Slasher Girls & Monster Boys

by April Genevieve Tucholke

  Sain had gathered them at dawn with a strange, wild light in his eyes, and he’d told him he’d had a vision of a girl with hair like moonlight and eyes as dark as coal, her blood newly upon her. She’d fetch a price like none other, he’d sworn. After her, they’d need not make another trip north. Though for now they would need to travel farther than their countrymen were wont to do—high to the icelands, into the land of ancient things.

  They all knew the stories about the things that lived up there, where long ago men had gone mad, driven to consume the flesh of their brothers.

  But gold was gold, and so it was decided.

  They’d traveled on through the snow, so foreign to their southern blood, and all the while, Mowich’s heart had grown sicker and sicker. It had taken seven days to find her, to ferret out her camp, snug against the base of a tilted mountain, to find her sleeping by firelight. But when the time came to fetch her, Mowich was unable to move. He’d pleaded with his brothers, but to no avail. And so he’d stayed behind here at camp, earning Sain’s wrath.

  Mowich stoked the fire again and stared off into the hills. They must be upon her by now. And yet he heard no screams. Shivering, he turned suddenly, peering into the darkness, the trees like sentries standing cold and still. Behind them, something seemed to linger.

  “Hello?” he called.

  Silence answered back. And something behind it, a distant throbbing, deep and heavy as a heartbeat.

  He tightened his grip on the stick and peered deeper into the darkness until it seemed his eyes played tricks, until night itself seemed to undulate and pulse.

  A distant scream cut across the sky and the movement was gone. A trick of his mind after all. He turned and stared toward the slanted whiteness of the distant mountains. They had her now, he knew. He sighed, an ache in his chest as he thought of his own small sister, of Izlette’s sunken cheeks, of the sharp demarcation of her wrist bone, of the monster eating her alive from within.

  Another distant scream, muffled and strained, and he asked himself what he really knew of monsters.

  × × ×

  The Hunter moved with lash-quick precision. The call had been sounded. The time was now. His quarry was on the move. He’d heard it in the earth, below the ice, that darkness unfurling. Most Hunters served a lifetime without answering such a call. How many could say they’d heard it twice in as many years?

  Inside his hut, he examined his weapons. Hatchet, dagger, curved blade. He pulled each one down and wrapped it like a father might swaddle a newborn against the cold. The hunting knife he slung on his hip.

  It was dusk when he set out, the smoke from his fire still ghosting behind him. His belly growled, and he tasted it: human sweat and fear. It hung in the evening air like a freshly gutted kill.

  He walked with purpose, tall but swaybacked, faster than any normal man. And his eyes searched for one thing only. When he found it, there would be penance paid. When he found it, there would be blood.

  × × ×

  Nara was sleeping, dreaming again of snow, calling it forth in signs and swirls, speaking the language of the ancients. She barely felt the bag slip over her head, but as soon as she was hoisted into the air by rough, groping hands, her scream burst from her chest, cutting through the callused burlap, echoing across the night.

  She writhed and fought, but quick, heavy hands clamped around her neck. It would take no more than a snap, she knew. She quieted herself, though her heart beat wildly in her chest. In her mind, she saw her father. His gentle face. His smiling eyes. Soon she would be with him. Soon she would find him and give him the message. She had to hold that hope in her heart, or she would never make it.

  They bore her away through the dark night, jostling her through the snow, laughing and congratulating one another on their catch. Catch. As if she were an ocean pike and they the hearty fishermen.

  They walked—twice they skidded on the ice, nearly dropping her—and at last they reached their destination. With rough hands, she was dropped in the snow. A moment later, the sack was removed from her head. She knelt there, shivering in the cold. She didn’t speak, just stared.

  There were many, all boys, knee-deep in manhood. The two that looked alike—twins—had thick red beards and hands like meat. Then there were two who averted their eyes, one round of face, the other with locks curling down to his shoulders. Behind them there lingered a slim, dark-haired boy. He stared at her like he wanted to speak. In his eyes she could almost see an apology.

