by Ross Turner
It led them to a great feast of prey.
At first their Master had been very particular about who was prey and who was not. He’d ordered them to watch, many times over. Anybody the human came into contact with, no matter how trivial it might seem, was prey.
The farmer and his dog.
He had spoken to the human, and therefore he had become prey.
They all knew that none of them could touch the human their Master sought.
Any other human, fine.
But not that one.
Certainly not.
Not unless they wished to suffer their Master’s wrath.
He was stronger than any of them and they all knew it.
As time had gone on though, especially more recently, they had sensed their Master growing evermore frustrated. His strict particulars about prey had over time become, shall we say, more lenient.
This had pleased his pack greatly, for with less restraint placed upon them they were able to hunt more widely and more freely.
But this one that he’d brought for them was different.
They all could sense it and it made them wary, apprehensive even.
Her scent was like nothing they’d ever smelt.
She smelled like the very earth and the air itself. They felt almost as if hunting her was against their very nature.
Their Master’s word was final, however.
They all knew that.
And so hunt they did, closing in around her cautiously.
Breathing her in, they allowed her taste upon the icy air to roll over their tongues and hit the back of their yearning throats.
Yes, she was definitely different.
She was no ordinary human.
She smelled like something else altogether.
She smelled like witch.
Chapter Nineteen
Bare, winter-bitten trees shattered and exploded in all directions, sending rough shards of bark flying haphazardly through the air.
Reaper didn’t care what stood in his way.
There was no time.
Powder erupted from beneath his feet as he launched himself from the treeline. His shoulders smashed into thick branches, splitting and snapping them as he careered madly out into the clearing where Marcii was being besieged by Alistair’s wolves.
In a single, sweeping glance Reaper saw everything.
The pack shifted through the trees in their overwhelming numbers. Alistair’s eyes burned into Marcii with fiery rage, giving the undeniable command to attack.
Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, as the wolves bore down upon Marcii, Reaper found himself in the thick of the fight.
Teeth ripped and tore at his thick hide, shredding fur and here and there even tearing chunks of thick, black flesh from his legs and arms and back. Setting his sights grimly, committed to protecting Marcii, he went to work.
Whirling round and round, turning and thrashing as the great, bear sized beasts assaulted him, Reaper was instantly at Marcii’s side.
He tore limbs from their sockets and pummelled ribcage after ribcage, spouting blood from countless jaws. His work was effective, but also frantic, verging on desperate. To say he was overwhelmed would have been an understatement.
Alistair swiftly retreated to the safety of the trees to view the results of his underlings’ work.
With obvious disdain, he quickly saw them falter, as Reaper dispatched a goodly number of the pack with brutal efficiency.
“MORE!!” The old man bellowed, filling the freezing air with colossal rage. “KILL THEM!!”
From seemingly nowhere yet more wolves poured endlessly from the forests and fields, somehow merging from shadows that hadn’t even been there before. They multiplied in number like wildfire and redoubled their assault tenfold.
With grim determination, Reaper set to work once more.
But he was weakened by his wounds and vastly outnumbered.
More than once did Marcii come frighteningly close to being swept out from under his demonic protection.
Alistair laughed cruelly as he watched them struggle.
The sound of his satisfaction set Marcii’s teeth on edge, sending hot blood boiling and coursing through her veins.
Reaper was not about to die because of her.
Alistair was not going to have his way.
Not like this.
All of a sudden, for seemingly no reason at all, the blitz lessened and the flurry of wolves merging from the trees ceased.
“What…?” The old man Alistair started, cursing loudly.
He had not ordered them to stop.
But he soon realised what was happening, as yelps and whimpers of distress filtered out from between the dense, bare branches.
Marcii’s raw emotion seeped through the ground from where she stood beneath Reaper. It grew and spread and saturated the land, soaking up through the roots of the trees and into their very core.
Circulating impossibly through their veins, the sensation reached every limb and leaf in the vast forest and, naturally, the woodland responded in kind.
Branches reached out and raked at the enormous wolves as they slunk through the shadows. No matter how swift or cunning they might have been, it was impossible for them to hide from Mother Nature Herself, for indeed She lived in each and every one of them.
She did not wish harm upon them, for they were Her children. But that said, She could not continue to allow them to be bent to the will of one cruel man in such a dreadful way.
Distracted by the lashing branches the great, hulking beasts didn’t even notice the roots of the trees bursting from the icy, rock solid soil, cracking the ground as they rose up from deep below.
Not until it was too late at least.
Like bloodthirsty leeches the sea of roots swarmed and wrapped themselves around the wolves’ legs, spreading only further and further upwards.
There was no escape.
Suddenly immobilised, the monstrous creatures fought to free themselves, writhing and squirming and yelping with fright. But the age old trees only strengthened their grasp and wound their roots to engulf the wolves yet even further.
Just as abruptly as it had begun, the onslaught ended.
Marcii and Reaper found themselves all of a sudden alone with Alistair, bearing their gazes deeply into his.
