by Amy Hopkins
With a mighty heave, she lifted her body, pushing up to rest on her hands and knees. Then, with a roar, she shoved herself back. The remnant tumbled off, one taking a hunk of her hair with it.
Pain stung her scalp and stoked her fury. She whirled, eyes landing on the angry beast still holding a long ribbon of hair, bloody patch of scalp attached. It looked at her and grinned.
“We kill your pack leader, ugly bitch, and make you watch,” it cackled. “DIE!”
“Ye whimpering, pig-fuckin’, slug-eatin’, rat testicle! I am the fucking pack leader!” She screamed, before running at him, sword tucked neatly at her side.
She thrust it forward at the last minute, stabbing the remnant at the base of the throat. It jerked, spasmed, and died in a matter of moments.
Bette spun to face another remnant, poised to stab a rusted spear through a man on the ground. She saw who it was and groaned.
“And what the fuck’re ye doin’—” she grunted at the remnant, blade cutting into his side with a solid whump, “—tryin’ ta hurt me prisoner?”
She pulled it free and fended off its return attack with a well-placed boot that sent the remnant tumbling onto its back. Bette jumped, landing one foot on its windpipe, the other on its chest as she parried a thrust from another attacker.
She fought, her balance precarious on the fleshy, struggling platform. The remnant stabbed at her and hit, stinging heat spreading through her shoulder.
She whipped her sword around and sliced off her target’s head, then tripped, landing face down in the dirt. Rough hands yanked her back up. She whirled to come face to face with Patrick. A frantic look around showed no further fighting, and she sucked in a steadying breath.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Who the fuck let ye out?” she snapped.
He shrugged. “One of the soldiers. A remnant slipped by you into the camp, I told him I could kill it.”
Bette’s heart jumped. “Did ye?”
He nodded briskly. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t an act of altruism. He took one look at me and decided I was the one he meant to kill.”
She laughed. “That bloody costume yer wearin’ pissed him off.”
Bette dashed back into the camp. “Francis?” she yelled. “George?”
She reached the carriage, which now had a huge indent on one side and chunks taken from the carved wood. She yanked the door open and a blade sprang out, unsteady, but pointed at her face.
She drew back, hands raised, while she waited for Francis to slowly drop the weapon.
“Oh, Bitch! Sorry, Bette,” he stammered.
“Och, don’t be apologizin’, lad—lord.” She grinned. “Ye were ready for trouble, that’s what I like to see!”
Francis gave a nervous laugh, then looked up, his face darkening. “Bette! Your shoulder!”
She brushed off his concern. “Just a flesh wound,” she said. “And a lot of remnant blood. Here, let me help ye down.”
Francis waited for Bette to reach out, but she stood, a blank look on her face. “Oh, shit. I can’t move me arm. Maybe it’s a wee bit worse than I…”
Color draining from her face, Bette toppled over before she could finish. Francis jumped down, catching her roughly before she landed on the dirt-packed road.
“Oh, hell,” Francis muttered. Then, with all the might he could muster, screamed for help. “GARRETT!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Bastian slung his pack over his shoulder and stepped outside, then jumped when Tansy appeared beside him.
“Going somewhere, Bastian?” she asked casually.
Bastian looked over at his companion. She wore her hair tied back in a braid, and a heavy leather corset with matching pants. Her belt held a sword, two throwing knives and a water skein.
“I was going to come and see you,” he said defensively.
“Then it’s a good thing I was ready,” she said. “Now you don’t have to come and find me!”
He laughed as they headed for the gates. Carey waved at them as they passed. “Be careful out there!” he called.
“Will do!” Bastian replied heartily. “How is Bette? I heard she came back injured last night.”
Carey nodded. “She’ll live, though Garrett may not if he doesn’t leave her alone. Damn bandits!”
Bastian waved goodbye and stepped outside the boundary of the small town he had grown to love.
“Are you sure this is a good idea, Bastian?” Tansy asked. “Bandits roaming the roads, ghosts in the forest.” She waggled her fingers spookily and made a ‘woo’ sound.
