Arturo’s heart beat a bit faster. “Yes! What… how does it happen? What does it feel like? Does her gift only come when you’re protecting people? How do I know I’ll receive it? Does… does it really make your sword glow?”
Crazy Raccoon thought for a bit. Arturo felt the older man was possibly labouring the process, making a bit of theatre out of it. “You know, that’s a difficult question to answer. When you get to my stage, I don’t think I’m ever not a Blade. That make sense? It almost feels like the Queen’s power has a constant connection to me, like she has access to me all of the time. Must be something to do with how long I’ve been a Bravador for, and how successful I’ve been. For me, it just feels normal. But you must understand, what’s normal for me is what most others strive for.”
The answer disappointed Arturo. He had hoped for more insight into what made Bravadori truly special, why their mere presence seemed to protect Espadapan from the horrors of the Wildlands.
Then he spotted Yizel, looking at Crazy Raccoon with a raised eyebrow, disapproving. Noticing Arturo’s attention was diverted, Crazy Raccoon turned around and spotted the woman’s look before she could mask her expression.
“Got a problem, Shaven?”
“No problem,” Yizel answered, skewering one of the quail they had bought in the plaza earlier, without looking back at the Bravador.
“Don’t suppose you’ve ever felt what the boy is talking about?” Crazy Raccoon asked her, accompanied by a taunting grin. “You were one of us, once. Did you ever feel the Queen’s power?”
Yizel raised her head, her impassionate face looking at Crazy Raccoon briefly. Then she returned to her giblets, saying only, “I’m not sure.”
Crazy Raccoon laughed, turned away from her, and began to rummage in his pack for something.
Curious, Arturo shuffled over to Yizel. “Did something happen? Something you reckon might have been her?”
Yizel hesitated again, not looking at Arturo, but her mind also no longer on the meat in front of her. Finally, she spoke. “One of my first tasks after I joined the Whispering Mice was guard duty for a small farm a day’s travel from the city. Probably a bit like your father’s.”
Not like my father’s, Arturo thought, but said nothing. His father’s land could hardly be compared with a simple farm.
“On the second night, we heard howls from out in the Wilds. Not wolves. I knew straight away it wasn’t wolves. There were three of us, which had seemed a lot when we were going up against small groups of bandits, but not when we had to face… whatever was out there.
“They worried us for about an hour, before they attacked. They most resembled… horses, I suppose. But they had no faces. Where their faces should have been, the flesh had been peeled away, leaving a mess of red. Their hooves were hands, I think. I can remember them groping and reaching in the dark, the bellowing cries coming from those gaping wounds on their heads.
“One of the other Mice fled straight away. That was his last night as a Mouse - we shaved him the next day, after we survived.”
“You fought them, then?” Arturo asked, incredulous.
Yizel nodded, and a rare half-smile inched across her face at the memory. “Yes. My friend and I, we weren’t the type to back down. Also, we had been paid, and I’d seen the children in the farmhouse. Not a chance I could have lived with myself if I’d walked away from them.
“I’m not sure how many of the beasts were there. But as I stood back to back with Deliana, something… something changed. I felt powerful. I felt… I knew I was going to win. I knew the farm was going to be safe.”
“What about your sword?” Arturo pressed. “Did it glow?” It always happened in the stories, when the Queen gave her gift.
Yizel turned to Arturo, the full smile on her face pleasantly alien as she opened her mouth to respond.
It was at this moment Crazy Raccoon burst out laughing.
“Drink my own piss,” he bellowed, a full sound coming from his round belly, “Never thought I’d hear a Shaven speaking about something like that.”
“She was a Bravador once,” Arturo said, uncertain about challenging Crazy Raccoon, but not liking the way the conversation was going. “Stands to reason she’d have been a Blade as well.”
Crazy Raccoon chuckled. “Yeah, but not a very good one, was she? Were you?”
Yizel scowled, but said nothing.
“No, I didn’t think so,” Crazy Raccoon said. He turned to Tomas, who was wide-eyed and quiet at the tension between the swordfighters. “That food ready yet?”
