Blood and Bone: A Smattering of Unease

by Noble, Shannon Rae

  BLOOD AND BONE

  A Smattering of Unease

  By Shannon Rae Noble

  Text Copyright © 2015 Shannon Rae Noble

  Blood and Bone/A Smattering of Unease

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Some of these stories have been previously published online.

  Cover image by Shannon Rae Noble

  Cover design by Bells Design

  Contributing editor Brett Bottoff

  Critique provided by Lansing Writers Group

  Beta reading by James Derry

  For Nik and Dawn, because they believe in me;

  and for Troy Fairchild, the character who won’t leave my head.

  CONTENTS

  Blood and Bone

  Siren Scream

  The Least of Us

  Cookout at the Zeiks’

  Bereavement Services, LLP

  Green Thumb

  Joy

  Blood and Bone

  Dusk had fallen. Clouds and the overhead foliage hid the rising moon and the stars that would just be appearing in the night sky.

  Glory moved along the South Path of the Cross between the thick trees, her cloak secured close around her. In her left hand she carried the basket; in her right, she held a torch high to light the path in front of her.

  She had great respect for the Wandering Wood. It was legendary for the creatures that inhabited it, together with its habit of “wandering” to different locations across the countryside; not to mention the many disappearances of travelers who were believed to have stepped off the Paths. Glory always stayed on the Paths and had never gotten lost.

  When she reached the Cross at the heart of Wandering Wood, Glory stopped beside a nearby tree. She extinguished the torch and dug its handle into the rocky soil until the torch stood upright within easy reach. She set the basket on the ground, keeping it hidden behind the bottom folds of her black cloak. She pulled the hood forward to shadow her face. Then she stepped back and melted into a wide dip in the tree, becoming all but invisible. Here, she could watch the Cross without being noticed.

  A crisp autumn breeze rustled through the Wood, and the few leaves still left on the trees whispered to one another in papery voices. The sound of snapping branches echoed now and again as animals both large and small moved through the darkness.

  When the occasional small animal came to sniff curiously at Glory’s feet, she hissed or kicked at it to send it running off through the trees. Otherwise she stood, waiting patiently.

  From the North Path of the Cross came the sound of someone’s approach. Hoof beats; the creak of an old wooden wagon. She sniffed the air. The scent was similar to her grandmother’s musty smell, but Glory knew that it wasn’t her.

  She stayed still and silent within the gentle curve of the tree. She knew these people, but was loathe to speak with them.

  The horses and wagon stopped the Cross.

  “Well met, young Glory!” called a voice as creaky as the wagon. “Why don’t you come out and greet your Granny’s oldest and best friends?”

  Sighing, Glory took one step forward. There was no remedy in the world that she could use to disguise her scent from one of her own.

  “Good evening, Ladies,” she said to Suluya and Loriana, the two white-haired crones who sat, side by side, on the driver’s seat.

  “Are you on about Louisa’s business tonight, then?” Suluya asked.

  “You know that I am,” Glory responded.

  “Good girl. You do know that she needs you more than ever, now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We wish you many blessings and courage to achieve the task at hand. But we must move along,” said Loriana.

  “I understand. Thank you, and blessings upon you, as well.”

  The horses resumed their steady pace and the wagon bearing the crones disappeared down the South Path of the Cross.

  Glory sank back into the shadows of her tree.

  As time passed, she watched travelers move through the Wood. Many of them were inhabitants of the Wood. The few humans she saw walked or rode past quickly, staying to their Path of the Cross. Those creatures native to the Wood didn’t care about the Paths of the Cross and moved about as they pleased. Glory stayed in her spot, unnoticed, and let them pass.

  She had a few moments of nervousness when a sickly-looking vampire type passed very close to her. She had no wish to face the thing, and held her breath as it came within arm’s reach. She had swallowed an herb concoction before she had set out; it was supposed to disguise the smell of her warm blood. The taste of it had made her gag. It must have worked, however, because the vampire floated on, unblinking.

  Eventually, a rank, unclean smell drifted to her along the North Path of the Cross. She listened and sniffed, inhaling deeply. A horse. Carrying a man. Soon after, she heard the horse’s telltale hoof beats.

  The man stopped his horse when they reached the Cross. He dismounted and led the horse directly to Glory.

  “Good evening,” he said.

  You must be joking, Glory thought. How did he detect me? Even the vampire didn’t notice me. And then, I didn’t come here for social hour. She just looked at him. Her nostrils flared with the unpleasant odor that floated off of him in waves.

  The man scratched his cheek, looked around, and tried again. “May I ask how a young woman such as yourself comes to be standing at the heart of Wandering Wood so late at night?”

  “You may, though it’s none of your business. I walked here,” she snapped. She couldn’t afford the niceties of courtesy. She needed to get rid of him, or her mission would be lost.

  The man tipped his head back and laughed, white teeth flashing in the darkness. “Wandering Wood at such a dangerous hour is no place for a young lady. Please let me escort you out.”

