Wystan

by Allison Merritt

  He couldn’t ignore the cold chill that slithered down his back, or the grip of fear that wrestled his stomach. Noem wouldn’t surrender on peaceful terms, not when he stood to face Astaroth’s wrath if he failed to bring Rhia back.

  Walking to the edge of town felt like facing his doom. While he hid away in the clinic, occasionally bandaging a wound sustained a demon fight, Tell and Wystan dealt with this sort of thing every day. He glanced at Beryl, whose face was remarkably stolid. Did the mortal woman who belonged inside that body know what she was about to encounter? Or was anything left of her in there? If Noem didn’t kill them all, he might give their bodies to his legion for possession. The idea wasn’t appealing.

  The saber tapped against his leg, a heavy weight that should have reassured him. Many demons had been beheaded thanks to the weapon, but far fewer than Wystan’s bowie knife and Tell’s crossbow bolts had seen. Even the hatchet Beryl carried had more kills than his saber. At fifteen years old, Sandra had been more of a warrior than Eban would ever be.

  The air thickened with ash, and a low rumble reached his ears. It was the clatter of hooves, the growls of angry beasts, the moans of lesser demons. At the edge of town, a horde of them stood behind their master. Horned, fanged, clawed, scaly, slimy and bloodthirsty, they moved with restless anticipation of fresh blood. Eban’s breath caught in his throat.

  At the front of the pack, a dark-haired man wearing a tailored suit waited. The left half of his face was scarred and twisted. Blue eyes twinkled with malice in the light from the fire glowing behind him. “Old friends.” Noem’s mouth widened in a smile. “Come to welcome me home, I see.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A gust of wind blew over Berner’s streets, stirring dust that surrounded the group of demons. Wystan counted them by twos, coming up with about sixty. They outnumbered the people willing to keep Rhia from Noem’s clutches.

  Knowing defeat was almost a certainty left a sour taste in his mouth. The things Rhia had told him about her time in Noem’s employment made his blood boil. For a moment, he wished he had the kind of power his father had possessed. He could have created a divine fire barrier over the trapdoor in the clinic—hell, around the clinic for that matter. It would take years for a slew of demons to break through it. Even if the entire town was lost, Rhia and Sylvie would’ve had a chance.

  As it was, he only had a knife and his cunning to bring down the prince of Hell’s next in command. He crouched low, concealed beside the saloon. It had taken him most of the night to round up Berner’s citizens and get them settled safely into the old bank near the center of town. The building had been unoccupied since he was a boy, but it was mostly brick and at less of a risk for fire than most of the others. Though he was weary, and he suffered the guilt from the lies he’d told Rhia, he was ready for a fight. Ready for revenge against Noem for the scar he’d left on Wystan’s side years ago.

  Wystan wrapped his hand around the hilt of his knife, squeezing the leather grip. As Noem spoke, Tell and Eban tensed. Tell looked ready, his crossbow over his arm, but Eban’s saber remained in its sheath. Next to him, a slight figure threw Wystan for a moment. He saw the long waves of blonde hair lift in the wind and recognized Beryl. The last time he’d seen her, she had looked small and frail, too weak to hold a weapon, too sweet to face down demons. The Gray Side must be coming to light. Her stance was that of a warrior, a woman who knew something about fighting.

  Heng stood with them, always at the ready with his ability to control thunder and lightning. There were plenty of clouds for him to draw from today. As though he’d read Wystan’s mind, a burst of lightning rent the sky over the demons’ heads. A few cackled, but none of them looked disturbed by the threat.

  Five against so many made Wystan’s heart sink.

  “I think we all know what this is about. There’s no sense beating around the bush. Bring me Rhia and Sylvie Duke and we can all go about our business. The little demons pretending to be human and the real ones lifting Hell’s fiery gates to Earth. Your lives and everyone in this miserable town for theirs.” Noem stepped forward, away from his minions. “Doesn’t that seem fair? What are the lives of two human women to you?”

  “The men and women and even the demons who come here are safe. They don’t bow to Astaroth or anyone. The Dukes are under our protection. You and yours have no right here.” Tell advanced, meeting Noem.

  Noem looked him over. “The littlest Heckmaster has grown up, but you’re still trying to make demons into pincushions. How sweet.”

