Red Death

by Jeff Altabef

  The Stable Master sat nearby and bellowed, “We can always use a new Little One. He’ll have to hand in that fancy tunic, though. It’ll get stained when he shovels the dung.”

  Everyone seated at the table laughed heartily at the boy’s embarrassment. His face flushed scarlet as he bowed his head and muttered “sorry” while quickly backing away. In his haste, he almost smacked into another Little One, but a young woman noticed the imminent collision and guided the flustered boy safely to the side.

  Eamon saw the self-satisfied grin planted on Fintan’s face, and his stomach soured. “Perhaps he stumbled on your boot?” He knew full well the answer to the question, and what type of king his brother would become.

  Fintan’s grin grew even wider and stretched almost from one ear to the next. “It’s not my place to clear a path for him. He has to learn these things on his own.”

  Cormac chuckled.

  Eamon shook his head and noticed the brown-eyed girl still looking at Fintan. “It appears you have a new admirer, Brother. At the next table, the girl with the brown eyes can’t seem to take them off you. I think she works in the Nursery.” He nodded in the girl’s direction.

  A bit of ash smudged her forehead. Straw-colored hair framed her oval face, a few strands of which brushed in front of intelligent eyes and bumped against a longish nose.

  Fintan and Cormac turned to stare at her.

  She confidently returned their attention, surprising Eamon with her boldness.

  Fintan turned back around. “I don’t recognize her. She’s not my type.” Sticky bits of yellow toppled from his full mouth as he forked more eggs.

  “You never know, Brother. Believe me, sometimes during a feast, strange things happen.” Dermot chuckled. “Girls who start off as not your type end up irresistible by night’s end. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear some of them make deals with witches.”

  “It would take more than a deal with a witch for me to be interested in that girl.” Fintan slashed into a large chunk of roasted pork with a knife, and speared it with his fork, ending the conversation.

  A young woman burst into the Hall, and the commotion made Eamon look up. Her long raven hair drifted behind her pretty round face as she rushed toward them. A young girl, just barely of age, followed closely behind.

  Eamon nudged Dermot in the ribs. “Jillian looks troubled.”

  She stopped before their table and spoke so rapidly her words ran together. “My Lords, there’s a problem. I can’t find Gemma.”

  Dermot lifted both his hands with palms faced outward. “This isn’t the first time our sister has wandered off. She’s always turned up before. When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Five days ago. She usually turns up in the south with the sheep when we can’t find her. Something about the animals soothes her. I assumed she went south again and would return in a week or so, but this time is different. This morning Noreen told me she saw Gemma enter the Witch’s Woods. Why would she go that way if she wanted to go to the Settlement? It’s in the opposite direction from the road to the south.”

  Jillian grabbed the young girl and thrust her forward. “It’s okay. Tell them everything. They won’t be angry with you.”

  Noreen swayed nervously and kept her eyes fixed downward as she spoke, her voice squeaky. “Four days ago, I saw Princess Gemma crossing the creek and heading for the Witch’s Woods. She was skipping and singing. I figured she would just go by the edge and come back. I didn’t know she was missing until I spoke to Jillian this morning. I swear that was the last time I saw her.” She reluctantly lifted her eyes. “Gemma, I mean, my lords.”

  Kelly pulled on Dermot’s cloak, her face splotchy, tears brimming her eyes. “You have to get Gemma back. The Witch’s Woods are scary.”

  The Nursery Master often told children horror stories about the Witch’s Woods to discourage them from venturing into the dangerous forest.

  Dermot spoke in a reassuring voice. “Don’t worry, Kelly. Gemma’s just gone missing for a little bit. We will find her. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  Tears spilled down Kelly’s puffy cheeks, but she managed a small brave smile.

  “Any idea why she’d head to the Witch’s Woods, Eamon?” asked Dermot.

