I am sorry, my God. I have failed you. Forgive me.
The memories vanished.
Shuddering, Faith wrapped her arms around herself. She was grateful to be able to take a deep breath at last, though the effort sent shards of pain lancing through her chest. Where were her fellow hunters now? Almost certainly dead. She prayed they were dead. Death in battle was an honorable end, especially when one was fighting in the name of God. While the possibility of being taken prisoner and sacrificed to a faeborn demon-of being devoured by the very creature one was bound by sacred oath to destroy-would be the ultimate religious defilement.
Now that she could remember the battle clearly, she knew where she was. The demon must have wanted to exact vengeance upon her for her final attack, and had ordered its followers to bring her here. Or perhaps it had done so itself. Either way, she was not to be allowed to die in battle, or even as a messy sacrifice on some pagan altar. That kind of death would be over too swiftly.
They had left her alone in the Forest.
All about her were trees… or rather, what might have been called “trees” in a more wholesome setting. These were twisted, sickly structures, covered with a mottled patchwork of parasitic growths, hollowed out by colonies of nacreous insects. High in the canopy overhead, where sunlight reigned, there might be a smattering of normal life, but everything below that reeked of death and disease. And power. The currents of earth-fae here were so corrupt, so malevolent, that they made her skin crawl. Normally she couldn’t detect such things, lacking an adept’s vision, but in this place the power was so concentrated that she could feel it all about her. Its visceral foulness made her want to vomit.
It was said that all the human nightmares of the world were drawn to this place, where they manifested on such a scale that normal faeborn horrors paled by comparison. A single despairing thought could spawn a host of wraiths, each of them hungering to devour its creator. A normal person who was abandoned here would stand no chance at all; his own fear would take on a life of its own within minutes and consume him. Doubtless that was the fate that the demon had intended for Faith: a desperate and painful demise, fleeing the claws and teeth of her own inner fears until finally they ripped her to pieces.
With a trembling hand she drew her sword from its sheath. The blade was dull to her eyes, and crusted with dried blood from her battle, but she knew that to faeborn creatures it glowed with sacred fire. Had her enemy left her this one weapon because it repelled him so much that he could not bring himself to remove it? Or had he just wanted to prolong her death-struggle? One sword might not be enough to hold every nightmare creature in this blighted realm at bay, but maybe it would encourage her to fight for her life, instead of just surrendering to the inevitable. And thus prolong her dying, and his amusement.
But the demon had not known about her special gift.
Kneeling in the thick loam, holding her weapon upright before her, she let her eyes fix upon the symbol etched into its guard. Two interlocked circles. Two worlds, inextricably linked. She had dedicated her life to cleansing this one of the fae’s corrupt influence. And the One God had blessed her with a special gift to make that mission possible. It was not like the gift that sorcerers enjoyed, which allowed them to mold the fae with their minds. Nor was it like the gift of the adepts, to whom all the shadowy powers of this world were clearly visible. No, her gift was rarer than both those things, and in a world where Workings were a part of everyday life, it was a talent few men would envy. Most would call it a curse. But it had allowed her to become a deadly hunter in the One God’s holy cause, and now it might-just might-save her life.
The fae did not respond to her. Ever. That same dread force which brought men’s secret desires to life and could transform one’s fears into demons never manifested her emotions. It did not bring her luck or misfortune, health or sickness, or any of the myriad other types of gifts and curses that it provided for other men. Oh, what a precious and terrible blessing that was, and how the others knights of the Church envied her! Earth’s blessing, they called it. A sign from God that she had been destined to serve Him.
But just how complete was her immunity? Was she really safe from the fae’s ministrations, or had she just never been in a place where the earth-power was potent enough to test her gift to the breaking point?
Grimly she thought: I am about to find out.
Things were starting to stir in the shadows now, just beyond the range of her sight. Foul, unwholesome things, whose mere proximity made her stomach churn. In the distance she could hear strange chittering sounds, which seemed to be coming closer. Deathly pale insects were starting to emerge from burrows in the trees surrounding her, and were crawling along lichenous branches in her direction. She needed to get out of this place, and fast. But how? The southern border of the Forest was probably closer than any other, but which way was south? The dismal light seemed to be coming from all directions at once; she couldn’t even find a clear enough shadow to watch it shift as the sun moved. In time the angle of light through the trees might become clear enough for her to make out which direction was west… but night would fall soon after that, and then it would be too late.
She had to start moving now.
There was a clear grade to the land surrounding her. If she followed it downhill she would eventually reach running water. There was a river that flowed south through the Forest, and if she could find that she could follow it to safety.
It was a slim chance, but it was the only one she had.
Taking up a fallen branch to use as a walking stick-shaking off the various foul insects that were clinging to it-the huntress of the One God muttered a prayer under her breath and began to move through the Forest. Promising herself that if she had to die in this foul place, at least she would go down fighting.
