Except, that’s not completely true, Corran thought.
Because he had felt something, when he did the working. He felt a shiver and remembered the sense of awe and power that had come over him, that awful night at the cemetery when Kell lay newly dead and buried, and their world was about to go up in flames. He had felt a presence, and in his mind heard that same resonant voice he’d remembered from before.
The task is not yet done.
Corran had glanced at Rigan then and saw the same fearful, wide-eyed look on his brother’s face that he imagined was on his own. That was when he knew he had not imagined the voice; he felt certain Rigan had heard it too. He wanted to ask, but the words caught in his throat. Later. After the hunt. We’ll figure out what Eshtamon meant, how in the name of the gods we aren’t done when we killed the bastards that ordered Kell’s death.
He lay awake a while longer, trying to figure out the meaning until the stress of the day finally caught up to him and he fell into a restless sleep.
Dark dreams found him. The creature barreled into Corran, knocking him to the floor before he could get in a good swing with his rake. The thing that attacked him looked like a withered corpse, but moved swiftly and fought savagely. Sharp teeth snapped inches from his throat; a bony hand pinned his left arm, digging its nails through his shirt and deep into his flesh.
“Get out of here, Jora!” Corran yelled, twisting to evade the creature’s snapping teeth. He thumped the ghoul hard on the head with the handle of his rake and brought his knees up into its belly.
Jora swung the shovel with all her might. The iron blade came down hard on the ghoul’s back, with enough force to break bone. The creature shrieked, but it did not release its hold on Corran.
“Go get help!” he shouted.
“I’m not leaving you.” With that, Jora swung, and the blade of the shovel clanged against the creature’s skull.
Corran gritted his teeth as he ripped his arm free and rolled out from beneath the ghoul. He swung his rake, sinking the sharp metal tines into the creature’s side.
The ghoul grabbed Jora’s arm and threw her aside with inhuman force, before backhanding Corran hard enough to blur his vision and set his ears ringing. Jora scrambled to her feet, coming back at full speed, swinging her shovel for a killing blow. The ghoul wrenched the shovel from her hands, grabbed her by the throat, and twisted. Her neck snapped with a sickening crunch, and her body fell to the ground.
In the next instant, the scene changed. Corran was back in the workshop of their undertaking business in Ravenwood City. A chill went down his back, and he knew with certainty what he would see when he turned to the tables where they prepared corpses for burial.
Rigan marked a sigil in ochre on Kell’s abdomen, a dark orange gash against his pale skin, the mark of “life.” He drew another complicated marking with white chalk on the chest, above the linen strips that bound Kell’s ribs, this time for “breath.” Blue woad sealed Kell’s lips with another sigil, the sign for “spirit.” The final rune was drawn in soot on Kell’s forehead, for “soul.”
“It’s done,” Corran said, his voice tight. “I just wish we could say goodbye.”
A strange look crossed Rigan’s face. “Maybe we can.”
“What are you talking about?” Corran asked, uneasy at the new determination in Rigan’s eyes.
Rigan stretched out his hand, palm down, over the first sigil. His eyes closed, his tear-streaked face tight with concentration. After a few seconds, the ochre sigil began to glow.
“What are you doing?” Corran stared at the glowing rune.
Rigan’s hand hovered above the second marking, and the white sigil glowed almost too bright for Corran to look at. Next, the blue mark that sealed Kell’s lips burned like the summer sky. Finally, Rigan held his hand steady above the soot mark on Kell’s forehead, and pinpricks of light shone from the darkness like stars.
“I’m sorry.”
The voice startled both of them. Kell’s apparition stood at the head of the table that bore his body. Corran stepped back, heart thudding. Rigan opened his eyes, his expression a mixture of amazement and satisfaction.
“Is it really you?” Corran managed to ask, though his mouth was dry.
Kell’s ghost nodded. “I can’t stay. But I wanted to say goodbye. And I’m sorry that I got caught. Thanks for—” he gestured toward the preparations they had made for his corpse.
Corran’s knees felt weak, and his chest ached. “It’s too soon. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Kell’s expression was somber. “I don’t want to leave. The guards loosed the monster to cover up the killings. They’re using the creatures. Stop them.”