  All eyes turned toward Eamon. Gemma was his twin, a rare thing among the Butchers, but beyond that, Gemma was unique among her people. She spoke in her own language, which only Eamon and Jillian fully understood, and more than that, she saw the world differently from everyone else. Details had a way of overwhelming her. She’d spend an entire day distracted by the color of a common daisy, forgetting to eat or do any of her chores. Often Jillian found her in a field or by the Naming Tree or Whitewater River or any one of a dozen places lost in thoughts that seemed to be far away. She was irresponsible that way, but little children loved her. They loved her funny language and the wide smile she always wore to greet them.

  “I don’t have any idea why she’d go into the woods.” Eamon wished he understood her better. He had tried his entire life, but she remained a mystery.

  “We’ll search for her.” Dermot stood. “Fintan, grab your twelve best Horsemen. We’ll meet at the edge of the Witch’s Woods by the stone bridge. May the heavens guide us. The Witch’s Woods is no place for Gemma.”

  The Witch’s Woods is no place for any of us. Eamon shivered with a slight chill.

  Those who went in often never returned.

  Five days might as well be an eternity.

  ***

  Click Here to View the CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Chapter 10 – Aaliss

  Aaliss spun in a slow circle and found herself in an unfamiliar place. Hulking buildings, hollowed out and ruined like vast metallic skeletons, stretched toward the sky all around her. The air smelled sour, as if rotten food had been left outside. Debris, glass, and an odd white powder littered the ground.

  She bent low and rubbed the powder between her fingers. It felt like sand, but it looked whiter and finer than any sand she’d ever seen. She looked up at Wilky, who stood next to her, his face tense.

  “What is this, Wilky? Where are we?”

  His voice trembled. “Bo-bones. The City of... Bones.”

  Aaliss let the powder drop from her hand and jumped upright. “Is this place real or imaginary?”

  “Real.”

  A cackle came from a dark alley sandwiched between two ruined buildings.

  The noise scared her, but curiosity nudged aside the fear. “You stay here. I want to see who made that sound.”

  Wilky shook his head. “D-Don’t.”

  Aaliss unsheathed her short sword. “Don’t worry. I just need to see.”

  She stalked toward the alley and heard another cackle, followed by female voices that chanted something she could not understand, which only piqued her interest more.

  When she reached the opening between the ruined structures, she saw a small fire. She inched forward, careful to keep to the side.

  Three shapes stood near the outskirts of the flames, but from this distance the silky blackness made them appear like shadows.

  She should leave. Nothing good was happening here, yet she felt pulled, as if someone tugged her forward. Her heart started to thud against her chest and her breathing turned shallow. She crept forward, stepping lightly on the white powder, straining to see clearly.

  Wilky grabbed her hand and pulled her to a stop.

  She frowned at him and whispered, “I told you to stay back.”

  “Must go.”

  She glanced at her frightened brother and then back toward the fire. “Just a little farther.”

  Wilky tugged on her hand, but she ignored him and moved closer still.

  Suddenly the chanting stopped. The flames blazed higher and lit the scene. Three witches with blood-red hair and crimson cloaks stood behind the fire. One held a banner of a red raven, and another lifted a crying baby in the air.

  The child’s wailing pierced through the distance an
d knifed its way through Aaliss’s skull. She cringed as the sound caused her pain, and stood frozen. She didn’t want to look, yet she could not turn her eyes away.

  One witch lifted a knife and the baby stopped crying. The white powder at their feet turned red, and the three women stared down the alley right at her.

  The one who held the baby cackled. “Our master has led him to us. The boy is here. We need the boy.”

  The other two witches started chanting, “Give us the boy!”

  Wilky pulled Aaliss’s hand with all his strength.

  The boy? They want Wilky! What have I done?

  A pack of firefoxes appeared behind the witches and bolted forward, as if the crones had given them a silent order to kill them.

  “Run!” Aaliss turned and pushed Wilky forward. They raced from the alley, leaped over a pile of rocks, and skidded down a main street.

  The pack was gaining on them, howling with excitement at such easy prey.