  “Put a hole clean through you before you took on that form, didn’t it?” Tell lifted the crossbow a little higher, but he didn’t reach for the trigger.

  Noem looked past him. “The lost brother has returned, I see. Couldn’t make it in the real world? People start noticing when too many virgins go missing, don’t they?” He grinned, revealing pointed teeth. “Ebaneezer, the one too afraid to use the talents his father passed on. So very human. Prince Astaroth covets a meeting with you. He wants to know how much you can take before you shatter like the other human souls.” Noem lifted his chin, studying Beryl and Heng. “Don’t tell me it’s Wystan who’s ventured into the human world this time?”

  “He’s here,” Eban said quietly. “Tell us, Noem, how did it feel when a human took off half your face? Not so pleasant when you’re the one being tortured and terrified, is it?”

  Tell smirked. “You have to wonder if Astaroth wants to waste the energy to repair you at all. We’d be doing him a favor if we killed you right now.”

  “The prince must be pretty sore that you let a human woman best you,” Eban agreed. “You’ve been walking around with that ugly mug for a while.”

  Anger flickered across Noem’s features, dampening his smile. “She’ll beg for mercy before I get through with her. I’m not going to kill her, boys. Astaroth thinks she’d make a lovely companion. He doesn’t really care what she looks like, so long as she can still scream. He said I should take her eyes and make her guess what I’m doing while her sister cries for help when I let my minions have her.”

  Wystan gritted his teeth, grateful Rhia wasn’t here to listen to Noem spew his threats. He itched to bury his knife in the center of the demon’s forehead.

  “We’re not going to let that happen any more than we’re going to let you unleash Astaroth.” Eban drew his saber. Firelight reflected along the length of its blade. “We can end this before it starts, go our separate ways before any blood is spilled.”

  “From your actions, I don’t think anyone believes that’s going to happen.” Noem snapped his fingers. “I’m going to burn your town to the ground while my minions slaughter your friends.”

  The fire heightened outside the boundaries of town, racing toward the buildings. The demons that were poised to fight sprang forward, rushing headlong over the ground. Wystan drew his knife and rounded the corner of the saloon. Even the lumbering giants of twisted creatures that had once called Hell their home moved with speed that nearly defied his eyes. Their charge was a powerful wave that threatened to consume the town’s defenders. Wystan looked for Noem, but he was lost among the throng. Fierce cries and growls assaulted his ears. He threw himself into the crush.

  Claws ripped at his clothes, but he lifted his knife, cutting and stabbing at a barghest. It locked its jaws around his free forearm, twisting its neck as it strove to pull him off his feet. It slung him like a child’s toy, but gave him the opportunity to slice at its hind leg. With a cry, it released him and staggered. The ligament in its rear leg severed, it fought to stand, weakly snarling at him. Wystan drove his knife through its eye socket and it collapsed in a twitching heap.

  No matter how many bodies fell at his feet, more came. The fire closed in, choking the streets with acrid smoke and flakes of ash that blocked the sun. Through splatters of brownish blood, Wystan searched for his brothers. The noise was so great, calling for them was use
less.

  Where swinging his knife to slice through muscle and bone should have exhausted him, he felt more invigorated. Each kill brought him closer to Noem, whose head he would display on a pike near the Pit so anything that dared crawl out would know what had happened to Astaroth’s once-favored chief.

  The street was slick with ichor and it was increasingly difficult to breathe. A bolt of lightning hit the ground near him and he realized Heng was still in the fight. It gave him hope that his brothers and Beryl were too. He looked toward the scorched ground where the lightning had struck. A circle of changesteeds and barghests crouched around Heng, fighting against the wind that seemed to swirl from the deity’s fingertips.

  Grime smeared Heng’s bare torso and face. His long, dark hair whipped around him and the fire from thousands of volts of lightning glittered in his eyes. The crash of thunder that came from overhead shook the earth, leaving Wystan unsteady. He was entirely unprepared for the lightning strike that engulfed Heng.

  Blinded by the flash, Wystan staggered. He couldn’t hear anything but a loud, steady ring in his ears and his sight was marred by dancing lights. Aware of a presence next to him, he spun, bowie knife aloft, but had no idea where to turn next. A set of claws tore into his flesh, then a glimmer of silver flashed through the colors bobbing around him.

