A March of Woe (Overthrown Book 3)

by Aaron Bunce

  Flame burst out through the cloth, licking into the cold air and crawling like snakes over the bindings. Roman felt the fire’s will deep inside, as if it were just another extension of his body. It was pure hunger, need, and angst – just another part of what he was becoming.

  He made it dance over his skin and clothing, crawling hungrily on to the strange, oily cord. Smoke filled the air, and in an instant, the strangling presence broke loose. The creature shifted above him, shadowy, billowing clouds spilling like smoke out of its shoulders just above its arms. The shadow started to take shape, materializing quickly into form. Roman’s fear drove him as the realization struck him.

  Wings, the creature is preparing to fly.

  He curled up and just managed to wrap his hand around the creature’s claw. The beast’s foot looked and felt more like a hand – an impossibly strong and twisted hand. He squeezed and pulled, while trying to jerk his leg free, but its hold felt like iron. The beast twitched and looked down at him suddenly, the gray light from the clouds illuminating its half-covered face. Wide eyes shone out of the dark eyeholes, throbbing with an angry, green light.

  With an oddly human growl, the creature slapped his hand away, sending him tumbling back against the branches. Roman’s hand twitched to his beltline, and closed around his worn dagger handle. He pulled it free and curled up, just as the beast reared back and drove the billowing, smoke-like wings down. Branches and twigs rained down as he was pushed back. Roman curled back up and jabbed at the beast’s leg with the dagger. The blade bit flesh and gouged muscle, but then stuck hard metal and torqued out of his hand.

  Wind buffeted him again, and the creature surged, carrying it forward and up, just past the treetop. He’d lost the sword and the dagger, and couldn’t use the bow hanging upside down at such close range.

  Roman felt a twist in his gut. The fire broke loose in a torrent, filling his body instantly. His skin started to smoke and blacken, charring as it hardened. This time, Roman didn’t suppress the change as he did out of fear before.

  The fire roared out of his arms and flowed up and over his hands, his fingers twisting into withered claws. Roman wrenched upwards and wrapped his hands around the beast’s claw. He pushed the fire forth, until it spilled over the dark creature’s mottled flesh.

  “Burn!” the creature howled horribly, and contracted, swatting his hands away as they dipped suddenly.

  The creature righted itself with several thunderous beats of its wings, but didn’t relinquish its hold on his ankle. Roman dove back in, this time clamping both hands around the singed flesh. Flame broiled forth once again, consuming flesh, muscle, and metal with equal abandon. The beast jerked violently, tried to tear his hands away, and then he was free.

  Roman’s triumph gave way to terror as he fell. He pushed outward with every ounce of resolve, the fire pouring out of him and billowing, encasing him in a fiery pocket of flame and smoke. He was surrounded by heat and fire one moment, and a cold, disorienting cloud the next.

  He wasn’t entirely sure what happened next. Everything went dark, and the ground felt like it was all around him, and somehow, hard and soft at the same time. The heat had retreated. Or maybe it was still there, and he could no longer tell.

  The fog in his mind started to clear just as an impact jolted him. He rocked back and forth, light breaking through as claws tore through the crusted layer of ice and found his skin. Hands dug through the dark, cold snow around him and a dog’s snout appeared, the wide, red tongue jabbing into his eyes and ears. Dennah’s face greeted him as he sat up, the deep snow parting like an impossibly thick blanket.

  “You’re alive. I can’t believe you’re alive, I mean, that thing took you, and then the fighting, and then…well, you fell. I thought you dead for sure,” Dennah rambled hysterically, her eyes flicking between his face and the trees overhead.

  Tusk gave him another few licks to make sure he wouldn’t fall apart, and bounded back out into the snow, his piercing barks echoing between the trees.

  “Help me up, we need to get–” Roman grumbled.

  “Going,” Dennah finished, and heaved him to his feet.

  Dennah pulled him over to his horse and shoved him into the saddle, the horse nickering loudly. She was up on Freckles and next to him in an instant, and they spurred the animals forward.

  Tusk bounded between the trees to their right, the massive, white dog’s strides covering more ground than the horses in the deep snow. A shadow passed overhead.

