“Oh, yes. I had been traveling for years when I came home and found Magnus’s letter.” Aurelia stopped, fingers tightening on the handle of the knife on which she had impaled a sausage. Almost twenty years. If she had just gone home… She tore a bite from the end of the sausage. “I have some of my journals, if you would like to see sketches of the places I’ve been.”
Helena beamed and poured the coffee. “I would!”
“I’m sure you have things to do. Perhaps if I help you, we’d have more time to talk.”
A laugh burst from Helena’s lips, but there were old, dry tears behind it. “If you help! Have you seen the place? There used to be so much for me to do. Now I cook, tend the fires, clean only the rooms still in use. I do the mending, I repair what I can. But it’s mostly for my own peace of mind. He wouldn’t notice if I let the spiders have the place and his clothes fell to rags.” She closed her eyes. “Don’t help me.”
On impulse, Aurelia leaned across the table and covered the woman’s hand with her own. “I’ll do what I can. But I have to wait for him to want to see me. When he comes down. I promise.”
But by sunset, Magnus had not appeared.
Aurelia waited. She laid a fire in the library, accepting the small supper Helena offered. The bread was as good at the end of the day as it had been in the morning.
“Was he that upset by my arrival?” she asked. “Is he hiding from me?”
“He does this, sometimes,” Helena told her with a shrug. “Not often, but sometimes. Perhaps tomorrow.” With a deft movement of her fingers, she broke the thread from her mending and poked the needle into a little felt strawberry. “I think I’ll retire.”
“Of course. Thank you for keeping me company today.”
Helena smiled as she folded the repaired shirt. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Then the crackling fire was the only sound. Alone.
The storm had stopped abruptly around noon, clatter of rain giving way to the slowing tinkle of dripping water. The wind had died. There had been no eerie shrieks or howls for some hours.
Aurelia slipped a finger between the pages of her book and closed her eyes, letting a wave of lethargy sweep over her. The coffee helped, but she had come so far, so fast, only to find…
Her friend a shadow of himself. Magnus had been reckless, once or twice, but through lack of thought, not lack of care. He had never been cold. There must be something left of him, or Helena would not have stayed. But there was something else, now, a blind streak unwilling to see the life he’d created. But willing to destroy.
Thank God for Helena. If there had been no one to talk to, no one to give the few bits of information she had… If there had been no one to give a little comfort, a little hope…
She couldn’t have left. She had a duty to her pupil. But the terrible pain would have been so much worse.
The fire spit sparks onto the flagged hearth, and Aurelia opened her eyes to watch the embers fade into specks of dust. Too long on the road. Too long failing to address the fatigue that coffee could not cure.
She set her book aside and moved the screen back in front of the fire, then left the library. The sun was set, but it was autumn, and night came early, especially among the mountains. The village would still be awake.
She retrieved her cloak and staff and separated some local coins from the assortment she collected on the road.
Then she lit a lantern, slipped out the side door, and descended into the valley.
The clouds were still low, but a few patches of sky showed through, still deep, dusty purple. The path was rocky at first, higher on the slopes, but as she made her way further down, it began to turn to mud. She did her best to keep to the stripe of grass down the center of the track, but her boots had seen much worse than mud. The trees became smaller, then became fields, and the village shone.
She paused at the first house she encountered, peering into the pen nearby. There was nothing quietly grazing inside, but a long rabbit hutch stood against the wall. That would do.
She lowered her hood, drew out a pair of thick, slightly tinted spectacles and positioned them in front of her odd eyes, then rapped at the door.
There was silence.
She waited, then knocked again, harder.
Nothing.
But thin fingers of light reached out from behind the closed shutters. Perhaps the householder was deaf.
Aurelia stood back from the door, considering, then moved on to the next.
The sodden yard was rooted up by pigs, though there were none to be seen. She knocked.
Nothing.
One upper window was still unshuttered and cast a square of yellow light on the ground below.
“Hello!” Aurelia called up.
Nothing.
Nothing, and nothing, and nothing.
The further she walked, the stranger it became. Signs of animals, but no animals. Signs of people, but no answer. Perhaps the small inn received few visitors, but wouldn’t the locals mingle there? What sort of inn locked its doors at sundown? There was no church, but there was a chapel, locked as well. Did their faith allow that?
She made her way back to the little square and turned a slow circle, peering into the darkness. She was almost tempted to walk every street, knock at every door and every window. These people knew she was there but would not acknowledge her. Why?
A warm breeze tickled the back of her neck.
Not a breeze. A breath. Noxious, sulfuric, rotted, and bloody.
She whirled.
And froze.
It loomed ten feet tall, too many legs, too many mouths gaping amid a storm of thrashing, knife-like tendrils. The flailing edges whipped and writhed, leaving deep scores in the armored plates covering its body.
The breath had come from one central mouth set in a long, tapered head, tattered ears laid flat against its skull. The head, at least, had once belonged to a horse. The mouth opened wider, splitting the skull in two, the hellish opening lined with hundreds of blunt, equine teeth, perfect for grinding and crushing. Stuck between the rows were shards of bone.
