by Martha Carr
Must have been my imagination. “Yeah, yeah, that’s all it is.” Being out here this late messes with your mind. Get out of here before you lose it completely. “I could use a drink.”
He hustled a little faster to the gate, pumping his legs as hard as they would move after a long day of ranching. His feet felt like they were encased in concrete. The harvester was clutched tight under his arm.
Another, stronger rumble shook the ground beneath him, sending up short plumes of dust. This time, he gasped, and sweat appeared on his lip.
Wasn’t my imagination.
Trying his best to move quicker, his boots flopped wildly, and one flew off behind him. He stepped barefoot into the damp grass, soaking his toes. “Shit!” he shouted without thinking.
His breath quickened, and he turned around to grab his boot. When he bent over to pick it up, something wrapped around his foot and yanked it down into the soil, just over his ankle.
Isaac yelped, managing to pull his foot out from the soil. He took off in a dead sprint, leaving the boot behind, his eyes fixated on the gate. “Please, please let me make it. Not much farther, not much farther…”
A wide, leathery black tentacle with lines of pincers leapt out of the soil and wrapped around his shin from behind and yanked him hard, dislocating his knee and slamming him face-first into the ground. He never even saw where it came from. His arms flailed about as the harvester flew toward the gate, tumbling along the ground. Isaac maintained his grip on the bow, but the quiver was slung around behind his shoulder.
“Help! Help!” He glanced toward the city walls and the gate, but there was no movement.
He pulled his leg toward him and screamed in pain as he felt the jutting bone of his dislocated knee. The tentacle had a tight grip, refusing to budge as it pulled down on his injured limb harder. Pincers cut through his tunic and sliced his abdomen.
With no other option, Isaac rolled to his side and readied his bow. It took him three tries to reach an arrow from his quiver, his hands trembling as he tried to cock it into the bow. Finally, he was able to ready it for a shot, but when he pulled back the bow and faced the direction of his attacker, he saw nothing.
The pulsing tentacle wrapped around his shin was coming straight from the ground. The rest of the beast was hidden.
“What the hell?”
The tentacle yanked him harder, this time burrowing his leg down into the ground up to his thigh. It let go momentarily, reeling into the air and slapping the bow and arrow out of his hands.
The pain from his leg almost made him pass out, and he bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.
He lay back, looking toward the wall, wishing he had let the harvester go. “Deacon, I should have listened.” That old witch Easton would have helped me. He took in sips of air just as the tentacles writhed through the air again, hovering over his body and grabbing hold of his injured leg again, flipping him over.
His one free leg was bent at an angle kicking in the air, and he clawed at the soil with his hands. He was trying desperately to get any kind of traction that might pull him up and away from the attack.
Yet, the more Isaac scratched at the soil, the harder his leg was pulled into the ground. He gulped air, panicking as he dug at the ground. “What…wha…”
The ground began to swirl underneath him in a clockwise motion. His mouth hung agape as he watched it, then looked back at the gate one last time, seeing the harvester resting in the grass and wishing he had just left it out there.
The ground swallowed Isaac Irving as more tentacles emerged, rising in the darkness and reaching out, grabbing his other limbs. The pressure on his body increased as he was pulled under, and he could feel his ribs cracking one by one, the farther he sank.
“Nooooooo!” he screamed, bile gurgling in his throat and blood spraying from his mouth just before his chin was pulled under the surface of the ground.
The soil stopped swirling, and one last gurgle escaped Isaac’s throat before he disappeared.
Chapter Three
Raven was up early the next day, excited to get to her chores and head back to school. The sun was rising over the horizon, casting a soft light across the ranch when she headed out to feed the goats.
She didn’t see the crossbow in time before the tip of the bolt pierced her shoulder and lodged itself into the bone.
“Rrrrrgh!” She gritted her teeth, clenching her stomach to trap the scream that wanted to escape. She slowly exhaled through her nose and glanced at the small ranch house behind her. Nothing stirring inside yet.
