The dead man stood four paces away from her, blade ready, his face fixed in a rictus grin. Starving Pup had mentioned that he could predict an enemy’s movements before they were made. Yizel had none of these skills, but her Knack was the better one in this situation.
She was fast.
Procopio stood straight-backed, the tip of his rapier pointing at Yizel’s face. He gave a small step with his front leg, moving only his wrist to swipe his blade against Yizel’s own, testing her resolve. She gave a small push back, and in response Procopio lunged forward, front leg bent deep, his blade tip rising from below her defences, heading for her throat. Some of the bandits Yizel had faced back at their estate had been Knacked, but none had a gift as strong as their leader, even in this new state. Despite the echo of his Knack, Yizel found that she was faster, stronger, and stepped around his lunge, kicking Procopio back. The ashen man did not relent, and continued to move forward, thrusting after each of Yizel’s parries, forcing her backwards, close to the searching fingers of the ash warriors that surrounded the duellists.
“Push!” Starving Pup shouted, presumably to Crazy Raccoon, straining to make his voice heard over the sounds of battle and the Shepherdess’ echoing sobs. “Make room for her.”
The boy’s command must have worked, despite no reply from Crazy Raccoon. Yizel did not dare take her gaze from Procopio, but as she stepped backwards from his attacks, she found her companions had already cleared the ash creatures away, giving her room to fight.
As they moved back from the church doors, Yizel began to spot a rhythm in Procopio’s movements. She narrowed her eyes, hoping he would not choose now to try something new. She angled her body slightly to the right, presenting Procopio with a better target on that side. As predicted, his thrust came in low, faster than anyone should have been able to keep up with.
But Yizel’s dagger was already in her offhand, halfway through its slash before Procopio’s blade arm was where she needed it to be. The ash man’s hand came off at the wrist, disappearing into dust, dropping his rapier impotently to the ground. Yizel did not stop, swinging wide with her longer blade at Procopio’s neck, carving through it with little resistance.
The dead man grinned at her for a split second, before breaking apart before her.
“Plough my mother, but you’re fast,” Crazy Raccoon said.
Procopio gone, Yizel finally allowed herself time to take a glance to her side. There, the legendary Bravador - maskless again - continued to fight the grey creatures, his gloved fists covered in ash. Whether that ash was the remains of his foes, or if his knuckles - like Yizel’s face - had been turned, she could not tell.
What surprised Yizel the most, however, was the look of grudging respect Crazy Raccoon shot her.
It was at that moment the Shepherdess’ black cloud finished its journey across the Wildlands, breaking over Calvario with the weight of a tombstone falling flat onto a freshly dug grave.
The impact of its arrival was a physical one, smashing into Yizel, Starving Pup and Crazy Raccoon, throwing them across the dirt of the street they fought in, bowling them into a heap against the church’s wall. None of the ash warriors survived the impact. As one, they exploded at the force of their mistress’ arrival, the ash that they had once been composed of filling the air of the village, choking the few living people still able to breath it, swirling in an unseen breeze, then flowing back into the black cloud that marched through the village. The cloud of blackness condensed, reducing in size but its darkness becoming more potent. When the first sob ripped out of it, the air of the village seemed to hum, throbbing in response to a pain that had been nurtured for generations.
The Black Shepherdess had arrived. She stood there, at the church’s open doorway, sobbing as her dead army returned to her, her black cloak billowing in a phantom breeze.
It hurt Arturo to look at the Shepherdess. Yizel’s fight with Procopio had taken the three of them away from the church doorway, where the Shepherdess now stood, twice as tall as any human, the last remains of her ash warriors still flowing through the air, returning to her. Her wails came more frequently now, but were no longer forlorn, instead laced with an underlying menace. He could not capture her form perfectly in his mind, as if he was seeing double when he tried to focus on her. Her presence and her continuing crying made the air around him feel more solid, reminding Arturo of the consistency of the broth his mother used to make for him on winter nights. At the thought of his mother, the air before him almost rippled at the sound of the Shepherdess’ cries, and Arturo’s mother was standing there, beside the Shepherdess, staring into the church along with the demonic figure. Arturo’s eyes widened, and he felt that his head would crack, a splitting pain lancing into his brain. He looked at Yizel and Crazy Raccoon, both still lying on the ground, rigid with fear. They did not seem to notice the small woman standing beside the Shepherdess. Arturo looked back at the Shepherdess, and his mother was gone.
