From Radbod's gaping mouth, a crimson thread swirled upward before disintegrating. The wraith had been banished to its home in the Scorched Lands, leaving Radbod's crumpled corpse beneath the shadow of the great elm tree.
"How did you do that? Are you a mage?" Alfric found himself staring at the tree. Before it had come to life and killed Radbod, Gos had invoked Sif as he held something in his hand. Alfric turned away from Radbod's corpse. Although he'd never liked the man, he preferred not to see it.
"With this." Gos held up his silver locket. "It's a runic device. And no, I'm not a mage. Mages are called by the Guardians; others have to work to obtain their powers. I am Devoted."
"Does this have anything to do with your illness?"
"Best we speak as we travel," Gos said. He bound through the forest.
They ran southwest toward Urd, at a pace too fast for conversation. Gos stopped for a breather. Although Alfric could have easily continued, he relished the break so that he could ask Gos more questions. His nose had begun to bleed again, and he squeezed the bridge to stem the blood flow.
"The sickness," Alfric said. "What is it?"
"I once touched Sif's carcaern orb. I thought if I touched her, she would call me as her own. The Talented, they do not work for their gifts, not as us Devoted do. Instead, I received this illness. The guards at Sif's altar found me unconscious where Sif had struck me down for my hubris, and they imprisoned me to await execution. Even though I had been a scholar in Lamworth, the king could not appeal my case. "
"How did you escape?"
"When I was thrown into my cell, they failed to remove my locket. Using Sif's power, I called upon the ancient trees beneath Manafell. Their roots sprang from the earth, causing my stone cell to crumble. Their branches preserved me and carried me to freedom."
"Sif can control plants?" Alfric knew so little about the other Guardians outside of Aernheim. There was always a secrecy borne of reverence about their gifts. Even his lessons in Enlil's Temple had covered little more than their names and what regions they were located in.
"Sif's power lies within the trees and their offspring."
Curiosity made Alfric sigh with wonder. "There is so much I don't know."
A smile formed on Gos's face. "And that is the first step toward true knowledge. Eosor's magic is with beasts. Aern, the heavenly powers. Wostre, with shadows and slights of hand, and Tyge, with the earthen elements. Enlil, the greatest of them, Madrem, the deity of dragonkind, and the One Who Is Lost. Eight Guardians, but I served only Sif."
"How did you end up a farmer?" It seemed like such a waste for someone who could wield the power of a Guardian.
"Once freed from my imprisonment, I fled to Aernheim. I bartered a man into selling me his farm. I've been living out my days there since. The sickness slowly worsened. I have heard many stories about folk who touched carcaern orbs. None of them have survived for as long as I have. I believe Sif protected me from the worst of it. Though I was foolish to touch her orb, she must have known the purity of my intentions. When I began to till the farm, I foreswore magic, not replenishing my locket with Devotion. I came to see acts made in sacrifice to Sif to be good for their own ends, not that I might gain something from them. I thought perhaps this might make her more likely to welcome me to her Plaza in the next realm.
"So I suffered my illness in relative quietness. Before the wraiths came, I was practically blind. The wraith that shares my body has given me the gift of sight again, even if it came at the cost of my conscience. But you have made me truly see, Alfric. Your courage to abstain from the hunger. Your determination to not taste the blood of your fellow man. I wish to help you go to Lamworth and find means of stopping the wraiths. Forever."
Alfric wasn't sure what to say. He'd assumed Gos held many secrets, but it was a lot to learn so quickly.
Gos tossed the locket aside.
"We might need that," Alfric said. "The others will come after us." He reached down and took it. It felt warm in his hand, and he caught the faintest tremor before it cooled and stilled.
"It's of no use. Without the empowerment of Devotion, it's now a mere trinket."
Alfric understood nothing of magic, but he'd just watched Gos call the power of a Guardian with that trinket. Surely it could still be useful? Alfric slipped the locket into his bag next to the book. "It seems like such an easy thing to use a Guardian's power if all that's required is Devotion."
