by Aaron Bunce
Those doubts came to head, forcing Roman to stop dead in his tracks. Dennah turned back to him as her arm pulled tight. She looked him the eyes, and her lips moved to speak, but a heartbeat later the storm parted, split apart by a sudden surge of light.
Aglow in dancing flames, the tree shone vivid and bright, as if a skeletal beacon for lost or fog-plagued ships. Roman turned toward the fiery tree, Dennah following cautiously a few paces back. By the time they neared it, the storm’s fury had bested the fire and darkness returned, but not for long. In the distance, another light cut the storm as a second tree was gilded by flame.
Roman and Dennah continued following the beacons for a time, to where ever the flames led them. Roman knew the source of the fire, and feared it, but at that moment, in the stinging cold and threatening winds, he feared the judgment of humanity more.
“I can see light, over there,” Dennah gasped, grabbing ahold of Roman’s cloak and frantically pulling him along. Together they slogged forward, refusing to waver or slow, even when the storm swallowed and blinded them again.
Finally, only after Roman feared that the lights in the distance were a cruel trick of his imagination, a solitary shape appeared out of the storm before them. It was a house, invisible a moment before, but solid and very real nonetheless.
Strange noises drifted past them on rippling drafts as they rested against the cold clapboard. Echoes bounced off of the building behind them, but also swirling around from seemingly all sides at once.
Perhaps they were voices…shouting and angry voices, but maybe the wind playing tricks as well. Roman wanted to stop and catch his breath, to let the throbbing ache in his legs subside. But he knew they were already too cold, and if they were to stop, they might never get back up again. They needed to get to Frenin’s house before Teague’s men surrounded them.
They cut across the road, the silent form of Marna’s tavern appearing like a dark specter a short distance away. Roman recalled the tavern as its gently glowing windows once again faded into the white. The allure of a roaring fire and mug of warm cider caused a hiccup in his step, and unfortunately, it also served to remind him just how cold he really was.
They hugged the side of a quiet house, its windows like dark holes as the wind repeatedly rattled one of its shutters. Roman knew the house well enough, it was owned by Rowdan Freeman, the town’s tanner and saddle smith. He hadn’t traded more than a few words with the man in all the winter thaws he lived in town. It was strange now, being so close to his house, yet so completely far away from the man.
They squeezed between the wooden siding and the jagged ice shelf hanging from the roofline. Around the back, Dennah had to drop down onto her belly to crawl out beneath the curtain of ice. Roman followed, his heart thudding painfully as he dropped into the snow to follow.
Dennah hovered over him as he struggled to stand, her hands pulled in close to her chest. He cursed and fell, his cold hands and feet defying him. She reached down tentatively, and hooking him under the arm, helped him to stand.
They paused in that brief moment when their bodies came together and relished the small amount of shared body heat. He wanted to throw his arms around her and apologize for everything, but the way she tensed up when he was close told him that wasn’t the best idea.
After a slight hesitation, they were off once again, slogging through the snow into a nearby cluster of ice-covered birch and pine trees.
Roman wiped his face on his sleeve as he picked his way through the snarl of frozen vegetation. The snow was collecting on his face, forming icicles beneath his eyes, nose, and mouth. He used the pain stabbing into his body from the cold to occupy his thoughts, which still jumbled and flashed in a disorienting mess.
They pushed towards Frenin’s house, the branches, pine needles, and birch leaves rattling and cracking as they brushed against them. The glossy coating of ice squeaked and groaned, as if they were tiptoeing through a forest of crystal, and one wrong move would bring the whole of the forest down around them.
Roman refused to stop, and when Dennah began to falter and slow, he dragged her along. He guided them purely by instinct. Between the stinging snow pelting their eyes and the storm’s oppressive darkness they could see only a few yards in every direction.
Finally, when he thought he couldn’t bear the cold and crackling ice any longer, they slipped from the trees, and found the stables behind Frenin’s house. In the dark, the elder’s large home appeared as an unmistakable and alluring beacon.