“You really think Bette and Garrett left any bandits alive?” Bastian chuckled. “If anyone in Tahn hurt Bette like that, Garrett would raze the whole place to the ground. Not even the mice would make it out alive.”
“They’re such a sweet couple,” Tansy said, clasping her hands to her chest.
Bastian snorted. “They’re as sweet as two angry bulls,” he said. “I don’t know how they haven’t killed each other already.”
Tansy rolled her eyes. “You men—you just have no idea.”
“Hey, I know what I want in a woman,” Bastian protested.
“Oh?” Tansy asked, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “What’s that?”
Bastian grinned. “One who knows that I’m just a stupid man with lots to learn.”
Tansy slapped him. “You’re an idiot, Bastian.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
They fell silent for a short while as they walked. The effort made Bastian warm under his robes, and his pack weighed heavy on his shoulder. He hoisted it up, adjusting the strap.
“What’s in there?” Tansy asked. “I hope it’s lunch.”
“I brought my papers,” he said. “I need to make measurements, and lists for Francis.”
“You mean Lord Francis,” Tansy reminded him. “What’s it like to have the ear of the local nobility?”
Bastian laughed. “It’s just Francis. He’s not the sort to get all high and mighty because he has a title.”
“How does one become a lord, anyway?” Tansy asked. “I mean, I know Lord George gave the title to Francis, and he inherited his from his father… but how’d he get the title?”
Bastian shrugged. “When the world started to rebuild, he just took it,” Bastian said. “George followed his father's footsteps. Back home, the nobility mostly bought their titles, or took them once they’d built up their fortunes or estates. Well, before the chancellor started making that harder, anyway.”
“So, I could call myself Lady Tansy and no one could argue with me?”
“Well, they could argue, but it’s not like there’s a law against it.” Bastian frowned, thinking. “No one would take you seriously, though, unless you could show you had a fortune to back you, or land or power.”
Tansy fell silent, then laughed. “So, you can call yourself a lord! You’ll have the school, that’s a kind of power, and—”
“No,” Bastian said flatly. “I’ve seen what happens when a center of education is tainted by power. No one will ever run my school for profit, or for power.”
Tansy slid a glance his way. “You know, there are some that would say that’s an honorable stance, Bastian.”
“Are you one of them?” he asked.
Tansy shrugged. “I don’t know much about honor. But you’re a good man, Bastian. And that’s hard to find.”
Bastian’s cheeks flushed with heat. Must be the exertion, he assured himself. That’s all it is. He ignored the butterflies in his stomach, and the thrill of knowing Tansy thought he was a ‘good man’.
They reached the Iron Tree and stopped for a moment in the shade of the forest, both shivering as the breeze cooled their sweat-dampened skin. Just in the day since they had last visited, more patches of dappled sunlight peeked through the gaps left by fallen leaves.
“Winter won’t be far away,” Tansy said quietly. “It will look a whole lot different here then.”
Bastian suppressed anot
her shiver at the thought of naked trees reaching bare branches into the sky, unsure why the image disturbed him.
“Why, Bastian,” Tansy said in surprise. “You’re not getting creeped out, are you?” She laughed.
“What? Me?” he blustered. “No way. There’s nothing out here to be scared of.”
He took off down the trail leading to the ruins, leaving her to catch up.
When they reached the empty space in the forest, Tansy snorted. “Yeah,” she said. “Nothing at all to be afraid of… except for whatever left that.”
She pointed at something on the ground, and when Bastian came over to get a closer look, his heart jumped into his mouth. The little pile of bones had been stripped clean and piled up too neatly to be left by a wild animal.
“Just a passing traveler,” he said, voice wavering. “Like us.”
“Or…” Tansy whispered, leaning close to his ear. “Bandits!” she yelled and then laughed when he jumped away like he had been stabbed.
“Bastard’s oath, Tansy!” Bastian yelped. “If my nerves weren’t shot before, they are now!”
