by Greg James
“Kirrick is the only one who doesn’t forage?” Willow asked.
“Yes, it’s his leg, you see. He escaped a No-man, but not before it wounded him. They are foul things. It is not the kind of wound that can be cured with ease. It is like a shadow that grows inside him. I wish he could get better but we no longer have the Jenn to cure our ills. We must make do with what little we have.” She stopped and darted off towards a nearby pool. “There, look, fish, I think.”
Willow ran a finger along the thule’s blade and lowered it into the water.
“Don’t do that,” Yirae said, “it will ruin the blade. It will rust.”
“I don’t think it will,” Willow said, “besides, see for yourself.”
Yirae yelped with delight. One, two, three, four – five fish were orbiting the thule like moths gathering at night around an open flame.
“You truly are a wizard, Tasha Lovechild.”
Willow thought of Henu, “I wish I was.”
They returned to the cave with enough fish to fill everyone’s stomachs that night. Kirrick’s face betrayed his surprise though he kept his tone neutral, as before, with Willow. After everyone had eaten and the others were dozing, she went outside the cavern to get some fresh air. Viril joined her. “I don’t think Kirrick likes me, Viril.”
“His wound makes him suspicious and doubtful of others, even me and we have been brother-kin since we were foals.”
“How did he escape the No-man?”
Viril pausing as he chewed on a mouthful of fire-roasted fish, “I don’t know. He will not speak of it. All we know is that he lived, and we are grateful. He is the oldest and strongest of us, in mind if not in body. Without him, we would be lost.”
Willow’s eyes stole back to Kirrick, the oldest and strongest. I’m not so sure of you, she thought.
Kirrick turned over in half-sleep as if he’d heard her thoughts. The way he looked at her. She’d seen looks like that before; hard, empty and cold.
There’s something there, she thought, something from his wound, lingering.
A darkness in his soul.
*
The next day, Willow went foraging with Laene, who strode across the Flats with an authority and sureness that was the opposite of Yirae’s energetic pace. Willow had asked her what became of the Droves.
“All were herding towards Harrowclave after the summons went out from Nualan. We went as one column across the plains, leaving only the weakest elders and youngest foals behind at our Drovehomes. The Lamia’s creatures were waiting for us. The No-men and Molloi we knew well but this was the first time we saw the Behemoths. Tall and white-skinned with black hair and blank, empty eyes. They were like nothing we had ever seen in daylight before. They smelled of death and the grave. The No-men formed themselves into Great No after Great No, appearing to us as a tide of shadow washing over the land. They flanked the Behemoths as they set about my people. Crushing and smashing our warriors … eating them alive.
“What could we do? Our mothers and fathers made us turn and run though we wanted to stand and fight. There were cries and screams from horizon to horizon, or so it seemed. We had galloped beyond the reach of the white giants and the black tide of No-men. They swallowed on my people as night swallows the day. All we could do was run. Run, run and run until we came here.”
“That’s horrible.” Willow said.
“That is Tirlane now,” Laene said. “We were blessed with ceaseless beauty once and now we are cursed by nightmares without end.”
“I will put it right.”
“I? You alone?” the centaur maiden laughed harshly, “I think what you say is impossible. No army could defeat the Lamia, much less a person alone.”
Willow drew the thule. Its blade glowed with a cool, wan light. “I have this.”
“A thule has power, true, but it is but one small sword against all of the Lamia’s darkness.”
“Sometimes that’s all that is needed,” Willow said, “a lone light, like a candle in the night that guide’s the way.”
“You have a faith I do not share,” said Laene.
They were interrupted by a sound, not far away. Laene grabbed Willow by the hand and pulled her into cover. There was a form out there, wandering through the sea-borne mist. The shape resolved, grew darker and then whiter, much whiter.
Willow’s heart hammered hard in the sudden silence. All was still around them.
Out of the dank waters ahead, there rose a Behemoth. Not the mutilated limb of one as she had seen a few days ago, but a pale giant with lank dark hair, vacant eyes and a slack mouth. It sloshed through the water, which reached to its calves, dragging its fingers through the murk. Willow could hear its breathing as a laboured rasping.