  “Ro, what in the…” Dennah half-yelled, guiding Freckles down a small ravine and back up the far side, “what in the hells was that thing?”

  Tusk bounded through the snow to their left, weaving an unpredictable and wide circle around them. Moving through the snow was laborious for the spirit dog, and drawing an untold burden on Roman in the process. He was starting to understand his relationship with the bound spirit a little better, more specifically, the cost and limitations. Not only could he not afford to keep Tusk around indefinitely, but in conjunction with the Ifrit’s dark powers, he feared that he might lose control and hurt himself, or worse, Dennah.

  Tusk wasn’t any help. After his encounter with the creature, he had become even more curious. The dog only knew that the creature moved in unnatural ways and smelled of death.

  Roman’s hands quickly grew cold and weak on the reigns. He would have to send Tusk away soon, to rest and regain some of his strength. The idea of closing his eyes without Tusk to watch over them, knowing the strange creature was out there, terrified him.

  “Is it another Ifrit?” Dennah asked, reaching up to wipe crusty snow from her eyes.

  Roman gulped some air, sagged in the saddle, and caught himself before he fell off. He rubbed his leg, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

  “I don’t…know. It’s something else. Tusk doesn’t know either. But…eyes,” he trailed off.

  Dennah said, “Eyes what?”

  His horse nickered nervously, half-stepping and tossing its head. The other horse pulled anxiously on its lead behind him. He sniffed the air, but his nostrils had gone numb a while back. The animals knew. Its scent was on the air, but with the blowing snow and wind, they couldn’t see it.

  “Eyes?” Dennah leaned over and grabbed ahold of his reins, dragging the horses to a dead stop.

  Roman sagged a bit, but Dennah pushed him back upright.

  “We can’t afford to stop. We need to find shelter. That thing is still out there!” she hissed, urgently.

  Roman shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs of exhaustion. He focused on her mouth, and then her eyes, centering himself.

  “Its eyes…were green,” he managed after a supreme effort, and sagged sideways as an excruciating wave of exhaustion seized him. Dennah caught him and propped him back up.

  “Green? You mean like the Crow?” Dennah asked, visibly trying to put this new information together with what he’d told her before. Roman nodded wearily, his head growing heavier by the heartbeat.

  “Sorry, I just need to smell and rest something to eat…”

  Dennah looked at him funny. “You aren’t making any sense,” she said.

  Roman shook his head, clearing his thoughts, willing his eyes open wider. A wave of sights and smells flooded into him from Tusk. The dog smelled the creature, but couldn’t seem to find it in the snow. The storm was masking its movements perfectly.

  “My dream…the Crow, and Garon. The Nymradic steal the life, the energy of others,” he said, struggling to get the words out in order. “That is what happened to Greta and the animals on the farm. It’s their eyes. The same glow burned in the creature’s eyes…the same glow that I saw in the Crow. If it isn’t one of them, then it has to be connected to them somehow.”

  Dennah stiffened, instantly looking behind them, and then up the dark wall of the Deer Run. He wanted to tell her more, but separating his thoughts from Tusk’s was growing more difficult.

  “We’ll rest for a while. You sleep. I’ll wat
ch,” Dennah finally said decisively.

  She threw a leg up and slid off Freckles, not giving Roman any room to argue. He wanted to argue. To press on until they at least had a roof over their head and some semblance of security. Bardstown was close, he could feel it, but as much as he wanted to leave the woods behind, he knew that he needed to stop. Plus, approaching the town at night offered a host of new challenges and risks.

  Roman sagged off the saddle and teetered for a moment. His right boot stuck in the stirrup, sending him into an awkward, face-first spin into the snow. Dennah pulled his boot free and helped him into the sheltered dark of the Deer Run.

  “At least I know what it’ll be like when I have to help you off your horse after you’ve had a few drinks too many. Stay here, I’ll bring the horses in and build a quick shelter,” Dennah whispered. Her voice shook a bit as she turned back apprehensively to the darkness.

  “Wait,” Roman said, grabbing her by the sleeve. “Don’t go alone.”

