Blood Winter

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  The troll swayed back and forth, its attention flickering between Thor and the truck and Alexander. At last, it made a decision. With one heaving motion, it vaulted out of its hole and galloped after Alexander on all fours, the ground shaking each time it planted those massive hands and feet.

  It was far more nimble than it looked. Alexander swerved to the right around a stand of birch and aspen trees. The troll followed easily.

  Alexander threaded through a series of rocky outcroppings. He was going for higher ground. The one thing besides explosives that might damage the rock troll was a fall.

  The troll bounded up onto one of the massive boulders and leaped after Alexander. It sailed through the air and when it landed, the ground shuddered and bucked. It would not be a remotely good idea to get hit by that beast.

  A rock the size of Alexander’s head bounced on the ground beside him. Too damned close. He dodged into a knot of blue spruce and sprinted up through the trees. The rock troll bellowed, a deep, guttural sound that echoed down the valley. Branches snapped, and wood squealed and whined as the troll plowed through trees.

  The moment’s respite gave Alexander time to think. He had led the rock troll away from the truck to give Thor a chance to rig an explosion, but now he was too far away to get back before the beast overtook him. That left him with only one real choice: jump off the bluff into the river. The troll would likely follow. With luck, it would break apart. If not, Alexander was fairly certain the beast could not swim, which might give him a moment or two to get away. The river offered little safety if running water did not bother the creature. The troll could probably wade or run along the bank until it could snatch Alexander out.

  He cleared the spruces and lunged up onto the top of a small escarpment, about ten feet up. Behind him, the troll swiped its stone paw through the air. It knocked into one of Alexander’s ankles. He felt bone break, and his foot and leg went numb.

  Alexander landed heavily on his stomach. The breath exploded from his lungs. He sucked in air as he dragged his knees up to lever himself upright. The rock troll was already clambering over the lip of the ledge. It gnashed its teeth together, and it sounded like stones in a metal grinder.

  Alexander looked up. He had hoped for another forty or fifty feet of elevation. The drop to the river bottom was less than a hundred feet. He could survive that, which meant the odds were good the rock troll could, too. But he had little choice left. His foot dangled from his shattered ankle, useless. He would not heal in time to get any higher. His only route now was down.

  He looked behind him. The rock troll was crouching down, shaking itself like a bull. It pawed at the chalky dirt with both massive hands, shoveling it up over its head. A cloud of dust filled the air. Alexander eased back slowly, searching for the edge. As fast as the beast could move, he needed to make sure he could leap out of reach before the troll snatched him out of the air.

  More dust puffed upward. Taking the chance that the troll might have temporarily blinded itself, Alexander stepped backward. He landed just twenty feet below on a narrow ledge. He squelched a cry of pain as hot agony speared up his leg and spine. He made a staggering run to the end of the shelf and launched himself out over the river, just as the rock troll bellowed its fury at its prey’s escape.

  Alexander crashed into the river. It was like hitting a steel wall. Bones cracked, and his lungs pancaked. He slid under the icy water and bounced against several boulders. He spun and could not tell up from down. Seconds passed like minutes. Everything inside him demanded air. He kicked and clawed upward, only to find himself grabbing silt at the bottom of the river. He turned and shoved upward with all the power in his good leg. He broke through and dragged in a shallow breath. It was all he could manage.

  He slewed around, searching for the rock troll. It had landed beside the river. One of it arms was twisted wrongside around, and it looked like its head had shifted to the right. The fact that it could be hurt offered some hope that the explosives would work. If Thor could get anywhere near it.

  The troll heaved itself up and lumbered along the bank after Alexander, dragging its damaged arm. It uprooted a clump of desert sage and threw it, followed by chunks of wood and stone—whatever it could reach. Each time it threw something, it had to slow down. In the meantime, Alexander swam as fast as he could downstream. His body was sluggish, and he could barely kick. His arms were both broken, and it was all he could do to force them through the water.

  But with the river’s swift current and his own efforts, he was able to keep ahead of the troll, although avoiding the creature’s missiles was much more difficult. One rock slammed into his shoulder. It crushed bone and opened up long gashes down his back.