The old man’s expression was a strange mixture of anger and shock. More than once his mouth contorted as if to speak, only to then close again without a word.
Reaper looked down at Marcii and, for once, his expression was unreadable.
It spoke of relief and fear, understanding and disappointment, abrupt shock and grim acceptance, all rolled into one.
They both looked up again and Alistair was gone.
Marcii sighed.
She was disappointed in herself. Though, at the same time, she still felt as if a deep, jagged doubt filled her body, tormenting her with unanswered questions and distrust.
The young girl followed Reaper through the snow and back towards the supposed safety of Ravenhead.
She realised abruptly that darkness had well and truly settled in without her noticing.
The night felt strangely anticlimactic, as if her entire conversation with Alistair had come and gone in a flash, leaving only confusion in its wake.
She needed answers.
There were questions she’d asked Reaper in the past, or perhaps at least, questions she’d wanted to ask him.
Marcii knew he had some of the answers she desired, but not all of them.
If she was going to get what she wanted, what she needed, there was perhaps only one person who could help her.
Chapter Twenty
The sound of crunching footsteps encroached in the dark, blanketed night. As a gloomy silhouette approached through the lightly dusted, empty streets of Ravenhead, the witch Malorie sensed that something profound had happened.
For hours the sky had been churning and turning violently over.
Malorie had watched with heavy eyes a
s Reaper raced off into the whiteness to save Marcii.
Kaylm’s worry had been entirely different, for he didn’t know all that Malorie knew.
Nonetheless, as Marcii’s slender figure emerged into the firelight, dwarfed by the enormous demon Reaper, Kaylm raced to her without a second thought. Without a word they swept each other up in a fierce embrace.
Malorie went to Reaper’s side too, though her eyes were clearly distracted and distant. The huge demon understood her distraction and his expression assured her that it was justified.
The old man Midnight did not rise.
Nor did he speak.
It seemed that, no matter what, his brother would never stop hunting him.
Perhaps it was time to end this once and for all.
“Marcii…” Malorie started, her voice cutting through the icy cold, breaking Midnight’s trail of thought.
The young Dougherty looked over to Malorie with pooling eyes. Her hand found Kaylm’s and they returned to the fireside together without a word, taking a seat just across from the old man Midnight.
His black eyes flickered orange in the dancing light, though Marcii found herself avoiding eye contact with him.
She felt somehow ashamed to have believed him so blindly.
Of course Midnight would have known his brother had been here, and what’s more, that she had been so drawn in by his words.
“Are you okay, Marcii?” Malorie asked, tending automatically to Reaper’s wounds as she spoke.
Still she did not speak.
Sighing, Marcii eventually found the voice she knew she needed.
Alistair had filled her mind with doubts, muddying the waters endlessly. Cutting directly to the heart of his lies, or perhaps truths, she didn’t know, Marcii held the witch Malorie’s gaze as she spoke.
“Alistair told me I have a connection.” She explained. “He told me that, whoever it is I’m connected to, She would want me to help him.”
Malorie continued to hold Marcii’s gaze.
It was Midnight who finally broke the silence.
“He wants you to give me over.” The old man said.
It wasn’t a question as much as it was a statement.
Marcii halted her explanation for a moment and looked Midnight in the eyes for the first time since she’d returned.
“Jenson?” She breathed quietly.
The sound hung in the air between her and the old man like heavy fog.
“Is your real name Jenson?”
He looked at her with eyes wide. Surprise flickered across his face, though it soon hardened and grim foreboding settled into permanent residence.
“Yes…” He admitted abruptly. “I think it is…”
“You think it is?” Kaylm questioned.
“I told you before…” The old man began. “It’s been so long. I’m not that person anymore. Though I gather my brother hasn’t changed…”
“I don’t know if he’s the same.” Marcii admitted. “But he told me he has the same connection as I do, though Her connection with him isn’t as strong as it is with me.”
“Connection with who?” Kaylm asked.
“I was going to ask that myself…” Marcii replied, looking deliberately at Malorie as she did so.
Malorie sighed and her bright violet eyes practically glowed in the dim light. She exchanged a brief glance with Reaper.
He nodded his enormous head and they both looked back to Marcii solemnly.
“We are long overdue this conversation…” She admitted, sighing heavily. “It’s past time I explained these things to you…”
“What if I don’t believe you?” Marcii suddenly cut in, her words sharp like knives in the night.
“Marcii…” Malorie attempted, but the young Dougherty cut her off mid-sentence.
“No!” She retaliated, leaping to her feet in a sudden flurry of fear. “You’ve kept these things from me!” She accused of Malorie, and indeed also Reaper.
Malorie’s eyes set for a moment, whilst the huge demon looked utterly crestfallen.
“And you!” Marcii went on, pointing her finger harshly at the old man Midnight. “You lied to everyone! For years! And then when we thought you’d told us the truth! Now I find out from your brother that you’ve lied again!?”