  Dennah threw him a curious look, but a moment later, Tusk appeared between two birch trees. The dog jumped more slowly through the snow, a labored almost pained lilt in his movements.

  “Take him with you.”

  Dennah turned back and nodded quickly, before lurching back into the swirling wind. Roman leaned back against the cold stone and closed his eyes.

  Breathe, calm…you’re not tired. You’re not tired, he told himself.

  He fought to keep his thoughts straight. If he could, then he could keep Tusk here for just a little while longer. And if he could do that, then he could keep his friend safe.

  * * * *

  Dennah moved out into the storm, Tusk pacing protectively a few steps ahead of her. She’d be lying if she said his presence didn’t bolster her nerves. But the dog was weakening, and she wasn’t sure how much longer Roman would last. She had to be fast, which in the deep snow, wasn’t easy.

  The first layer of trees she found were papery-bark covered birch trees. Worthless. They didn’t have any leaves left. She moved to her right, further down the Deer Run. She found some brush weighted down with ice, a downed oak tree, and finally a scraggly looking evergreen tree.

  Tusk growled, his deep, threatening tone instantly raising the hairs on the back of her neck. “Don’t look, don’t turn, just grab what you need quick and get back.”

  Dennah waded into the tree, the icy globs of snow instantly breaking loose and raining down on top of her. She grabbed ahold of a low hanging branch and pulled, twisting and cursing under her breath. The spruce bent and swished, teasing her every attempt to tear it free.

  Tusk growled low again behind her, his warning almost more whine than threat now. She needed to hurry. Dennah pushed down on the branch, using her knife to cut into the soft wood then smashed the fronds into the snow, before lifting a boot and bringing it down hard closer to the trunk. The branch broke with a satisfying crack. She ripped it free and proceeded to cut and break loose another handful of branches, before turning.

  Tusk leapt, landed in the snow, crouched, and leapt again. The dog landed, crumpling, and barely managed to stand before his body started fading. He turned, barked at her, and took another awkward step back towards the Deer Run.

  Dennah loped after him, a small, frantic cry growing in her throat. They hadn’t even made it back to the birch trees when Tusk lost the fight, or maybe it was Roman. The dog turned to her, his teeth bared in a desperate growl. His massive, white body dissolved into a cloud of mist, floating back above the snow, moving without any regard for the harsh, biting wind.

  Dennah suddenly felt utterly, and horribly alone. She pulled the heavy branches forward, using her footprints to guide her back through the dark trees. A gust of wind rushed towards her, the top, powdery layer of snow curling forward with the force of an ocean wave.

  Her head down, Dennah pushed through the worst the wind could offer, and rounded the twin birch trees. The horses stood in the shadow of the Deer Run, their tails swishing animatedly.

  Roman lay where she left him, his head slumped forward. She dropped the branches and fell to his side. His hands and his face were cold and he felt stiff when she tried to move him. Panic clenched her insides. She’d left him. Why did she leave him?

  She leaned in, letting her ear hover just before his face. She hung there for several excruciating moments, until the wind finally died down, and finally she heard him snort and snore softly.

  Freckles whinnied nearby, breaking fear’s grip. Dennah’s legs protested as she stood, then her back, as she plucked the branches out of the snow. She mounded up the snow, drove a branch down, and built the snow up behind it as Roman had done. She placed the next branch, weaving them together, and so on, until she had crafted a functioning windbreak. With solid rock behind and above them, Dennah was able to extend their shelter out enough to make room for the horses. She drove sticks into the jagged holes in the stone and tied up the horses.

  By the time she was finished, Dennah couldn’t feel her hands, face, or feet. She fumbled with the bags, until finally pulling out a bedroll and a wool blanket. She laid the bedroll out, pulled Roman on top of it, settled down next to him, and covered them as best she could with the blanket.

  There would be no fire tonight. She regretted not bringing the bags with her. A roll and some salty meat would at least keep the worst of her hunger at bay, but a sip or two of brandy could at least offer her a different kind of numb.

  Time passed slowly, the wind cutting along the Deer Run in an almost unrelenting gust. It blew clouds of snow up to the windbreak, before whistling through the rattling needles and breaking against the rocks above her head.

