by Annice Sands
“You have nothing to fear.”
“I know,” I started to say, but he cut me off.
“No reason to fear me, no matter what, do you understand me, woman?”
I frowned and pressed against the bars, my fingers clutching the cold metal. “What do you mean?”
Torsten’s teeth must have been chattering, for his answer was shrouded in shivers. “Just stay out of my path when the time comes.”
His breaths were sharp and loud through his nose and mouth, in a practiced manner. He stepped forward until he’d reached the door of his cell. His eyes burned like thin golden rings as he took the bars in his hands. Chills ran down my spine as he let out a growl unlike anything I’d ever heard. Outside my window, men ran and screamed. Voices high in terror, begged for mercy. The scent of fresh blood spilt in the air.
A memory sprang to mind, from when I was still captive to the Northmen: The black wolf at Torsten’s camp.
Had it been his eyes that watched me? The metal bars shrieked in protest as Torsten began to bend them, apparently intent to free himself amidst the chaos. Tendons and muscles stood out in his neck from the strain. He grit his teeth together like his beastly namesake and shoved the door free of its hinges.
Torsten was loose.
A bone-chilling howl pierced the near-freezing night air as Torsten stepped over the ruins of his cell door. His muscles were rigid and veins stood out on his arms. The light was dim in the corridor, but I thought I saw claws at the ends of his fingers. I called his name, but when he swung his head in my direction, I understood his previous warning.
No matter what happens.
Torsten’s face had changed, his lips pulled back in a rictus snarl, exposing elongated, glistening canines. His eyes burned with a fire not found in any torch or hearth in man’s world, pupils wide and fathomless. A low growl rumbled in his throat and I shrank back against the wall with a whimper.
Old stories circulated about men who could tap into the powers of the animals. Witch-spawn, blessed with the iron blood of the Northmen. Despite my fear, my heart thudded with excitement. The danger—I liked it. But best to stay out of his way as asked. When he’d stalked out of sight, I rushed to the bars of my cell door, straining to catch a glimpse of the goings-on. I couldn’t see anything, damn it all. But the sounds—like a wet bolt of linen torn and the shrieks of utter terror—were somewhat satisfying. He would escape and I...I would remain in this place, a grave for the not-yet-dead and the destroyed, until I starved or froze in the ever-colder winter days and nights.
A clatter of footsteps sounded down the hall, followed by a strange figure appearing at my door.
“Lady Elena, we must hurry.”
I blinked and gaped. “Eron?”
I had seen the old warrior run through with a Penbroke sword, he had died back at the ravaged Northmen’s camp. Yet, he stood very much alive and well before me.
“Don’t be so surprised,” Eron replied to my unspoken curiosity, apparently quite obvious on my face. “There are more creatures in the world than you can ever imagine. Torsten told you of us, then?”
“Only himself,” I said softly as Eron unlocked my door in the conventional manner.
He must’ve taken the keys off the warden’s body. The pen had fallen if that were to be true. The metal hinges screamed torture as Eron liberated me from my prison. So much had transpired that I’d forgotten how cold I was until thick, warm furs were thrown around my shoulders. Given a source of heat, my shoulders shuddered violently, but there was no time to contemplate such sensations. Eron took me by the hand, his claws poking my palm just so they did not dig into my flesh.
How many more were there? Had the whole war-band in fact been a throng of berserkin?
Once we’d reached the end of the hall, the carnage became apparent. Remnants of guard spattered the walls and heavy steel door. A sword lay in a pool of steaming blood. Eron peeked outside while I bent to retrieve the blade. The weapon felt heavy in my hands and I shook my head in dismay, wishing I still had Torsten’s dagger. I had to trust the Northmen this time. My breath rushed out of me when I stepped over the shredded corpses of my captors, and I realized I’d been holding it since I’d left my cell.
The stink of piss was stronger now, with the dead, and the death toll was high. Bodies lay face-down in the muck, splayed open over tables, an arm here, a leg there. All marked with bites and torn flesh from terrible claws.
