by J. M. Topp
Before she could get close enough, all of a sudden the tentacle let go. Elymiah began to float up once more. Realising she was free of the monstrous grip, she started to swim fiercely to the surface. She could see the faint rays of light piercing the waters. She saw a piece of wood floating on the surface and kicked with all her might toward it. She pierced through the surface, and her lungs ached as they expanded with air, but then a tentacle wrapped itself around her leg.
Once more, she was being pulled into the deep. She felt the pressure change in her head, and her ears began to sting. The kraken was toying with her. She was going to drown before she had a chance to kill the damn thing. Again, the tentacle released its grip. Elymiah looked up to the surface and began to push her arms against the sea. Her lungs began to burn and beg for respite. Just as she reached the surface, she could sense the tentacle, but this time she was ready. Elymiah put the point of the dagger to her hand and sliced once more, then pointed the knife at the sea creature. But nothing happened. She could see the tentacle rising, however, and she stabbed at the soft inside of the appendage. The knife pierced the black skin, and gooey black blood spurted from the tentacle. The beast roared from the deep, causing Elymiah to freeze, but not for long.
She pierced the surface of the waters and choked on the air bursting into her lungs. Water sprang from her open mouth, and she nearly passed out. Tiny dark circles appeared in her vision, but she shook her head, slamming her fist to her chest. She gasped again, this time successfully breathing in air. There was still a kraken to deal with. Before she could move, however, two tentacles wrapped themselves around her legs. This time they squeezed hard. Elymiah screamed as they pressed her legs, causing intense pain to shoot throughout her body. The kraken was not done playing with her. It raised her into the sky little by little. She dangled upside down and glanced at the frothing waters. A dozen circular rows of teeth seemed to beckon for her flesh. The kraken threw her into the air. Elymiah turned and pointed the knife toward the waters but didn’t know where the beast was precisely. If she missed, she was dead for sure. The kraken grabbed Elymiah from the fall and, splashing into the water beside the giant creature, she descended into the deep faster than before. Her breath escaped her instantly, but she was far from dead. She jabbed the tentacles, drawing blood. The kraken let go with a deep scream. Elymiah began to swim toward the surface.
This time the kraken did not wait. Instead, it went for her right arm. She gasped as the tentacle wrapped itself around her hand and wrist and pulled her down, face-first into the abyssal sea. The kraken had begun to dive. Elymiah jabbed the knife into the tentacle, but this time its scales were on the outside, protecting it from the sharp edge of the blade. Elymiah drove the knife into the armoured limb over and over again, but it was useless. Its chitinous scales were too thick.
The pitch-black shadow of the kraken’s body became bigger and bigger. Elymiah realised that the knife was only useful if it came into contact with blood. The murky waters were complicating things. The farther she was pulled into the deep, the harder it would be to rise again.
There was nothing left to do.
She jabbed the knife into her forearm. Searing pain shot through her arm, and dark red blood trailed past her as the beast pulled her deeper, dragging her into a watery tomb, leaving no other choice. Elymiah gritted her teeth and drove the blade into her skin and bone. Over and over again, she cleaved into her arm. She rolled her eyes to the back of her head in pain, clenching her teeth as she sliced sinew and bone. Finally, she pulled with all her might and her arm, which was crushed beneath the armoured tentacle’s grip, cracked loose from the rest of her body. Now freed from the kraken’s grasp, she looked up to the surface and closed her eyes. A feeling she had only felt once before, in Yorveth, came over her. Elymiah felt her body shoot through the waves, and she sprang from the salty waters.
She opened her eyes and turned in midair. As if time itself had been slowed, she saw the kraken directly behind her, rushing up from the waves, its open jaws frothing the waters as if they were boiling. Rows and rows of teeth encircling each other opened up to catch Elymiah as she fell.
But Elymiah wasn’t dead yet.
She pointed the bloodruned blade at the beast.
She screamed. The rune on the blade flashed red, and then it sped like an arrow from her hand. The knife impaled the beast, sending a shock wave through the waters. The kraken hurled a piercing scream, causing blood to spill from Elymiah’s ears.
The knife, still glowing red, vibrated and sped through the body of the giant sea beast, drowning the kraken’s screams in a pool of purple blood. Elymiah fell into the water beside the kraken with a splash. She sank below the waves but rose through them slowly, gasping for air. She coughed and raised her amputated arm to her face. It was still bleeding profusely. Elymiah grabbed her wet cloak and wrapped her bloodied arm in it. The salt water stung her wound. Her head began to feel faint, and she could do nothing else but feel her body go limp. All she could see as her eyes closed were the rays of cold yellow light piercing the bitter grey clouds.
Under Cover Of Dark
THE WOMAN’S CHIN was dripping tears, and her eyes were begging Eymeg and Tiebalt, anxious for help. Blood trailed down from where Gosfridus was sticking the point of the knife into her throat. Gosfridus’s hand was shaking, and his lips trembled. ‘I said stay back,’ he said, pulling the woman close to the fireplace. Tiebalt closed the door behind them as he unlaced the wrapping from his mouth and bared his teeth. He let the head of the kouffyngtooth fall in between them.
‘You see this?’ growled Tiebalt. ‘What hope do you have of getting out of here alive?’
‘You killed holiest Father Sabathiel,’ hissed Gosfridus through his teeth. ‘You will pay!’