  Dennah warmed a little, thanks to the blanket, and Roman’s added body heat. He still looked cold, however, forcing a pang of guilt to settle in her gut. She flexed her fingers, heartened that she not only could move them, but she could feel them moving.

  Warm fingers now, but for how long?

  The sun had been down for some time, but she knew that it would only get colder in the hours to come. The blanket was good for now, but a fire would keep them warm all night.

  Cursing the cold and trembling, Dennah pulled the blanket aside. She pawed reluctantly at the ground, scooping a hole in the snow until she’d cleared it down to rock and dirt. What little feeling she’d regained in her hands abandoned her again, and she was once again left with the dull, throbbing pain in her fingers.

  She pulled her knife out and cut several small strips from the corner of the blanket, then dug around in Roman’s bags until she found his bundle of kindling, along with a half-full bladder of brandy and a water bag. She gulped down some water and returned to her hole, kindling in hand. Dennah separated the bundle, laying the twigs, straw, and stripped bark down in order. She splashed a bit of the brandy on for good measure.

  Freckles nickered loudly, tugging on his reins and stamping his hooves in the snow. She froze, the steel and flint hanging over the kindling. The three horses shifted again, tossing their heads animatedly. Something in the storm moved. She caught it out of the corner of her eye, the lightest glimpse of movement. But then it was gone, replaced by a cloud of swirling wind and snow.

  Tap, tap, tap. Dennah slapped the steel and flint together. On the third strike, sparks rained down on the kindling.

  Something rattled overhead. A heartbeat later rocks and snow rained down over the edge of the Deer Run, landing with a muted thud in the snow only a few paces away.

  Lunging back, Dennah ripped the sword out of the snow and yanked it free of the scabbard. She held it at mid-guard and scanned the dark crest of rock, waiting to impale whatever appeared.

  “Show yourself!” she yelled, but nothing appeared, save for more blowing snow. She tentatively dropped back into the snow, snugged the blade against her body and took up the flint and steel again.

  Tap, tap, tap. Sparks flashed, filling the bowl of snow with bright sparks. The bark and straw, shaved into bushy, hair-like curls, started to smoke.
/>   “Come on, damn you,” Dennah cursed, her jaw aching.

  She struck the flint again, and again, until the steel slipped out of her fingers and landed somewhere in the snow. A low moan filled the wind. She couldn’t tell if it was the storm, or something else. Dropping low, Dennah blew on the fire. The bark and straw glowed bright, then brighter, and when she feared it wasn’t enough, a meager flame appeared.

  Dennah rolled back, almost losing her balance and stumbling headfirst into the rock. She fumbled the last two kindling bundles out of the snow, tore them apart, and stacked them onto the fire. She settled back, watching the fire spread and grow, and looked up.

  “Ahhh!” she cried out, throwing her body painfully against the rock and nearly smashing Roman. The horses erupted in a frightened dance, spooked by her shout. The face was there, hanging upside down, its eyes burning like eerie, green coals.

  One of the horses, the large brown quarter horse Roman had been riding, reared back and ripped its reins free, striking its head against the rocky outcropping overhead. Dennah rolled out of the way as the horse grew manic with fright, bucking and whinnying loudly, before trampling her fire, their windbreak, and then disappearing into the storm.

  She rolled back, propping her body off the ground and looked back. The face was gone, but their meager fire was destroyed. More rocks rained down into the snow, just as a gust of wind rolled over her. She pushed off the ground, staggered forward, and made to run after the horse. Something large, dark, and impossibly fast dropped off the ledge, landing silently in the snow right in front of her, and disappeared into the snow.

  Dennah clenched her jaw, a frightened sob escaping through her teeth as she took a trembling step backwards. She fumbled for her sword, but the blade had frozen in the scabbard. She pulled ineffectually on the blade, backing up as the last of the fire died at her feet. Their battered shelter in the Deer Run fell dark, and quiet.

  A tree crashed in the darkness straight ahead, a strange animal growled, and a horse screamed in terror. Dennah’s hand slid off her sword handle. She was on the ground, and didn’t remember how she got there.