Eron stopped us and let out a sharp whistle. Pointed ears twitched towards us and what had been Torsten turned to regard us with a demonic gaze. Blood raced down his bare chest in ribbons; he looked as if he’d bathed in a river of the life-giving substance. His transformation was startling and I looked away, unable to connect that thing with the man I was sure I loved.
Torsten and Eron charged one another, stopping only a body’s width apart for a rapid exchange of their strange language which sounded like water as it navigated rocks in a bubbling brook. The words were fluid and melted into one another.
“You’re safe now,” Eron said to me, but his words were cut off by a low-pitched horn.
The Penbroke militia. Someone there at the pen must’ve slipped a rider out to send for help. Little did they know the destruction that lay out in the moonlight for them all to appreciate. Torsten would destroy them by himself; with Eron at his side, I had even less to worry over.
But instead of confidence, Eron’s face was lined with worry. His golden eyes seemed to blaze for a moment as he closed his fingers into fists. Torsten leaned back and howled. He fell to his knees.
“What is happening to him?” I demanded.
Eron shook his head. “His rage fades.”
“But he is strong.” I grabbed the furs that draped Eron’s barrel chest. “You are strong!”
“As long as there is prey to chase and kill, yes. A fight keeps the blood boiling, but once the enemy is defeated, and there is no one left to kill, the rage leaves us weak and defenseless, even sick for a full day.”
Torsten let out another howl, mournful this time. His gaze met mine. He was losing and he knew it.
“Elena,” he managed to say with some difficulty. Eron and I rushed to his side as the horsemen flooded into the camp. Their horses, immediately sensing that something was not right, upended their riders, their shrill neighs almost deafening as they fled in a wild stampede back through the gates.
Nearly two dozen men dispatched by Penbroke righted themselves and drew their swords to swiftly rebuke the infiltrators. The sellswords looked more astonished than we must have, for instead of the Northmen war-band they might have expected, only the three of us were, two on our feet with Torsten in a kneel, clawing his own arms.
“What is he doing?” I asked Eron.
“Stop it! Stop that!” I reached for Torsten’s arms, but Eron stepped between us.
“I had hoped to avoid the change, for Torsten wanted me to take you both to safety. But his rage is gone, despite his efforts.”
Eron’s eyes glowed more brightly as his size grew.
“Run towards the sun, my Lady. Catch hold of one of these nags and carry yourself and the Wulf towards the sun.”
The crowd of onlooking soldiers had calmed themselves of their temporary bewilderment and now advanced on us. Eron went to his knees and elbows, swelling like an evening sun. Great fangs jutted from his lips as he melded into a shape I could finally identify: a great bear.
Eron roared and rose to his hind legs. Soldiers charged him with a battle cry. More than twenty men attacked him at once as I helped Torsten to his feet. The claws on his hands were gone, as if they’d never been there. As I never had known they would be, until the very end.
Torsten moaned as his head wobbled on his neck. He was far too big for me to carry; he would either need to walk or I would have to find a horse. The sellswords’ horses had most likely tired themselves out only after having covered a considerable distance from where we were.
“Get up there, woman,�
� Torsten whispered hoarsely. “Go.”
I turned to look for Eron just in time to observe his massive paw sweep more than a dozen guards in a deadly blow to the ground. But where one man would fall, two more sprouted up in his place. We were out-armed. Out-numbered.
Several soldiers ignored Eron altogether and came toward Torsten and I. One was Cecil, bandaged face and all.
Torsten’s arm slid from around my shoulders as he fell unconscious. I mustered up a grain of courage and lifted the sword.
“Give up, girl,” Cecil said as he approached.
He strode up to us with an exaggerated air of confidence. After all, his men were watching.
My wrist shook and the blade proved to be a bit more of a weight than I could wield effectively. I imagined I glared at my formerly-betrothed with the fury of a thousand suns. I would peel the rest of his face off, given the chance. Cecil seemed to be enjoying his moment of victory.