"Devotion is not easy. Great acts must be accomplished in the Guardian's name. A few prayers here and there would not suffice." Gos seemed to grow frustrated with the subject, and said, "We've tarried too long. We must arrive in Urd with time to activate the pylon. How's your nose?"
"It'll be fine." Alfric let go of it. It didn't bleed anymore, but he had no sense of smell. That would make him less able to sense the others, should they be near. He would have to rely on sight and hearing, which were nothing compared to the nose the wraith had gifted him with.
Gos and Alfric continued southwest, traveling as fast as they could. Soon, they bounded across the countryside on their hands and feet, more like wild dogs than humans. Their palms and soles had grown hard, able to withstand the constant force of hitting the ground. Mud kicked up as they tore through the open fields. People saw them, but they moved too fast for any of them to get a decent look.
They stopped at a small stream running off the Edin River. Alfric waded into it and washed the mud from his fur. When he got out, he shook himself dry, feeling ever more the beast.
"They probably thought we were rabids," Alfric said. He had found the run exhilarating, despite his apprehension about what he was becoming. "I haven't seen any rabids for some time."
"They've likely been drawn by the beacon. The rabids cannot ignore its call during the day as we can, so they would have reached it sooner."
Alfric caught sight of a caravan crash further down the road. They'd avoided roads for most of the afternoon, but someone could have been hurt.
Ignoring Gos's cautions, he went to look.
A caravan was tipped over, and its wheels were torn from its axles. Half-submerged in mud were bloodied carcasses, chewed and tossed aside. Even in the wetness, flies buzzed around the corpses. This was Bradir and Radbod's kill. Perhaps the same folks they'd stolen the book from.
Alfric's gaze lingered on one corpse, smaller than the others. Blonde curls fell over a pale face, but they couldn't hide those lifeless eyes. The little girl's intestines were torn out like straw from a ragdoll. Discarded belongings—whatever Radbod and Bradir had decided useless—lay scattered about the road.
The sound of clopping hooves drew his attention. He followed the sound to a stream. A horse drank from the water. It still wore a harness on its back. The water’s lapping and the horse’s steady breathing were a serenity that defied the carnage only a few paces away.
They could have eaten the damned horse. Why did they have to kill those people? Why did they have to kill the girl? Sure, a horse wouldn't have satisfied the bloodlust in the same manner, but at least these people could have survived.
As soon as the horse noticed Alfric's presence, it bolted.
Gos came behind him. "Are you ready to travel again?" He wore a cloak around his neck. Trousers, torn midway on his thighs, covered his nakedness. He gave Alfric a similar cloak and trousers.
The trousers fit snugly. Alfric wasn't sure why they wore any clothes at all—if anyone saw them, even in these cloaks and trousers, they'd clearly be identified as something other than human. Still, it felt better not to be naked anymore.
"How far is Urd?" Alfric said, cinching the cloak around his neck. It was designed to clip around a man's shoulders, but his were far too broad. Even around his neck, it felt a little tight.
"It'd take a horse close to two hours," Gos said. "Probably take us four. We'll have to take the road. Traveling through the fields takes too long. Doesn't look like many people use the roads now. Likely everyone's heard about the wraiths by now. Th
at village we went through last night would have been the last to deny it. Everyone else is probably boarded up inside their homes."
"And what of those hunters? You think they're still around?"
"Don't see why they wouldn't be. Let's just hope we don't run into them."
Alfric and Gos were back on their hands and knees, galloping along the road.
10
Fryda
Fryda sat in a small clearing, her back against a tree, her hands bound tightly behind her back and around the tree trunk. Even her feet were restrained by thick ropes. Her captors certainly didn't want her to itch her nose, let alone escape.
She'd awoken only minutes ago, disoriented until she remembered what had happened at Gillian's cottage. Gillian's heart had been torn out by that monster. At least he was dead now, skewered by the spear Fryda had thrown. A small comfort that wouldn't bring Gillian back from the dead. Her death had been so gruesome that Fryda found herself unable to react in any other way except anger.
That anger intensified as voices came from behind her. She shuffled around the tree, the bonds rubbing her skin painfully.
