Temple of Cocidius: A Monster Girl Harem Adventure: Book 3

by Maxx Whittaker

  “We can spare ourselves! Help me fight!”

  “No. You don’t–”

  Genrig hisses, lunging forward to shut up the hersir. “Keep your tongue!”

  “Give them back their skins! Give back their bodies!” The hersir’s words are one long high-pitched shriek.

  There’s no time for this. I look from him to Genrig. “What skins? What bodies?”

  Freya zips her staff between them in a threatening line. “The women in the ice, they’re selkies…”

  “We harvested the skins and hid them. Men took their turns with the–” The hersir sobs. “The selkies escaped and fled back to the tide. They sent the artaois. They punished us–”

  He turns and runs, back toward the village.

  He’s dead. “Stop! We have to –” my words die in my throat.

  The bear explodes from the water, sliding across the floe. A quick snap of her jaws as she passes, and the hunter falls with a broken scream. She doesn’t stop, her momentum taking her clear across the ice, back into the water.

  We rush to the fallen hunter. Freya crouches next to him, examining wounds, as I stand above them, watching. I spin, heart in my throat. Every eddy in the water is her, every ripple a claw. Or the selkies, circling, waiting.

  I spare a glance down and wish I hadn’t. The man’s torso is a wreckage of shattered ribs, gore, and pulsing blood. It’s bad, and he’ll be dead in moments. “Can you heal him?”

  “I don’t know. His body is shattered and Mordenn’s blood taint... It will drain me.” Freya looks up, and I know what she’s asking. She thinks I’ll need her, before this is done.

  And I know I will. What I just saw, the bear’s speed, her viciousness, there’s no way I’m getting out of this without a few new scars. I may be fast, but eventually I have to fight that thing, and Freya’s healing is my secret weapon. If I lose that...

  The last hersir looks to me, tears running down his face. “Please,” he croaks. “Please. My brother.”

  Gods damn it.

  I give her a nod, still rotating in place, watching.

  Freya smiles at me, puts her hand on the prone man. The glow begins immediately, glorious, golden, suffusing him.

  But something’s wrong. The man’s shattered breaths suddenly become strangled groans, then screams. I look down, wide eyed. His wounds seem to stretch, blacken, and his insides bubble and boil within him. Freya snatches her hands back, eyes wide, as the man convulses on the ground, heels drumming in the snow.

  “Freya, what…”

  “I don’t know!” She looks to me, and I wrap her, pull her back.

  The man’s wounds degrade, and his skin melts. His organs pop, spraying us with gore, and we stumble backward.

  And he screams, and screams, and screams, until he dies.

  Freya stares. “It...It killed him…”

  I shake my head, can’t understand. “It didn’t before, on the ice.”

  She shakes her head, still gaping. “Cursed by the god of Death. This is part of his harvest.” She takes another step back, and her hand finds mine. “He will not be denied.”

  “Can you still heal me?”

  She doesn’t have time to answer. The other hunter flies up from his crouch and turns on us, axe raised. “You killed him!” he shrieks. “My brother! You, you work with the bear!”

  “No, wait–”

  But he’s coming at us, madness in his eyes, and I have no choice. Kumiko’s gift makes it feel like he’s moving in amber, and I weave around his blade as it comes down, a light touch pushing Freya aside. As he passes, I hit him in the back of the head with the flat of my blade, sending him sprawling into the snow.

  He doesn’t get up.

  And in that moment, know that I’ve killed him, anyway. We can’t carry him, and if we leave him, the selkies or the bear will find him.

  My hands tighten on my blades as disbelief turns to rage. I turn on Genrig, who backs away, shielding himself with trembling arms. His pose disgusts me. I slide in, grip a fistful of his mantle and lay steel to flesh. “The truth, all of it.”

  His eyes pool, loll over a deadly landscape. “Mordenn promised we could have the selkies for–” He gulps. “We could keep them if we hunted the artaois, all ten. Mordenn likes his...collections. Complete sets.”