  Alexander had little idea where Thor and the truck were. He had lost all sense of direction. His head spun dizzily, and one eye was swollen shut. Every bit of concentration was going into staying afloat and avoiding the troll’s projectiles.

  The rock troll did not seem inclined to get into the water yet, but that could simply be because it was faster on land. Alexander did not dare to crawl out on the other side of the river. Either the troll would stone him to death from afar, or it would hop over the river and stomp him into the ground. Neither sounded enticing.

  Before he was aware of it, he was nearly under a bridge crossing the river.

  “Hold on, son,” Thor called, and then explosions ripped through the night.

  Alexander passed under the bridge. Rocks and dirt hailed down, and the stink of fire and explosives filled the air. Then there was silence.

  He kicked, pushing himself over the bank. He scrabbled up so that his upper body was out of the water. He drew several breaths and forced himself to his hands and knees. A moment later, Thor joined him and helped him to his feet. Alexander swayed, and Thor put his arm around his waist.

  “The rock troll?” Alexander rasped.

  “No troll. Just rock, for now. And I don’t think we ought to stick around to see if it pulls itself back together.”

  “Agreed.”

  Thor helped Alexander back to the truck, then helped to peel off his dripping jeans.

  “Just cut the damned shirt off,” Alexander said, unwilling to wrestle himself free of the wet fabric. He felt as if he might faint. Or vomit. Or maybe both.

  “Now, this is friendship. I much prefer getting women naked,” Thor said, then scowled as Alexander’s body was revealed. He was a patchwork of bruises. His ribs lumped oddly, his right shoulder was caved in, his left ankle was a mushy black mess, and the side of his skull ached from when he had hit the water.

  “That looks like it hurts,” he said, then dug in Alexander’s pack for a dry pair of jeans and a shirt. With Thor’s help, Alexander was able to put on the jeans, but he did not try the shirt. He would wait until he healed some first.

  Thor went to the back of the truck and returned with a jug of Ugly Juice. “Drink it. All of it, right now. Don’t go making faces. You aren’t two years old. Suck it up, and take your medicine. Be quick. I don’t want to have another run-in with that thing.”

  Thor yanked what was left of the windshield out and swept the safety glass off the seats. He then piled a selection of the food Magpie had sent with them into the front seat.

  In the meantime, Alexander drained the jug of Ugly Juice. Almost immediately, he could feel his body putting the calories to work, fueling his healing spells. Whatever disgusting ingredients Magpie put into the syrupy juice, it had a lot of calories. And probably some magic, given that she was also a Circle-level witch.

  Thor climbed into the driver’s seat and examined Alexander. “You don’t look so good.”

  “I expect I feel worse than I look. Cannot seem to catch my breath. My head feels like I fell on an anvil.”

  “It’s looking a little dented, too. You going to be all right?”

  “Sooner or later. Better get driving. The Grims are getting to the edge of my sensory range. We are going to lose them soon.”

  Th
or drove around the crater left by the rock troll and cruised down toward the bridge.

  “Fuck.”

  Alexander had leaned the seat back and closed his eyes. Now he sat up, sucking a pained breath through his teeth. “What?” But then he saw the slow-swirling cloud of red dust centered over the twitching pieces of the rock troll. The stones of its body started to roll together and take troll shape again.

  “Floor it,” Alexander said just as Thor jammed the gas pedal all the way down. The truck fishtailed and practically flew over the bridge and up the road. They hit a hundred miles an hour, and the speedometer pegged out. The truck still accelerated. Thank the witches for magic.

  “That was the same red dust that attacked Max in the angel vault, wasn’t it?” Thor asked, watching out his sideview mirror.

  “Looked like it. But how did it get out here?” Alexander lifted his hand to rub his throbbing head and instantly regretted it. Pain enveloped him in a fiery cocoon. He dropped his hand back into his lap.

  “Can only mean the preacher witch is after us. But why?” Thor mused.

  “Why break into Horngate and burn five innocent people on our doorstep? Who knows what he’s up to.”