  If she hadn’t been on such an urgent and long-planned mission, and had the man’s body been more recently bathed, Glory might have considered it. Her vision had grown accustomed to the darkness, and from what she could discern, he was well-built, and though his face was deeply lined and rough with stubble, he was pleasant enough to look at. But he had an ordinary heart. The creature she lay in wait for had an extraordinary heart.

  “I am over the age to which curfew applies. I thank you for your offer, but I am waiting for another,” she told him.

  His faced fell with disappointment; but Glory was sure he would find another woman at the nearest pub as soon as he exited the Wood.

  His horse whickered and stamped nervously. The man looked into the surrounding trees and said, “Would you mind then, if I waited her a while with you? I would rather see you safe than just leave you here, knowing what walks Wandering Wood.”

  Irritation gnawed at Glory’s nerves. She wished he would just stop talking. Wandering Wood, Wandering Wood. And his smell was starting to nauseate her.

  “Are you, perhaps, a bard?” She asked him. “Where is your harp? Or do you travel with a lute?”

  He just laughed again. Glory rolled her eyes in annoyance when he tethered his horse to a low tree branch.

  A sudden sharp gust of wind caught Glory’s cloak and blew it aside, exposing the basket at her feet. She quickly drew the cloak about her again.

  The man raised his eyebrows. “So are you the young lady much talked of throughout the countryside? The girl who travels through the Wood with a basket of goodies for her sick grandmother?”

  “You must have me confused with my co
usin. She is known by the red cloak she wears. As you can see, mine is not red. It’s black.”

  “Mmmm.” He scrutinized her. “But it isn’t every girl who carries a basket through the woods.”

  “I’m sure Miss Red isn’t the only girl that’s ever had a picnic in the woods! And the goodies I carry in my basket are not baked.” Glory’s patience had come to an abrupt end. “Who are you, anyway? Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  “Oh, I apologize for failing to introduce myself. My name is Gabriel Asphodel.” He doffed his cap and bowed low. A wave of sickly body odor wafted with his movement. “You may call me Gabe. I am just passing through, in no real hurry to be anywhere, and I thought you might be glad of companionship.” He reached out to put a hand on her arm.

  The clouds above the wood suddenly parted, and the full moon’s light shone down and lit the Cross. A long howl sounded through the Wood.

  Glory’s body tensed, filling with a sense of urgency. She could feel that her moment was swiftly drawing nigh. She needed to get rid of Gabe Asphodel.

  “Surely you don’t mind my . . . offer . . . o-of c-c-c-ompanion . . . ship . . .” His speech had become slurred, spoken between gritted teeth, and his breath was labored.

  Glory pulled away from him. “Are you okay?”

  “I . . . I . . . AAUUUGHHHH!” He raised both hands to his head. His horse whinnied and reared, pulling at the branch to which it was tethered.

  “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

  Gabe Asphodel let out an agonized scream, and Glory watched as his fingers seemed to stretch, the nails growing into long, curved claws. His facial features melted, his nose elongated, and his ears grew into points. His arms and legs burst with huge muscles as his clothing ripped apart to accommodate the new growth.

  He screamed again, and the scream became a long howl. His horse shrieked and reared again, snapped the branch it was tied to and bolted, dragging the branch behind it.

  Glory stood there for a second, then reached quickly for her basket. This is it! Gabe Asphodel is the creature!

  She yanked a huge silver chain, collar, and muzzle out of the basket as Gabe fell to the ground, writhing. If she didn’t do the deed now, during the throes of his transformation, he would kill her.

  She dropped to her knees beside him, snapped the collar around his neck, and fought to slip the muzzle over his jaw, trying to avoid his sharp teeth as his head whipped back and forth. She tightened it as well as she could, pulling the silver strap around the back of his head. A sharp pain shot through her back as she struggled to roll his heavy body. Sweat broke across her brow as she managed to work the chain all the way around his torso, bracing her foot against his side so that she could pull it tight, ducking below his flailing arms.

  The knuckles of one of its hands hit her in the ear; she gasped, nearly stunned with the hot, dull throbbing and ringing in her ear.

  She pushed through it and kept working. The silver was beginning to take effect, diminishing the beast’s strength. Tying his legs was an easier task.

  Glory fell back, breathing heavily, her body bathed in sweat beneath her leather armor and heavy cloak. The creature looked at Glory with baleful yellow eyes, snarling against the muzzle, saliva dripping from its long fangs. Her pause was brief.

  A shudder skittered down her back. She reached into the picnic basket and retrieved a long silver knife. She pulled it from its sheath, and the beast began to struggle against its chains. Glory heard the links creak, then snap! as the first one gave. Silver was much stronger against the beast than any other material, as it was endowed with magical properties; but its true benefit was protection against other magical properties. Silver was short work against pure physical strength.

  She had only a few short seconds to finish the job before both the chains and the muzzle broke into pieces.

  She kissed the blade, and a blue glow rose from the silver. She knelt down and plunged it deep into the center of the monster’s chest. The breast bone offered no more resistance than would a clot of butter. She cut a wide circle, while at the same time, her body trembling with effort, she tried to use her slight weight to hold down the beast’s bucking body. She gagged at the foul smell; her desperate will to survive kept her from giving up her dinner.

  SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAPSNAPSNAP! Silver links burst apart beneath her. Though the knife cut easily through the rib bones, the beast’s struggles kept dislodging the knife from the cut. The thing’s hot, rancid breath blew into her face, making her eyes water. She could see the lethal fangs from the corner of one eye. The damaged muzzle hung from its jaw.

  She shoved the knife deep and pushed down on the handle, leveraging the blade upward, lifting out the roughly round piece of flesh and bone she had cut. She tossed the blade aside and plunged her hand into the cavity. With all her strength, she twisted and wrenched the heart from its thick, sinewy resting place. As it came free, the creature lunged and Glory fell backward, the hot, slimy muscle still beating in her hand.

  The monster’s long snout and fangs hovered over Glory’s face, and her own heart nearly stopped in fear. The bright yellow eyes stared into her own; a long rope of sticky saliva dripped onto her cheek, where it stung and burned into her skin. She turned her head in disgust, and the beast’s eyes glazed over. Its body landed heavily upon her chest, knocking the wind out of her.

  Glory lay there, paralyzed in terror, not realizing for a moment that the beast was dead. When it remained unmoving, she stayed, sweating and panting, trying to calm the pounding in her chest.

  After a few moments, she struggled to push the beast’s body off her and wriggled herself from beneath its weight. Finally free, she sat up, wiped the string of the beast’s saliva from her cheek, and clambered to her feet. Her legs felt like rubber, and she swayed drunkenly, waiting for the dizziness to recede.

  She looked at the bloody naked human body lying on the ground before her. It was a shame; he hadn’t been half-bad looking. And it turned out that Gabe Asphodel did have the extraordinary heart that would fulfill her needs. She squatted and pushed the much lighter man’s body off the path and into the underbrush. The denizens of the Wood would take care of it.

  She glanced around her furtively. There were no creatures nearby that had witnessed the killing, nor humans on any of the Paths of the Cross.

  She lit her torch, then reached into her basket. She pulled out her extra cloak and removed the false bottom from the basket. She buried the now-stilled heart in the pile of melting slivered ice, then replaced the false bottom.

  Her hands, her cloak, and no doubt her face, were covered in gore. She peeled off her cloak and dumped water from the skin attached to her belt onto a clean corner of the fabric. She scrubbed at her face, hands, and leather armor as best she could by the waning light of her torch. She balled up the dirty cloak and put it in the basket. She would burn it later.

  She gathered up what she could of the chain, collar, and muzzle, dropping the pieces into the basket. She covered herself with her spare cloak, pulled the red hood up over her blonde curls, where it fell forward and obscured her face.

  She picked up the basket and moved quickly down the South Path of the Cross. The whole incident had taken less than ten minutes. It wasn’t yet midnight.

  Wouldn’t Grandmother Louisa be pleased! And Suluya . . . and Loriana. Tomorrow evening they would dine on the heart of a lycanthrope. Grandmother Louisa’s health would be restored, and she and her old crone friends would gain back their youth.

  And Glory would retain her youth forever.

  Siren Scream

  Troy cut the motor and steered Harmony carefully into the boathouse. Thanks to a good morning’s catch, he would be dining on fresh swordfish and prawns this evening. Independent island living had made him a skilled fisherman.

  He hefted the ice-filled chests, one at a time, onto the boards. He lowered his “walk” from the boat to the boards and guided his chair across. He secured the boat, but not too tightly,
and pulled the cover over her; then he pulled the ocean facing doors closed and dropped the latch. He gave both of his boats a once-over, making sure he had done all he could to prevent damage from the storm that the weather reports promised was blowing toward the island.

  He loaded the chests into the back compartment of his buggy and left the chair open inside the secured boathouse. He powered the buggy up the boardwalk across the beach to his house. Once inside, he refrigerated his catch. He had already cleaned and cut steaks from the swordfish on the boat, dumping the remnants back into the ocean.

  The morning’s activity had whetted Troy’s appetite. He prepared his breakfast and took it out to the deck.

  He scanned the horizon with his binoculars. All was clear as far as he could see. There was just a hint of haze where the blue sky met the deeper blue of the ocean, many miles off in the distance. No sign, yet, of the approaching tropical storm. The morning sun hung suspended above the placid South Pacific waters, a bright yellow ball still low enough to spread dawn’s hues of orange and pink throughout the vast oceanic sky.

  As he lowered the binoculars, he caught a brief glimpse of something on the sand, something he had missed in his early morning travels on the beach.

  He picked up a chunk of mango from his breakfast plate and popped it into his mouth, savoring the sweet, cold fruit while he pondered this new thing that had come to rest on his beach. Arms, legs, a head . . . it was human. A rather limp one.

  He set the binocs down on his tray and sipped his coffee.

  He supposed he would have to investigate further. There was no one else to whom he could delegate that task. The lack of “helper humans” on his island demonstrated that people weren’t on his favorite species list. His island was fully automated, and his bots performed their tasks well.

  Troy reluctantly left his deck to get his tablet and drone. He sent the drone down to the beach, where it took video and basic vitals.