Aurelia reached for her shotel only to remember that it was lying useless and wrapped in wool beneath her bed.
It lunged.
She flung her lantern into its mouth, hearing the crash and the soft thump of oil igniting, and she ran.
It should have screamed. Any natural creature would have cried in pain, but the thing was terribly silent, its dozen feet moving with perfect grace over the slick ground.
It didn’t look as though it could climb. If she could make it onto a roof…
Her boots slipped and skidded in the mud as she took a sharp turn to try and lose it. Its body was huge, so perhaps if she went down a well…
One of those bladed tendrils pierced the hem of her cloak, and the sudden jerk at her throat landed her on her back, all the breath gone out of her.
She fumbled at the ties and rolled out of the way just as another tendril stabbed through the place where her left eye had been.
The creature was burning, its horse head flickering with yellow flame and blue-green sparks, teeth gnashing. It lunged for her again, stabbing and slashing and biting, giving her no time to get back to her feet.
She scrambled away on all fours as it advanced.
A foot collided with her ribs, three heavy hooves at the ends of three bony, finger-like toes. It kicked her onto her back and dug into her stomach. The flaming mouth descended.
There were people in those houses. Couldn’t they hear?
She seized its jaws and wrenched them apart, feeling something break in that skull. The flames licked at her hands, and one of the strange sparks rolled down her arm.
That was it, the only way. And if it killed her? Well, she’d be dead either way.
She turned her mind inward, letting her focus touch her straining muscles, the blood in her veins, the air in her lungs, the elements, building blocks of
reality, neatly arranged into her physical substance. Carbon, oxygen, nitrogen, calcium, phosphorous.
And between those particles, bringing them to move and flow and connect in the only way that could produce life, the other, the vital substance, ennoea.
It tingled in her tissues, far too little of it, those little sparks fewer and further between than she would have liked.
She was so tired.
But she gathered up those little sparks, those bits of life, drew them together, fanned them brighter, and hurled them at the creature.
Her left hand lit golden bright with a sudden searing heat and the stink of burning flesh as her muscles went limp.
The creature reared back, its tendrils trembling. The blue-green lights skittered across its skin in waves, dripping into the mud with little bursts of steam. It shook its head, and three of its forelimbs curled upward to claw at its face.
The silence was absolute, Aurelia realized. She couldn’t hear the hiss of the steam, or the suction of the mud, or her own breath, or her own heart. She could barely hear her own thoughts.
But the waves of sparks began to dissipate, and it looked at her again with more fury than hunger. It stepped forward, all the tendrils arcing upward in a single, glittering mass, their wicked tips aimed for her face.
Then its head jerked to one side as one of the plates covering its neck burst into chitinous splinters. Its attention swung around to something Aurelia could not see, and one of its chest plates shattered. Its mouth opened wide, and something smashed its jaw to pulp.
Aurelia blinked long and slow. The light inside her was dimmer, as cold and far away as the stars. She could feel it flickering, guttering. A breath would blow it out.
There was a face above her, blurred and shadowed.
She blinked long, long, long, and her eyes did not open again.
Chapter 6
She was warm.
Aurelia listened to her own heart beating and realized after a while that she was probably not dead. How long would that last? If that thing came back…
If it came back, there would be nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t feel her own body, couldn’t tell if she was breathing. She tried to move and had no way of knowing whether her body obeyed her. If it came back…
There had been someone else there. Those were musket balls punching through the monster’s shell, and someone must have fired them. The thing would be angry. It would…
With all of her strength, she forced her eyes open.
Firelight played across the bed curtains.
There was a voice, so slow its words stretched all out of shape. Aurelia tried to turn her head, but the muscles ignored her.
It kept speaking, gradually flowing into shapes she recognized.
“Didn’t the Master tell you not to go out at night? It would have torn you to pieces!”
Helena sat on the edge of the bed, her face speckled with mud and blood. “Why did you? If you needed anything, you could have asked me.”
No, she couldn’t. Not for that. Though she’d have no choice, now.
“I came up to make sure there was plenty of wood for your fire,” Helena said. Her voice was tightly controlled, but beneath the statement of fact was a tremor. “And you weren’t here, and you weren’t in the library or anywhere else…”
“You came to get me?” Aurelia mumbled.
“I told you I could take care of myself. Taking care of other people isn’t too different. Though I’m glad I rode down. I could never have carried you back.”
“You shot it…”
“It’s a good thing it was only the one.”
Aurelia struggled to sit up, but her weak limbs only spasmed. “Helena, why does no one go out at night?”
The young woman frowned and pressed a hand to her shoulder, holding her still. Aurelia felt the touch of skin to skin and the shift of soft fabric, the faint sting of the pressure on cuts and scratches. Her jacket and waistcoat were gone, at least. Both were probably beyond repair. But she did not feel like she was caked with crusted mud. The only stiffness against her skin was neat, clean bandages.
“Something’s wrong. You’re not hurt that badly. What did it do to you?”
“Helena, why?”