Kell looked as if he were about to answer, but the image began to waver, fading. The image winked out, as quickly as it had appeared.
Rigan slumped to the floor.
“Oh, gods! What did you do?” Corran dropped to his knees beside his brother, realizing that throughout the exchange with Kell’s ghost, Rigan had said nothing. “Come on!” Corran urged with a note of desperation in his voice. Rigan lay still, deathly pale and unresponsive, breath slow and shallow.
“Dammit! I’m not losing both of you! Come on, Rigan! Stay with me.” He felt for a pulse, and found one, though Rigan’s erratic heartbeat and clammy skin fueled his panic.
Corran grabbed a bucket of cold water and a bottle of whiskey. He doused Rigan with the frigid water. To his relief, his brother sputtered and roused, blinking through the icy rivulets that ran down his face. Corran knelt and forced Rigan’s mouth open, trickling the strong whiskey between his lips. Rigan gasped, turning his head, and motioned for Corran to stop.
“What did you do?” Corran demanded.
“I learned how to summon spirits as well as banish them,” Rigan replied in a harsh whisper. “It’s like confessing the dead, only a bit different. I’ve been using it to find out more about how magic is being used to summon the monsters. The spell works, but there’s a cost.”
“What kind of cost?”
“A thread of my soul.”
Corran stared at Rigan, speechless and stunned. Finally, he found his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you risk yourself?” How many threads are in a soul?
Corran woke with a start, sitting bolt upright and catching his breath sharply in the darkened room. The others slept on, undisturbed. Corran passed a hand over his face, trying to calm himself, feeling his heart pound. Jora. Kell. I let them down. I failed them. I was supposed to keep them safe, and I failed. And look what’s become of us. Tonight, I almost lost Rigan, too. I failed. Jora and Kell are dead, and Rigan nearly died, and it’s all my fault. He did not need the nokk to drown in his failures and mistakes. He’d been doing that on his own for months.
Corran glanced around, fearful he had woken the others, then sagged back onto his pallet when he realized they slept on, undisturbed. Nightmares about Jora’s death and the night they lost Kell were not uncommon. Frequently, a hunt pushed memories to the surface, and while Corran could push those thoughts away while awake, he had no recourse against them while he slept.
Gradually, his heartbeat calmed, and his breathing slowed. The sheen of sweat on his forehead grew clammy. Corran lay still, afraid to shut his eyes, fearful of the torments to which sleep would deliver him. He had learned the hard way that nightmares came in clusters.
Rigan murmured something in his sleep and turned over. Calfon’s snore reached a window-rattling crescendo and broke off abruptly. Aiden slept on, unaffected. Corran knew he needed to rest, knew that he could pose a danger to the others in the fight if he were groggy, but his whole body thrummed with energy as if he had drunk too much coffee.
Maybe the guards will lose interest eventually. After all, Machison is dead. Sooner or later, they’ll have something more important to do. We just have to stay out of reach until then. When that happens, we won’t have to always keep moving. We can find a village, settle down, and go back to our trades if we want. The Guilds hav
e little actual power out here; most of the towns would be glad to have our skills. We have to survive long enough to get to that point.
Corran had been certain that he would remain awake, but sometime in the darkness, sleep claimed him.
“Time to go.” Calfon nudged his leg with the toe of a boot. “It’s daylight. We’ve got enough time to eat and then go back and finish the job.”
Corran hauled himself to his feet, groaning as his back protested. Despite the pallet, a night on the floor made him stiff. He remembered the nightmares, and despite his best efforts, knew they would cast a pall over his mood. A glance at Rigan’s empty cot told him that his brother had already risen, and he tried to focus on that as being a good sign.
“Rigan’s fine,” Calfon said, guessing Corran’s thought. “He and Aiden went down and rustled up coffee and breakfast and brought it back. You’re the last one up.”
“Never could sleep well on the floor,” Corran said, unwilling to admit the real reason for his grogginess, and embarrassed that he lagged behind.