“Marcii…” Midnight tried to quell her, but still she would not listen.
“Or are you all in it together!?” She demanded. “Are we the only ones who don’t know what’s going on!?” She yelled, keeping as close to Kaylm as she could.
Dreadful uncertainty coursed through her body like a terrible plague.
Nobody replied at first and for a minute the only sound came from the crackling of the fire that illuminated them.
Marcii’s breathing raced and the sound of her heart pounding was like a drum in her ears, flushing her face red.
She couldn’t believe she’d not seen it before.
They’d kept her in the dark all this time.
She felt used.
Opening her mouth to speak again, movement suddenly caught her eye, silencing her before she’d even begun.
What she saw, glimmering in the orange light, stood behind the old man Midnight, was a sight that had once upon a time brought her much joy.
But now, after everything that had happened, it only filled her with yet more doubt, more fear, and endless reams of questions.
“Vixen…” The young Dougherty breathed.
The name escaped her in expansive, white billows, rising up relentlessly into the sky and out towards the boundless stars above.
Chapter Twenty-One
Marcii’s vision blurred and went black as her head spun horribly. The feeling, though by now more familiar, still threw her off balance. The last thing she saw as she lurched forward was the dancing fire at Vixen’s feet as she fell helplessly towards it.
Whether it was déjà vu, or indeed that her so called power was growing, just as Alistair had said, Marcii felt strangely more in control as her vision swept her thoughts away from Ravenhead. It carried her out into the dark, cold wilderness, sending her soaring over the vast plains and treetops.
Her sight slowly began to return, and with it came the blunt, icy truth.
All of a sudden she saw Midnight’s younger brother, Alistair, surrounded entirely by his slowly swarming pack. The wolves teemed and writhed with nervous frustration as they paced. Many of them showed fresh signs of their most recent encounter.
A number of them refused to rest, though they still limped as they walked. Others stopped often to lick their wounds or attend as best they could to cumbersome injuries.
Instinctively, Marcii knew that although some of those injuries were undoubtedly Reaper’s doing, many of them had been caused in the woodlands. Nay, by the woodlands, when the very trees themselves had turned on Alistair’s pack.
Shuddering slightly at the sheer thought of the power of Mother Nature, Marcii pressed on, moving unnoticed through the hulking creatures the size of great bears. As they lounged and rested edgily, constantly wary, the young Dougherty slipped between them like a ghost on the breeze.
Her thoughts, and indeed her very presence, passed by without a sound or a scent or a sight to be detected.
Not even Alistair himself, always so certain and self-assured, sensed Marcii as she sat down beside him, for of course she wasn’t really there.
The old man looked deeply troubled, Marcii noted. He was not filled with the same charm and confidence that he had been when he’d spoken to her before.
All at once she realised why.
Because it had been a façade.
A con.
Beneath his charm and his guise and his guile, all of which had been so convincing, lay only this.
His life was filled only with hatred and a terrible, lusting desire for revenge.
Marcii could feel it now. She could see it so clearly that she felt almost blinded by it, sickening her to the stomach.
This was not what she’d expect
ed.
She realised that, though he had filled her with doubt, Alistair’s words had been designed for exactly that. There was no truth to them. Only more hatred. More cruelty. More evil.
It was as if she could see directly into his mind, into his thoughts even.
He was linked to Her, just as he’d said.
That was perhaps the one thing he had not lied about.
But then so was Marcii it seemed, and that gave her a window into his intentions.
It might not have remedied her confusion, but it certainly helped to clear some of her doubts.
Ashamed of herself, the young Dougherty felt guilty for not trusting Malorie and Reaper and Midnight. She should not have allowed this man, if he could even still be considered a man, to harm her faith in them so.
They’d all been through so much together, even in such a short space of time, that Marcii should not have let her belief in them waver.
Suddenly, interrupting her thoughts, Marcii looked up to find herself no longer sat amongst Alistair and his wolves, but instead upon the cold, cobblestoned floor of the square in the centre of Newmarket.
Would she ever escape this place?
Life and movement bustled all around her as she sat.
Tyran had been busy, she observed critically.
Once upon a time Newmarket had been a wonderful town, to all extents and purposes. But the remnants of that long forgotten place were now few and far between.
All stalls and keepers had abandoned fruits and vegetables and meats and wines, and instead traded solely in weapons or armour. A few sold hardware of other kinds that Marcii hadn’t seen before, ranging from simple rope and coil to a wide array of devices and contraptions that Marcii did not recognise.
Nonetheless, that unknown terrified her, as is usually the case.
Then, all of a sudden, Tyran emerged from amidst the crowd. He was surrounded by what could only be described as a small army of his enforcers, all clad in gleaming armour and deadly weapons.
Marcii’s eyes bore deeply into him as he strode across the square, totally unaware of her gaze upon him, surrounded by his shiny, creaking bodyguards.
She could not sense the fat man’s thoughts as she’d found she could with Alistair’s and Marcii’s brow furrowed in confusion for a moment.