The house, larger than any other building in the small town, was lit up like a festival pumpkin, even in the blinding fury of the storm. The light from its many windows created an ominous halo within the swirling chaos, and without that glow, it would have been almost indistinguishable from the wash of the storm.
Roman scooped snow from the bottom of the back door, and then with numb, trembling hands, turned the handle and eased it open. Light from the house spilled over them, stinging their eyes and forcing them to shield their faces as they shuffled in.
With Dennah inside, Roman moved to close the heavy door behind them, but something in the storm caught his eye. A sliver of light from the open doorway cut through the cold mess, and in the light, metal gleamed. Roman barely registered them before they moved. He pulled frantically on the door as the soldiers advanced, gaining substance as they emerged from the storm.
Chapter 3
A dead end
The snow-plastered soldier’s voice drifted in and out. “Stop!” he yelled.
The fury of the storm billowed in Roman’s face as he wrenched on the door, and finally, with a shudder, the heavy portal drew closed. His breath caught in his throat as the heavy iron latch fell into place. They were moving again. He turned as someone collided with the door and stumbled into Dennah. He couldn’t find his voice, so he pushed her forward.
Roman couldn’t feel his feet against the floor. He was running one moment, and then the hallway was spinning around him the next. Dennah’s face flashed, but he couldn’t rationalize it. He didn’t immediately register the wave of images and emotions, only the severe and jarring sensations associated with them.
Roman felt the cold air around and beneath him. He felt the snow and the wind as if he was flying through the storm…but then he was back in the warmth of the hallway. He felt and saw the soldiers converging on them, as if he was separated from his body.
In unison with the painful flashes, a hot, uncomfortable ball of turmoil erupted in his gut. He was back in the White Crow again and he saw Frenin’s face. He was limping along using the old man’s cane, struggling to keep Tusk within sight. Roman felt the fire boiling inside him as a volatile soup of angst and rage. Dennah cried out, and he felt her pull against him. He shook his head and his surroundings solidified for a moment.
“Don’t stop!” Roman yelled as he slipped and almost fell, prizing a small portion of his focus back. Dennah slid to a halt in the parlor and froze for a moment. Roman ran into her, slipped, and got his feet beneath him as the door crash open behind them.
“Where?” Dennah mouthed.
“Upstairs!” he yelled, pointing to the stairs. He felt cold wind rushing in through the door at his back, and the boots pounding on the floor.
They rushed into the parlor, every jolt of his frigid feet hammering up his legs. He mounted the stairs as the front door also crashed open. Men tumbled in, blown through with a rush of stinging ice. He caught the gleam of their weapons in the firelight and his heart leapt.
“He’s here! He’s here!” they hollered.
Dennah bounced from wall to wall, already halfway down the hallway by the time Roman cleared the stairs. His chest ached from the exertion, but the rage filling him inside scared him more.
The door at the far end of the hallway rocked gently back and forth as Roman stumbled forward. It was the only room down the long hallway not left in darkness.
The wind whistled eerily from behind the door, surging in cold drafts that stole th
e warmth from the air. Roman didn’t slow. Instead, he threw his weight against the door. Dennah slipped inside with Roman stumbling in right behind her.
A familiar sense of dread washed up inside him. It was stronger now than downstairs, but undeniable. He felt it first at Garon’s farm, then again in the orchard. It crept throughout his body, first as an uncomfortable tickle down his spine. It grew stronger as he collapsed to his knees and slammed the bedroom door shut.
He heard footsteps thundering down the hallway. A heartbeat later, bodies crashed against the door. Roman grasped the handle as it started to turn, the metal warm and alive in his palm.
“Dennah…door!” Roman gasped, but his gaze dropped to a key sticking out of the lock just beneath his hand. He frantically twisted the key, wrenching on it until he felt the bolt slide home.
