“You did! I remember. Why did you say that?”
“Because…” he groaned, “It’s more complicated than I can tell you.”
“Why can’t you tell me? I’m not smart enough?”
“Because I can’t.”
“That doesn’t—”
“I already said that it was my fault. I knew an ambush was coming at some point. I should’ve been ready.”
“You should have,” said Bell viciously. “This was your fault and you’re blaming me, like you blamed Ranthos.”
“That’s not it.”
“I can smell you!” she said, “I can smell how much you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I am not.”
Bell wasn’t actually listening. But it didn’t matter to her; Vhurgus was still an absolute scut. She couldn’t form words fast enough to articulate her exasperation, and if asked, certainly couldn’t name every shade of rage she felt because the list was both too long and too improper for a lady to say. “I hate you,” she said, hardly believing she had said such harsh words to anyone. Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth after she said it.
His expression flattened. He might’ve been hurt by her words, but he had too many walls between his heart and his scent that Bell couldn’t sense it even if she cared to try.
The sun had risen past the town, and Vhurgus looked in its direction. Large plumes of smoke wafted up from within the walls. The gate was now plainly visible, as were the buildings behind it on the hill, and the source of the smell of blood.
Bell turned her head to see it. Large wooden walls surrounded the village, which looked like they were painted with blood, and the road into town was dressed in carcasses, like the Labyrinth. Bell had seen it when she, Nosgrim, and the rest went looking for Ranthos after he killed the buck. The sheep seemed to have collected their own trophies, but now displayed them at the city gates, whereas the buck was too shy to near Tatzelton.
Bell and Vhurgus were dumbstruck and silent as they neared. They both smelled scared and stunned.
The most prominent trophies were the rent heads of three barruses mounted on the head of the gate, dripping blood onto the ground. The limbs and organs of the beasts were hoisted upon pikes and posts lining the road. They were fresh enough to not smell rotten, but Bell could detect the hints of decay settling in. She was sure Ranthos would be retching on the floor by now. She thanked the One that she couldn’t smell them as well as he. She was spared the gruesome details.
Though, that was a tad hasty—she could hear the flies, and the chirping vermin that scurried about the corpses. Ravens and vultures squabbled with rats over choice organs, and maggots writhed throughout it all.
Bell felt like her heart was torn into thirty pieces. Her legs felt weak as the air became too thick to breathe. They passed the pikes of disemboweled barruses and Bell could choke on the tang of blood in the air. These creatures’ family still mourned them; there was no question that this atrocity was the source of their grief.
On a particularly prominent post, hung the mutilated torso of a barrus. Its shrivelled skin was tight against its thick ribs and its gut cut open and emptied onto the ground beneath them. The entrails were draped about the area like the banners of a demonic festival. Bell had never seen something so wretched.
Cut into the foreheads of the three dripping barruses on the gate were three distinct phrases, which Bell knew that she ought to never read, but as they neared the threshold of evil, she couldn’t stop herself from looking up at the empty faces of the dead creatures, their eyes limp and their trunks blowing in the wind. Their tusks were torn from their jaws and hammered into their temples.
The first barrus, the youngest of the three, bore the words, “No longer are we dust.”
The second barrus was the largest, with wrinkles about its eyes that looked like laugh lines, “Death has died.”
The skin of the third face was so flayed that Bell could hardly make out any features. The words were scrawled into the intact parts of the trunk, “We have become Eternity.”
Vhurgus stopped before the gates and watched the blood trickle down into a puddle at the base. It smelled horrible, and the sounds of the flies buzzing about the faces were so loud that Bell felt like she went deaf.
Vhurgus looked at Bell, his face white as bone.
She didn’t know what to say, and neither did he.
“Breathe it in…” said a man, striding into view. He was tall and thin, with a blood-dipped sheepskin robe. His greasy hair was smoothed back over his head, and his teeth were pink. He smiled and cut into Bell’s soul. He was disgusting.
