Goldman watched him make his examination, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He said. “Shouldn’t you be with your charge? It’s not like you to shirk your duty, guardian.”
Underhill snorted. He scratched the side of his nose with a knobby knuckle and squinted at Gerrick. “It’s a fair question, knight. Where’s Brandon?”
“Safe.” Gerrick said, stopping just on the other side of the counter to stare down at the two old men. “Safe as a babe in his mother’s arms, as long as the Curse watches over him.”
Underhill shook his head, growling a old world curse word under his breath, but Goldman just nodded, thoughtfully. He leaned back in his chair and laced long thin fingers over his little old man’s pot belly. “You came here for a reason, Gerrick? Enlighten us, please?”
Gerrick didn’t say anything for a moment. He stared at the two old men, hiding and plotting away in their little clubhouse, and said. “Is this what you do, the two of you, when you’re not putting together your little hunting parties?” He gestured at the room around them and put on his most condescending smile. “Sit in the dark and read old books and hope that a solution to all of this will just magically appear before you?”
“There are many answers in the books in this shop, young man.” There was a bite to Goldman’s tone that revealed just how offended he was at Gerrick’s remark. “All it takes is the wisdom to crack one open, every now and again, and you can save yourself all manner of trouble.”
Gerrick let his smile drop and gave a respectful dip of his head. “I begin to see what my brother saw in you, old man.”
Underhill snorted, but Goldman stopped him with a raised hand. His lips twisted into a rueful smile and he said. “What have you come to tell us, Knight? Speak.”
Gerrick started to talk, but stopped at the noise of thunder, rolling overhead. Outside the big store window, the day had become gray and overcast and rain began to fall. He turned away from the rain and all that it might mean and said. “Brandon and I don’t have much time left. He’s barely begun his training.”
“And, yet, he has grown powerful under your watch?” Underhill said. “He’s stronger. More confident. I watched him take down those Krueger boys in the cafeteria. It lacked finesse, but he showed skill. And that was months ago. I’m sure he’s made quick progress, otherwise you wouldn’t have taken him to the woods the other night. That was you, wasn’t it?”
“It was.” Gerrick said. “You lost men and, for that, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what? You didn’t drag any of us out there.” Underhill frowned, tightening the hook shaped scar under his left eye. “When you say that you’re running out of time, what do you mean exactly?”
Gerrick took a last look at the rain, then started talking. After he started, it didn’t take long for Underhill to fetch chairs and strong drink. It was one of those kind of talks.
It began to sprinkle on the two boys as they walked through the woods, neither one saying anything for a long time. Brandon glanced up at the darkening sky, letting the rain pepper his face. He instantly felt stronger, more at ease, knowing that his goddess was watching over him. As they walked, Brandon listened intently for any noise that wasn't the wind or any of the small animals still alive in the woods. But there was nothing. None of the small noises of a living forest. No birds chirping. No rattle of squirrels scuttling along tree branches.
Just an unnerving silence that stretched out all around them as they moved deeper into the forest. A wind rose, shifting the dead leaves and pine needles that made up the forest floor, carrying with it more rain. Brandon studied Eric as they walked, keeping one eye on the woods and the other on the brooding young man. The rifle in the boy's hands was a .308 Hornet. It was a fine gun. A damn fine gun, actually. The scope alone had to cost at least $500. Brandon wasn't sure what the grohlm would make of it. They would probably try to eat it, maybe.
"That was you father's gun, wasn't it?" Brandon kept his voice low, though he was beginning to suspect that the grohlm were trying to avoid him now, especially after the attack on the broken tower. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of him as he spoke, watching for signs of the grohlm or any traps they may have laid.
"Do I look like I wanna talk about my dad?" Eric said, giving Brandon a hard look. “What do you know about anything, Merryweather? That boy Albert has been going around telling everyone you’re to blame for all of this shit. The whole time you’ve been keeping the Kruegers off his ass, he’s been stabbing you in the back. How does that make you feel, Merryweather? Does it make you feel smart?” His mouth snapped shut. Near the end, he was nearly shouting, that was how upset he was. He opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped. He shook his head and kept on walking.