Laene’s fingers were tight on her arm. She looked at the proud centaur maiden and saw pure, stark terror on her face. The golden tinge of her skin was gone, replaced by a bone-whiteness to match that of the Behemoth trudging through the Flats’ depths. Laene could have been one of the statues on Pendir so unmoving was she at this moment. Neither spoke as the Behemoth trod its ponderous path. It was close, almost over them. The odour of the colossal creature was as Laene had described. Willow closed her eyes and imagined wet things buried in swamp graves clawing their way towards the surface, seeking to feast on light and the living.
The Behemoth stopped. Willow held her breath. She could hear something other than its breathing. The sound of it inhaling through its nostrils.
It has our scent.
Her hand moved to the hilt of the thule. Could she have a hope against this brute? The hand had been one thing. A lame extremity as opposed to a whole monster. The hilt of the thule hummed and sang beneath her fingertips.
Willow tensed, ready as she could be.
A low, guttural moan escaped the Behemoth; the sound of its eternal hunger.
From the near distance, a piteous animal cry reached her ears. The waters flooded around Willow and Yirae as the Behemoth turned in the direction of the sound. It began to stride towards whatever creature had found itself stranded out on the Flats.
Willow went to rise but Yirae’s iron grip held her down, “It is leaving us be. Don’t be a fool, Tasha.”
Willow shook her head, “It’s going to kill whatever’s crying out there.”
“And it will kill us surely if we try to stop it.” Yirae’s eyes were wet with tears. “I have seen the Behemoths and what they can do. It might seem a slow thing to you, but they can be fast when their appetites are awakened. And once it has its jaws tight around you, there is no escape. None at all.” The centaur maiden was shaking with controlled emotion. “Stay and let us return to the cavern.”
“But we have no food.”
“It is enough that we have seen a Behemoth here in the Flats. They have not wandered this far before. We must move elsewhere.”
“Will Kirrick agree to that?” Willow asked.
“He must. Otherwise, we are all dead.”
*
The cave was dry and made warm by the small fire flickering from a cluster of kindling. Viril and Kirrick were slumped around the fire when Willow and Laene returned. Kirrick’s eyes were hooded with shadow as he took in their dishevelled state, “Where’s the forage? I’m hungry.”
Laene tossed her light mane, “There was a Behemoth out on the Flats.”
Viril rose to his feet, “And you survived?”
“It went after … something else.” Willow said, quietly. Her eyes met Viril’s and she felt him sharing her pain at having left an innocent creature to die at the Behemoth’s hands.
“Where is Yirae?” Laene asked, looking around for her sister-kin.
“Kirrick sent her out for firewood.” Viril said.
Laene’s eyes widened, “With a Behemoth out there, alone?”
“I did not know one was abroad,” Kirrick spat into the fire.
Laene turned on her hooves, rising and falling, snorting in anger. “Coward, huddling by your fire all these days and n
ights.”
Kirrick looked up at her, “Be careful with your words to me, she-horse.”
Laene whinnied. Willow thought she was about to dash Kirrick’s brains out with a kick from her forelegs, but the centaur maiden settled though she was so flushed that the gold of her hide was shimmering as a brilliant cascade across her torso.
Viril stood at her side, “Let us go. She cannot be far from home.”
Willow drew the thule from its scabbard, noticing Kirrick’s eyes fly to it and his lips peel back from his teeth as if she were threatening him with it. “I’m coming too.”
The three left Kirrick alone by his fire to seek after their lost friend.
Chapter Four
Amidst the evening gloom of the Seaforth Flats, they called out for the lost centaur maiden to no avail. Their cries echoed back on themselves or drifted away, lost in the thickening reek.
“We must take care,” Laene said, “there may be Behemoths abroad. They rarely travel alone.”