Vhurgus placed both hands on his sword. Bell fumbled her sword out of its sheath, and tried to find the man who spoke, but couldn’t take her eyes off her blade, which shook wildly in her grasp.
“Don’t be afraid,” said the man. His voice was distinctly masculine but was higher than any man’s voice that Bell had heard.
Vhurgus quickly pressed her to his back and held his sword out to the man, “Worm’s Heart.”
“The same. What am I supposed to call you now?”
“My name.”
“I don’t think so,” Worm’s Heart said. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”
“Funny trick you had back by the canyon,” said Vhurgus. “Care to explain.”
“What do you mean?” asked Worm’s Heart.
“The ambush,” said Vhurgus, “How’d they hide from us?”
Worm’s Heart snickered an obnoxiously loud laugh. It made Bell’s stomach twist; she had to look away from him until he stopped. “They found you!” he said giddily.
Vhurgus’ scent was not amused, “What spell is it? How’d they hide? Does it have to do with this?” Vhurgus gestured to the collection of corpses on display.
Worm’s Heart took ginger steps nearer, “If I told you, it wouldn’t be as fun, would it?”
“Don’t toy with me.”
“It wouldn’t change a thing if I told you,” said Worm’s Heart, speaking through his pink teeth, his smile disappearing instantly as his dark eyes narrowed on Vhurgus, “You could go tell the boy so he would know what to expect, but they’d still find you, and they’d still cut through her ugly freckled face.”
Vhurgus’ lip curled and Bell could hear his heart racing.
“Maybe this time she’ll die from it,” said Worm’s Heart with a shrug, “That’d be fun, wouldn’t it? You’d be so mad at me.”
By Bell’s reckoning, he already was.
How did Worm’s Heart know about Sarky? No flockers lived through the ambush, and what did he mean, ’this time?’ None of it sat right with Bell.
Another man was approaching from behind Worm’s Heart. He was heavy, in thick armor and a dark helmet with many horns, and behind him was a flock of sheep that made no sound. They dragged their feet through the muddy ground, and their toothy mouths lolled open. They looked dead, and their eyes looked human, blue, green, and brown.
“Who’s this?” asked Vhurgus, barely able to contain his rage enough to form words at all.
“You haven’t met Bull’s Hoof?” said Worm’s Heart. He stroked the large man’s grisly breastplate and flicked the bone chimes that dangled from it.
“Haven’t had the pleasure,” said Vhurgus.
“Shame,” said Worm’s Heart, “He’s lovely.”
Bull’s Hoof reached over and hefted into his hands a thick-headed lead hammer. It was heavy enough that even this man needed two hands to hold it steady. With a grunt, he rested it on his shoulder. The head was caked in dry blood. Bell thought that perhaps he was the one who had hammered the tusks into the barruses’ temples.
“I assume you know why we are here,” said Vhurgus.
“Looking for…” Worm’s Heart tapped his pursed lips with a long finger, “What’s her name?”
“Blossom.”
“That’s not very clever.”
“Wor
m’s Heart isn’t either. I’m not convinced they have hearts,” said Vhurgus.
Bell didn’t understand a word they said. Did they know each other? She didn’t want to move. She knew that if she did something too hasty, she could get them both killed, and she was certainly not prepared to face any flockers, let alone the devil-sheep behind them.
“Hello, Bellelar!” Worm’s Heart said in a childish voice while he danced his fingers toward her.
Bell’s heart sank into her stomach as he said her name. How did he know that? Bell’s breath became short, and she felt like she might faint.
“It’s so good of you to finally meet me.”
That was an odd turn of phrase. “Why’s that?” asked Bell with a timid voice before Vhurgus could tell her not to speak.
“Oh, I’ve been waiting a long while. You look so innocent… Bellelar.” Worm’s Heart’s face curled into a wicked smile as he dangled the name before her, relishing in the queasy discomfort she felt when he said it. Tormenting her.
“Don’t speak to her,” said Vhurgus.
“How do you know my name?” asked Bell in a quiet voice.
“What’s that?” Worm’s Heart cupped his ear.
“She said nothing,” growled Vhurgus.