The four of them settled down quietly to eat, Arturo feeling that inviting more conversation might reignite the tension between Crazy Raccoon and Yizel. He would rather not have eaten quietly, however, because night fell quickly, and as Tomas had promised, the noises in the dark began.
It started with simple movement in the dirt and dry bushes just out of reach of the campfire’s light, but close enough that the dead rustling made Arturo’s arm hairs stand up straight. He stopped eating the first time he heard the noise, mouth wide open, ears straining to hear more.
Eyes darting around the campfire, he became aware the others were doing the same.
The rustling continued, but presently Crazy Raccoon, then Tomas, then Yizel returned to their meals.
Tomas shuffled over to Arturo, giving him a weak smile. “The fire, remember? We will be safe.” The Wildman took the time to throw some wood onto the blaze, and gave a more cheerful smile to Arturo as the flames rose higher. “Think about me, out here on my own. Travelling with three skilled fighters makes this a much more pleasant journey.”
“I can’t imagine what that must have been like,” Arturo said, returning the small man’s smile. “To do that, all by yourself - Tomas, you must be one of the bravest people I know.”
Arturo’s honesty was rewarded by a gap-toothed burst of pride on the Wildman’s face.
They finished meals quickly, and laid out their bedrolls close to the fire. Crazy Raccoon volunteered Yizel for first watch, and nobody debated the matter. Arturo, however, could not sleep. The rustling continued, but more noises came as well. There were a number of occasions when there was clearly sniffing, deep intakes of breath, a sense of animalistic frustration that whatever was out there knew food was close but was just out of reach. Arturo heard another block of wood thrown on the fire, and the sniffing eventually faded.
Another time, a pack of nearby animals must have been fighting. Their growls and yelps in the distance - certainly no more than a mile away - told Arturo that teeth and claws were being brought to bear, but for what purpose he could not know. These sounds faded too, in time. Eventually, Arturo allowed himself to fall asleep.
However, he woke abruptly when the crying began.
Yizel was still on watch, but whether or not it was still her turn, or she had decided to not disturb Tomas to take the next shift, Arturo had no idea - the stars were obscured by clouds. However, his attention was fixed on the wailing that drifted across the Wildlands, a constant, keening cry of something that was alone and frightened.
It was the unmistakable noise of a human baby, crying for its mother.
Tomas also sat upright. He was shaking. “By the Queen.” His eyes met with Arturo’s. “By the Queen.”
Yizel was standing, hand on her rapier hilt, tense, facing the direction the cries were coming from.
“Get back to sleep,” Crazy Raccoon grumbled, the only one to remain lying down, his eyes tightly closed, forcing the firelight away. “It’s a trick, that’s all. Don’t be stupid enough to fall for it.”
Arturo saw from Tomas’ face that the Wildman did not believe the Bravador.
Tomas turned to Yizel. “Is it true? Are there creatures that make these sounds to lure people away.”
Yizel looked uncomfortable, uncertain. The child’s crying continued. “If there are, I’ve never heard of them.”
Crazy Raccoon sat up, his face an ugly collection of sneering lines. “And what d
oes a fucking Shaven know? Just use your head. How could a baby get out here? What noise is most likely to get soft-hearted people to come running? It’s a beast, doing what it does best - trying to trick idiots like you into leaving the safety of the fire. Go back to sleep.” With that, Crazy Raccoon collapsed back into his bedroll.
Arturo remained sitting up, rigid and conflicted. Tomas’ gaze locked onto his, and Arturo could see the pain on the small man’s face.
“It could be a Wildfolk child,” Tomas said, quietly. “There might be a village nearby. Its parents might have gotten lost, or left it in hiding to draw off pursuit…” His voice trailed off, knowing how unrealistic his suggestions sounded.
Presently, even Yizel relaxed her guard, sitting down beside the fire again.
Glancing apologetically one last time at Tomas, Arturo lowered himself back to the ground, shutting his eyes and trying to sleep. The child’s crying invaded the blackness behind his eyelids. Arturo prayed to the Queen and to Alfrond to make it stop.