  The pain caused by the claws receded, though it didn’t fade completely. A moment later, the streets and sounds of Berner came back. Beryl’s hand was on his wrist, her light green eyes aglow.

  “I wouldn’t stare at Heng next time he decides to go full thunderstorm. Effective though.”

  She nodded and Wystan followed her line of sight. A charred piled of demons lay where they’d stood moments before. Heng was gone.

  “We’ve lost a warrior. That takes a lot out of him.”

  “What about Eban and Tell?” He had to know.

  “Still out there. Back into the fray. The enemy’s numbers are diminishing.” She flashed a smile at him. Hatchet raised—he recognized it as the one Sandra had carried, damn Eban—she pounced on an ursa demon, taking its head clean off in two chops.

  Wystan turned to a minotaur with a silver bolt smoldering in its neck. The horns on its head spanned six feet and gleamed eerie orange. Dull cow eyes glared at him, full of all the rage of an angry bull. Its human body rivaled a strongman’s build. It charged, letting loose an angry bawl. Wystan reckoned it didn’t want to surrender and become a member of town. He stepped aside, out of the range of the wide-sweeping horns. The minotaur’s big hands reached out to grab him. Scissored, pointed teeth showed as the monster screamed in frustration.

  Wystan doubted he’d ever think of steak the same way again. He hurled the knife, pleased when it landed dead center in the beast’s throat. His smiled faded when it ripped the blade away and charged again.

  There was a creak overhead and the trapdoor flew open. Rhia clutched Sylvie closer as her eyes adjusted to the light.

  “Wystan?”

  The dark figure hovering over the opening moved. “Not quite.” Zaïre’s dark locks dripped around her face as she peered down at them. “Come up here, Rhia, or I’ll shoot Sylvie.”

  A new wave of fear washed over Rhia. Cold malice hardened Zaïre’s face. Rhia had tried to be kind to the echidna, had delighted in the way her daughter did well in classes. Despite Wystan’s insistence that Zaïre was harmless, she was clearly working with Noem.

  “What’s going on?” Sylvie whispered. “Why does Mila’s mother want to hurt you?”

  “There’s no need for threats. I’m coming.” Rhia tried to disentangle herself from Sylvie’s grip. “Stay here.”

  “Why?” Sylvie’s hand grasped hers.

  Zaïre growled. “Now.” The dark-gray barrel of a gun slipped over the edge of the gap. “Noem will deal with your sister separately.”

  Rhia put her hands on either side of Sylvie’s face. “No matter what happens remember that I love you. Eban and Tell will come, they’ll keep you safe, understand?”

  “Don’t leave me, Rhia!” Tears streaked Sylvie’s face.

  “Just for a little while. You’re safe here, I promise. The Heckmasters will take care of you.” She stroked Sylvie’s hair and placed a kiss on her forehead. Her gun was back at the schoolhouse, no use in defending her against a half snake.

  She climbed the steps, heart in her throat. Zaïre kept the gun trained on her. The trapdoor fell with a bang and she heard Sylvie scream. Her small fists pounded on the underside of the door.

  “There’s no reason to hurt her. She’s just a little girl.” She had the urge to rip the inky black curls out of Zaïre’s scalp and send her slithering back to Astaroth. “We can settle our differences now. Working with Noem will be the end of you. You know the Heckmasters can prevent that.”

  “What the Heckmasters are doing is an abomination. There can be no peace for demons. We’re meant to drag this world into Hell’s bowels and savor the souls of the innocent.” Zaïre’s teeth flashed and long fangs descended from her gums. “The defenses of this town were weakening until you came. You gave them hope, but you’ve gone too far.”

  Wystan had tried to tell her that the demons in town wanted peace, but somehow the Heckmasters had overlooked one. Why hadn’t Tell seen the anger and hatred growing in Zaïre’s mind?

  “I’ll leave. I’ll never set foot in the territory again if you let us go.” Rhia hated pleading, but she was willing to try anything to get Sylvie free of this nightmare. “Please, Zaïre, you know there’s nothing I can do to help restore the town. Whatever Noem thinks is happening, isn’t.”