  The one who concerned her, the one who could make things go bad in an instant, was the smallest of the lot. Sharp and lithe with bright blue eyes and hair like wet hay, he smiled hungrily, his incisors grazing the soft flesh of his full lower lip. He held a cudgel in one hand, gently tapping it against his leg.

  “What is your name, then?” he said, his eyes flashing with hunger. He took a step toward her. The dark-haired boy flinched. Instinctively, she withdrew.

  “Do I frighten you?” Blue Eyes asked, his voice friendly but his lips drawn tight at the edges.

  She shook her head.

  He held out a hand to her. Not seeing any other option, she took it. His palm was icy, yet slick with sweat.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” he asked.

  She nodded, doing her best to keep her eyes downcast.

  “And where is that?”

  “To your land.”

  “And what land is that?”

  “Down south. Where the sun meets the moon and makes waves on the land.”

  “And do you know why you’re going?”

  She swallowed, blinking back tears. “Because your women are gone, and your girls, they are dying. The gods have turned your earth to stone, and your witchgrass won’t grow. Without witchgrass your women die. Without women, your people are no more.”

  Looking up, she locked eyes with the dark-haired boy, and she was certain he was trying to tell her something.

  “Look at me, girl,” Blue Eyes said, squeezing her hand hard, his nails digging into her flesh. “Tell me why I took you.”

  She looked into his face, and she knew his kind at once. Her heart began to race.

  “To sell me,” she said. “You’ve taken me to sell me to a southern man that he might have a wife, that he might have sons, sons that can live without the witchgrass.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Tell me your name.”

  “Nara,” she whispered.

  “I’m Sain,” he said. “Remember that name. Always remember it. And that boy over there, the one you keep staring at. His name is Mowich, and he isn’t your friend. He does what I tell him. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” she said, and eyes still averted, she continued, “I understand that you’ve taken me that your sons might live and breed, but what of your daughters? Your daughters still die. Taking me won’t save them.” She glanced up quickly.

  His eyes widened, and he licked his full lips. “I don’t care about saving them.” He shook his head, a terrible smile cutting his face. “And that isn’t why I’ve taken you.”

  Nara stood, still small beside her captor, but she looked him in the eye, and when she spoke, her voice was certain. “Then why did you take me?”

  His face went blank. Nara recognized the look. The Gray Woman of her village had worn it the day her husband died. Her kinfolk had tried to console her, but she’d been impervious, as if something inside her had simply taken flight. It was later that night that she’d taken her babies three out to the edge of the world and set them on an ice floe. After wrapping them up tight in a handsome blanket, she pushed them out to sea, watching as they drifted out to the open ocean and to certain death. They found her the next morning, her eyes empty, her face mad.

  The boy pulled her close so that his lips were wet against her cheek, hot breath down her neck. �
�I took you . . . because I wanted to take you.”

  And then with lightning reflexes he pushed her to the ground and raised the cudgel high in the air.

  “No!” someone screamed—then pain and a darkness deeper than death.

  × × ×

  Across the ice, the Hunter stalked, metal case in his hand, sealskin bag slung over his shoulder. He was closing in now, the scent drawing him near. No sleep. Not yet. Not until it was over.

  Somewhere up the hillside, an animal screeched as a wild thing’s teeth sank into its flesh. The Hunter uttered a low growl. Last time, his quarry had nearly escaped him. He had the souvenir to prove his victory. Absently, he ran a finger over the string of teeth that hung from his waist like a belt. Each from a different hunt. Each one worthy prey. This time, though, things were different. This time it was darkness itself he hunted. This time there was no room for mistakes.

  × × ×

  Mowich glared across the campfire at Sain. His brother stared coolly back. The girl was doing better now. She was breathing at least. Sleeping in her cage. But Mowich couldn’t bear the sight of her. She was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister. Once, she might have been Izlette.