“So, you are scared of the forest!” She clapped her hands happily, then jumped, twirling, and landed in an exaggerated fight pose. “Never fear, Bastian, my dear! Your fearless protector will keep you safe!”
“You look more likely to fall on your face, if you plan to fight like that,” Bastian pointed out.
Tansy pouted. “Fine. You have your fun, but don’t come crying to me when the ghost of the witchtree comes to eat your face off.”
“If anyone’s going to eat my face, it’ll be—” Bastian stopped, realizing that what he just said might be construed very differently to what he had meant.
“Bastian!” Tansy gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. “I’ve never been so shocked in all my life!”
“I didn’t mean that!” he protested. “I swear, I wouldn’t—”
Tansy laughed again, and Bastian growled. “You were making fun of me again?” He asked. “This is why I don’t spend time with people. They’re all too damn clever, and I just end up looking like a fool.”
Tansy softened and wrapped an arm around him. “I’m sorry, book-boy. You’re just easy to tease, that’s all, and now that the cranky old geezer Artemis is gone, everyone is looking for a new target. But I promise I’ll lay off, ok?”
Bastian shrugged her arm off. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said. Then, his unease forgotten, he dumped his pack on the ground and pulled out a sheaf of parchment. “Here, can you hold this while I step out the measurements?”
Tansy took the stack of clean, cream-colored parchment, balancing it so the pen didn’t roll off the top. “Sure. I’m here to help, after all.”
Bastian didn't answer, instead weighing the end of a string down with a stone and trailing it along the edge of a wall. At the other end, he gathered the string back up, counting the little tied-off markers as he went.
Tansy held out the pieces of parchment and he scratched a rough box on the top one, then marked the length on one side. He measured the next length, nervously glancing through the gap he had climbed through the day before.
He measured the remains of the crumbling walls, then, with a hesitant look beyond, asked Tansy if she could help him find the water source he had heard.
“If it’s clean and deep, it will make everything easier,” he explained.
Tansy agreed happily, but smirked as he timidly peeked through the gap in the wall.
“It’s ok,” she reassured him. “I won’t let anything eat you. Or your face.” She snickered, bit her lip, and then burst out, “Unless you ask.”
Bastian groaned and shook his head. He cupped one ear and swung around slowly, then pointed. “Can you hear that?”
“What, ghosts?” she asked before giggling again.
Bastian rolled his eyes and groaned again. Tansy smoothed her face and furrowed her brow, cocking one head to listen.
“A stream!” she exclaimed, taking the lead and climbing over a fallen tree, towards the sound of flowing water.
They pushed through overgrown bushes and lanky branches until they found the source of the noise. A brook, flowing down over a small, rocky fall, pooled in a deep pond. A frog croaked loudly and jumped into the water, flitting away on strong legs as a bird cawed and took flight at the intrusion.
“Oh,” Bastian said. “This is perfect!”
“It’s a bit dirty,” Tansy pointed out with a frown.
In the swirling eddy where the water flowed into the main reservoir, a scrap of cloth swirled and dipped with other debris. Bastian picked up a fallen branch and leaned over to nudge the collection.
A rotted apple with a bite taken out; a length of frayed rope; a cracked wooden bowl. A chill rippled down Bastian’s spine as he remembered the remnant campsites he had passed in the Madlands.
“That could be from anywhere,” he said to Tansy. “It’s just rubbish, like you’d find in town. Maybe it’s drifted all the way from Muir.”
Tansy looked up at the sun, then turned slowly. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Unless that watercourse crawls around the valley between here and there. There are other cities beyond that, sure, but they’re ages away.”
“So… campers. Travelers, bandits. They all leave rubbish behind, right?” Bastian looked at her, pleading.
She shrugged. “I guess so. I mean, what else can it be? Ghosts don’t use bowls, or ropes.”
Bastian squashed down the thought of remnant and pulled back. “Anyway,” he said. “I’ve got everything I need. Let’s go.”