She looked down at the bolt sticking out. No time to get this out now. Raven lifted her eyes and saw a gangly, short elf snatching up one of the dwarf goats into its bony arms. The elf’s little bald head glistened in the rising sunlight.
Her right arm pressed to her side, Raven pushed off the ground with her left arm and up to her feet. She lifted the board with her left hand, leaning it against her shoulder. When he wakes up, the first thing he’ll say is, “Why didn’t you grab the sword?”
She charged after the elf, who set the goat down long enough to fire another crossbow bolt, then gathered the bleating animal back up. The missile streaked toward Raven’s head. She hoisted the board up, putting it between her face and the bolt. It embedded into the wood.
Without breaking her stride, she dropped the board and lunged after the elf, wrapping her arms around his shoulder and tackling him to the ground. He was much older than her, but his spindly legs couldn’t outrun her.
He dropped the goat, and it bleated upon impact. Raven grabbed the animal by the scruff of its neck and pulled it back, hoping to create enough distance between the kid and its pursuer. She barely had let go of the little goat when the elf drove both feet into her jaw, snapping her head back.
Raven fell in a heap, dazed.
“Ooooh.” He let out a squeal of delight at the ruby stone inset in silver, pinned to her jacket. He leaped into the air, his bony fingers open wide, drool sliding down the side of his mouth.
“Think again, shorty!” Raven swung hard, her fist making contact with his midsection and throwing him off-center. She felt the rumble of magic passing through her, rising with her emotions.
The elf leapt to the side, doubled over, growling angrily. “Foul child,” he snarled, managing a sly smile.
What spell, what spell? Raven blinked a few times to refocus her vision, just in time to see the elf snatch up the goat and take off again.
She pulled herself to her feet and picked up the board, snapping off the bolt at its shaft and leaving the head sticking out. She pumped her legs as fast as possible, trying to ignore her throbbing jaw and shoulder.
All I need is one good shot on him, and he’ll be toast.
The board was oak, heavy, and nearly three feet long, eighteen inches wide. Just big enough to do some damage. In fact, Raven used the same board to fight off two beastmen the previous week. Elves have skulls like eggshells. If this thing can beat away a couple of beastmen at once, an elf will be no problem. He’s half their size. Easy pickings.
Searing pain burned down her arm as blood leaked from the wound and soaked into her sleeve.
Ahead, the elf hustled his little feet across the ranch, the dwarf goat bouncing along under his arm.
Her breath heaving rapidly, Raven gripped the board in her good hand and turned on the afterburners, rearing back and preparing to swing with all her might.
Geez, this guy is fast for such a scrawny little thing.
Raven was no stranger to old elves. Once a child reached a certain age in Brighton, you were warned about the fey and their sticky fingers.
Half of Raven’s job was to keep the dwarf goats safe in their pen every day. Letting one slip by into an elf’s hands was a terrible start to the morning, and she wasn’t going to settle for it.
Once she reached within swinging distance, she took her best shot but missed the elf’s wrinkled little head. He was a smaller target than the beastmen, half as
big but twice as fast.
The momentum of the swing pulled Raven down, slamming her face-first into the dirt. Her feet flipped up into the air, then her whole body fell. The sound of the elf’s soft cackle sickened her. I’m not going down this easy, you jackass.
The fall had at least yanked the bolt out of her shoulder. The blood gushed. I’ll deal with that later. I’ve got time.
The elf stopped running away and turned to face her. As Raven rose to her knees, she heard the click of the crossbow. He was preparing another shot.
Death didn’t scare Raven. It never did. She wasn’t sure why. Even at that moment, staring down what could have been her demise, she didn’t waste a second thinking about what would happen if the elf was a decent shot.
She didn’t have to worry. He ripped off a bolt that whistled past her ears. She fell to the ground, frantically feeling around for the board in the dim morning light.
But she couldn’t find it. What is that spell?
The elf began loading up another shot in his crossbow, the goat squeezed between his legs.