The barbarians who'd caught her were talking among themselves. The skinwalkers in Indham, rabid and mindless, were more monstrous, whereas the wraiths in these men had turned them into horrific combinations of human and bear. They looked more like the descriptions of beastmen in childhood stories than the skinwalkers she'd seen.
She realized that one of the skinwalkers differed from the ones she'd seen the day before. The orange-haired one was there, but the other was smaller and sinewy, and he hunched his back. Filthy hair clumped over his body while patches of hairlessness revealed bright pink skin. He looked like an overgrown rat
Neither of them had noticed that their captive had woken. Fryda intended to keep it that way.
She pushed her back against the tree trunk and slowly edged to her feet. The hard bark scraped against her forearms, tearing holes in her tunic's sleeves. By the time she was standing, a slick film of sweat had coated her forehead.
She went to work rubbing the ropes against the coarse bark. Soon, the bonds frayed, and she freed herself, though her wrists stung from the cuts.
"What's this? She's awake." The ratty beastman smiled at her, his overly large mouth a terrifying rictus. He looked at her bleeding wrists and licked his lips.
Fryda wasted no time in running. With her feet bound, she shuffled mere inches as she tried to get away. Her feet hit a stone, and she toppled. She put her hands forward to stop her fall, and they bent backward painfully beneath her weight. Her face met sharp gravel.
The two beastmen chuckled. Neither made a move to stop her as she recovered and began to crawl.
"See, I told you she's got some fight," the orange-haired beastman said. "She will make a fine host."
Host? That word sent shivers rippling down Fryda's body. Were they going to leave her out at night so that she became a skinwalker? Or would she become like one of her captors, caught between the change of monster and human?
Though she knew she couldn't get away, she couldn't stop herself from wriggling along the gravel like a worm. The tiny stones bit into her flesh, and blood seeped from a dozen shallow cuts. All the while, the beastmen didn't try to stop her; they simply laughed while she went about her desperate attempt to escape.
"Go and fetch her, Velmit, before she does herself some real harm. She needs to be strong if she's to survive the turn." Although Fryda couldn't see him, the man who had just spoken was the orange-haired beastman. His tone had carried a tinge of something like compassion. It was him she would have to appeal to for her life.
Strong hands grabbed her by the wrists and hauled her to her feet. The ratty beastman, Velmit, tied her hands with ropes. He brushed the hair from her face with large hands, fingers ending with claws. She gasped when she realized he wasn't wearing anything to hide his manhood. He smiled and winked a golden eye, as though noticing what she'd seen.
She spat in the beastman's face and snarled at him.
He wiped his face with a furry arm. "You are right, Bradir. She does have some fight in her." A long tongue flashed across his lips, making her shudder.
"You need to learn not to doubt."
"What is it that you want?" Fryda said to Bradir.
"A good time is all," Velmit answered from beside her. The smile that pulled at his cheeks made it clear what this beastman intended to do. She could try to escape again. A feeble attempt at fighting might make her more trouble than she was worth. She'd rather die than have their hands upon her. But what would happen to Alfric? Living, even if it meant enduring whatever was about to come, might mean finding him.
She wasn't beneath begging, but these men had killed Gillian. Fryda had only met the woman a few weeks ago, and yet she felt like she'd known her all her life. She was a motherly sort who would do whatever it took to protect her people. In many ways, she was like Mother Edoma.
No, Fryda wouldn't beg. She would find a way to kill both these beastmen. Gillian deserved justice. But that justice wouldn't come if Fryda was left outside at night to become a skinwalker.
She turned to Bradir. "What do you want?" she repeated, hoping Bradir might not wish for her to become a plaything as Velmit clearly intended.
"Nothing so vile as Velmit. Our pack lost a member yesterday. You killed him. Normally, I would avenge his death, but soon the pack will lose another. One too old and ill to pull his weight. We need someone to join us. Someone like you would make a great addition."
"I'll do it," Fryda said.
"So quick to answer. Don't you wish to give it some thought?"
"What is there to think about? It's either that or die."