  “We’ll let him decide that. Walk.”

  Gun barrel at her back, Rhia passed through the clinic, into the smoke-filled street. Flames were beginning to devour the buildings on the easternmost edge of town and soot rained down around her. She saw a pack of barghests race down the street, dripping foamy drool, their great black coats rippling over lean muscles. The devil dogs didn’t spare them a glance, probably under some order from Noem to seek out the town’s other occupants. Rhia barely stifled a sob.

  “Crying won’t save you,” Zaïre said.

  “I don’t expect anything will, except the Heckmasters. I wouldn’t put it past them to have Noem laid out at their feet by now.”

  She blinked away tears that were as much from the debris in the air as from worry. Zaïre forced her around the corner and the chaotic scene before them almost made Rhia drop to her knees. Demon bodies lay scattered outside of town and at the beginning of the street. The ground was a soupy mess of entrails.

  At the center of the melee, Tell pulled bolts from carcasses and fired them as rapidly as he collected them. Eban had his saber buried in the chest of a great apish-type demon. Beryl wrenched a hatchet from the skull of a changesteed.

  Rhia didn’t see Wystan right away, but her traitorous heart wanted to search for him. She stopped walking, unable to look away from the horror. Beyond the border of town, Noem watched in silence. As long as she lived, she’d never forget his face. The unmarred side was creased with lines that spoke of his displeasure. The ruined side was too damaged to display emotion.

  Zaïre jabbed her in the back with the gun. “Go on.”

  Rhia spun to face her. “Do you see any of this? How can you stand still and let it happen? What about Mila? This can’t be the way you want her to grow up.”

  “Happily ever after doesn’t happen when you’re a demon.” Zaïre pushed the barrel of the gun into Rhia’s shoulder. “Noem’s waiting.”

  There was no reasoning with the echidna. Movement caught Rhia’s attention. She turned to look, and for a moment, the world came to a halt, except for the two figures battling on the street. A beast she’d only read about in books, a minotaur, charged at Wystan. Rhia covered her mouth, smothering the scream that threatened to tear from her throat. The minotaur was enormous, twice the size of W
ystan. Its deadly weapons rested atop its head, but she didn’t see Wystan’s knife anywhere.

  The gripping fear robbed her of breath and froze her blood. She cringed as the minotaur plowed into Wystan and they landed on the ground.

  “Wystan!” Her cry echoed louder than the other sounds ringing through town.

  Heedless of the gun Zaïre carried, Rhia ran toward him. Tell appeared from nowhere, catching her arm. He loosed a bolt that soared neatly through the air and pierced the minotaur’s eye. It bellowed in rage, lifting its hands away from Wystan’s throat, slinging its head while batting at the offending bolt. Rhia gasped at its blood-covered horns.

  For its size, it moved quickly, as though it were made of dreams instead of hundreds of pounds of muscle. The beast sped toward Rhia and Tell at an alarming rate. Tell fired another bolt that bounced harmlessly off the minotaur’s face. He didn’t relinquish his hold on her, but stepped aside as the bull-man rushed past, churning up muck.

  “It can’t see to the left now. Beryl’ll get it. What the hell are you doing out here?” Tell stared at her with piercing eyes.

  “Zaïre’s working for Noem.”

  Her words were punctuated by the click of a gun’s hammer drawing back.

  “Thank you for saving Rhia from being gored. Noem wants her alive, but maybe he’ll let you be the one to blind her as effectively as you blinded the minotaur.” Zaïre’s smile would have been beautiful if she hadn’t been a murder-bent demon. The gun didn’t waver as she flipped a curl out of her face.

  “Jesus, Zaïre, what are you doing?” Tell’s expression registered shock. “You—you’re not on our side anymore, are you?”

  Her smile faded. “You’re going to fail, and when you do, I won’t be punished for it. We’re demons—we’re not supposed to go against our nature.”

  “You stood by us for years—your daughter was born here. What were you doing if you weren’t looking for a safe place to raise her?”

  “Peace is a foolish dream,” Zaïre snarled. “You’re too human for your own good. It’s a miracle Astaroth didn’t kill you all ages ago.”