I’m going mad, then. Like poor Tomas, only a few days behind him.
A pain lanced through his head again, and this time Arturo felt his Knack flare into life. It showed him what was about to happen, the Shepherdess ripping a hole in the wall of the church, enlarging the doorway so she could fit through it. It also showed him Tomas, pulled from Arturo’s own thoughts, standing in the place his mother had briefly occupied. Tomas was looking right at Arturo, smiling his gap-toothed smile.
Arturo shook his head, and Tomas vanished. As his Knack had predicted, the edges of the Shepherdess’ cloak reached up to grab the sides of the open doorway, and plucked the surrounding stonework from the wall of the building, throwing it behind her in afterthought.
She cried again, and again he felt the air almost ripple. This time, images of his father and brother haunted the edges of his vision.
She’s doing this to me, just by being here. Affecting my Knack, somehow. Pulling these images from my head.
Paying no attention to the three swordfighters lying in the dirt nearby, the Shepherdess entered the church.
Arturo hesitated only for a moment. She had never even looked at them, leaving them outside, alone. If they wanted, right now they could be free, they could run back to the City of Swords to tell tales of their survival against this agent of the Mistress of the Wilds.
Together, the three of them ran towards the church entrance.
“What does she want in there?” Crazy Raccoon barked. Arturo glanced at the man’s hands as they ran. The thick leather of his duelling gloves was cracked, grey and flaking, and the knuckles of both gloves had worn away, showing similarly grey skin underneath.
“Doesn’t matter,” Yizel replied. “The villagers are in there too. We can’t leave them to her.” The entire right side of Yizel’s face had been drained and broken by the touch of the ash warriors. Arturo suspected it would never recover, even if they survived today.
Through the gaping wound in the wall of the church, they could see the Shepherdess standing in front of three young men, all with machetes pointed at her. Arturo could spot a body slumped against the right hand wall, a trail of blood running down the stones above it, its chest weeping red. Beside the dead man, another cowered, crying, looking in terror at the creature from the Wilds.
The Shepherdess’ cloak continued to float, but some of the points of the cloak had somehow hardened into sharp points, four of them. Two of these points lanced at the villagers in front of the Shepherdess. One, miraculously, was batted aside by the villager that was being attacked, but the other found its mark. The man screamed as he died, and the cloak gave a flick, picking the body up and hurling it against the wall, where it slumped down beside the first body, leaving another line of red in its wake.
The Shepherdess, her back to the Bravadori and the Shaven, continued to sob, but this time a voice could be heard through the tears. It reminded Arturo of all the times in his life when he had felt true terror - when he had faced and fought those two bandits back at Janitzio, the Cadejo in the dark
of the Wilds, the nail against his palm at Procopio’s estate. “Where is she?” the Shepherdess hummed, her voice shaking the walls of the building, addressing nobody in particular. “Where is my Mistress? I can feel her presence.” The venom in the creature’s voice made the Shepherdess’ animosity towards the Mistress of the Wilds clear.
Arturo’s heart sank. He turned to his companions. “The villagers have a shrine to the Mistress of the Wilds - the Shepherdess must be here for it.”
“Why does she want it?” Yizel asked. “She’s the Mistress’ creature. They should be happy the village are secretly worshipping her.”
“Who cares,” Crazy Raccoon said, smiling for the first time since Arturo had seen him unmasked at Procopio’s estate. “If that’s all she wants, give her the half-masked shrine and we can clear off.”
Arturo shook his head. “No,” he said, “that’s the problem. The shrine is hidden in the church cellar.”