Stepping over the rotted remains of a fallen tree, the two boys kept on into the woods for bit longer before Eric stopped again. He turned to look at Brandon, his face twisted with something like indecision. He looked away, staring at the trees. When he spoke, his voice was softer. Less angry. "He used to take me hunting in these woods. My dad, I mean. We'd come out and spend the whole night, listening to our dogs, and hunting for raccoon and rabbits. We went deer hunting last year and I got my first buck." He stopped and looked down, his eyes welling up and overflowing, the tears mixing with the rain on his face. When he continued, his voice was hoarse. "We were supposed to go this year."
Brandon didn't say anything. Thanksgiving week was usually part of rifle season for hunting deer in Oklahoma. There were only a few days left of the season. He caught Eric’s gaze, seeing an echo of his own anger in the other boy’s gaze. Ignoring the stab of guilt he felt at his words, he said. "What about the rest of your family? Shouldn't you be home, eating turkey? What about your mom? She’s probably going crazy knowing you’re not home right now."
Eric looked at him like he was stupid. Or crazy. Eric said. "My mom hasn't come out of her bedroom since my dad didn’t come home." He said it matter of factly, like he was commenting on the weather, but Brandon could tell that he was barely holding it together. "It’s like she thinks he’s going to just come back home any day, just walk through her bedroom door like nothing happened. My grandpa is staying with us until mom can get back on her feet."
Brandon didn't say anything. He couldn't. Stepping around the twisted stump of a deformed tree trunk, he was about to tell Eric that they should turn back, when the leaves rustled in the trees above their heads. He stopped, raising his hand to halt the other boy, and stared up into the thick canopy above them. The interlocking branches of the barren trees above them weren't enough to completely block out the sun, but shadows above were thick. Every time the wind cut through the leafless boughs and forks, the shadows moved and came to life.
Brandon was about to look away, convinced that his mind was playing tricks on him, when something leapt silently from one branch to another. Cursing, Brandon lashed out, shoving Eric roughly out of the way. The other boy hit the ground just as hundreds of arrows lanced down out of the trees, peppering Brandon like so many steel tipped bolts of rain.
Brandon felt every arrow hit, stabbing but not piercing his flesh. Eric wasn't as lucky. The boy rolled to the right as he hit the ground, arrows tracking him and dotting the forest floor where he'd just been lying. He was hit by two as he tried to get to his feet. Crying out, Eric spun and fired up into the treetops.
The report from the gun was loud, echoing through the trees, but did nothing to deter the falling arrows. Brandon stood within the onslaught, the arrows bouncing off his chest and face, and stared up into the trees. Above them, the grohlm screamed and chitttered as the arrows fell, but kept out of sight.
Eric fired another round up into the trees, falling back a step. The two arrows buried deep into his shoulder bobbed as the gun recoiled and a middling shape tumbled from the upper branches and hit the forest floor with a thud. The fox grohlm kicked at the leafy soil as it died. Brandon ran to where Eric crouched, shouting. "We have to get out of here. NOW!"
Er
ic nodded, firing a shot into the shadows above and killing another grohlm. Brandon snatched an arrow out of the air, inches before it would have skewered Eric through the eye. The boy hardly noticed. “Get back, Merryweather! You don’t even have a gun!” He shouted as he kept firing into the trees. Blood was seeping from around the arrows sticking out of him, washing away in the rain as it strengthened.
Thunder and lightning exploded overhead. Brandon shoved Eric hard, moving back into the woods and away from the ambush sight. Eric stumbled, dropping his rifle and Brandon shoved him again before he could bend to retrieve it, knocking him out of the way of another flight of arrows. "RUN." Brandon shouted, hauling Eric to his feet and shoving him ahead of him, into the belly of the forest.
Behind them, the grohlm followed, moving through the treetops and howling and shooting arrows at them as they fled. Brandon was able to block most of the arrows fired at them with his body, swatting aside the few that made it through. The rain slowed the arrows down, making it easier for him to intercept them.