Something in her voice conveyed the urgency of the question. Helena swallowed.
“You saw it. Because of them. The attacks started ten years ago. People and animals eaten or just torn up and left strewn around. My family…” She pressed her lips together and looked away for a moment, then busied her hands adjusting a bandage on Aurelia’s arm. “They were some of the first. The village tried to hunt them, but they’re hard to kill, and another one always turns up. They come out at night.”
“Do you know what they are?”
“The village thinks my master made them.”
“And you don’t believe that?”
Her hands dropped to her sides. “Why would he make monsters? Why would he save my mother and sisters from the illness only to murder them with these demons? He made his manservant, but that’s a helpful thing. It wouldn’t harm anyone.” She lowered her voice. “He’s some sort of wizard, I think. But a good one. So it stands to reason that there may be bad ones…”
“These things were made, but by science, not magic.” More feeling was returning, and Aurelia winced in pain. Her body burned with the nicks and cuts left by the monster’s knife mane, but her left hand was numb and dead. “They come out at night because the sunlight would destroy them. The substance that animates them is volatile. Bring them into the sun, and they’ll combust.”
Helena’s forehead creased in concern. “Don’t talk so much. You’re not well at all. Did it poison you?”
Breathing was difficult. “No. Helena, do you truly believe Magnus has nothing to do with these creatures?”
“He wouldn’t. When the attacks began, the village came up to confront him. He wouldn’t come out, and they wouldn’t leave, and they tried to burn the place. But when night fell, the monsters came. He stood at the window and tried to shoot the monsters down, to save the men who had just tried to kill him. There were no survivors, but not because he didn’t try. My father…” She tutted. “Now let me tend you, Aurelia! It’s nearly dawn. There’s a physician ten miles from here. Do I need to ride for him?”
Aurelia’s eyes darted to the window. The light outside was changing from gray to rose. “Draw the curtains, please.”
“I cleaned your injuries as well as I could, but it’ll be easier to see what I’m doing in natural light than lamplight…”
A sliver of molten gold appeared at the valley’s edge. “Please. I won’t fare any better in sunlight than that creature would.”
Helena blinked, opened her mouth and shut it again. She rose and pulled the curtains closed, leaving them with only the fire and the lamps. “I beg your pardon?”
Time to explain.
Aurelia sighed and shut her eyes as Helena returned to the bed. “I have something in common with them. The substance in them is in me, as well. Ennoea. If the sunlight touches me, I’ll burn.”
“You were made by science?”
“In a way. I made myself.” She opened her eyes again. To her relief, Helena looked more perplexed than disturbed, certainly not afraid. That might still change. “It’s in all living things. The body makes it. But mine does not, and I’m running out.”
Helena’s eyes widened. “And when a living body runs out…”
“It becomes a dead body.”
The young woman shot to her feet, ready to sprint for the stable. “Where can I get some?”
The fire popped, spitting sparks.
“I went out to purchase an animal. I can extract the ennoea, process it into a form my body can use. But that takes more time than I have. I need ennoea I can use now. Human ennoea.”
“Human,” Helena echoed. She frowned, nodding. “You would extract it from me.”
“If you’ll allow it. I don’t want to die.”
&
nbsp; “I don’t want you to, either. But you can barely move.”
That was true. She could hardly force her body upright, force her hands steady enough for the task when she couldn’t even make her fingers close on the counterpane.
“There are two leather cases beneath the bed. Bring out the smaller one. I’ll instruct you.”
Helena ducked down for a moment and reappeared with the case between her hands. It was as long as a man’s forearm and half that wide, flat, with two brass buckles holding it shut.
“Inside, there is a bottle of medicinal spirits and a knife with a long handle and a short blade.”
Helena hesitated, but she set the case on the edge of the bed and reached for the straps, her fingers working the buckles. Her eyes lingered on the other contents, but she removed the bottle and the knife.
“Now follow my instructions exactly.”
Chapter 7
When the sun was high enough to light the village, Helena went down again and returned with a fat sow. She replaced Aurelia’s paralyzed left hand with her own two, and together they slaughtered the beast, drained its blood and butchered it, and transported the pieces into the kitchen.
“It’s a shame it won’t be fit for eating, after,” Helena commented as they dumped the lumps of meat and offal and bone into a sow-sized cauldron that hadn’t been used in years. Helena had scoured the rust from the iron, and Aurelia coated the inside with a thin layer of a silvery substance she had melted off a larger block taken from her bag. To prevent a reaction to the iron, she said. They built a fire in the giant hearth across the kitchen from the small stove, another thing that hadn’t been used in years, and hoisted the cauldron onto the swing arm. Before the smell of pork could begin to rise, Helena dumped a lye solution on top, and they opened the windows and vacated the kitchen.
“I set aside a shoulder,” Aurelia offered. “But I doubt pork will appeal much to you after this morning.”
“No,” Helena agreed. “Probably not. But it’ll keep. And I can feed it to the Count. He wasn’t down here to be revolted!” She laughed to show she wasn’t really that bothered.
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