White Stag

by Kara Barbieri

  Finally, he spoke again, and the softness of his voice somehow made it even more threatening. “Well, we’re not where you come from, are we?”

  “Go eat your young,” I spat.

  Lydian’s head jerked, and he shook himself. The faraway look in his green eyes grew cloudy. “It seems you’ve become even more insolent and ignorant since our last encounter. Perhaps I should teach you a lesson.”

  Oh no, I’ve had enough of those. It’d been many years since I’d learned backing down from a fight would get me more injured than starting one. In the Permafrost, it was better to hide your fear than let it show. I infused strength in my voice. “And perhaps you’ll end up with iron poisoning again, and the Permafrost will be relieved of your cancerous presence so it can continue turning like it should.”

  “Oh, you have no idea what happens when the serpent stops eating his tail,” he hissed.

  His motion was a blur barely able to be registered by the human eye. But I’d anticipated Lydian’s attack from the moment I heard his familiar voice, and so when he raised his hand toward me—fingernails lengthening into claws—I was ready.

  Still, he managed to brush against my cheek, almost like a caress, until thin lines of blood trickled from the cuts.

  Instinct took over, and I danced backward until I could jump on what must’ve been a sacrificial table. I went into a crouch, my hands touching something warm and wet. Bile rose in my throat as I looked at the dead boar beneath my fingers.

  Lydian howled a shrill, screechlike howl. The sound sent pain down my spine, and my arms shook; any louder and I had a feeling my ears would be bleeding. It took everything I had not to freeze from fear.

  With that piercing howl the rest of the party took interest. Even the Erlking looked from where he sat on his throne, staring at me, at the fight between the prey and the hunter who sneered up at her. Soren rose, midvow, and his eyes caught mine. Be careful, they said. I can’t help you. If he beats you, I will bring you back to life and murder you myself for the disgrace.

  It was good to know I had someone on my side.

  I swallowed, trying desperately to push down the fear rising in my throat. Fear dulled the mind and I couldn’t allow it, but try as I might, little trickles spread throughout my body, inciting panic.

  Without the disadvantage that came with emotions, Lydian saw his opening and lunged at me. We toppled to the ground, pain searing through my shoulder as I crashed into the hard floor.

  His talons tore at my face, perilously close to my eyes, and for a terrifying moment, the wind was knocked out of me so I could do nothing to defend myself. His teeth were now fangs, snapping at my throat.

  “Why can’t you listen?” he growled. The feel of his body on mine and those too-familiar words brought back memories seeped in despair. Don’t remember. Stop remembering. He cannot take you. “I tried to tell you! I tried to! What happens when the serpent stops eating his tail?”

  I pushed his face away. Years of training with Soren came back to me as I dug my nails into his eyes. Lydian shrieked again, and blood trickled from my ears. Sound faded away until all that was left was a dull ringing, the ranting of the mad goblin before me, now only a distant echo in my head. I slammed my knee into his stomach, satisfied when the air whooshed out of him. Seconds later, a fist knocked into the side of my face, and I saw stars as my head cracked against the floor. For a terrifying moment, I forgot how to move, but then I jabbed my finger into the iron-poisoned wound I’d created in his leg long ago. Forgetting my fear and replacing it with cold, hard rage, I let go. Blood dripped from his eyes where I’d dug my fingernails in, and he lashed at me again. Hot wetness spread across my chest.

  It was now or never. With muscles burning and fueled by hate, I pulled my legs up until they bunched under his chest and I could reach my boots. With my hands free, I dug under the straps, right as he went for the opening in my chest.

  I stabbed a bent iron nail into his shoulder.

  The effect was instant. Smoke billowed from his clothes, getting thicker and blacker by the second, and from it came a stomach-churning, charred-meat smell. His leathers burned away, showing blackened skin underneath. He rolled off me, shrieking in pain as he grabbed at the nail embedded in his shoulder.