Then, the cries turned into screams. Something had found the baby.
Arturo sat up again, his heart thumping, urging him to act. Tomas jumped straight to his feet. Even Crazy Raccoon stirred as the baby’s screams continued. Arturo could picture some dark thing biting into it, tossing it across the dirt as a cat does a mouse.
“It’s dying,” Tomas said, drawing his machete. “Something is killing it.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Crazy Raccoon warned. “There’s no baby out there. It just wants you to leave the fire.”
“How can you ignore this?” Tomas shouted, looking at Crazy Raccoon, Yizel, then straight at Arturo. “There’s a child out there, in pain. You’re supposed to be protectors. You have to protect it.”
“And we would,” Crazy Raccoon said, his words slow, as if giving instructions to a horse, “if there was something out there that needed our protection. There is no baby. Put the knife down and get some sleep.”
Tomas looked at Arturo, his face asking for Arturo to join him, to live up to the claim he made by wearing a mask and sword.
Arturo looked at Crazy Raccoon, who shook his head.
“This isn’t our fight,” the older man said.
Arturo looked back to Tomas. Arturo wanted to make a difference, to be the hero Tomas expected him to be, but he could not ignore Crazy Raccoon’s experience, could not dare to lose the legendary Bravador’s favour.
Tomas’ expression darkened. “The Mistress curse you, then, Bravadori.” The Wildman spat into the fire, his lip curling. “Shame on you all, for not having the same courage as a poor farmer from Calvario.”
“No,” Arturo shouted, but it was too late. Tomas ran out into the dark, machete raised, losing the protection of the fire.
“Fuck,” Crazy Raccoon said, when Tomas was swallowed by the blackness. “Fuck.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, squeezing his eyes closed tight. “Does anyone else know where this village is?”
“What?” Arturo asked, confused.
“Our guide is dead. Do we still know how to get to his village?”
“What’re you talking about? Tomas is fine. He’ll be fine.”
As if someone had heard Arturo speak, the baby’s cries stopped, but they were replaced by something else. This scream came from a man, and was a mix of terror and pain.
“Tomas,” Arturo said, standing and drawing his sword.
“Stop,” Crazy Raccoon warned him, standing up now, staggering awake. “I told you, we need to stay by the fire.”
“But, we’re Bravadori.” Arturo looked from Crazy Raccoon to Yizel, then back to the legendary fighter. “We protect people. That’s the whole point of us.”
“But I told you, there’s nothing out there except for monsters wanting to eat us.”
“And Tomas. He needs my help. I’m going to go get him.”
“Starving Pup, don’t you dare. He’s already got himself killed. You’ll be helping nobody in that village if you go and do the same.”
Arturo hesitated for a moment, pointing towards the blackness that Tomas’ screaming came from. Then, muttering a prayer to Alfrond, gripping his rapier tight, he ran into the night.
Yizel watched in silence as the older Bravador took a fit of rage.
“Plough my mother!” Crazy Raccoon shouted, kicking at the fire and the bedrolls of the two brave, foolish men who had just left them. “Why won’t anyone listen to a fucking word I say?”
Yizel said nothing, but could not help raising an eyebrow at the Bravador’s question. They won’t listen to you because they’re acting like what you pretend to be: heroes.
What about you, Crazy Raccoon - who have you protected today?
Tomas’ screams continued, piercing the dark like the wind through an alleyway. Yizel turned and looked into the black, straining to get any hint of what was happening out there.
For anyone born in Espadapan, the Wilds were an alien and dangerous place, and Yizel had rarely spend any time in them. Indeed, since she had been Shaven she had never left the city walls. To be here at night, left alone with a man she despised, knowing something was out there looking to kill her… Yizel was terrified.
The emotion surprised her, mostly because she did not think she cared enough about her own life to be worried about losing it. It must be the mystery of the fate that awaited her in the black of the Wilds - facing a knife in the gut was one thing, but an unknown, evil creature could finish her off in so many different ways. It was the possibilities of how she would end, not the end itself.