The cries of his men seemed to abate, replaced by a bear’s deep bellow. Eron had been speared many times, his big body lay dark and heaving. Still, he lunged at those who dared come near him.
My eyes fell to the dagger Cecil carried at his side. Torsten’s. He’d taken it as a sort of trophy or keepsake.
“Give us mercy, lord,” I said softly.
Cecil laughed a bitter sound. We hadn’t lost, he had. Even if we were killed this night, he would still lose.
“Come back with me willingly. I promise your friend here a quick and painless death.”
My breath caught in my throat. Not after all that had happened. Torsten would never abide by it. He was a warrior, a magical creature. As was Eron.
A chorus of howls interrupted our negotiations. Wolves.
Eron groaned in his bear tongue. Torsten stayed silent, unmoving.
A whisper of wings overhead.
Shouts erupted from Cecil’s men by the open gate. Screams.
Cecil shot me a concerned look even as he backed towards us and away from the gate.
The soldiers jostled in place and looked fearfully about them. Around them, a blur of gray and red and black fur. My gaze dropped to look upon Torsten’s face. His lips were moving.
Overhead, a flurry of near-silent wings as owls of all sizes and color swooped down upon our attackers. Striped, snow-white, black as crows; owls like I’d never seen before. Talons caught the flesh of faces in their ambush. The men went wild as the furred creatures around their feet turned out to be the wolves we’d heard just moments before.
“No!” Cecil cried, and grabbed me by my upper arms. “Stop this witchcraft! Call back your demons!”
“I can’t,” I shouted. “They are not mine to call.”
We both looked upon the slaughter of his men. Owls pierced eyes and tore cheeks with their beaks and hooked talons while the wolves dragged their victims to shake and shred. Great pools of blood seeped towards our feet.
Where had the owls come from? Torsten had commanded the wolves, I was almost sure of such. But the owls were something else. Never had I seen so many night birds of their kind congregate. And once they’d finished their brief reign of terror and devastation, they flew off, towards the stars as if they’d never been.
Cecil let go of me and stumbled back. The owls must have ripped the bandage away from his face, exposing the true damage I’d done. Raw, pink skin puckered in black stitching. He looked like a child’s plaything, crudely formed and sewn. His light armor rattled and his eyes bulged at the fallen, mostly dead.
“You...bitch! Devil’s whore! I’ll kill you myself!”
His words echoed the sentiments he’d screamed in my room just a few days before. He seemed to have no other lines to say to a woman that had clearly bested him.
Cecil raised his sword, despite the sea of golden eyes that watched his every move. The wolves stood at attention, yet did not attack. Cecil, however, had other fatal intentions.
The world seemed to slow down, Cecil’s shouted words, indecipherable. My gaze stayed locked on the point of his sword as it came towards my body. I felt no pain as the blade pierced my breast, but Torsten’s dagger burned through my dress where it was tucked in Cecil’s belt, as if it were afire.
I reached for the handle of the Northman’s weapon and pulled it free. Cecil’s body slammed into mine and I realized the blade had completely run me through. Still, time crawled. I turned my cheek away from Cecil’s, spittle flying from his mouth, and thrust the dagger into his heart with all my strength. In the next beat of my heart, time returned to normal.
Our breaths mingled in light mist; Cecil and I were locked together by steel. Blood welled up from within him to dribble from his lips. The mouth I used to kiss, painted red. The mouth that had once said he loved me.
I couldn’t breathe. The thunder of pulse in my ears faded away. The night sky bent down to swallow us.
Chapter Eight
Magus’s wide-lipped grin greeted me upon waking. That close-up, I could see the strangeness in his eyes, same as I’d detected in Torsten’s in what seemed an eternity ago. The wild spark of something other that gleamed dimly within their depths.
I was also aware of the feathers mixed in with his furs. The owls. I gasped.