  I stood shakily. Blood dripped from my face, soaked my tunic, creating a wave of red on the floor. The ringing in my ears and pounding in my skull were deafening, almost bringing me back to the ground. It wasn’t lost on me that we had been forced to leave our weapons at the entrance to the palace, yet nails and teeth could harm more than any weapon should have the right to. A hysterical giggle bubbled onto my lips, causing a few glances to come my way.

  With a racing heart, I looked around at the monsters in the room. They all gazed at me, some with confusion on their faces, some with mild interest, and some with apparent disappointment at the outcome of the fight. But their looks didn’t affect me. No, the only goblin whose eyes seemed to see through me was Soren. Something faint glowed within them, but it wasn’t something I could name.

  Lydian’s subordinates huddled around him, making a joint effort to pull the nail out of his shoulder. With another ear-splitting howl, the nail was yanked out. The forest-colored material of his shirt flaked to the ground, exposing his now-blackened shoulder. Blood dripped from his eyes, but other than the nail, that was the only wound he took. My legs were going to collapse under my weight at any second.

  He came forward. But then Soren stepped in front of me. “I think that is enough.” The ice in his voice stung.

  “Let me at her!” Lydian’s perfect golden hair was in tangles around his face, his expression twisted in rage. “If you think I’ve hurt you before, it won’t compare to what I will do to you now.”

  “You will not. She is mine.” Soren’s voice resonated across the hall. The weight of the power pouring from him did drop me to my knees. When Lydian began to pour out his own power, the weight of their combined strength pressed my body flat against the ground; my arms turned to sticks when I tried to hold myself up.

  Lydian snarled. “I am not above killing you either, nephew. In fact, I’d rather prefer it. It would make the world right again, after all. You need to understand that, yes?”

  “We don’t need to do anything. However, I want to tear your still-beating heart out of your chest, so I suggest you leave before my restraint runs out.” Soren cocked his head to the side. “I can count to three if it makes it easier.”

  Lydian’s eyes burned like emerald fire, and he let out a low, guttural growl. Then he was screaming again, but the only sound my ears could register was ringing. Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth, and I scrambled backward. He looked like a madman, ranting and raving about nonsense he thought would make sense to everyone else. When I’d been his captive, he’d done the same every night; asking inane questions over and over again, and then destroying me piece by piece.

  Both of them were throwing their power around so hard, black spots danced at the edges of my vision. I knew Soren and his uncle had unspeakable power—the ethereal force inside every goblin that marked their strength and could be turned into a weapon—but I’d never been in the same room when they both wielded it to its full extent. The breath was crushed from my lungs and my vision blurred, but before it faded completely I saw the two of them transforming, looking more and more like actual monsters without the inhuman, terrifying beauty that masked their true selves.

  Not good. This is not good. They’ll destroy the building. The ground shook, and from behind me someone groaned in pain. How many things did they have to kill to obtain all that energy?

  But no one would stop them. It was the way of goblin life. If you were challenged, you did not back down, not unless your challenger was defeated. Like wolves, the fight for dominance was ongoing, and like wolves, the younger challenged the elder in the pack. Soren might’ve been the youngest lord there’d been in the history of the Permafrost, but he was strong.

  As the two go
blins were about to attack, three things happened simultaneously. The marble floor split open with a deafening roar, the Erlking fell from his throne, and the stag stood, shook out his fur, and ran.

  2

  PREDATORS

  AS FAR AS bloodthirsty monsters went, the goblins at the gathering were surprisingly calm about their king collapsing onto the now-bloodied, broken floor. Or, well, ex-king, now. I didn’t see who’d slashed the then-Erlking’s throat, but the wickedly deep gashes gave me no doubt he was dead. The cuts in my own skin throbbed harder at the sight.

  Lydian and Soren stared at each other for a minute more, their features morphing back into those of inhuman beauty, before slowly backing away from each other. Lydian snapped once, a gesture that was met by a rumbling growl from Soren, before he backed away, still clutching his smoldering shoulder. He sneered at me again and then vanished from sight.