Raven got to her feet and extended her arm.
Upon seeing this, the elf slung the crossbow over his shoulder and snatched the goat up. He took off running, clutching the animal under his arm.
Now I remember. You should’ve put it down, asshole. With a devilish smile on her dirt-covered face, Raven whispered, “Offendiculum repente.”
With a grunt, the elf stumbled and fell, his feet kicking out from under him. The goat rolled off to the side, and the elf pushed up, lifting his face from the dirt.
The elf’s once-confident face fell, his eyes wide in panic. He reached for the goat, but Raven pointed to it. “Quod hic adducere!”
One of her favorite spells.
Before the elf could wrap his arms around the goat, the animal floated up and out of reach. The elf slammed his palm on the dirt in frustration.
Amused, Raven watched as the goat gently soared through the air, its legs extended straight down as if it were standing on a little platform. It flew to her and landed safely at her side.
She made eye contact with the elf, who scampered off. Squinting, Raven focused on his arm. Just in case you think about coming back here. “Et disrumpam.”
He squealed as his arm whipped behind his back, the bone cracking loudly.
Raven shook her head. That was satisfying.
The elf nearly clipped his shoulder on one of the tall wooden poles holding up the ALBY GOAT RANCH sign over the path leading to the house before he spun around it and disappeared down the road.
As her adrenaline settled down, Raven picked up the goat and cradled it with her good arm, wincing in pain from the gaping wound in her shoulder. She was lightheaded and her heart was beating fast, and she took a few deep breaths to calm herself down. Three spells that quickly had been a risk. It could take a few minutes before a healing spell would finally work…or work enough.
The goat looked up at her and licked her face.
“You know, if you guys could try fighting back once in a while, that would help me out. Where’s that board? You’ll be stuck inside all day if I don’t put it back.”
She saw the board lying in the grass and put down the small goat. “Follow me. I need to close up this hole in my shoulder before…”
“Raven!” She recognized the tone in her grandfather’s gruff, deep voice.
Worried, as usual. Too late to try one more spell to hide this wound. She dragged the board behind her while the goat trotted along at her side. She approached the pen where the other goats were stumbling around, waking up and trying to figure out where their missing brother was. She dropped the board and lifted the once-kidnappee back into the safety of his friends and family.
“Hang on, Grandpa, I gotta put this board back.” She watched as her grandfather crossed his arms when she passed. It’s okay, don’t look concerned for your bleeding granddaughter or anything.
Raven sucked in her bottom lip, doing her best to ignore the pain as she propped open the door on the inside of the shed. It allowed for the free-flowing traffic of the bouncing, dancing goats inside and out.
She stopped and leaned up against the open door for a moment, turning her head to look at the broad sky and the fast-moving clouds and take in a deep breath.
She shuffled her feet, kicking up dirt while she approached her grandfather. He was standing on the back step of the house, scowling.
“Good morning to you, too.” She held her jaw with her good hand, wiggling it back and forth to make sure it was still in place.
“Are you okay?”
“Most of me. I just have to clean this out and bandage it up. I think the jaw’s fine, just bruised up. Shame you couldn’t have hung onto any healing powers, Grandpa.”
“Yeah, well.” He cleared his throat. “What were you doing out there?”
She looked at him, her forehead wrinkled. “Seriously? Saving a goat. I know how much these things are worth. The market’s paying good money for milk these days. It’s a good time to be a rancher.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”
Raven hesitated, looked off in the distance where the elf had run off, then back at him. “Look, can I just get inside and clean up?”
He raised his eyebrows and repeated himself. “What were you doing out there? You were slow to get out that first spell.”
“Grandpa, he rung my bell pretty well. It took a minute for my head to clear. Did you see that punch I got off? That fight training all summer paid off. I could have taken an arrow to my eye socket!”
“Do you know why he was firing at you? Do you know why he even tried to steal one from us?”
Raven held her right arm under her elbow, trying to keep it from moving. The pain radiated outward, all the way to her fingertips. “Because of the sign?” There was small print at the bottom of the sign, an SW indicating that the home belonged to a spent wizard.