“Help me...quick,” Dennah yelled as she wrenched a heavy chest of drawers away from the wall behind him. They heaved the heavy chest across the floor and slid it up against the door. He stepped back as the door shook once and then twice. A heartbeat later the tip of an axe broke through the wood paneling.
Only a solitary oil lantern yet burned atop the weathered table in the corner, but its oil had been all but spent, and with every surge of wind, it dimmed and almost went out.
“Frenin,” Roman panted, out of breath as he turned towards the figure slumped over in the middle of the room.
Frenin hunched over, facing the open window, his head tilted toward the ceiling and his hands clutching at his neck. Roman inched around until his back was to the open window. He turned his head, unable to look into the withered remnants of the old man’s eyes.
Frenin’s skin was withered and shrunken, just like Greta’s and the unfortunate souls in the orchard. Roman slid down toward the floor, the little strength left in his legs draining away. He turned his head away from the old man’s spent life, and in the darkness between the bed and wall, he saw two tangled bodies.
Dennah was at his side then, her arms wrapped protectively around her. She was saying something, but with every splintered jolt on the door, her voice was washed away. He looked up as she hung her head out the window. She reached down and grabbed ahold of his cloak and pulled. He felt her trying to pull him to his feet, but his fight was gone.
Roman absently reached back and tried to swing the window shut. “What would do this to a person?” he asked as Dennah continued to struggle.
She knelt next to him. Her face was very close, and he tried to break her grip.
“We need to go. If they catch us…you…they’ll,” she cried and gave his cloak a final tug.
“Where will we go?” Roman asked bitterly.
“Out the window…we can run. Far away from here,” she said pleadingly, her hand still holding open the window. As she spoke, an axe head crashed through the door panel and was ripped free again. A hand appeared through the hole and groped against the chest, fighting to reach the key.
“We’ll die out there. We’ll freeze, or…” Roman started to say, but even the idea of the monster lurking in the storm terrified him. He didn’t have the heart to deny the truth of it anymore, that he was linked to the monster somehow. He was responsible for the deaths in town, one way or another.
“They will ride us down,” Roman whispered, finally returning Dennah’s gaze. He couldn’t hold it for long, however. The pain and fear in her eyes cut him too deep.
“They’ll kill you,” she said, raising her hands to cover her mouth.
“You have to get away from me,” Roman said, his face set and grim.
Dennah’s hands dropped and her eyes went wide. She started to protest, but Roman cut her off. The chest of drawers fell with a crash to the floor. The soldiers were almost through.
“They won’t hurt you. I will tell them the truth,” Roman said as the door crashed open.
Teague’s men streamed into the room, rushing over them, knocking Dennah to the ground and falling over Roman.
“She is innocent…let her go,” Roman protested but a blow to his midsection stole away his breath.
“Get up,” the soldier growled and forced him back up straight, only to have the man’s fist crash into his stomach once again. Roman’s cloak slipped from around his shoulders in the commotion, exposing the bright pink scar from the mortal wound on his throat.
The soldier whipped him around by the heavy garment, and with all of his strength, slammed Roman into the wall. Stars exploded before his eyes, but a pair of strong hands kept him from sinking to the ground.
A dizzying fog enveloped Roman, but even dazed he could feel the horrible tickle moving down his spine. He could feel the cold, and heat, mixing together with sour angst. The Ifrit was moving, Roman realized. It was moving fast.
“You like to hurt people…burn people, heh?” the soldier hissed, his face hovering right over Roman’s shoulder.
“No…” Roman gagged, but the man pulled him around and threw him to the floor.
Roman’s vision spun as the soldier crouched down over him. He became keenly aware of the edge of a dagger against his throat.
Teague swept through the door, the light of his torch filling the room with bright light as he pushed through the chaos. His beard and armor were almost completely crusted with snow and ice. The decorated captain glanced down at Frenin’s body as he walked by, but then his hardened gaze snapped to Dennah, and finally to Roman.