Willow moved before the other two, using the light cast by the thule’s blade as a makeshift torch against the encroaching dark. Night creatures croaked and brayed from out of sight, confusing their shouts so that Yirae might not know her friends were looking for her. At least, that was how it seemed to Willow. She wondered how paranoid it was to think the nocturnal fauna might be in league to the Lamia. There was no way to know for sure.
Suddenly, a high voice cut through the night’s chorus. Laene and Viril pushed past Willow in reply. It was Yirae. Willow trudged after them through the water-logged ground. This was heavy-going. Catching up with her companions, she held the thule up on high and illuminated a diorama of light and darkness at play with one another.
There was Yirae – with a bundle of sticks in her arms cantering towards them. Emerging out of the gloom on either side were No-men. Behind, dripping with water and weeds, was a Behemoth. Willow felt sure it was the one that passed herself and Laene by earlier that day.
The centaur cried out piteously. Her eyes were wide and weeping. Willow moved to intervene. The thule burning bright in her hands, drawing spiteful hisses from the gathering No-men, driving them back. The Behemoth kept on coming. A hand reached down and snared Yirae between its fingers, lifting the centaur maiden clear of the ground. She bucked, thrashed and whinnied against its tightening grip. Her bundle of sticks scattering as a dry rain.
She was out of reach. There was nothing Willow could do. Laene and Viril were staring numbly at their sister-kin, paralysed by the sight of her approaching fate.
Willow dashed through the broken ground ahead. She could not cut Yirae free but if she could cut the Behemoth’s legs, then there might be a chance.
Mist and shadow surged into her path. The No-men had not retreated. The first children of the Lamia had pulled back and formed themselves into a Great No. The air smouldered and flared as Willow tried to cut her way through. Her breath was catching in her throat. Sobs were escaping. Her eyes were streaming with tears as she fought against black flux and obsidian tide – but it did not good. The Great No was strong, fed the despair and ruin of the land, and she could not turn it aside. Willow fell into a crouch, using the thule to brace herself against their dismal hunger – so eager to consume her, body and soul. There was no more she could do than this.
Looking up, she watched as the Behemoth’s mouth opened and Yirae, kicking and crying, was raised high above the chasm of its open throat. Its fingers began to come away from the centaur maiden one by one until she was held by forefinger and thumb alone.
Stillness. A breath. No-one moved.
The Behemoth’s forefinger and thumb went slack. Yirae was falling.
Her scream was cut off by teeth clashing shut and a wet smacking sound.
Pain vibrated through Willow as she imagined that she heard Yirae’s muffled cries as the Behemoth swallowed her, and she reached its stomach. The vibration intensified as pure fury is wont to do.
White light exploded out of her, scouring a path ahead, clearing away the Great No as the night retreats before dawn – and thundering into the Behemoth, which tottered and stumbled on its feet but remained upright.
Willow stared up at it as the surge she’d unleashed subsided. It looked back down at her with empty, dumb eyes. Where the No-men were malevolent, insidious and clever, the Behemoths were little more than a monstrous hunger. There was nothing behind those eyes, not even the Lamia’s will, and she found herself fearing these Behemoths more than their dark mistress. Without her, they would keep going; destroying all life. She wondered if that was the point – had the Lamia seen her death coming? Could the Behemoths have been created to send a message to Willow?
Even if you kill me, you will not destroy my legacy in this world.
Was evil forever as much as good?
The Behemoth was reaching for her and the other centaurs. There was no time to think on that now. She swept in, passing through the tunnel she’d carved through the Great No, ducking under the giant’s grasping fingers, and struck at its left ankle with all the force she could muster. The flesh separated and recombined, not bleeding a drop of blood. She could hear the whinnies and cries of her companions.
I must be swift and put an end to this.
Desperate, she drove the thule up to its hilt into the monster’s right ankle.