What upset Yizel more, however, was Tomas and Starving Pup. She did not care for either of them - Tomas was too Wild, and Starving Pup was… he was just a boy, with far too much to learn. And too pretty to be a Bravador. But they both had something she did not. Something Crazy Raccoon did not have either. They had the courage to run off into the unknown to save someone else’s life. Yizel realised she was terrified because she would never forgive herself for letting them run off to their deaths without helping them.
She drew her sword.
“What. The fuck. Are you doing?” Crazy Raccoon’s voice was cold, laced with menace.
She turned to him. “I’m going to get them. Bring them back before we lose them.” Tomas’ screams continued to wail through the night. “Bring Starving Pup back, anyway.”
“He’s dead,” Crazy Raccoon said. “Idiot’s gone and killed himself. I told him, too. But you can’t go. Even I can’t save a village by myself. Thought I was going with at least one more Bravador. No-masked Shaven is the best I can do now, but far better than going it alone. You stay here.”
Yizel turned her head back towards the night. She did not sheath her blade.
“I told you to stay. Put the sword away and come back to the fire. I’ll take next watch.”
Yizel did not move. “I want to go to them.”
“Well, you fucking can’t. I’m in charge, and your orders are to stay beside the firelight. I’m Bravador, you’re Shaven, I’m giving you orders. Earn your coin.”
“I asked for no coin for this trip.”
Not looking at the older man, she heard a rustle of clothing and then felt a thud on her back as Crazy Raccoon threw something at her. Yizel looked down to her feet. There was a purse of coins lying there now.
“You’ve just been hired,” Crazy Raccoon shouted, face red. “Now go to sleep.”
She looked back at him again. The man was ridiculous, his anger-painted skin standing out against the white rings on his mask.
“I refuse,” she said, too scared to smile at the thrill of going against his wishes. “I choose bravery instead.”
Yizel reached down to grab the largest branch from the fire, smothered its flames with part of her bed linen, and ran off towards the screams.
Left on his own, Crazy Raccoon shouted after the others. “Dull bladed idiots! You’ve all just killed yourselves, one after the other. Fuck. Fuck!” He marched around the campfire, kicking at all of their
belongings.
There would be no saving of the village now. No heroic deeds to right the wrongs done against Crazy Raccoon’s good name. Now he was stuck here in the middle of the Wilds, with nothing to show for his troubles.
Briefly, just briefly, Crazy Raccoon glanced at the sword that lay beside his bedroll. He could take it, run out and join the others. It would be his end, but perhaps he could make it an end worthy of his legend. What waited for him back at Espadapan? He would be a mockery, and eventually someone would try their luck and get him between the ribs in some snickleway or tavern. At least out there in the dark, he could die a hero.
He stared at the sword for one more second.
“Fuck that,” he said aloud, finally. Searching in his pack, he found a flask of agave spirit he had hidden from the others. Sitting close to the fire, throwing another log on, Crazy Raccoon took a swig of the liqueur, listening to the screams of the dying man.
The moon was hiding, the fire was far behind him. Arturo was blind. He had no idea what was ahead of him, except when he felt thorns, rock or dirt beneath his feet, or when darker shadows than the night waved at him from on high, suggesting that one of the sparse trees was close. His sword was drawn, held in front of him, but he could only make out the hilt, not any part of the blade.
He was blind, and he was running towards Tomas’ screams.
Panting quickly, eyes wide, Arturo tried not to think about what he was doing. Crazy Raccoon had clearly said not to go. The Bravador would be angry with him if he returned, but Arturo would willingly accept all of the man’s rage. He was fully convinced he was going to die out here. He knew that before he had left the safety of the campfire. But Arturo knew one other thing - there was no way he would have been able to think of himself as a Bravador ever again if he had left Tomas out here by himself.
Arturo’s feet caught on a rock and he stumbled, falling onto his blade, the flat of it slapping across his face like a teacher’s switch. He shouted at the pain, the shock of it catching him off guard more than the fall itself. His free hand rose to his mouth seconds later, but it was too late - he had shouted out loud.
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