“That’s where the villagers are hiding,” Yizel said, piecing the disaster together. “She’ll tear them all apart before she reaches that shrine.”
The three of them turned their heads to see the Shepherdess walk up to the statue of Queen Isabella that overlooked the church altar, looking the stone face in the eyes briefly, and then pulling it down with her cloak blades.
“Ah,” Crazy Raccoon said. “Can’t imagine she’s the sort to stand around while we fetch it for her.”
“We’ll lose everyone,” Arturo said, frustrated. He could see the remaining young village men creeping around the church walls, their weapons dropped, terror on their faces.
Of course they should run, he thought, realising the men were trying to get to the exit. Nobody has ever been able to stand against her. Not even the Bravadori in the legends.
But they would try. They don’t exist - maybe they had never existed, Silent Sparrow, Roaming Iguana - but if they were here now, facing this creature, knowing that she was about to take countless innocent lives like a scythe through stalks of corn… Well, the true Bravadori would fucking well try to save their lives.
Arturo bent down, picked up part of the brickwork that had once held the door to the wall, and threw it at the back of the Shepherdess’ head. Crazy Raccoon and Yizel saw him doing it, had plenty of time to stop him if they had wished to do so. They did not.
Upon impact, the Shepherdess’ sobs paused briefly. She cocked her head, then turned on the spot to face them. It was the first time Arturo had had the chance to properly see her face. Like the stories said, it was not quite there, like a badly moulded clay doll, a rough bump where her nose should be, shallow black pits for eyes, a rigid, white skull grin, like the one Procopio had worn.
Those details gave Arturo hope. If the stories got those correct, then someone had faced her before and survived to tell others what her face looked like.
The Shepherdess raised her black blades, and advanced. Arturo focussed his Knack, for the second time today feeling amber sparks jumping from his eyes as he studied how the creature held her weapons.
“Anything?” Yizel asked him. She must have realised what Arturo was doing. “Any patterns in her movement? Can you give us anything to work with?”
Head splitting, Arturo bit his lip, holding his ground as the sobbing demon advanced. With each sob from the Shepherdess, Arturo’s reality rippled. He saw Red Curtain advancing alongside her, the other Paws that had helped to beat Arturo walking closely behind. Another sob, and those figures disappeared, replaced by Preening Owl and the mob of Whispering Mice that had jeered the name Starving Pup after him as he had fled from them.
Each sob was like a hammer to Arturo’s brain. As the visions of the Mice disappeared, he felt something inside burst, and blood began to trickle from both of his nostrils.
He shook his head. The Shepherdess was like nothing he had ever seen before. He was used to studying the form of swordfighters, and she was no swordfighter. This was more like watching a spider working her way down her web towards three fleas. Three idiotic fleas, too brave to run from her.
“I need to see her move,” Arturo said, struggling, eyes locked on the crying abomination. “Can’t tell what she will do if I don’t know how she moves. Both of you, take her on either side, but keep your distance - be ready to move back when she strikes. Don’t go for the kill, yet. Let me see what she does.”
Nodding at each other, Crazy Raccoon and Yizel advanced on either side of the Shepherdess. If he was not so focussed on reading his enemy, Arturo would have been amazed at how the two of them followed his instructions without debate. He would also have been amazed at how his two companions, who both clearly hated each other, worked well as a team. He was dimly aware of their Knacks reaching out for each other, entwining, ensuring that their positions on the battlefield supported each other, Crazy Raccoon just as strong as Yizel now he had abandoned his blade and chosen to fight with his fists. All the while, the Shepherdess continued to advance, her gaze locked on Arturo, the insect that had dared to throw a brick at her.
It was Crazy Raccoon who made a move first, striding threateningly towards the Shepherdess. Despite his recent revelations about the man, Arturo could not help but marvel at the bravery it must have taken to do that. Despite the fact that she was not looking directly at Crazy Raccoon, the Shepherdess reacted instantly to the nearby threat, the pitch of her crying raising slightly, making Arturo’s head ache. Her black cloak pulled back all four of its blades, then thrust them straight at Crazy Raccoon. Thankfully, the Bravador had listened to Arturo’s advice, and was ready to scramble back from the attack.