  “Apparently he’s nuttier than a squirrel’s cheeks in October.”

  “Let us hope he is done with us,” Alexander said, leaning back and closing his eyes.

  “I don’t know, son. That sort of crazy tends to stay focused. He seems to have a hate-on for witches. Maybe he figures we’re just as bad. At least if he’s after us, he’s not likely to be harrassing anybody back at Horngate. That would take a lot more energy than he’s likely to have.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Alexander murmured. He didn’t like to think what could be happening to Max if she caught the preacher witch’s attention. “How do you suppose a witch comes to want to burn up his own kind? I mean, fighting over territory I get. But he is anti-witch.”

  Thor shrugged. “How are there gay Republicans? Some people don’t make a whole lot of sense.”

  They slowed down in Wisdom just enough to make the turn south toward Jackson before speeding up again. Lights flickered in a scattering of houses and the smell of woodsmoke drifted through the air. What looked like a dark, lush jungle swathed the foothills of the Pioneers for as far as Alexander could see. The trees were squat and broad, and . . .

  “Thor,” Alexander said warningly.

  “I see ’em,” the blond Blade said grimly, his hands flexing on the steering wheel.

  The trees had begun crawling toward them. Their roots roped and twisted over the ground like giant knotty snakes. Streamers of red wreathed their branches.

  “We left that rock troll in the dust. How the hell does the preacher know where we are?”

  “Maybe he can scry us,” Alexander said. “But that does not explain how he is casting spells over such distances. Unless he is a lot more powerful than we thought.”

  Thor glanced sharply at him. “Are you thinking he’s a mage?”

  “I am thinking we had better find out how he is managing to cast magic like this. But first, I think we should survive. I would sure like to know why he is so interested in what we are doing tonight.”

  The trees rippled over the ground with incredible speed. Thor swerved around reaching roots. “They don’t seem to like the road,” he said. “It’s like it burns them.”

  That was all the notice he gave before driving off onto the shoulder to put the road between the truck and the attacking trees. They jolted hard over the clumps of grass, piled rocks, and rutted dirt.

  Alexander bounced up against the roof as the truck flew into the air, then dropped back to the ground. Thor ran through the barbed-wire fence and out into the field beside the road.

  “That did it,” he said, slowing slightly. “They aren’t crossing.”

  Alexander did not answer. He gripped the door handle with white-knuckled fingers. The plastic cracked under his grip. His skull had struck the roof in the same place he had smashed it previously. Blood dribbled down his forehead. His vision had gone snowy, like static on a TV.

  “Oh, hell,” Thor said, hitting the accelerator again. “They are burrowing under.”

  A moan rose in the night, a high-pitched sound drenched in fury and pain. The truck jolted and bounced over the uneven ground of the open field. Thor crashed through another fence, and metal screeched as the barbs scraped the body of the truck. They jolted through a ditch, over a dirt road, and back into a field. Thor swerved around sagebrush and outcroppings of rock.

  Alexander was tossed and jolted, banging around in his seat. Once he almost bounced through the open front windshield. Thor grabbed him and yanked him back down. Then everything went black.

  When he awoke, he was still in his seat. Thor had reclined it as far back as it would go and was smearing a cold healing salve on his head. Alexander batted him away and sat up with a groan.

  “I am fine,” he said. “I do not need a nurse.”

  “Right. I figured when your brain started oozing out of your ears that you were just having a quick nap.”

  Alexander gave a weak grin. His head was spinning, and his stomach was churning in response. “You are exaggerating.”

  “Not by much. I wasn’t particularly sure you were going to wake up.” Thor’s jaw was tense, and behind the taut mask of his face, his Blade was in a frenzy. Before Alexander could speak, he shoved another jug of Ugly Juice at him. “Drink.”

  Alexander did not argue. He gulped down the noxious brew and then ate the food that Thor supplied. After about fifteen minutes, his vision settled, and he felt the bones in his skull hardening in place. The pain remained, but it was more bearable.