A tremor went through the thing that made the ground shake. The Great No scattered into No-men that fled into the mist. A groan escaped the Behemoth’s lips and she felt it sway, throwing her off-balance. She tried to draw the thule out again, but it was stuck fast, she could feel it grating against bone. Foul ichor was gushing out of the wounded flesh and she knew that she’d hit her mark – but she could not abandon her sword with it. Willow tugged and pulled. Her hands slithering off the hilt as it became slick with the Behemoth’s disgusting lifeblood.
The Behemoth took a step forward, then one back, and it was toppling towards her. Willow flung herself to one side; half-running, half- tumbling, hauling herself across the marshy ground, out of its way. It fell with a crash that sent a thick rain of water and soil surging into the air. Willow was spattered with it as she lay in the murk, catching her breath.
She wasn’t sure how long she was there for until a familiar face came into view.
“She’s here. I think she is unhurt.” Viril said.
Laene appeared as well, limping slightly. They both helped Willow to her feet.
“You killed it,” Laene said, awed.
“Yeah, but I lost the thule. I’m not sure I can do it again without it.”
Laene shrugged, “You did it once. That is more than any have achieved before, and it is enough for now.”
The three companions slogged their way back to the cavern, seeing no sign of No-men or Behemoths along the way. They passed Yirae’s bundle of sticks on the way. They stopped and looked at them for several minutes before Viril grudgingly picked up the kindling with which they could keep the fire going. It would be a poor memorial to the centaur maiden’s life.
Willow remembered how noble, proud and fearless the centaurs had seemed to her when she first came to Tirlane. This was not what she’d expected to come back to after her travels on the Pale Ship – they were broken.
*
Kirrick’s face whitened at the sight of the returning party, “Where is Yirae?”
“We could do nothing.” Viril said, “but Willow put down a Behemoth.”
“By herself? Single-handed?”
“It was mostly the thule’s doing,” Willow said. She felt vulnerable without its reassuring weight on her belt.
“Now, tell me who you really are?”
Willow said nothing.
Recognition dawned on Kirrick’s face, “You’re her, aren’t you? The one called Willow, the Greychild. You killed our people.”
He drew a dagger from the leather strap that crossed his thin chest and advanced on her. Viril put himself between Kirrick and Willow. “Kirrick, that’s not true. You know as we
ll as I that what happened at Harrowclave was the Lamia’s work.”
“But they wouldn’t all have been coming to Harrowclave if they’d not been summoned by Nualan and his drove.”
“Nualan wasn’t a fool.”
“Really? He let himself be slain by the Lamia and sacrificed his people. For you. He was a fool and do not seek to tell me otherwise. Because of him, we are last. Almost extinct. Do you think that a fair trade?”
Viril said nothing.
Kirrick struck out Willow and reared over her – looking to dash her skull in with one of his hooves. “She is the destroyer,” Kirrick said, “the end of our people. We must do this in honour of those who died at Harrowclave.”
“You will have to go through me in order to take her life,” Viril said.
“Why would you defend such a monster?”
“Because she is not one.” Viril said, also rearing.
Each centaur stood like that for what seemed like a long time, tense and poised, ready to strike hard against the other. Willow saw how the flint-sharp edges of their hooves caught the glow of the firelight – and how there was more than darkness casting shadows over Viril’s countenance. There was a flicker of light in his eyes she’d seen before. “You knew, didn’t you?” she said, catching the centaur’s attention. “You knew a Behemoth was out there. You knew about the No-men too. You’ve always known this would never be a true sanctuary.”
“You abandoned Yirae to the shadows!” Laene cried, raising herself up on hindlegs. Her eyes were wide and wet with tears while her lips were set in a hard line. Kirrick swayed before the two opposing centaurs but did not fall. He should have done by now.
His lameness was gone. It had been a sham all along though they could still see the sign of it there. The discoloured flesh and blackened, thorny patches of hair.
“His wound,” Viril said, “is not a wound at all. It is a mark of favour.”
Kirrick lashed out at Laene with his front legs – catching her hard in the chest with his hooves, sending her crashing back against the stone walls of the cave. There was a wet crack as her head struck stone. Willow ran to the fallen centaur maiden, but she could see it was too late.