  Something about this sticks in my mind, but I don’t have time to make sense of it. “It was a trick. A trick. He punishes when we fail, and the selkies hunt us now to gain back their skins. And the last artaois...she’s ruthless. We killed the other nine, but she...She’s different. ”

  “I bet she is.” I throw him to the ice. “You’re on your own. I was never going to kill her, and that goes double now.”

  “No!” He gets to his knees, hands pleading, voice pathetic. “No, you don’t have to help me, help the men. But there are innocent women and children in the village.”

  Freya’s voice is as cold as the ice under our feet. “Not a single woman in the village knew you were enslaving and raping selkies?”

  “Our children,” he pleads weakly.

  What a son of a bitch. I look to Freya, my conscience right now, because I could almost burn the village myself.

  She glances to Genrig and shakes her head. I feel our connection in this moment like I’ve rarely felt anything.

  “You made your deal, Genrig. You brokered with the god of Death. I’m not slaughtering the last creature of its kind to fulfill your bargain.”

  “Our children,” he stammers again.

  “Your children?” Freya’s voice raises across the words. “Or are your women barren from the curse? If I look, will I find webbed fingers and toes on those children?”

  Genrig tightens, growing vicious. He backs away from us, nearing the water, too close.

  I don’t stop him.

  “He will punish you, too, if you don’t help me,” he spits. “I swear on everything, if you don’t–”

  Four slender blue arms lash from the water and drag Genrig to hell. He thrashes as he sinks, his strangled cry choked off by the sea. Then the bear crests from the tide, and clamps him with a wet sound, lifting him free for a frozen moment. Then she shakes him until his thrashing stops and drags him beneath the dark surface.

  “Fuck your mother,” I whisper into the gale, not sorry to see his end.

  -Bjornkärra-

  Our trip to the bear’s den is a strange combination of resolve, to find her and win her, and panic, the urge to run screaming into the night. She could be anywhere and avoiding dark pools of lapping ocean are impossible. She almost feels ethereal, a spirit, there one moment and gone the next.

  I’m so tense that I jump when Freya’s hand on my arm stops our progress. “We’re close.”

  I draw my blades, though I’m not sure what I’ll do with them after what we saw out on the floe. My old sword master, Alcin, drilled a lot of things into my training. Bruises, mostly, but there were some tidbits of wisdom, too. Chiefly: Battle doesn’t have a plan. It has a suggestion. Signs you can read, use to prepare. Whether they turn out to be useful in any way...That depends on how quick a man is on his feet.

  It’s a philosophy that’s served me well. Dueling at university, on the battlefield, as a mercenary, planning my vengeance in the Temple. I always had a plan.

  Right now, I have nothing.

  Freya senses my agitation. Her hand tightens on my arm. “We’ll think of something. Maybe the least obvious is the most viable. We can puzzle it out.” Her confidence is fortifying. I just hope it’s not misplaced.

  We circle the knob of a last low hill at the cliff’s foot, creeping now. “Can you tell exactly where she is?”

  “No. I can’t even sense her. For me the magical putrefaction of her wound carries on the air. It’s growing stronger.”

  Well, that’s not terrifying at all. Is she hiding in her den, licking her wounds, or is she crouched above us, tense and rabid?

  Our slow steps crunch the hard pack, deafening. Each gully, every ridge; I wat
ch all I can, but it’s pointless. She’s part of the land, the air, the snow and darkness.

  Rounding the last rise, my boot slips. Freya throws an arm, but the rock is varnished in ice. We slip on our arses into a shallow crevasse. The rock face ahead is bisected by a cragged mouth that opens into the earth.

  And like that, we’ve accidentally found what we were looking for.

  This is why the Verdajln could never find her. Claw marks higher than a man could reach mar the shelf above her den. She hauls herself from the hidden space, leaving no sign or trail.

  Light dances from inside the burrow; radiance chasing darkness from nighttime snow outside her den. The smoke blows inside the ravine, unnoticed overhead.

  “Fire?” I exchange a look with Freya.

  “The artaois is an artifact,” she says.

  “Can’t be a bear all the time...” I don’t entirely believe it as I say it. This is the temple; anything can be anything.

  Freya snorts, looks suggestively downward. “For your sake, I hope not.”