They were at the edge of the forest, nearing the invisible barrier surrounding Highgarden, when the grohlm went quiet and stopped shooting arrows. Brandon stopped running, letting Eric go on without him, and turned to face the forest. The woods were silent. The wind cutting through the trees was bitter cold, snapping rain hard against Brandon's face. He let his hands hang at his sides as he faced the trees. His skin crawled with the feeling of hundreds of beady grohlm eyes staring at him.
"What the hell was that?" Eric said, his voice high and breathless as he stared at the trees. Brandon turned and looked at the other boy. He leaned against a tree, clutching at one of the two arrows piercing his shoulder. Behind him, Brandon could see Highgarden through gaps in the trees, looking like a bastion of safety. A welcome sight after what they just went through. Brandon was about to tell Eric to keep quiet, but a sound from the trees behind him made him turn.
Dozens of arrows snapped out of the trees, lancing straight at the two boys. Moving as fast as he could, Brandon batted aside a few, while putting his body between Eric and the rain of steel tipped death. The arrows felt like insistent prodding from bony fingers. He heard cackling laughter from the grohlm.
"We have to get to the house." Brandon said, turning.
Eric began to nod when an arrow suddenly sprouted under his chin. His gaping mouth worked like a fish out of water, opening and closing spasmodically as he fell backwards. He hit his back, blood spurting from around the shaft of the arrow, and his heels began drumming the ground. Shouting in dismay, Brandon threw himself to the ground beside Eric, desperate to do something, anything, to stop the bleeding. He clamped his fingers around the arrow’s shaft, trying to stem the flow, but it was no good. The rain washed the blood from Brandon's fingers but not from his mind.
Eric's eyes stabbed at Brandon, his gaze filled with pain and panic. Then the boy's eyes went out of focus, staring at something far away, just past Brandon’s left shoulder. His struggles weakened. The spurting blood slowed, then stopped.
The boy died.
Brandon threw his head back and roared at the sky. Thunder crashed, echoing the Storm Lord's scream and rattling windows for miles around and the rain intensified. It hammered down, flattening Brandon's hair against his head and soaking the dead boy where he lay.
Brandon stayed like that, kneeling next to Eric's body, for a long time. He tried not to look at Eric's face or at the arrow jutting from his throat. The body had shrunk in on itself, flattening into the grass. It looked like a mannequin, or a Halloween dummy. It didn't look like a real person anymore. Brandon felt his gorge trying to rise and he turned, shoving a fist against his mouth. It was the first dead human being that he'd seen up close.
"It's my fault." He said aloud. His voice sounded small in his ears. Weak and unsure of itself. Like a boy's. Thunder pounded around him, the goddess’ voice arguing against his words. He heard Gerrick's voice inside his skull. Or maybe it was his grandfather’s.
"The boy chose his own fate." The voice whispered. "You could no more have stopped this from happening then you could pluck the stars from the night sky. All you could do for him was witness. And remember."
Brandon stood up, his eyes riveted to the body. He knew that the voices in his head were wrong. Eric was dead because of him. Because he was over confident. He let Eric go into those woods, knowing what was waiting for him, and he failed to protect him.
He was no hero. No prophesied savior or Reclaimer of anything. He failed his very first time out at protecting an innocent. How was he going to win against the grohlm or Sha’ha’Zel when he couldn’t even protect one boy?
He took a step toward the tree line, his eyes intent for any trace of Eric’s killers. Hate and regret fogged his mind, keeping the emptiness at bay. He was in no condition to fight, but that didn’t stop him wanting to throw himself at the trees. He wanted to tear the grohlm apart with his bare hands.
Then he heard Claire call out behind him, from near the house. She was shouting his name. He spun, his heart jack-hammering inside of his chest, and sprinted for the house. He ran without thinking, driving through the last of the trees and racing over the arching stone bridge, before stumbling to a halt a handful of yards from the training circle.