  The space where we’d fought was covered with my blood. Raw meat and other delicacies from the table I’d jumped on littered the floor, and I wrinkled my nose at the coppery smell. With one arm crossed against my chest to stop the gushing blood, I limped back to where the iron nail was on the floor and shoved it into my boot.

  Soren gave the dead king a thoughtful stare. I stood, waiting to be recognized, hoping it’d be before I passed out from blood loss. He sometimes forgot that even though the Permafrost made it so I remained seventeen winters old despite years passing, I still was nothing but a mortal—a mortal currently bleeding out.

  One hundred years. One hundred years and he can still do this to me. Despite my attempts to stay calm, I was overcome with tremors. The no-weapons rule had done nothing to save the Erlking’s life in the end, and it couldn’t save mine either.

  Finally, Soren turned, his scorching gaze on me. His eyes, so very much like a predator’s, took in my bloody body. One eyebrow was raised slightly at my bubbling laughter. “You brought iron into the heart of the Permafrost.” His tone and expression implied what wasn’t said. You are clearly mad, and if not, you’re well on your way. He was right, but when had I ever been considered normal in any way?

  Suddenly I didn’t feel like laughing anymore. “You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

  His gaze didn’t soften. “I said you could bring a keepsake.”

  “You didn’t specify which keepsake. That’s your slip, not mine.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “True. It was more mature than I expected of you.” Was it the blood loss or did he actually sound pleased?

  “Mature?”

  Now a smile definitely played on his lips. A smile. “Mature. Crafty. Not many humans would have thought of it, but after your exposure…” He ran his fingers through his hair.

  My legs shook. I wasn’t sure how much blood I had lost, but the black spots appearing in the corners of my vision told me it was a lot. Soren’s voice and the room around me went in and out of focus, and when I tried to keep my eyes on him, I found it was a bad idea. The way he looked at me chilled me even more; his normal apathetic, bored expression looked genuinely excited for once. What were you thinking? Really? His voice echoed inside my head. “Tell me, Janneke. If you’d been caught toting iron in the Erlking’s palace, you’d be executed. And perhaps so would I. That’s quite the uncalculated risk.”

  Frowning, I said, “I’m sure you can figure it out. Your kind is better than mine at twisted logic.”

  Soren bared his teeth in a wide smile at that. “Humor me.”

  I swallowed. “Well, as a thrall, normally I wouldn’t be engaged with the others swearing fealty unless I entered into a fight. Honestly, I probably wasn’t expected to be here at all. If I entered into a fight in the Permafrost—and the Erlking’s palace—it would invoke the law of winter. The fight would be between me and whoever I fought to the end. The winner would remain, and the debt be settled. So, carrying iron would give me an advantage over anyone attempting to fight me, and if I lost, well, no harm would come to your estate as winter’s law would be satisfied in my death.”

  Soren’s pale eyebrows rose. “You’re shaking.” He said the words as if he only then realized the problem. “We’ll continue this discussion later.”

  Finally, I thought with a relief so strong my knees shook. I tried to step forward, only to find my strength disappearing and the ground rushing up to meet me.

  Pale, cold hands wrapped around my blood-soaked body, picking me up. He said his next words quietly, but with my head resting under his chin, I heard them all. “This changes everything.”

  Then blackness.

  * * *

  WHEN MY EYES opened, I was no longer in the courtroom. Instead, the room around me was plain with sparse decoration. A chair sat across from me, but it was currently unoccupied. I lay on a fur-covered platform, the multiple pelts—wolf, tiger, snowcat, bear—strewn around my bare form doing nothing to keep me warm. It took a second to register how freezing the air was, but when I moved to cover myself with one of the wolfskins, hands pushed me down.

  Tanya, Soren’s healer, stared at me from the head of the platform. Her strawberry-colored hair was tied back, but a few strands were stuck to her face with blood. Both hands were also covered with blood. It always struck me how different she looked from her nephew. Her bright red hair clashed with her darker skin in a way that shouldn’t have been pleasant to look at but was. With her nephew’s blue-gray, nearly translucent skin, lilac eyes, and long white hair, the idea that they were related by blood would never cross anyone’s mind.