  She shouted for Wilky to run ahead, and turned to buy him some time. Half a dozen firefoxes closed in on her—fifty feet then twenty. In a heartbeat they would be at her throat.

  She readied herself for their leap, hoping to take down a couple.

  Wilky stepped between her and the pack.

  “What are you doing?”

  The animals stopped short. They snarled and nipped at the air, but fear shone in their eyes.

  She didn’t understand it, but they were afraid of Wilky.

  The three witches moved behind the firefoxes, a look of triumph on their faces. “We have the boy.”

  Aaliss braced herself. “No!”

  Wilky turned and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  Heat flooded her body, and....

  ***

  She bolted awake, heart racing, gasping for air. The vivid dream had seemed so real, but she awoke in the hammock and found nothing unusual except an odd stain on her suit. Something warm, wet, and foul had splattered against her stomach.

  Grimacing, she blinked her eyes against the morning glare. It was later than she had planned on waking, and she silently cursed herself for being so careless. She needed to be more disciplined, especially with Wilky’s life at risk, but that wasn’t what bothered her most. She glanced at her stomach and confirmed her fears—the odd stain was really a bird dropping. She had done far worse than waste sunlight.

  She felt as if an ice cold snake slithered up her spine. She looked upward and found a mature terrawk sleeping forty feet above her, as still as a statue.

  “Great,” she muttered, surveying the four-tree grove, careful to stay quiet.

  They had camped amidst a terrawk nesting ground. Almost a dozen of the large birds rested among the higher branches of the ghost trees, and more were likely hidden among the leaves. Now she understood the silence from the night before. The creatures in the forest knew to keep clear of the nesting grounds. She had violated one of the most elementary of the Guardians’ rules: always thoroughly scout your campsite.

  Among the deadliest creatures in the Zone, terrawks were extraordinary killers. Once, Aaliss had watched four birds take down a full-grown buck in a few frenetic moments. The deer never had a chance. It swung its antlers at them, but they converged in an organized attack, one pecking at the eyes, the largest ripping at the throat, while the other two tore at the rest of the beleaguered animal. Within minutes the birds had stripped the deer to nothing but bone, a few shreds of muscle and sinew, and antlers.

  Mature terrawks stretched three feet long, had a six-foot wingspan, pointed red beaks, and razor-sharp talons. Their gray feathers provided perfect camouflage, blending into the ghost tree’s bark. They tucked their beaks and talons away as they slept, rendering them almost undetectable.

  Aaliss should have known they nested here, and now her mistake could cost them dearly.

  Terrawks hunted at night, usually sleeping during the day, but noise would wake them. And they would not wake happy, especially if they thought something threatened their nest.

  She glanced at Wilky and Gemma. Thankfully, they were awake, wide-eyed and ashen. They knew danger hovered above them even though she was sure Wilky had never seen a terrawk before.

  She placed her finger to her lips.

  He nodded.

  She reached for her crossbow, careful not to swing the hammock. The small weapon stretched only the length of her forearm. Its wooden housing contained ten bolts with fast-acting poison tips. One bolt could paralyze a full-grown man, and slow down anything bigger. Once fired, a spring automatically loaded the next bolt into the crossbow, but firing at the terrawks was a bad idea—a terrible idea, really. Each bolt would take down one bird, but too many of the predators nested among these trees for the three of them to escape. Still, the weight of the crossbow in her hand made her feel better, less helpless.

  The branches below them were wide and strong. If they moved shadow-quiet, they might climb down without the birds noticing them. She could do it, but.... She glanced at Wilky and her heart twisted. She might get down unheard, but Wilky and Gemma would need a lot of luck.

  Still, she could think of no better alternative.

  She whispered to Wilky, “Our only chance is to get down quietly and back out of the grove.”

  He shook his head and turned toward Gemma. He nodded to her, and they both covered their eyes with their hands.

  Blood raced through Aaliss’s head and the noise sounded like a waterfall. “We can’t stay here,” she whispered angrily.

  Wilky kept his hands over his eyes.