What Arturo - and the Shepherdess - had not anticipated was Yizel taking the opportunity to strike at the demon when her back was turned. The Shaven dared to only get close enough for her rapier to catch a small section of the Shepherdess’ cloak, but Arturo was surprised to see the shred of fabric quickly turn into ash once separated from the Shepherdess’ body, just like the ash warriors in the cottages outside.
So, she can be hurt.
This information, important as it was, almost came at a high cost. To get close enough to make the cut, Yizel put herself well into striking range of the Shepherdess. This would have been fine if the demon had the same reaction times as a normal human, but the Shepherdess was much quicker. Clearly hurt by Yizel’s attack, she reared back, moving impossibly fast, all four points of her black needles aimed at Yizel.
“No!” Arturo shouted, as the Shepherdess lanced forward.
Amber sparks danced from Yizel’s eyes, this time. However, instead of using her increased speed and reflexes for further swordplay, Yizel disengaged, rolling to the side, coming to rest close to one of the village men cowering at the church walls.
And then time slowed to almost a standstill for Arturo. His Knack, still sparking, still fighting against the warping power of the Shepherdess’ presence, seemed to unlock reality at that moment. He could see the strengths of his companions, capable of so much more than him in the art of combat. He could see the Shepherdess, her unnatural talents far surpassing what mere mortals were capable of, but her knowledge of the art of combat was restricted, just like the shade of Procopio that Arturo had fought earlier.
But right now, more than anything else, Arturo’s Knack was showing him the young men creeping around the walls of the church, edging to safety. He was seeing the patterns of the story they would tell when they survived the ordeal. The legend it would become.
Like something impossible, something precious he had lost and now found, Arturo saw his future movements, saw himself stepping forward, pointing his rapier towards the demon in front of him. He could almost swear that blade was glowing. On either side of him stood people he had never seen before, but their faces were instantly familiar. Roaming Iguana. Vengeful Badger. Silent Sparrow. El Elephante. The Bravadori of legend, gesturing towards the Shepherdess, inviting Arturo to step forward. The cowering village men would see him move towards his enemy, his sacrifice against an impossible foe would be the tale th
ey would tell, and his name would be eternal. He would exist forever as a Hungry Wolf, the man who faced the Black Shepherdess, the title of Starving Pup a distant memory.
An unnerving grin broke on Arturo’s face as time sped up again, and he took a step forward. He held his sword aloft. It was not glowing yet, but he could feel himself shaking with excitement. He was going to achieve what he had dreamed about for so long. His father, brother and mother would hear what he had done. Generations into the future, young men would overhear stories about him and his deeds today, and his story would inspire their dreams.
He took another step closer to the Shepherdess. She was moving between Yizel and Crazy Raccoon now, shifting her focus from one to the other, moving more like an animal than a person, reacting to whatever she perceived as the most immediate danger. She was not looking at Arturo. This was his moment to sell himself for his story.
The Shepherdess sobbed again, and reality rippled. As his spark faded, Arturo caught a glimpse of something else. Hiding behind the faces of the legendary Bravadori beckoning him forward, Arturo saw another future. He saw Crazy Raccoon putting himself into a defenceless position, offering himself up as an easy kill for the monster he was battling. He saw Yizel taking advantage of the distraction, leaping through the air, her rapier finding the Shepherdess’ head, severing it from its body. Arturo saw - for the first time - the Shepherdess die. He saw the villagers able to walk free again. And he saw the young men, terrified at the edges of the current conflict, begin to tell stories. Stories about Crazy Raccoon and Yizel. Arturo did not feature in these tales. Perhaps a brief mention in passing, but his name would not be remembered. The shadow of anonymity loomed large behind this version of Arturo, as if it was something he would never escape.
Those Brave, Foolish Souls from the City of Swords: A standalone Yarnsworld novel Page 30
