“Did you make all the necklaces your wear?” she asked. “What about your axe?”
“Aye, I did,” he said. “But maybe we save some questions for later, eh? We may be out of the woods, but we’re not out of danger yet.”
Marsilia nodded in understanding, then paused and frowned. She looked up at him in suspicion, narrowing her eyes. “Was that a joke?”
Fjell just grinned in reply as she rolled her eyes and stomped ahead through the field.
For another hour they walked, sharing small spurts of chatter, but otherwise leaving their minds to the task at hand. The land began to roll in to greater and greater hills spotted with dense thickets of budding trees. As they topped a hill, a small town lay in the valley below them. At its center was an old stone church, centuries old, surrounded by a graveyard.
Holy men roamed the grounds, and peasants tended to livestock and gardens not far away. The dwarf signaled the witch to keep low and they crouched beside some trees, watching. As they did, Marsilia frowned, leaning forward slightly, listening.
“They’re speaking like Pa does,” she whispered.
“Aye, they’re speaking Welsh,” he answered.
“Welsh?” she asked, then looked to him with widened eyes, her voice barely contained to a hiss. “We’re in Wales?”
“Aye,” he answered, looking at her in confusion as they continued to whisper. “Yer forest crosses the border between England and Wales. We went west. Where did ye think we were?”
“I just… I didn’t realize,” she whispered frowning.
They continued to crouch in silence for a moment more as he watched the town, looking to the roads going north and south from it. He generally tried to avoid the town and its mortals, but it was in the most direct route to his mountain and the sooner they got there, the sooner they would be safe. At least for the night.
Nodding ahead, he whispered again. “My mountain’s just over those hills on the other side of town. They’re gonna see us in the valley, but if we swing wide we can keep clear of fires and hopefully avoid interactions.”
“Alright,” she answered and followed his lead to stand and begin down the hill towards the far edge of town.
* * *
The town bustled in the distance as they approached the road. A few humans stopped from their work in the fields to watch the woman in black and the giant with red hair pass. There was a nervous energy to the townsfolk that Fjell did not like. The way they gripped their shovels and pitchforks, the way their eyes locked on to him and his charge, caused his shoulders to coil with tension.
He glanced down at the witch. She was staring back at them, her brow furrowed - not with concern or worry, but something deeper, something hurtful.
“Stop staring,” Fjell chided under his breath. “We don’t want to garner more notice than necessary, eh?”
Marsilia pursed her lips for a moment before finally dragging her gaze away from the church and its watchful humans. “Mmm,” she answered.
“Don’t like yer fellow humans?” he asked, half joking.
“I don’t like the church,” she answered dryly. “‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’ That’s one of the kinder passages about witches in the ‘good book’. Kind of puts a fine point on the matter.”
A frown pulled at his mouth and he glanced back to the human holy ground in spite of himself. Such a strange people in these lands. In the homelands of the dwarves, those of magic were often revered and sought after for aid, insight and fortunes. Then again, it had been a long time since he had visited any of those lands. He distantly wondered where such matters stood now, but pushed the thought aside.
“Come on,” he said, heading towards the nearest tree line. “Let’s get ye away from that mess. Ye’ll not have to fret about such matters where we are going.”
The witch followed in his wake silently and he let the matter lie as they vanished from the church’s sight. The woods were dense, but it didn’t take long to find a deer trail to follow. Though the path meandered, he could feel the pull of his mountain, his home, in the distance. It wasn’t difficult to stay on course.
“How close are we now?” Marsilia asked, breaking the silence.
“About another two hours,” he answered, keeping a keen eye to the woods. “Give or take. We should arrive before sundown.”
“Alright,” she answered. “Let me know when we’re getting close.”
Fjell finally glanced back at her with a confused look. “Why?”
“I have to hunt for deer,” she answered as if it were obvious. “We can’t drag a carcass for two hours through the woods, not after the fight and walking all day.”