“Already?” Tansy asked. “Can’t we stop for lunch first?”
Bastian gave a nervous laugh. “Always thinking about your stomach,” he said. “I guess we have time.”
When they got back to the ruins, he let Tansy climb through the fallen bit of wall first, as he cast one last worried look out over to the forest. The trees, too dense to offer a view of the water, shifted in the breeze and shades of moss and lichen almost hid the green and white painted face that stared back at him.
“Tansy?” he said, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Tansy!”
“What, you need me to lift you over?” she teased, sticking her head out. When she saw Bastian’s wide eyes and frozen look of terror, she turned her eyes to the forest. “What, did you see a ghost?” she asked.
Bastian blinked. The face was gone. “There was… a face. Tansy, I saw someone! A face looking back at me!”
Tansy scanned the trees again. “Nope. Not seeing it. Or do you mean that knotted bit of bark? It kind of looks like a face.”
He shook his head and pointed to the gap between some branches where it had peered out at him. “It was over there!”
“You want me to go look?” she asked, sticking her leg through the wall.
“No!” he yelped, shoving her foot back through the gap. “We have to go. Now!”
He scrambled through and grabbed his bag, hurriedly shoving papers into it before swinging it over his back. He drew a long knife from one of the pockets.
“Damn Artemis for stealing that amphorald,” he muttered. He debated, just for a moment, reaching out to Julianne. She can’t help, she’s too far way, he realized.
Grabbing Tansy’s hand, he ran for the trail. As his feet slapped on the final stone, something moved ahead.
Bastian stumbled, trying to stop. Tansy screamed. A snarling figure blocked the path, armed with a long spear. Lesions on his face peeked through the layer of mossy stains and his clothes, rotted and falling apart, barely covered him.
“Remnant,” Bastian gasped.
“This Chet’s land!” the remnant growled. “You will be sacrificed to Chet!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Julianne carefully folded her clothes, freshly washed by Beth’s maids and already dry from a few hours by the fireplace. A hard stone in her bag nudged at her hand and she drew it out again.
“I thought I got rid of this,” she mus
ed.
She debated offering it to Beth as a parting gift, but decided instead to leave it as a surprise. Julianne placed it gently on the mantle in her room, and packed the rest of her things away.
Her missing papers hadn’t appeared, and the weight of that settled on her like lead. Though the letters of introduction could be replaced, Selah’s note was personal, and he was gone now.
Throwing off her sadness, Julianne vowed to move forwards. She needed to focus on getting back to the Heights—and finding Donna.
“I get the feeling I won’t have to look hard,” she muttered, sure that Donna would seek her out.
“Are you ready?” Marcus stuck his head in the door, hair flopping over his face. “Beth wants us to have breakfast with them before we leave.”
“Yes,” she said. “But maybe we should have asked if any of Beth’s maids can cut hair.”
Marcus frowned. “Why? Your hair looks fine.”
Julianne tousled his fringe as she passed him. “Mine is. Yours? Not so much.”
“Hey! I like my hair like this!” Marcus called as he hurried down the hallway after her.
They dined in the kitchen, Julianne, Marcus, and Artemis crowded at a long table amongst Beth, Nathan, and six of their staff. The conversation was loud and happy, as butter and bread were passed from one end to the other, and big glops of porridge were dropped into bowls from three seats down.
“Reminds me of Annie’s,” Julianne whispered to Marcus wistfully. “And home.”
“Well, I can’t speak for home,” Marcus pointed out. “But yeah, Annie’s was like this.”
Julianne enjoyed the babble quietly, eating the last of her meal slowly to draw it out as long as she could. Finally, her bowl scraped clean and the conversation waning, she stood.
“Beth, Nathan, I can’t thank you enough for the hospitality you’ve offered.” She gathered her plate to take it to the basin.
“Oh, don’t you go doing that, ma’am!” Millie jumped up and started clearing the table. “We’ve all been so glad to have you here.”