His grin split to show teeth. “Nothing really is as it seems, is it, my Lady?”
He spoke English better than I thought. I waved him away and slowly sat up. “I’m not a Lady anymore, I can mostly assure you.”
The morning was crisp; an area had been cleared in the dusted snow for a makeshift camp. Across from me, Torsten and Eron slept. Magus sat nearly hip-to-hip with me to put his arm around my shoulders. His warmth was welcome and he wasn’t crude about the contact. I relaxed against him.
“Will they be all right?”
Magus snorted. “Of course. Just need a bit of rest. The rage takes it out of them.”
I blinked. Rage. The fight. Cecil.
My hands went to my side, where the blade had run though my body. No wound existed to show for it.
“I made poultice,” Magus said with a simple shrug, noticing my bewilderment.
“What happened?”
Magus shrugged and looked off into the distance over the smoldering remains of a camp fire. He must’ve kept us warm all night after moving us. And where were we?
“Penbroke’s army fell like a bundle of twigs when Torsten’s dogs came in. My birds finished them off and had a great feast, they did.”
“What about the Duke?”
“What about him? No man survived to tell.” He chuckled softly, though he seemed very weary. “We rode many hours to be sure.”
“We?” I glanced at Torsten’s motionless form. All I could see of him were his black fur-covered back and long brown hair.
“Eron and I. You and Wulf, brought by horse while sleeping.” He smiled.
I nodded and crawled over to Torsten. Tendrils of dark hair had fallen over his cheek. I brushed them aside to look upon his face.
He was impossibly filthy, smeared with blood and mud and I didn’t want to imagine what else. His beard was tangled with burrs. I laughed softly to myself, wondering how natural wolves managed to keep their coats clean. But he wasn’t a wolf, he was a man. And men bathed in the river.
“He will live,” Magus said from his spot by the fire. “Give him this day then we move again. The Penbroke will come after us, but needs time to raise men to hunt. By then, we go north.”
“Where in the north?”
Magus snapped a thin twig and tossed it into the flames before stirring the coals. He was reviving the fire. “Home.”
Fables of supposition of where the Northmen actually came from popped in my head. Some said they were fashioned from snow and ice, others said they were small giants, cast off from the original tribes. I would be the one to find out then. The prospect did not frighten me. These men had been better to me than any other titled pompous ass.
The frightening but liberating thought that I was free at the cost of everything I ever had stru
ck me. Quite the sobering realization of no money, no belongings, no family, not even a comb for my hair. I’d be looking like these wild men in no time.
* * *
As predicted, Torsten woke at dusk. Eron had a little time yet to go. Magus took Torsten’s awakening as opportunity for his own rest, which left Torsten and I to watch over the little camp.
Torsten was silent, as could be expected. He’d been tortured and beaten. I’d experienced only a fraction of what he’d saw and felt in those cells.
“How are you?” I asked, after what felt like an hour. The stars had moved a little as the moon climbed up in the sky, barely a silver sliver.
“Starving,” was his rumbled reply.
He reached a filthy hand into the bag of food Magus had left for us and I slapped him.
“What was that for?” he whined, his dark eyebrows knitted.
“Wash up first. I know where those paws have been.”
Torsten’s lips twitched in a small smile. “Hmmpf. I don’t recall having a wife.”
“You only need share the same food with me to receive the treatment at no charge.” I shook a finger in his face and poked the end of his nose.
He recoiled and covered his face with his hands. “Gah, I do stink.”
Resembling a mountain raising out of the ground, Torsten stood.
“Cleanliness is...what have you. Food can wait. If a wolf happens by with a rabbit, I sent it.” He started to unbuckle his sword belt and placed something in my hands.
His dagger.
“Since you were so keen to hold on to it before,” he said with a laugh.
Torsten didn’t ask for the direction of the river, he just seemed to know. I watched his form disappear into the thick underbrush and returned my attention to the small weapon in my hands. Well-traveled and busy little thing, I thought.