Claire was kneeling in the training circle, examining one of the stones. When she saw him, she rose from where she knelt, her fingers leaving the stone she was touching. She began to smile, but must have seen something in his face, because she frowned. Her single green eye was filled with compassion when she looked at him. She said. "Brandon, what's wrong?"
He started to lie, to tell her that nothing was wrong, but his body betrayed him. Sobbing, he collapsed to his knees, laying his forehead on the ground. His voice was gone. Rushing to him, Claire pulled him into an embrace, holding him tight against her chest. He shivered through his wet clothes, his teeth chattering from the emotions that were overwhelming him. From what he saw in the dying boy’s eyes. From what he might have prevented, if only he’d been faster or smarter.
"It's going to be okay." She said, kissing his brow. Her lips were soft. "It's going to be okay."
Brandon wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, letting her warmth soak into him even as the rain continued to soak them both. He didn't ask her why she was there. He didn't care. All he wanted to do was hold her against him. He let his face rest against her neck, his breath hot against her tender flesh. He felt her pulse against his lips and kissed her neck.
He met her gaze and said. "I'm sorry." His tear streaked face grew hot, despite the rain running down his cheeks. He tried to pull away, but Claire stopped him with a kiss. At first it was chaste, her lips warm and pliant against his own, but then the kiss deepened. He tried to keep thinking of the horror, of the dead boy, but Claire's lips and the soft touch of her tongue blew all thoughts of death and guilt from his mind, if only temporarily.
After a sweet eternity that lasted mere seconds, the kiss ended and the young lovers pulled apart. Claire looked at Brandon's face, her green eye filled with concern. The patch covering her left was sky blue with a picture of a flower on it. A daisy. She whispered. "Come inside with me. We have to get out of this rain."
Brandon let her pull him to his feet, his arm draped over her shoulder. Suddenly he was very tired, his arms and legs felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds a piece. For once, the rain was unable to wash away all of his exhaustion. It was an emotional collapse, not a physical one. Claire led him across the yard and inside, walking him through the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom. He moved like a zombie, not really seeing where they were, until they were in his bedroom. Alone.
Claire led him to the foot of the bed and had him stand there while she closed the door and bolted it. When she turned, Brandon stood as she had left him. He looked so lost. His chin rested on his chest, his eyes staring downward, and he hardly seemed to be breathing.
Stepping close, she reached out and touched his cheek, letting
her fingers rest against his skin. He was ice cold. Biting her lip, she began tugging him out of his clothes, pulling his soaked and tattered shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. She tried to ignore the way seeing Brandon's naked torso made her feel and went on to his pants. She closed her eye as she slid his wet pants down his legs, as well as his underwear, and then pushed him back onto the bed. Brandon finally came awake, suddenly realizing that he was naked before her.
Before he could protest or stop her, Claire pushed him onto his back and began undressing herself. She did it quickly, shucking her wet clothes while trying to ignore what she was doing. Once naked, she slipped into the bed and snuggled up against him, pulling him against her. "We have to get warm." She said, pulling the heavy comforter up over them. She ignored the way his skin felt against her own as best as she could, telling herself that skin to skin contact was better for keeping hypothermia at bay. To her, the excuse sounded flimsy and transparent.
But Brandon didn't argue. Wrapping his arms around her slim shoulders, he hugged her tight. He pushed his face into her neck and continued to shiver. Claire was shivering too. She was terrified and excited at the same time.
After a while, the shivering stopped. Claire turned against him, letting her hand drift across his stomach and brushed her lips against his. He kissed her, his hands moving along the small of her smooth back. She moaned against his mouth and he said her name. She touched his lips with a finger and said. "Love me, Bran."
And so he did. All thoughts of danger and curses were gone from his intoxicated brain as he lost himself in her embrace.
Outside of Highgarden, Sha'ha'Zel stood in the ferocious downpour and watched the low stone fortress. He could feel the boy and what he and the girl were doing in the upstairs bedroom. Their act gave off an aura of magical power that was visible to the Curse, like a cloud of writhing pink mist twisting on the wind.
Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) Page 23