  My mind wanders down a dark path, and I shudder. “I think we should go above and lure her up. We’ve seen her den, and the geography down here. Maybe that will be an advantage.”

  Freya inches toward the rise at our backs. “Did you see her?” She shakes her head.

  We crawl on hands and knees up the sheer slope, back to the hilltop and along the knob to where it bends above the den.

  Freya’s staff prods me in the arse. I shuffle faster, as fast as I can without making noise.

  She jabs me again. I snap my head around to say something. Her eyes widen and she crouches deep. She points her staff at the curve.

  White and fog-like, mist billows into the cold in a slow, steady rhythm.

  Breath. She’s waiting.

  Freya crawls up next to me, agonizingly slow. Her lips form words without sound. What do we do?

  I stand. She knows we’re here, and there’s no hiding from her. Even injured, she’s impossibly strong, and almost as fast as me.

  It’s time to change the rules.

  I reach into the bottomless bag. There are a few things I brought with me, things of such value and power that I’ve been hoarding them. They’re my ace in the hole. One in particular feels appropriate, now. If I’d had my bag during Freya’s trial, I would have used it then, and I’m glad I saved it.

  I reach into the bag, praying to the Gods that it’s still inside.

  Svallin.

  A bracer leaps into my hand, sending lances of light across the snowscape. It takes my breath away, as it does every time. Made of wrought gold so brilliant it shines, even in the moonlight, its traced with a pattern of letters so fine that no tool know could have carved them. Inlaid between the pattern of words are glyphs of the sun, wrapping the length of metal so they form a ring around the middle.

  As I slide it on, Freya gasps. “Where did you get it?” she whispers.

  “It’s been in my family for as long as we can remember. But it’s older, much older.”

  She runs a finger along the tracery of suns, eyes wide. “Yes. This is not of your realm. It’s god-touched.”

  Bitter memory surfaces, and I turn away. “I pulled it from the ashes of my family’s estate, after they burned it. We kept it hidden.”

  “It’s beautiful, but–” Her words die in her throat as a low rumble echoes from the hills ahead of us.

  I step back, and Freya raises her staff as the bear comes from her hiding spot, apparently tired of waiting to spring its trap.

  She steals my breath. She moves toward us, and she’s part of the land, glacial in her size and power. On impulse, I reach out with my mind, with the strange cocktail of Meridian’s compulsion and Finna’s empathic bond that flows through me. I touch the bear’s mind, try to find some hint of the humanity she must have, as an artifact.

  The bear shakes her head, almost immediately, tearing me free, but not before emotions, impressions, seep into my mind link ink across parchment.

  Fierce intelligence, tinged with madness, sadness so deep I feel it could drown me. But most of all, I feel rage. Anger so consuming that there’s almost nothing left of the person beneath it.

  I stagger. Freya’s touch is strength. “What is it?”

  “She’s going to attack. We can’t stop it. She’s so angry, so…” I can’t finish.

  The bear takes a step forward, muscles bunching.

  “The bracer,” Freya says, voice urgent. “If you have a trick, now’s the time…”

  “Watch.” I reach around Svallin, press my fingertips to the center of each of its suns.

  It warms immediately, vibrates almost imperceptibly. I raise my arm in front of me as a shield of light crackles into existence. White lightning arcs outward as it forms, builds itself from nothing, tracing a pattern in the air the size of shape of a large kite shield. It hums as it hangs a handspan in the air, not connected to Svallin, but still anchored to it. I move my arm back and forth, turning it in the air, rotating the bracer, and the shield moves with my arm, always facing outward, toward my opponent.

  Freya gives a low whistle.

  I don’t have time to respond, to agree. The bear takes a step forward, then another, every muscle of its body tensed. It moves slowly, carefully, eyes never leaving the shield.

  I didn’t expect this. I remember the fight on the ice floe, the bear’s incredible speed, savage strength. This thoughtful advance toward me leaves me uncertain.

  “Lir…” Freya says, backing away. I stay put, and I wonder, remember the intelligence I sensed moments ago.

  The artifact lumbers forward, a mountain bearing down on me. I stand my ground, and hope. She stops in front of me, turns her head.