  She leaned back, observing me. I didn’t think she was very pleased with what she saw.

  I tried to will away the heat that spread through my body. I didn’t make it a habit for any goblin to see me naked—healer or not. But the hurt and wooziness from blood loss had vanished, and the gashes on my skin were shiny new scars. More to add to my ever-growing collection. The thought moved through me like a bitter rain.

  “You got yourself into quite the fight,” she said. Her tone was brisk and businesslike, naturally cold. The brief displeasure that had flickered through her eyes when I first woke up was gone, and she now had a stony look to her that swallowed any type of emotion her kind could express. It was nothing like Soren’s had been right before I passed out. Thinking of it made my stomach clench. It couldn’t be emotion, not truly. Goblins might be able to feel rage and pain, shame and pleasure, but they held none of the deeper meaning that they held for humans. If anything, their emotions could be ignored as easily as one ignored a fly buzzing.

  But the way he had looked and sounded, almost excited, almost as if there were something about me that had turned our relationship into more than what we currently had. I wasn’t an idiot. I might’ve enjoyed the higher end of social fluidity that came with being a thrall, but Soren was no friend of mine. Or at least, not on my part. Sarcasm lessons aside.

  “I think I got off lightly compared to my opponent,” I said.

  “Yes,” Tanya mused, sitting on the empty chair. “Fighting Lydian with iron in the middle of the Erlking’s court, you definitely got off lightly.”

  I held back a groan at the she-goblin’s words. Why did I even try to be sarcastic? None of them would ever get it.

  When I sat up, she rewarded me with a shove. I tried another approach.

  “Where am I?”

  “The Hunt has begun,” she said. “We are required to stay in the palace until Soren gives the command to begin.”

  I swallowed the burning in my throat. The Hunt. “He hasn’t gone already?”

  Tanya shifted to cross her legs. “He is deciding who and what to take with him. And perhaps he’ll eliminate some competitors who are taking their time as well.”

  I didn’t have anything to say to that. I might’ve never experienced the Hunt in person, but I knew what was at stake. Everyone did.

  “Do you think he’ll win?” I asked, then bit my tongue. It wasn’t like she’d say anything but yes.

  She stood. “I think he has more than winning on h
is mind.” Without looking back, she crossed the room and unlocked the door. “He wishes to see you in his apartments as soon as you’re able.”

  Then she left.

  I lay there, heart pumping fast in my chest, trying to recall everything I knew about the stag hunt. The stag was the symbol of the Erlking’s power, of the fact that the Erlking was the strongest, fastest, best predator in the Permafrost. If the stag ran from the Erlking, then he wasn’t the strongest anymore.

  It wasn’t just a hunt. The winner would be whoever had the most power as a predator; only he’d be the one to successfully reach and kill the stag. The ancient force that flowed through the very being of every goblin and marked their strength came from their kills and throughout the Hunt, you could gain more power by killing other competitors. It came with a cost, like everything did, but those with considerable power—like Soren and Lydian—dominated the goblins’ martial society for a reason. The longer the Hunt, the fewer contenders, but I didn’t know how long the Hunt officially lasted, only that sooner or later, the most powerful predator killed the stag and became the new Erlking. That meant that more than the stag would die, and unlike the stag, they wouldn’t reincarnate as the new Erlking’s symbol at the end.

  If Soren died … what would happen to me? That wasn’t something I wanted to think about.

  I rose and stood at the mirror, wincing as the icy air assaulted my limbs. Despite the slowly fading ache in my chest, my body looked fine. Or, well, as fine as it could’ve been. Three once-deep gashes joined the mass of scar tissue decorating my chest, and the slash marks from Lydian’s claws were ugly pink lines on my cheek. But I was alive. That was enough.