  He pushed up out of the truck and glanced around. They were out in the middle of a field beside a winding creek and surrounded by willows. The road and the predatory forest were nowhere to be seen. “What happened?”

  “The road, mostly. The trees burrowed their roots under, but they couldn’t get that far. Eventually, they gave up. Or the preacher witch ran out of magic.”

  “I doubt that,” Alexander said. “More likely, he got distracted.”

  “I don’t want to think about what might have got his attention,” Thor said darkly.

  Alexander nodded. He could call Max and check in, but she already thought he was too possessive. He would let her tell him when she wanted him. If she wanted him. He could do little to help her right at the moment, if she needed help.

  “All the same, the preacher witch seems a little too interested in us. What do you suppose we did to deserve that?” Thor asked.

  Alexander deliberately turned his attention away from Max. “Maybe he does not want us following the Grims.”

  “Why not?”

  Alexander shrugged. He had no answers to that question. He let his senses range outward and discovered the Grims much closer than he had expected. And not just them but other beings in brilliant shades of violet, scarlet, yellow, and orange. The salamanders? A wild flare of magic blossomed around them, sending out pulsing ripples of distorting energy.

  Alexander took a few steps away from the truck. His legs were wobbly, but his ankle held. His ribs felt rubbery but whole. His rolled his shoulder to test it. It ached and made crackling noises. Good enough.

  “We should go,” he said to Thor.

  The other man eyed him dubiously. “You aren’t fit.”

  “Maybe not, but we only have a few hours before dawn. Who knows where they will disappear to if we wait out the day? Besides, the faster we get this over with and get back home, the less likely the preacher witch will remember to kill us.”

  “I hate being on his to-do list,” Thor grumbled. “All right. But you’re barely stitched up. One light blow, and you’ll shatter. We’ll go to the Grims, but we’re not hopping into any unnecessary trouble.”

  “Is what we do ever unnecessary?” Alexander asked as he slid back into the truck and adjusted the seat back upright.

  “You
sound just like Max,” Thor said, sliding in beside him. “Her attitude is catching. Just like a bad flu. Just remember, you’re not in any better shape right now than an ordinary human. Maybe worse. So don’t be stupid. I just hope stupidity isn’t catching, too,” he muttered under his breath.

  Alexander smiled and shut his eyes, gripping the sides of the seat hard as the truck started rolling over the field. Thor went slowly enough to make the jouncing less painful, but it was still agonizing. Still, every passing moment provided healing to his body. But Thor was right. Even when they traversed the twenty miles or so to get to the Grims, he was not going to be in any shape to fight.

  THOR KEPT TO THE FIELDS, SLOWLY ANGLING EAST BACK to the road and keeping a watchful eye on the unmoving forest.

  The closer they got to Jackson and the Grims, the hotter it was getting. It had to be at least a hundred twenty degrees. Heat distorted the air, making everything in sight ripple.

  Thor pulled to a stop on flat dirt just before the road. He got out and knelt down beside it, then leaned back through the window. “The tar is soft as taffy. We’ll get stuck on it. I say we leave the truck here, or we chance having the rubber melt off the tires.” He glanced down and back up. “We may be riding back on the rims at this point, anyway.”

  Alexander got out. He no longer felt as dizzy. His shoulder still crackled as the bones settled back together, but otherwise he felt whole. Fragile as glass but whole.

  Shadowblades were made to tolerate extreme heat and cold—within reason. Fire would burn them, of course, and they would eventually freeze solid. Hopefully the heat coming out of Jackson would not be so significant that they would have to turn back.

  They left their guns in the truck, as they both feared exploding ammunition. They followed the road, staying beside it. The terrain was mostly flat. Jackson nestled up against the foothills of the Pioneers in a long, narrow valley.

  The heat increased as they approached the town. It was entirely deserted. The buildings were dried and cracked as if they’d been cooked in an oven. It felt like an oven. Alexander found it hard to breathe the hot, dry air. The magic there was dense. It was like pushing through molasses. Every step was increasingly difficult. The closer they came to the Grims and the source of the magic, the thicker the magic became.