  “She’s a child!” he said.

  “She’s bled,” Sain replied. “And I will do with her what I like.”

  “And we don’t have a say?”

  Laughing, Sain swept his eyes over the five of them. “Of course you have a say, but which of you doesn’t want to bring home gold to your starving father? Which of you has enjoyed watching our way of life destroyed, watching our sisters die before our eyes?”

  “There are other ways,” said Mowich.

  Dairn pushed a dark curl from his eyes and cleared his throat. “I think we need to stop arguing. We need to keep moving.”

  The others stared at him, and Sain cocked his head. “And where do you propose we go, brother? You want to travel through this terrain at night?”

  “It’s just that,” Dairn said, looking away, “I’ve been hearing things. I think . . . I think someone might be following us.”

  Sain smirked. “No one’s following us. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it too. In the darkness. In the trees. There’s something out there. Something is watching us.”

  “Night creatures. And let me tell you, they die plenty quick if you’ve got a good blade in your hand. Let them try. They’ll cook up nice and toasty on a spit.” Sain laughed, but when he looked to his brothers for approval, he was met with dour expressions. “Oh please, not all of you.”

  “Dairn has a point,” said Ig. Mowich nodded, but the Fairlish twins snorted and shook their heads.

  “This land is full of ice magic,” challenged Dairn. “They’ve got hungry spirits up here. Their kind can call them forth to kill a weary traveler just like that.”

  “Bedtime stories,” one of the twins spat.

  “Dairn knows what he says,” said Ig, leaning forward. “The Five. The ones who stand still. Who’s to say they’re not out there now? Out there watching us?”

  “That’s what this is about?” Sain laughed. “Devils and magic? Hungry spirits that can make man slaughter his brothers and eat up his children, picking their teeth with the bones?” One of the twins laughed and Sain slapped him on the back. “Perhaps we should call on a benevolent fairy to protect us. Or sing a magical song to take us to a land made of honey and gold.”

  Dairn lowered his eyes and shook his head. So they would stay put tonight. But in this tiny fracturing, Mowich began to see an opportunity.

  × × ×

  The next day, they drove on through the snow, on through the cold, and Mowich noticed the little things. The hitch in Dairn’s voice as he spoke to Sain. The fear in Ig’s eyes as he scanned the trees. Even Sain seemed different. His brother held his shoulders a little higher, his lips a little tighter, and if Mowich wasn’t mistaken, when dusk began to settle, he’d seen Sain flinch suddenly, his eyes flicking to the forest. There was something out there. How much longer could they deny it?

  Soon dusk crested into night, and tempers flared. Dairn had taken the reins, forging ahead despite Sain’s demands to stop that they might camp for the night.

  “I said stop the cart,” Sain growled through his teeth. But Dairn shook his head, his lips an angry white line.

  “Do as he says,” grunted one of the Fairlish twins. But Dairn refused.

  “They’re out there,” he whispered. “They’re watching.”

  “You’re acting like a fool.”

  “We can’t stop. We have to keep going.”

  “It’s too dark!” shouted Sain. “Stop the cart.”

  “The moon is full. I can see just fine.”

  Sain grabbed his brother’s arm, meaning to wrench the reins away, but Dairn was stronger and pushed back. Sain stumbled and fell against the front of the cart, spooking the horses. But it was more than that. More than horses spooked by ordinary commotion. Their muscles tensed in strange waves. In their throats, gurgling sounds. They surged forth as if driven by an unseen hand.

  Sain, staggering, pulled himself to stand.

  “Stop the cart!” he bellowed.

  “I’m trying!”