Bradir smiled and lifted his head, a maniacal laugh booming from his throat. "I knew you were special."
Fryda forced a smile. She certainly wasn't going to join the pack. But going along with things would grant her time to think of an escape. From the way Velmit appraised her, he clearly knew her intentions. So be it. She just had to kill him first.
The thought made Fryda pause. Killing the skinwalkers in the spire must have desensitized her. But these beastmen weren't really humans either, were they?
"What are you? I saw the wraith leave . . ." She searched for words capable of describing the beastman she'd killed. She didn't know whether calling them beastmen would make them angry. Neither did she think naming them skinwalkers was appropriate. She decided to use the term Bradir had used. "A wraith left the other pack member's corpse. When people are possessed by wraiths, they become skinwalkers. Except they're monstrous and cannot control themselves. But you're different. You look like . . ."
"Beasts?" Bradir said with a smile. "We are skinwalkers, that's for sure. Except we have been granted a special gift. During the night, we are much like the other skinwalkers you describe—monsters who cannot control themselves. But when daylight comes, we are granted our bodies back. Although, the wraiths have changed us into something so much more than human."
Less than human, Fryda thought. She wouldn't allow them to make her into one of them. She just had to figure a way to prevent that from happening.
She made a point of putting her back to Velmit and raised her bound wrists to Bradir. She infused every ounce of sincerity into her expression. "I wish to become more than human. You can untie me."
"I'll do no such thing," Bradir said. The stench of wet animal overwhelmed her. His rough hands touched the wards on her face, and they beamed with light, blinding her. When her vision returned, she saw Bradir's gaping eyes, golden and flecked with brown.
"Protection wards," Bradir whispered. "I suspected so. But you're no mage. You can't be. You wouldn't have been captured so easily. I've heard Indham has used such wards. It's become a bastion against the wraiths. But why do you have them?" He cocked his head, as though studying her face might provide the answer.
"If you free me, I'll answer your questions. I cannot speak when—"
"Silence," Br
adir said, raising a finger. The cold look in his eyes forced Fryda to obey. He lifted his snout and breathed in. His eyes narrowed as he stared into the distance. "Betrayal. Golden Boy has decided to flee the pack." He sniffed again. "They're close. I can smell another's blood on their hands. It seems they've also done away with Radbod. A pity. The pack grows fewer by the day. We are tested as we make our way to the beacon, to see whether we are worthy. Only the righteous shall survive to see it." He grinned and bowed his head. Fryda caught pieces of a prayer.
"Are you a holy man?" Maybe she could appeal to his moral senses.
"I serve Eosor. He has brought the wraiths to us, to cleanse our sins. Some he has chosen for their vessels. Those who bear the marks of righteousness can control the wraiths during the day. He calls us with his beacon to become an army to cleanse not only Aernheim but all the Godheims."
Velmit scoffed, and Bradir jerked his head toward him. "You think me a fool?"
"No, I—" Velmit stuttered, raising both hands.
"What is it that you find humorous? Is it my faith? Perhaps you wish to test me?"
"No, Bradir, I just . . . I . . ." The hairless patches of Velmit's face paled. "Eosor's favor pleases me to the point of joy."
That sounded like an outright lie to Fryda, but it seemed to satisfy Bradir. He sniffed the air again. "They are traveling southwest, away from the beacon. They wish to disobey our divine summons."
"How do you know it's Golden Boy?" Velmit asked.
"The book I gave him carries a particular scent. I thought it useful to track him, should he choose the wayward path. Remain here, Velmit. I'll fetch Golden Boy and the old man. If I'm not back before sundown, I'm sure the beacon will have us meet once more."
"Aye, but what of the girl?"
Bradir shrugged. "If I'm back in time, then she'll become one of us. If not, she'll be food. It is more important that I bring Golden Boy back into the fold."
"Set me free," Fryda pleaded. "I've done nothing to earn this."
Bradir curtly shook his head. "None of us earn any of the Guardians' gifts. If it is their will, I shall return with a wraith for you. Until then, you will remain bound."
The Dragon Soul (Vagrant Souls Book 2) Page 7