  She tried to calm herself and steadied her breathing. Sometimes he got this way, and it took patience to get him to come around.

  The wind blew and the hammocks swayed. Wilky’s squeaked—the metal clamp must have been rusted.

  A terrawk to her left stirred, turning its beak toward them, interested in the source of the noise. The wind gusted again and the squeak sounded like a high-pitched wail.

  Her heart galloped in her chest. She clutched the crossbow as a second bird swung its beak in their direction.

  One more gust and we’ll never leave the hammocks alive.

  Time slowed. She aimed the crossbow at the nearest bird, which perched no more than forty feet away, and used her training to ward off a rising wall of panic. Panic would kill her—would kill them all.

  She heard her instructor’s voice in her head: “Stay calm. There’s always a way out. You just have to think of it.”

  The hair on her neck started to prickle as an early warning that the wind would soon gust. Another squeak from Wilky’s hammock, and they were goners. But before the wind blew, she heard a different sound—faint but real.

  Someone slashed a blade to clear underbrush, hacking at the dense foliage.

  The terrawks started to stir. The one directly above her snapped its head toward the oncoming clatter. Four terrawks in the tree to her right shifted in their branches. A sharp squawk sounded high above them as an immense gray bird in the top most branches shifted. Aaliss had never seen a terrawk this huge before, its beak almost completely blood-red.

  The noise grew louder and became more human sounding: boots trampling plants, a blade slicing hedges, legs brushing against branches.

  The huge terrawk launched itself with two mighty beats of its wings and circled high above the nest.

  Frozen, Aaliss wanted to warn the newcomers, but she couldn’t risk putting Wilky in danger. A cold sweat beaded across her forehead as two more birds joined the first and began circling.

  Voices drifted to her from just outside the clearing. “Are you sure our orders are to kill her on sight? I can’t believe she’d betray Eden.”

  Aaliss listened closely to hear their conversation.

  “Our orders come directly from the Viper. He’s already in the Zone with Jonas. He was clear. They’re to be treated as dangerous. Aaliss in particular is lethal. He said we’re not to hesitate to kill them, but if she surrenders, I can’t see why we would need to kill her.�
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  She felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. Samuel, one of her friends, clamored toward them with orders to kill her. They had patrolled together many times, and she liked his quirky sense of humor. Now he hunted her, and even worse, the Viper searched for them.

  Three Guardians stumbled into the grove. Samuel led the way, hacking a path with his short sword, followed by a woman holding a crossbow.

  Aaliss recognized her as Estienne, another friend, but she didn’t know the third Edenite.

  Young, he lingered behind the other two, holding his sword at his side and taking short, tentative steps.

  The four circling terrawks screeched and dove at the unsuspecting Guardians like arrows. Other birds launched themselves from the ghost trees.

  Two simultaneously struck Samuel, who cried out.

  Estienne launched a bolt from her crossbow but it missed wide, and other terrawks ripped at her flesh.

  The youngster turned and ran.

  Samuel and Estienne followed him—a jumble of blood, torn flesh, feathers, wings, beaks, and claws, mixed with screams of pain, panic, and terror.

  The cries receded from the grove as the three Guardians fled.

  Aaliss turned to give Wilky the all-clear signal, but Wilky and Gemma had already started to climb down.

  She quickly joined them as more screams rose from the forest. She moved toward them to help, but Wilky tugged on her arm. He was right; she couldn’t help them now. She had to protect Wilky, and it was too late anyway.

  She sighed, turned, and ran out of the grove with Wilky and Gemma at her heels. She concentrated on her footing over the uneven ground, using her sword to cut a path wide enough for the three of them. She veered far from the ghost trees and stayed under the more protective cover of the oaks and maples. Angry branches snapped back at her as she ran, favoring speed over stealth.

  When air started to come in gasps, she stopped and turned, and her world ceased spinning. “Wilky, what have you done?”

  Wilky and Gemma were panting from their strenuous flight, but that wasn’t what had panicked her.