  Considering.

  There has to be something of the artifact left under that smothering rage. Something left of the being that aspirants were supposed to win, to befriend, to bond with.

  There has to be a person left inside.

  Please, please…

  The bear raises a paw, slowly, deliberately.

  “Lir…”

  “Wait!”

  The paw hangs frozen moment. Claws that have ripped a man in half silhouette against a blanket of stars.

  And then, it slices down.

  Her swipe hits the shield with the force of a boulder thrown from a catapult, impacting with an explosion of lighting and sparks. My protection bows, bends, as she puts her power into the blow, pushing, claws straining against energy that crackles around her.

  I do not bend. I feel no weight, no pressure. The shield of light absorbs it, and after a moment, the bear pulls back, almost contemptuous, backs away a step.

  Intelligence…

  She’s testing me. My protection.

  I raise my arm. Svallin bears a tiny crack, an artery that spans it, front to back.

  Shit. Part of me hoped it was indestructible. Then again, if it was, I’m sure the Gardener would have taken it.

  Still better than nothing. I move back slowly as the bear circles, wary now. “Keep me alive. And if you have any ideas…”

  Freya grunts her assent, whirls her staff so quickly it hums.

  Sometimes offense is the only option, and I’m sure, despite my new gifts, that this bear can last longer than me. I can’t sit back and let it come to me over and over.

  An idea blossoms, half formed, but at least it’s something.

  I attack. Springing forward, I launch at the artifact, Kumiko’s gift surging through my veins. I’m a bolt of lightning, and as the bear raises a paw to take my head off, I duck, slide. The paw comes down on my shield, but it’s only a glancing blow, and I bring my blade around, lightning quick. My momentum and the gift power it, and it’s the hardest, the fastest I’ve ever swung a sword in my life.

  I aim for the back of the bear’s head. At the last moment, I rotate my wrist, and when the flat of my blade connects with her, it hits with a crack that numbs my arm and sound that echoes from the hilltops.

  She
staggers forward a few steps, shakes her head. For a moment, I dare to hope. If she goes unconscious, it buys us time, and maybe we can figure out how to find the humanity inside of her.

  But no, it’s not enough. With a final shake of her head, she looks up.

  Directly at Freya.

  Panic grips me. The bear lumbers at her, still groggy, not as fast but just as powerful. Freya’s staff lances out, snaps the bears head, but it’s not enough.

  I skid in the ice, try to stop. My speed, my all or nothing slide, has carried me forward too quickly, and I’m not fast enough to catch them.

  Freya dives to the side, barely avoiding a swipe meant to cave in her chest. She rolls across the snow, but the bear is after her.

  And I’m too far, too slow, even with Kumiko’s gift. The bear’s paw comes up, and time slows as I watch it begin to descend. Freya has her staff up as she lays on her back, and I know it won’t be enough to stop the blow.

  I reach out with everything I have, with Meridiana’s augmented gift, and pull at the bear’s mind. No, over here. Fight me.

  The bear’s paw hangs midair. She shudders, tries to shake me off like before. No, I think again, throwing all of myself into the thought. Fight me.

  The bear turns, forgetting the alicorn.

  Fuck yes. Thank you, Meridiana.

  The artifacts eyes blaze, angrier than before, and the growl from her belly is deep, and hungry

  Suddenly I’m a bit less thankful.

  She rushes me, roaring, and I skip backward, fly across the snow, out of reach. I’m so quick now, impossibly nimble, and I dance over shards of ice and patches of thick white that would trip me, my instincts guiding my feet unerringly.

  She still catches me, and her blow sends lightning crackling across the shield. Another crack appears in my bracer.

  I take the blow, flow around her, and my sword connects with her head again. I’m around her back, faster than her, and even as she turns my sword connects again, and again. But there’s not enough strength in my arm, and she shrugs me off.

  Then she catches me. I get careless, try for a third hit, and her paw is around my shield. It’s not a direct hit, but it sends me tumbling and spinning across the ice anyway, and I feel ribs snaps and my side split open. An ominous trail of blood marks my passage across the floe.