The currents of power surrounding the Forest were so strong that by the time Tarrant was within a mile of its border he could feel them pulling at his flesh, threatening to drag him into the whirlpool. Rarely was the earth-power so aggressive, so compelling. Overhead Erna’s largest moon glowed a brilliant white, nearly full in its aspect. But such a display paled in comparison to what that the earth itself was emanating: a cold blue light that rippled across the landscape, lending everything within sight an eerie illumination.
Since the day of his birth Tarrant had been gifted with the ability to see the fae directly, without need for any spell or amulet to aid him. But even he had never seen anything like this. Even the color of the earth-fae seemed different here, streaked with violet, as if streams of dark fae had gotten caught up in it somehow. Was that possible? Could the two powers mingle like that? He longed to gather up enough of it to craft a proper Knowing, to determine the answer to that question. But it was too soon for that. First he needed to learn what lay at the heart of this maelstrom, and then he would know how to harness its power properly. And safely.
This region had been normal once, he knew. Its currents of power had always been strong, but they’d been neutral in tenor, no more dark or dangerous than in any other place. The fae was a natural force, after all, and had no more personality of its own than air or water. But unlike air or water, the fae reflected man’s own fears back at him, and apparently the currents here had accumulated enough human nightmares to manifest this deadly whirlpool… which in turn was now drawing even darker energies to it.
Many sorcerers had come here in recent years, Tarrant knew. None of them had ever returned. His own abilities might exceed theirs by a hundredfold, but that would matter little if he made reckless choices.
In the distance the Forest’s arboreal front loomed high and black, the mountain peaks of its northern border rising up like jagged islands from its thick canopy. Wisps of earth-power played about the treetops like rippling veils, reminding him of the sky-born auroras he had once seen in the far north. It was a strangely beautiful display, despite all its ominous overtones. He wondered what the place would look when true night fell, when neither moo
n nor stars would be present to provide illumination. The volatile dark fae would be able to rise above the treetops then, to add its eerie purple substance to the glowing display. What a glorious sight that must be!
Be careful, he warned himself. The Forest’s power is said to be seductive in nature. What better way to entrap an adept than to offer him such glorious visions?
He tried to urge his horse into motion again, but it whinnied anxiously and pawed at the ground in protest, struggling against the Workings he had used to bind it. Even its dull equine brain could sense the true nature of what was in front of them now, and a simple Soothing was not going to be enough to reassure it. Tarrant’s first instinct was to increase the power of his Compelling, and he nearly did so. But such an act would require him to tap into the local currents, or else expend a portion of his own limited resources. Neither move was justified yet.
He dismounted in a fluid gesture, the ends of his surcote rippling down over the flanks of the horse like silken waterfalls, and then, stepping back from the animal, he dispelled the Workings that had bound it to his service. Last to go was the Soothing itself, and as the shackles of unnatural calm fell away from the horse’s brain it reared up in terror, its hooves flailing as if striking out at some unseen assailant. Then it hit the ground running and began to gallop west as fast as its legs would carry it. The scent of fear lingered on the breeze in its wake, piquant and pleasing.
Tarrant watched after it for a few minutes, his delicate nostrils flaring as he savored the sweet perfume of its terror. Then he turned his attention to the Forest once more and began to walk toward the heart of the whirlpool.
She managed to find a stream bed at last, though it was currently empty of water. But she could tell from the pattern of detritus left behind which way water had flowed in the past, and that was good enough. All of the running water in the Forest emptied into the Serpent Straits sooner or later, so even if this path didn’t lead her directly to the river, it might still point to some way out of here.
Or so she told herself as she picked her way along the narrow strip of mud and rocks, wary of the slimy black algae that seemed to be everywhere. In the dim light it sometimes seemed to her that a patch of algae shifted its position as she approached, or that a mushroom-like growth by the side of the stream bed twitched when she passed by. She just shuddered and kept on going. Until the point when something actually reached out and grabbed her by the ankle she was not going to stop.
She had jury-rigged a small torch, binding dry brush with a strip of fabric torn from her tabard, and as the shadows about her began to darken she set fire to it. It gave off a foul smell as it burned, possibly from some unwholesome creature she’d failed to shake off when she had assembled the thing. But at least it enabled her to see where she was going.
To her frustration, the sun provided no sense of direction as it set, its low-angled light unable to pierce the tangled brush in enough quantity to cast meaningful shadows. The gloom in the Forest simply thickened little by little as the place began its slow descent into night, a dense soup of darkness that filled her lungs as she breathed it in, making her feel as if she were suffocating.
As darkness came, so did the faeborn. Whispers of fear flitted in the shadows on all sides of her, shards of human emotion that had survived the deaths of their human creators and taken refuge in this place. Her torch held most of them at bay, but the torch would not last all night. She would not last all night.
Don’t think like that. Just walk.
The pain in her side was blinding now, but there was nothing she could do about it save grit her teeth and keep on going. She hadn’t started coughing up blood yet, which was a good sign, but she didn’t have any illusions about just how bad her condition was. She imagined she could feel bone grating on bone whenever she moved too quickly, and she knew she was lucky that her lung had not been pierced. Thus far she had managed to rise above the worst of the pain, but she feared that if her mental focus wavered for so much as an instant it would all crash down on her like a tidal wave and she might never get up again.