A wizard who had used all of his magical energy in the great battle until there was none left. A magical emeritus. It was meant to be a sign of respect from the town leaders for services rendered so many years ago, but not everyone took it like that.
Grandpa was not satisfied with her answer. “Sweetheart, if that were the case, we’d have elves crawling all over this place, swiping my goats. Actually, we wouldn’t have any left by now. And I’d probably be dead. It’s not a secret. No, it’s because he saw you go out without anything to defend yourself besides magic. I never, ever go out to check on the goats without at least a sword on my hip.” He tilted his head down and leveled his gaze at her. “I can still take care of myself,” he said evenly.
“I know enough to take him down without needing to use a sword, Grandpa. It was just going to be a quick morning check, and I thought I had the spells if I needed them.”
“You needed them, and they were almost out of reach, that’s the problem. Things happen. Learning spells is easy, but figuring out how to balance the magic and weapons, so it’s all there when you need it takes time and wisdom. That’s why I’ve been teaching you both.” He lowered his chin to look at her, his forehead wrinkled. “I know your magic is different.” He sighed. “It comes easily to you and stays longer. Has it ever run out?”
Raven gave a slow shrug. “I haven’t pushed it to the limits, yet.”
He smiled at his granddaughter. “That is what I’m afraid of, Raven. That you’ll find the wall when you need magic the most. Enough for one day. Come on, let’s clean you up.” He hugged her gently and let go. “You look so much like her, like your mother. More every day.” He walked back into the house, holding the screen door open for her, letting it slam behind them. “Your mother was a powerful mage, too. Have I ever told you the story…”
Raven cut him off with a quick smile. “I love you, Grandpa.”
“Clever girl.”
Chapter Four
Raven made her way into the house. She passed the small sitting room and went to t
he hallway closet next to the bathroom, where she fetched a small wooden box. She carried it into the bathroom and set it on the counter next to the sink.
The teen gritted her teeth, sucking in air, and said, “Sana me” with as much conviction as she could muster. A buzz passed through her shoulder, and the blood dried around the edges, closing slightly, but that was as far as it went. The spell she knew wasn’t strong enough, but it helped.
Raven let out a sigh. “Rock is rolling in the right direction, I suppose. Guess we’re going old school for the rest of it.”
She unclasped the box and flipped the lid open, revealing a variety of bandages, gauze, pads, and tapes. Next to them all was a large brown bottle with a metal cap.
Raven winced as the rough canvas of her cream-colored overshirt rubbed against the wound from the arrow. She gingerly put the bottle down on the counter and tugged at her shirt, trying to pull it over her head with one arm.
Her grandfather made his way down the hall and leaned against the doorway with his hands in his pockets. “Want a little help?”
“Am I allowed to have help? Or am I learning another lesson?” She gave him side-eye, annoyed.
He chuckled and helped her. He grabbed the shoulders of the long overshirt, yanking it over her head. “Let’s not be dramatic or anything. Ooh, that’s a doozy. The bolt nipped the bone.”
Blood still dripped down her arm. A little more every time she moved. “You already tried the spell?” he asked.
Raven sighed, frustrated, and nodded her head. “Needed to close it up so I can get back to work.” She wrapped her hand around the neck of the brown bottle and tried to flip open cap with her thumb, but she couldn’t do it one-handed. Her thumb flicked hard against the lever. “Ow!”
“That spell was meant for a deep cut or a wounded hand. This is a little more than that.” Her grandfather reached over and took the bottle out of her hands. “Just let me do it. Sit down.” She dragged a stool from the corner of the bathroom over and took a seat.
“This is a two-handed job. Blue wort cream has to get to the bottom of the wound if it’s going to do anything.” With two hands, he flipped open the lever. “Hooo!” The noxious fumes of the liquid hit his nose. “I hate using this stuff.” He closed it back up for a moment, his eyes watering.