Calfon shrugged. “I’m not up long myself. Aiden got me a few minutes ago.” He paused. “Hope I didn’t snore.” Calfon had the good grace to look embarrassed.
“Not that I noticed,” Corran lied. “Come on; we’ve got a lake monster to hunt.”
It all went wrong so fast.
They stood on the lakeshore, waiting as Rigan and Aiden reached out with their magic, troubling the water with their power, nudging the creature that lay beneath the surface. Poking the beast.
When the nokk rose from the lake’s depths, they fell back, discovering that the authors of the ancient manuscripts lacked firsthand knowledge of their subject. The monster loomed larger than they expected, and it bore scant resemblance to the woodcut image in the lore book.
The nokk looked like a man astride a horse, if both had been flayed to raw, bleeding muscle and conjoined. White, pupilless eyes fixed on them as the creature emerged from the water, bearing down on them as if it knew they had come looking for a fight. Chillingly, Corran could make out no features on the faces of either the rider or the steed. No nose, no mouth. Then he remembered; the thing did not need to bite or rend to feed.
They had wondered whether the nokk could navigate on dry land; now they had their answer. It left the safety of the depths, trailing water and slime behind it. The legs ended in paws rather than hooves, and the beast had a powerful tail that lashed from side to side behind it. To Corran’s relief, the charms Aiden made for them kept the creature’s dark seduction at bay, though he could feel a storm looming at the edges of his consciousness.
“Careful,” Calfon cautioned as the hunters moved to surround the creature. Corran stood closest to the water, with Rigan to his left and Calfon to his right and Aiden directly opposite. The monster regarded them in silence, giving no suggestion that it considered them to be a threat. Calfon gave the signal, and the hunters attacked in unison.
Damn, that thing is fast! Corran dove forward with his blessed blade and spelled knife, only to discover that the nokk’s hide proved tougher than expected. The creature snapped its powerful tail one way and another, sending Calfon flying several feet to land hard on the ground. Corran threw himself to one side, barely missing the muscular appendage that swung past him with sufficient force to break bones.
The nokk charged forward, nearly trampling Rigan as he and Aiden lunged at it with their blades. Corran scrambled to his feet, and from this angle, he could not see if their blows landed. This time, the four men staggered their attack, trying to keep the monster off balance, dodging in and out only long enough to score a gash on a shoulder or flank, to thrust a blade deep and pull free.
“It’s working—keep it up!” Calfon shouted, grinning triumphantly as his knife tore a long, ragged line down the nokk’s side. The creature bled dark ichor from wounds all over its body, but nothing so far had crippled it.
“Do we strike the man or the horse?” Corran yelled. “What kills it?”
“The lore said to hit the heart,” Aiden called back. “It didn’t say where that was.” Aiden fell back a few steps and used his shorter blade as an athame, closing his eyes and concentrating his magic. Corran knew what they had discussed, that Aiden would attempt to disrupt the creature’s functioning, to slow the heart or cut off the breathing. After a few moments, Aiden lowered his hands and shook his head.
“There’s nothing for me to lock onto,” he said. “Or whatever is there is too far from human to recognize. My magic just slips away.”
“What about the spells and the blessings and the blood?” Calfon danced backward as the creature turned its attention toward him. “Why isn’t it doing anything?”
“Maybe it is,” Rigan countered. “Maybe we haven’t hurt it enough.”
Corran threw himself forward, aiming his sword to slip between the ribs of the lower body, to hit where the heart would be on an actual horse. His blade sank hilt deep, spraying Corran with cold ichor, and the whole beast trembled, then wrenched free and shifted its hindquarters, swinging its muscular tail as Corran stumbled backward.
The tail caught him in the stomach, lifting him off his feet, driving the breath from his lungs and tossing him into the air toward the lake. Corran thought he heard Rigan scream his name, but the impact when he hit the water drove everything from his mind.
He sank. Fully clothed and heavily armed, Corran felt the water drag him under. His woolen jacket soaked up the water and sturdy boots made his legs leaden. Stunned by the force of his landing, Corran gasped for air and choked as water filled his lungs.