He couldn’t help a grin at that and turned his gaze forward once more as he spoke. “Aye, I could carry it without problem. If ye see an opportunity, take yer shot.”
“A full-grown deer. For two hours. Over hills,” she said incredulously.
Stopping, he turned and nodded to a tree beside them. “Push on that tree, hard as ye can.”
Marsilia gave him a puzzled look for a moment as he waited. It was a young one, only three times his height. She finally turned and shoved on it, then shoved again, harder. The tree did not budge. Turning back to him, she gave him a confused look.
“What was that supposed to do?” she asked.
“Prove a point,” he answered and reached over to the tree.
With just his fingertips, he pushed against the trunk and the tree groaned in reply. Roots began to rise from the ground and Marsilia stumbled back from the display, staring wide-eyed. Gently, he released the pressure and settled the tree back into the soil.
“We dwarves are strong,” he said evenly. “Ye hunt yer deer, and I’ll carry it back without problem.”
Still wide-eyed, Marsilia stared at him mutely for a moment before finally nodding. “I… yes, alright,” she sputtered.
Turning, he continued along the deer trail and the witch hurried to catch up to him. The path took them around the edge of the valley and as they approached the foot of the hill, she silently grabbed his sleeve, halting him.
He turned, following her gaze, and saw the buck thirty yards off in the trees. Fjell went completely still as Marsilia moved slowly, sliding her bow off her shoulder. The buck watched them and the witch became as motionless a tree, holding her bow at her side, her hand hovering over her quiver.
Slowly, the deer turned from them and resumed eating buds off of low hanging branches. Marsilia began to move again, with agonizing slowness and patience. She drew an arrow from her quiver, slid it into place on her bow string, and raised her bow bit by bit.
Fjell watched her take in a breath and hold it and he followed suite in anticipation. She stood like that for a long moment, before letting the breath ease out of her chest.
And then the arrow was gliding through the woods. The twang of the bowstring didn’t give the deer enough time to react, and the arrow tore through its midsection behind its front legs. The buck jumped and kicked at the air, darted a few yards into the trees, then simply collapsed.
He wasn’t much of a bow hunter himself, but he knew death, and that was as clean a death as could come. She had punctured through the beast’s heart, leaving very little time for it to suffer.
“Ha!” She barked beside him and slung her bow back on to her shoulder, a triumphant grin on her face.
Nodding in approval, the dwarf smiled in return. “A fine shot,” he complimented. “Wait here, I’ll fetch it.”
In short order, the deer was fetched, bled and gutted. Fjell bound its legs together over a heavy branch to carry over his shoulder, and the pair continued on their way. He let Marsilia take the lead so as not to have the swaying carcass in her face as they proceeded and he watched her. She moved with purpose and grace, slipping between bushes and tangles of brambles, completely at ease in the deep woods.
The sun dipped lower in the sky as they began to cross the hill between the village and his mountain. It would be a close call to ma
ke it the rest of the way before dusk. He frowned, turning his gaze to the shadows. They would have to remain alert. Though he hoped he’d given the kerling reason to pause in attacking them again, it was likely she realized what they were about.
No matter of second thoughts would keep her from trying to stop them if she had figured out their purpose.
Chapter 8
“There it is,” Fjell said from behind her. “Aran Fawddwy. Home.”
They stood atop the hill and the sun hung low behind them, casting the mountain ahead in golden light. Marsilia took in the sight in silent awe. She had never been to the mountains before. The first soft green grasses of early spring crept up the base of the mountain to vanish against enormous grey rock outcroppings and a snowy top.
It was, by far, the largest thing she had ever seen in her life. Deep in the valley below, shrouded in shadow, ran a creek fed but several waterfalls coming down from the melting snow-peak. Swallows darted back and forth over the creek, their glossy wings catching in the dying light as they hunted their evening meal.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“Aye,” Fjell said, stepping up beside her. “Come on. The entrance is a short way past that creek. We’re almost there.”