“It’s a shame you had to see all this mess, Bellelar,” said Worm’s Heart.
“The price we must pay,” said Bull’s Hoof. He had a low, gravelly voice that pronounced ‘the price’ like ‘da pwice.’
“Still a shame,” said Worm’s Heart to him, “No?”
Bull’s Hoof’s reply of, “Those who struggle against the night are met with darkness all the same,” would have been much more intimidating weren’t it for his speech impediment.
“Dose who stwuggle…” mocked Worm’s Heart.
Bull’s Hoof turned to face Vhurgus and Bell. He seemed accustomed to this sort of teasing and decided not to engage.
“When they attack,” whispered Vhurgus, “Run as fast as you can, Bellelar. Through the gates.”
The flockers didn’t seem to hear him, but Bell did. She kissed her knuckle to set right her soul with the One Almighty, whose acquaintance she would make shortly.
Vhurgus now addressed the flockers, “We’re going to head in and find Blossom if you two don’t mind it.”
“Of course!” lied Worm’s Heart, “Come along!”
Vhurgus didn’t reply; he hardly moved. Bull’s Hoof bent his knees and entered a ready stance. The sheep limped closer and closer to Bell and Vhurgus, and as they neared, Bell lost all sense of smell but her own fright—as Ranthos had described. But she had prepared herself for such an occurrence, and was only slightly afraid.
That was a lie; she was the most afraid of anyone present.
The silence continued as the devil-sheep oozed nearer to Bell and Vhurgus, neither side moving a muscle. Vhurgus seemed to be trying to intimidate the two, but they seemed to think that they had the upper hand with their numbers. And truly, Bell thought that Vhurgus didn’t stand a chance against two fighters and half a dozen sheep.
There were about seven paces between Vhurgus and the gate, and perhaps five between the gate and Worm’s Heart. The sheep now passed under the barrus heads, the thick blood of their newly rent trophies dripping onto their fleece.
In order to make it past the gates, Bell would have to escape the vicious mouths of the sheep, and then the hammer of Bull’s Hoof. Worm’s Heart wasn’t armed, but acted with the same measure of confidence as Bull’s Hoof and Vhurgus that Bell assumed that he had some trick up his sleeve.
The idea of crossing under the gate at all was terrifying. While not a physical danger, Bell knew that beyond the gate lay the unknown.
Bell stood at the gates of Hell, and as Vhurgus’ blade suddenly struck out and carved through the neck of the closest devil-sheep, Bell charged forward sword-first.
19
The Devil's Flock
Bellelar kicked aside a sheep whose rotten teeth snapped for her leg and was spun round violently by another who had taken her skirt in its mouth. She swung her sword through the fabric and fell into the pool of blood underneath the gate as she was cut loose. She felt hooves kicking her back and felt teeth sink into her shoulder, but heard Vhurgus’ sword cut through skin, break bone, and set her free.
By the time she scrambled to her feet, Bull’s Hoof loomed above her with his hammer hurtling down at her. Vhurgus crashed into his side and allowed Bell time enough to escape.
Worm’s Heart snatched her throat and smiled a bloody smile at her. He took in a sharp breath and formed in the palm of his other hand a thin shard of green crystal that smelled like vinegar. He thrust it toward her heart while she swung her sword at the arm that held her throat.
The sword met the crystal, shattered it, and melted upon contact. The crystal somehow cleft the sword in two, leaving a steaming, bubbling tip. Bell pressed the boiling steel into the flesh of Worm’s Heart’s arm and he released her neck. Bell’s ankle was caught by a sheep, but she cut its snout off.
Vhurgus kicked the sheep aside, but was tackled by another, who bit into his hand and swung around with it as Vhurgus reeled in pain. He lifted the sheep off the ground and slammed it into Worm’s Heart’s body.
Bull’s Hoof caught Vhurgus’ helmet with his hammer, knocking him flat on the ground.
Worm’s Heart formed another crystal to finish Vhurgus off, but Vhurgus snatched up his foot and pulled it out from underneath him.