The memories from the night before enveloped him as he fought to breathe. Jora, dying in the barn, staring lifelessly at him as if to accuse him for failing her. Kell’s savaged corpse, bloodied and bound, slashed by the guards’ swords and ripped open by one of the Lord Mayor’s monsters. Another memory took hold of him, of Rigan beaten nearly to death by the guards, spent from using too much magic, dying. And then another image, of Rigan collapsing after the fight against Blackholt, pale and bleeding, barely breathing, so close to death—
I’m so sorry. I failed. All my fault. I’ve lost them— Grief, guilt, and sorrow clinched in his chest as he sank through the cold, dark water, and Corran did not fight the reprieve offered as everything began to turn gray. They’re dead because of me. I deserve to pay…
A strong hand locked around his upper arm, hard enough to bruise, and then Corran felt himself begin to rise. He had no strength left to fight or assist, and overcome with the memories and loss; he did not care what happened. He hung limp in the grasp of whatever gripped him, and he wondered if the nokk had returned to the water to claim its victim.
He barely registered the fact that he broke the surface of the water. Cold air stung his face, and the bruising grip on his arm wrenched his shoulder as it dragged his sodden body toward shore.
“Corran! Don’t you die. Don’t you dare die!”
Corran knew he should be able to recognize the voice, but his ears were full of water, muffling sound, and his head felt stuffed with cotton. Seizures wracked his body as he strained for air, trying to purge the water from his lungs and managing only a gurgle.
He hit the ground hard, on his side, and water gushed from his mouth. Blows struck his back, forcing more of the water out of him. Corran could make out more voices shouting, and then he rolled onto his back, heaving for breath.
Once again someone grabbed him and hauled him away from the water, leaving him sprawled on the sparse, dry grass. “Drive it back toward the lake!” He heard Rigan shout, and a moment later, a fiery blast lit up the air.
Corran managed to turn onto his side, enough to see Rigan standing between him and the monster. Fire lanced from Rigan’s outstretched hand, engulfing the nokk in flames. The beast flailed, its limbs stomping in the shallow water, flesh charring and peeling. Yet it did not fall. The tail thrashed from side to side, skimming across the water and sending up a blinding spray that did not quench the fi
re.
“Rigan, be careful!” A voice shouted.
“This is for trying to kill my brother,” Rigan growled. Bright blue-white light arced from Rigan’s palm, forking to strike the nokk in both of its chests.
Lightning. Corran’s head had not completely cleared from his near-drowning, but he recognized the blinding energy that enveloped the monster. Violent shaking wracked the nokk, and even through Corran’s fuzzy thoughts, he realized that the creature stood knee-deep in water.
Corran felt the same shiver as a cold tendril of thought formed in his mind—guilt, bad, failed, lost, all my fault, betrayed them—but this time, the touch felt muted.
“It’s too close, and throwing everything it’s got at us,” Aiden warned, an edge of strain in his voice. “The amulets aren’t strong enough. You’ve got to fight it.”
Corran gasped at the violation, gripping his temples with his hands. He still struggled to breathe, coughing up water, but instinct took over, and he fought the alien thoughts. The air smelled like burned flesh and the tang after a storm. He heard shouting in the distance, and the persistent sizzle of the lightning Rigan sent against the nokk.
In a heartbeat, the assault ended. The cold tendrils vanished from Corran’s mind, the hiss of the lightning fell silent, a heavy object hit the water with a great splash, and Rigan collapsed in a heap next to him.
Corran clung to consciousness, and dug his fingers into the damp ground, trying to drag himself to Rigan’s side. Footsteps pounded nearby. Aiden fell to his knees next to Rigan.
“You stubborn son of a bitch,” Aiden muttered as he rolled Rigan onto his back and began to examine him.
In the next instant, Calfon knelt next to Corran, pushing him onto his chest. Corran resisted, not wanting to lose sight of Rigan, but Calfon easily overpowered him and began slapping his back with hard, open-palm strikes.
“Same goes for you,” Calfon grumbled. “Thought we were going to lose both of you, and Aiden and I weren’t doing too well against that thing.”
“Is it dead?” The water and choking made Corran’s voice rough and strangled. “Did we get it?”
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