The dwarf moved past her, the deer carcass still swinging from the thick branch over his shoulder. Marsilia fell in several feet behind him so as not to get whacked by it and they began making their way down the hill and into the deep shadows it cast in the evening sun. Though she tried to watch her steps, it was hard to keep her eyes off of the mountain before them.
A storm was rolling in behind it, giving the terrain a dark backdrop that made it seem to glow even brighter. As the sun continued to lower, those dark clouds turned to a cascade of pink, orange and purple and the snowy peak glowed like burnished gold. Even Fjell, ahead of her, continued to look up at the sight.
The hair on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end and Marsilia spun around in place with a sharp intake of breath. “Fjell,” she whispered and heard him stop behind her.
The shadows on the darkened side of the hill were deep and solid across the grassland, and she could not make out any hints of tremors or movement therein. A deep wind gusted from behind her, from the storm, bringing the scent of rain, and the grass waved with it. Fjell slowly stepped closer behind her, remaining silent.
“Cluinn m ’òrdugh. Nuckelavee, tha mi gad ghairm. Sgrios iad.”
The rasping whisper flowed from the shadows, from before them and behind.
“Fy fanden,” the dwarf breathed behind her. Without warning, he grabbed her arm, turning her back towards the creek, the force of his grip aching. “Run. Run!”
She did. He released her as soon as she began to move, and she bolted down the hill with him thundering behind her. “Can’t you block her magic again?” she called over her shoulder.
“Too late,” he called back, an edge of alarm ringing in his tone. “Her spell is cast - we have to get in the mountain—now!”
“What is it—”
A crack of thunder echoed through the valley, drowning out the witch’s question. It was followed by a gale of wind and despite her forward motion, Marsilia began to tip backwards against the force of it. The wilting flower crown the dryads had given her that morning and the linen hood flew off of her head.
Fjell’s arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her, but he stopped dead in his tracks. She looked up at him in confusion as he stared wide-eyed ahead and let the deer-laden branch fall from his shoulder. Her breath caught in horror as she followed his gaze back down the hill.
A creature stood in the valley, between them and the creek. Perhaps creature was too kind of a word, for this was a monstrosity from nightmares. It was a great horse, larger than any horse she had ever seen, but its skin was gone leaving trembling muscles exposed to the air. Yellow veins pumped black blood that seeped down its body and dripped onto the ground. Where the blood met grass, all life withered and died.
Upon its back sat an equally skinned man - no, not sat upon its back. The skinless man grew out of the horse’s back. It’s bloodied, skeletal face was deformed, the jaw and mouth protruding forward with razor spiked teeth in a wide grin. The man’s arms dragged all the way to the ground, fingertips ending in sharp claws a foot long.
“A nuckelavee,” Fjell said quietly, answering her question. His grip on her waist tightened for a moment, a spasm really, before he released her. “A sea demon of the north. Listen to me carefully, Marsilia. I do not know if I can defeat this thing. Only fresh water can kill it. Ye need to get down to that creek, get across it.”
He broke his gaze from the demon, glancing down at her as he took off one of his beaded necklaces and draped it around her neck. “I’ll try to follow ye, but if I don’t make it, these beads will give access to my home. Go to the back of the farthest cave. Touch the second rune from the bottom on the wall - that’ll take ye to the Fae Realm.”
For a moment, Marsilia thought to protest. The determination in his gaze silenced her. She did not want anyone to sacrifice themselves, but their quest was too important. If it came down to it, one of them had to make it to the Fae Realm and get the blade blessed. He had a better chance of surviving longer against the demon than she did. Finally, she nodded.
With a nod in return, Fjell drew his axe and shield and began taking slow, measured steps down the hill towards the horror. Marsilia watched him, gripping the wood of her bow with one hand and the elven sword at her hip with the other. As she took a step forward to follow him at a distance, the demon let forth a scream, like the dying of thousands of drowned souls. Its pitch undulated like the waves of an angry ocean, gurgling, rising high and low.