  Dairn pulled tightly at the reins, but it only vexed the horses more. They pushed harder, faster against the darkness. A jolt as the cart hit something hard. A wheel sprang free and the cart skidded on its side, careening through the trees and thundering across the ice, finally coming to a stop at the center of a moonlit clearing. Mowich had been thrown clear, some distance from the others. He sat, stunned, watching as chaos rained down. The horses reared up like harpies, crying and straining against the night. Sain struggled out from under the cart. One of the wheels had nearly crushed him. He was on Dairn in an instant, smashing his fist into his brother’s face. Blood spurted from his nose in a magnificent spray. Furious, Dairn raised his own fist just as Sain pulled his blade from its hilt.

  “Don’t push me, brother,” he said. “You’ve seen the things I can do.”

  Ig stepped in, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and put a hand on Dairn’s shoulder. He guided him away from Sain. “We don’t need to turn on each other,” he said, staring behind them and into the trees. “Let’s get the cart fixed and be on our way.”

  That seemed to bring a measure of peace. The boys quietly dispersed and set to their tasks.

  Mowich, still dazed, found himself staring at the moon. It was odd, that moon. Steel blue and so full, it seemed almost like it might split at the seams. Pushing himself up to stand, he took a few steps away from the group, trying to understand why it was he felt so uneasy. He noticed the trees, tall and angular, their branches like enormous thorny limbs, and for a moment he felt certain that they were about to consume him. He shook off the thought. You’re seeing monsters where there stand only trees. He started to walk back to the others but stopped. It wasn’t just those trees. With a slow panic, he came to realize that there were dozens more. He stood at the very center of a perfect circle of trees. The pines stood around him, predatory, as if waiting for some violence to delight them. He was reminded of his father’s stories of long ago, when men were made to fight terrible beasts, as spectators watched from the seats of an enormous circular theater. He was imagining things. But what was this place? What had spooked the horses? What hand had brought them here only to drop them at the center of this gruesome stage?

  Slowly he backed away. Now was his chance. He had to be quick, while the others were distracted. He would take the girl, run, escape.

  He hurried over to the cage. It had been thrown a good ten feet from the wagon. She’d removed the sack from her head and had crawled out, the cage door apparently forced open in the accident. She was free, and yet she hadn’t tried to run. She just sat there, dark eyes watching him, pale hair almost i
ndistinguishable against the snow. He noticed blood on the ground.

  “My god, you’re hurt,” he said, a break in his voice.

  She raised a palm to show him a clean, half-moon slice. Blood seeped from it in lazy rivulets, its path slowed by the cold.

  He offered his hand. She frowned, an uncertain look in her eyes. Then she nodded and gave him her unwounded hand.

  Over by the wagon, Dairn was shouting something at Sain. Voices grew louder. Ig looked over at Mowich. He had been gathering up the supplies that had been dashed into the snow, but now he watched Mowich with a frightened eye.

  “She’s bleeding badly,” Mowich called to him, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I’ll take her down to the stream to wash the wound. We don’t want an infection.”

  Ig nodded quickly, shifting his eyes away.

  Mowich helped Nara to her feet and then, with an awkward grasp around her waist, led her from the circle, down to a nearby stream.

  They stood there a moment, Mowich listening. The rapids of the icy water beat the same pace as his heart.

  “A fight is about to begin,” he whispered. “When it does, we will run. Back to your people. Back to safety. We’ll be gone before they realize it.”

  She turned to him with troubled eyes. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “To protect you,” he said.

  She reached a hand up toward his face. Instinctively, he grabbed it. He moved closer, but she brought her lips to his ear. “When I tell you to run,” she whispered, “run as fast as you can and don’t look back.”

  “What?” He frowned, pulling back. “What are you talking about?”

  “I only need five,” she said.

  “Five what?”

  “Five,” she said, her eyes downcast. “To sate them. You are extra. You can go.”

  He started to laugh, but then he saw a figure move in the darkness behind her. Moonlight caught Sain’s eyes. Mowich’s heart surged with panic. He tried to wrap his arms around her just as Sain stepped into the light. His brother smiled, lifting his hand to reveal a hunting knife, twisting the handle to let the blade glint in the moonlight.