragile hand. Visible veins climbed the bones of his fingers like creepers. “You’re agitating him. If you agitate him, we may all die.”
“Not me,” Sasha chimed in. She hadn’t stirred, but she clearly found Simon significantly more interesting now that he was potentially a murderer.
“Die?” Simon croaked. “I wouldn’t… I would never…” A staccato drumbeat hammered in his chest. He reached for Niu, who cringed away. “I would never hurt… he’s wrong!”
“Calm yourself, lad!” the leshy snapped. “Calm yourself if you have any regard for the safety of your woman friend. Oswald, some tea. Something soothing.”
&
nbsp; “Right away, Hez.” The giant bustled over to a cupboard and busied himself digging through a selection of identical sackcloth bags, sniffing each until he found the one he wanted. Hezben contemplated Simon sternly. Simon shrank beneath that fierce gaze and sagged weakly back onto his seat.
“What… what is a heartstopper?” he asked, fearful of the answer.
“That which currently resides within you,” the leshy answered curtly, stepping around Sasha and into the room. His expression suggested he would as soon spit on Simon as speak with him. “Something unwholesome which can be unleashed in moments of great emotion.”
“That can’t be true,” Simon fought to control his anxiety in case it was. “I’m human.”
“Hmpf,” Hezben snorted, straightening a bone-tooth necklace which was fixed about his neck so that it hung just so and striding across the room to help Oswald. “That might once have been true.”
Simon shook his head vehemently. “But then, when did I become this… heartstopper thing? I’ve noticed no difference, I…”
The leshy overrode him with an impatient gesture. “How do I know when it happened? Am I your guardian? Your chronicler? Suffice it to say that it happened, perhaps recently, as it has not yet consumed you. Here, you oaf.” This last was directed at Oswald. “The valerian root is here.”
“Sorry, Hez.”
“It will consume me?” Simon felt faint. He had been standing, he was sure he would have collapsed. The leshy didn’t trouble to answer him, just shot him a look swimming with venom.
Niu was now sitting as far from Simon now as the table would politely allow. “All this time I traveled with you, yet you are as much a danger to me as Princess Tiera.”
“I’m not,” Simon said urgently, reaching for her hand. Biting her lower lip, she pulled it away.
“You are,” Hezben contradicted coldly. “You are danger to any being with a functioning heart, and you will continue to become more so.”