A scream of terror tried to burble up in her own throat in reply and she swallowed it down, even as tears began to well in her eyes. The creature stared directly at her and began to charge.
* * *
Fjell stared down at the small witch at his side as he placed the beads around her neck. Fear and dread pulsed just under his skin, but he beat it down under resolve as he watched her, waiting for her reply. He didn’t want to like her, but he did. Furthermore, he was growing to admire her - her curiosity, her resolve, her giving heart, her devotion not only to her father but to protecting those in her woods.
It could still be a trick. It could still be a witch’s deception… but he could not bring himself to believe that was the case. As he stared down, meeting her gaze evenly with determination, he resolved himself. He would do whatever was needed to protect her, to see her quest completed.
Marsilia’s blue eyes searched his for what seemed like an eternity, but was surely only a moment. She finally nodded to his request, and he nodded in return. Drawing his axe and shield, he turned from her for what could well be the last time and began a slow march towards the nuckelavee. He was a quarter of the way down the hill, the creature remaining unmoving, it’s gaze unfocused, when it’s head whipped up and focused over his shoulder.
The demon let forth it’s scream, a sound meant to terrify, to quelsh all hope and bravery. Yet even as the sound wormed into the dwarf’s very heart, his gaze remained locked. It was not screaming at him; it was screaming at the white witch. As the horrific, multi-toned scream ended, the demon began to charge up the hill, aiming for Marsilia.
Fjell’s roar of a war cry erupted as he charged in return. The demon’s gaze snapped down to him, razor teeth gnashing, spiked claws outstretched. They clashed in a clatter of claws and shield and axe.
He deflected the first blow on his wooden shield, the claws tearing gouges through the metal casing on the edges. His axe raised as he slashed, cut through the forearm. The monster reared back on its hind legs, screaming in anger and pain. Its front legs kicked at him, pounding against his raised shield.
The grass piled up behind his heels as the kicks drove him back. The wood of the shield splintered and he cursed under his breath, dropping to duck and roll clear. As he came back to his feet, he sp
otted Marsilia, darting past the fray some distance off. The nuckelavee’s head whipped in her direction and it screamed again, both the human and horse mouth letting forth agony and dread.
“COME ON, YE SKREYJA GRISS!” Fjell bellowed at the demon. “Yer fighting ME!”
Rising from his crouch on the ground, he lashed out with his axe, cutting the hamstring on its rear leg. The demon’s scream changed, from one inducing terror to guttural pain and anger. Fjell darted back, his shield raised in preparation for defense.
The demon turned back to him, dark plumes huffing out of both sets of nostrils, out of both mouths, and the dwarf knew fear. It screamed directly at him and he hunkered below his shield. Those dark plumes oozed from the demon’s mouth, pouring over his shield, swirling angrily around him.
He knew of these creatures, stories of horror, stories of death. Their very breath was disease, was plague - rot and finality in the air. He held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut.
Footfalls sounded softly against grass in the distance, followed by splashes. Fjell chanced himself to crack an eye open, looking towards the creek. In the dying light of the sunset, Marsilia’s hair shone like amber on the other side of the water. He held back his breath of relief, lungs screaming against the lack of air as the dark poison continued to pour around him.
At last, the demon screamed in rage again, and he opened both eyes. The dark mist hovered around him and his head began to swim from lack of air. Unsteadily, he raised to his full height and took a deep breath of fresh air as the disease swirled around his torso. The demon glanced once to Marsilia, protected now by the creek between them, then turned back to Fjell.
There was only one course of action now, to drive the demon into the freshwater creek. He could not in good conscious go across the creek without the nuckelavee defeated, for it would then be free to reign Hell upon the human villages nearby. Nor was he ready to meet his end just yet. As much as he had been through, he could not believe this the end.
The Blessing of Equinox Page 5