Roman searched his face, looking for some sign of hope or understanding, but Teague’s eyes were cold and hard, boring into him like crystal razors. He passed the bed and turned, taking in the two women crumpled in a pile.
“More death. More wasted life. You just can’t stop, can you?” he whispered, stepping before Roman.
“Look at him, he looks like a sheared sheep,” one of the men holding Roman said as he pulled his head back, exposing the scar. Roman flinched as the commander reached up and ran his hand over his scalp, where his hair had been burned away by fire.
Roman looked into the captain’s eyes, and took a breath, preparing to defend himself.
“Hold his arms,” Teague commanded.
The two men at his sides grabbed Roman roughly. Teague slowly slid his sword free from its scabbard, letting the metal sing its low, deathly tune.
The captain grabbed Roman by the cloak and brought the sword point up to rest against his chest, just over his heart.
“What did the woman do to you?” Teague growled, his face twisting in anger.
Roman shook his head. He tried to deny it, but Teague cut back in and pointed at Frenin’s withered body. He turned back to Roman and growled, “That man told me that she cared for you, loved you…raised you as one of her own for a time.”
“I didn’t hurt her,” Roman said defiantly.
“What of the people in the orchard? What did they do to you? Was that just for their gold?” Teague asked, and when Roman tried to argue, the rage in the man’s eyes grew more frightening.
“…and my men. Did you kill them too? Did you? While they were here, serving…protecting. Well, did you?” Teague yelled.
Dennah tried to protest, but the man holding her against the wall leaned in, pressing his forearm into her throat.
Teague inched closer to Roman, an expectant and primal look burning in his eyes. Roman tried to respond, to deny every charge the man threw at him, but he could only shake his head.
“He didn’t hurt anyone. It was Banus and…” Dennah growled, her voice strangled and weak. This time, the soldier struck her across the mouth, effectively silencing her.
Roman pushed forward as she crumpled to the ground, a trickle of blood running down her chin from her already split lip. Teague shoved Roman back against the wall, the tip of his sword digging painfully into the skin between his ribs. His bloodshot eyes seemed to bulge and Roman saw his own death painted upon the captain’s face.
A painful jolt shot up Roman’s spine, and a heartbeat later, a massive weight thudded against the roof. A strange noise
rolled in through the open window, its keen far more terrifying than the tumultuous howl of the storm.
Roman heard and felt the presence above them, moving on the roof like a tremendous weight upon his soul. The rafters groaned, but Teague and his men didn’t seem to notice. In a moment of desperation Roman looked to Dennah, but she seemed oblivious to the noise as well.
Why am I the only one who can hear it?
Roman moved to speak, to warn Teague, and tell them they needed to move, to run, and get as far away from him as they could, but those words were choked away as Teague’s hand wrapped around his throat.
“No more lies…” the captain growled. Roman felt the tip of the sword pull away. He turned away, anticipating the sword’s strike. In the next moment, another noise flooded in through the window, only this time, Roman knew the others heard it as well.
Long, thick fingers appeared out of the darkness of the storm, curling in and wrapping around the frame of the window. Sharp talons dug into soft wood, and then the safety and warmth of the house and the fury of the storm became one.
The outer wall of the house crumpled in on itself and in a single, violent moment, was pulled away. The storm rushed in, smothering them in cold and darkness. Roman heard Teague’s men shouting and cursing, and he heard Dennah cry out, but the storm howled in with such fury that it all blurred together.
Teague’s hand pulled away from Roman’s throat, allowing him to turn. The wind abruptly died away, blocked by a massive form which appeared through the hole in the wall.
“What is…” one of Teague’s men gasped as the darkness parted.
Heat blossomed inside Roman as chaos fell over the room. He stumbled back suddenly, knocked aside by a fiery blur that came out of nowhere.
Dazed, Roman pushed off of the ground, shielding his face from the fury of the storm. He had been tossed clear across the room, and, above him, separating him from Teague and the others, was the towering, fiery Ifrit.