Bull’s Hoof hammered on Vhurgus’ red carapace further, trying to crack it open.
Bell could hear him moaning in pain after each strike; she wanted to help, but hadn’t any clue how, and was being tailed by three hungry sheep. The tears flew out from her eyes and into the mud as she twirled around and bolted forward through the town streets.
They were empty, withonly the sounds of people hidden away behind closed doors and drawn blinds. The cobblestone street was slick with mud—no.
Blood.
More pikes lined the streets that dangled poor livestock, sheep, horses, cattle, all rent and hanging on pikes with their innards on display.
She was in a mad frenzy to escape the bleating sheep. They whimpered like whining children.
Bell’s vision became blurry, so she wiped away more tears.
The sound of broken hooves scraping on the cobblestones made Bell’s heart fire so fast that she felt like it had stopped altogether.
Bell’s face hit the pavement as her legs were swept out from underneath her by the sheep. She screamed and kicked and swung with her half-sword.
People heard her, she knew. She could hear them saying, “The sheep are attacking a young girl!” and “Stay inside! Stay quiet!” She was surrounded by people and completely alone as one sheep started gnawing on her leg and the other two took hold of her arm.
Bell kicked away the sheep at her leg and scrambled to pin its neck between her calves, while she sliced her broken sword across the faces of the sheep on her arm. One released, and she was able to stand.
The one she had pinned was now free, though.
Bell had to act fast. The two sheep that were not currently biting her would soon join in on the fun. Bell started hacking at the neck of the sheep on her arm until the teeth finally gave way.
It was hardly a victory though, as the other two sheep rammed their four-horned heads into Bell’s ribs.
She heard a crunch and fell flat on the ground again.
The two sheep that rammed her were turning round again for another go at her, and the one whose neck she had cut was spinning round wildly, trying to right itself when it couldn’t move its head properly. It only hung on by a few tendons, swinging limply, but still looked around for her with its bulbous eyes.
Bell pulled herself to her feet but was met with another ram. This time she was pinned between the door of a house and the sheep’s head by the thigh. The other was charging her.
She could hear the folk inside scream as she hit the door, and could see a wo
man’s eyes peek through the blinds at her. Bell was covered in barrus blood and had a number of wounds herself—which she didn’t quite feel in the heat of all this danger—but she could feel the betrayal of that woman inside the house fully and completely.
Bell wasn’t worth the risk.
She had to escape this on her own. Bell reached over the sheep and snatched it up by the fluffy tail, and dragged its haunches between her and the charging sheep. After the collision, they were all thrown to the ground in a heap, and Bell cut her side on her own sword.
“Good Heavens,” she cried.
The sheep quickly scrambled to their feet, and Bell had a bright idea.
Well. It wasn’t quite so bright, but she wasn’t strong enough to escape these sheep, so it would have to do.
Bell fumbled with the buttons of her dress and pulled the torn and bloodied thing off, leaving her in only her stockings and smock. She tossed the yellow-red scraps of her dress onto one of the charging sheep and dove out of the way.
The spinning headless sheep followed it limply and locked its eyes on it instead of Bell. As did the other charger, which struck it with its horns.
Bell hiked up her ratty, torn skirts and broke into a sprint down the street. Her broken shoe had been completely torn in the scuffle, and so she decided to kick the other one off and keep running. She was barefoot now, but that was only the least of her troubles.
The headless sheep squabbled with the sheep in her dress, moaning and bleating lifelessly, until the third ripped the dress off and exposed the deception.
Bell turned her attention away from the sheep only moments before she collided with another figure. She turned to avoid it, while it reached out its arm to snatch her by the hair. It pulled Bell off the ground and lifted her close to its horned face, as it snarled, “Gweetings, Bewwewaw.”
20
The Dappled Mare
Bull’s Hoof leered menacingly at her, his round face expressionless behind the dark iron helmet. He had a cleft chin and a heavy jaw.
Enter the Lamb's Head (The Adventures of Ranthos Book 1) Page 22