She’d had worse injuries than this, she told herself stubbornly. She’d survived them.
But never in a place like this.
Soon the stream bed began to widen out and a gap appeared in the canopy overhead, a tenuous sign of hope. Now she could see the stars for the first time, and the leading edge of a full moon cast thin blue light down onto the stream bed. The sight of it made a knot rise in her throat, and a whispered prayer crossed her lips without her conscious volition. She knew in her heart that merely seeing a glimpse of the open sky didn’t mean she was going to get out of the Forest alive, but the slender beam of moonlight was as refreshing as a spring rain upon her face, and she turned her head upward to let it wash over her, drawing strength from the utter normalcy of the act.
Suddenly a twig snapped behind her. She turned around quickly, seeking the source of the sound. But it had come from deep within the woods, and neither the thin stream of moonlight nor her makeshift torch had enough power to part those shadows. For a moment she held herself still as a statue, straining her sense of hearing to the utmost. But whatever was out there was silent now. Waiting. Even the normal chitterings and rustlings of the Forest had gone silent; a deathly silence reigned. Perhaps the denizens of this place were afraid of this new threat as well… or perhaps they had already fled the vicinity, leaving her alone to face whatever it was.
And then suddenly she heard another twig snap, this time directly behind her. She whirled about to face her unseen tracker, raising up her sword to the ready. The sudden movement sent spears of red-hot pain stabbing into her side, and she grit her teeth as she struggled to ignore them. But though she searched the shadows beyond the stream bed for any sign of movement, there was nothing to see. Whatever was making those noises was hidden in the inky depths of the Forest, and she was damned if she was going to plunge back into the depths of that foul brush to find it.
Maybe that’s what it wants, she thought suddenly. Maybe it’s trying to tempt me to leave the moonlight behind. The idea made her blood run cold. Only a creature of the dark fae would care about something as inconsequential as moonlight. She stepped directly into a beam of light, wishing she could somehow absorb it into her flesh so that it would remain with her.
When it became clear that whatever was in the woods was not going to show itself, she started walking again. There was simply no other option. She flinched as she heard a rustling on one side of the stream bed, and then on the other, sure signs that more than one creature was now flanking her movements. But there was nothing she could do about it without leaving the relative safety of the stream bed, and she was determined not to do that. So she just kept on moving, her hand gripping her torch so tightly that she could feel the blood pound in her knuckles, pain throbbing in her side with every step.
And then something flashed in the darkness directly ahead or her, reflecting her torchlight back at her in twin crimson sparks.
Eyes.
She could see the bulk of some large four-legged creature standing in front of her, and she thought she could hear it panting: a rasping, tortured sound. Its malevolence swept over her like a foul wind, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Only her faith and sheer stubbornness enabled her to stand her ground, with all the primitive instincts in her brain screaming out for her to flee. Or maybe she simply realized that there was nowhere to flee to.
Suddenly there was a noise behind her. She twisted about partway, not wanting to turn her back on the first creature entirely-but pain shot through her torso at the motion, with such force that it left her gasping for breath. For a moment she could not see anything but black sparks swirling about her. Waving the torch wildly around her to fend off attack from all directions, she reached out for some trees that she remembered being off to her left, a thicket of close-set trunks with a wall of tangled brush between them. It was the best cover she was going to get. She managed to g
et over to them somehow, and she placed her back to the natural barrier as she struggled to get in enough air to think clearly. The strange creatures moved closer, but they did not attack. She could make out their general shapes now, and as her eyes finally came back into focus, and could pick out a few details. They looked somewhat like wolves, though with chests more massive than any wolf God had ever created, and there was an oddness to the proportion of their limbs that made her skin crawl. She could have defended herself from both of them at once if she’d been in sound shape, but in her current condition she wasn’t all that confident. Still, there were only two of them, and if they were afraid of fire, as most animals were-or afraid of the faith that was bound to her sword-she should be able to handle them.
But then another creature moved out into the stream bed, beside the first, and her heart sank.
Another followed.
Despair welled up inside her as she watched more and more of the strange beasts come out of the forest, taking up positions in the open space surrounding her. Soon there were nearly two dozen of them, ranged in a semi-circle just beyond her torchlight. Their eyes glittered with blood-red sparks, and when one of them walked into a beam of moonlight she could see just how unnatural its limbs were. The muscles in its stocky legs appeared more human than bestial, and where paws should have been there were hands instead-or things that had once been hands, before the fae had deformed them.
Were the creatures fleshborn or faeborn? If they were merely animals that the dark fae had misshapen, they would be relatively easy to kill. But if they were true faeborn creatures, birthed by this planet’s malevolent power rather than by living animals, there was no telling what it would take to dispatch them. Some faeborn manifestations took on physical forms so real that they became dependent upon their flesh, and they died like true living creatures if their bodies were destroyed. Others flitted about the night in dreamlike wisps, the nightmare energies of their creation providing the illusion of flesh but not its substance. Against the latter species there was little defense but faith.
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