Eymeg twisted his neck and looked down at his chest. It was an unfortunate time to hold someone hostage. He dropped his bow and undid the clasp on the leather belt and quiver around his chest. The kouffyngtooth hadn’t sliced all the way through the leather belt, much to Eymeg’s relief, but it would have to be replaced after a while. He unlaced the cloak from his back and let it fall to the ground in a heap. He undid his belt and let it fall over his cloak.
‘Wh—what are you doing?’ asked Gosfridus, with a confused look on his face. The boy pressed the knife closer against the woman’s flesh. She squealed as Gosfridus began to tremble.
Eymeg shrugged and chuckled as he slipped his shirt off his shoulders and glanced at the woman. The bleeding from her neck would have to be stopped before too long, or she might bleed out.
‘I am known within the Veledred as the Eye of the Crow,’ said Eymeg. ‘I could pick this bow up, notch an arrow, and let it fly to give you a new haircut if I wanted to. Best of it all, I wouldn’t draw a drop of blood. What do you think would happen if I wanted to?’
‘You are all evil fiends!’ spat Gosfridus. ‘Daemon-spawn!’
‘Oh, heavens, I am mortally offended,’ said Eymeg mockingly, tearing off a piece of his shirt and wiping blood and moisture from the wounds on his chest. He squinted. ‘Now, let the woman go.’
‘I will cut her,’ said Gosfridus, breathing heavily.
‘Like we give a shit,’ said Tiebalt, folding his arms over his chest.
The woman’s expression changed from pure fear to pure anger. ‘You bastards.’
‘That’s right. We’re bastards,’ said Eymeg, holding the cloth to his chest and inching closer. ‘No morals. No values. We’re rats that scurry along the mire and muddied cisterns of backwater villages. But not you, isn’t that right, Gosfridus? Though you probably grew up in that shithole of a town called Duren, you are a stand-up man of Oredmere. A true saint and follower. You would not take an innocent life, not ever.’
Eymeg knew he had struck a chord. Gosfridus began to let the knife loose from the woman’s neck, but only a little. Eymeg had to convince him just a little more.
‘Whatever would be said of Gosfridus, fellow saint and defender of the poor and n
eedy? What could be said of him when he killed a woman in the middle of nowhere?’
With a defeated look, Gosfridus took the knife from the woman’s neck and dropped it onto the floor. The woman fell to the ground, sobbing.
Eymeg snarled. ‘Clever boy. I am surprised you managed to follow us this far and without a horse. How did you get here so fast? That was nearly two days of hard riding you had to endure.’
‘Oredmere guides my path,’ said the boy, dropping the bloodied but dull knife onto the wooden floor. ‘But I rode upon one of Rollo’s ponies.’
Tiebalt glanced at the boy and began to laugh. ‘I guess he is a horse thief now.’
‘Pony thief,’ Gosfridus said, glaring.
Eymeg motioned to the woman. ‘Oredmere’s path, huh? This innocent woman wouldn’t agree with your kind of piety.’
Gosfridus glanced at the woman and then sighed, regret adorning his face.
‘Pardon, my lady, I…I didn’t intend to harm you.’
‘I am bleeding,’ said the woman, touching her neck and looking at the blood on her hand.
‘No, that blood…it’s from my hand. I fell off my horse on my way here. The creature got spooked and ran off,’ said the boy, turning his hand and showing a red cut on his palm.
‘Leave now,’ said Eymeg, opening the door of the cabin. ‘I don’t want to see your face ever again, but if I do, I will certainly kill you.’
Gosfridus gave Eymeg a sour look. ‘In the name of our most holy Oredmere, I curse you, Eymeg Farnesse. May all the pleasures and joys you treasure turn to ash in your mouth. May you never know true happiness again. May all your nightmares come to fruition, and with them the realisation that you are a piece of filth. I proclaim your death, cursed one. I pronounce it in the days of times not yet come to pass. You will hang. You will die. You will rot.’
Eymeg looked down at his boots and then back up at Gosfridus. ‘Get out.’
Gosfridus grit his teeth and rushed out of the cabin and into the darkness. Eymeg slammed the door behind him. ‘What a cunt,’ he said with a snort.
‘I want you to leave too,’ snapped the woman, holding her hand to her neck.
Tiebalt shook his finger and chuckled.
Eymeg stood in front of the woman and then knelt before her. ‘I don’t think so. We fulfilled our end of the bargain and even went so far as to kill the daemon responsible for such a horrid act that claimed your husband. You owe us some stew.’
‘I lied!’ cried the woman. ‘Let me ask you, have you seen any cows or chickens in your travels around here? You bumbling idiots. Everything on this land has died or gone rotten. Where was I going to get the meat for stew from?’
Eymeg stared at her for a moment and then began to chuckle. ‘You sure had us fooled. Well, I suppose we’ll have to find another way for you to pay us.’ He motioned between his legs. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve had a good suck.’
‘Eymeg,’ warned Tiebalt.
The woman’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. She swallowed hard and blinked rapidly. ‘I...I have a jar of beans and half a sack of rice.’
‘No meat?’ asked Tiebalt disappointedly.
‘I already told you.’
‘It’ll have to do,’ said Eymeg with a sigh. ‘Get cooking.’
The woman glared at him but stood up and walked to a hole in the ground and began to pull pieces of wood from it. Finally she grabbed a burlap sack with several small bags of rice and an old black pot. Tiebalt returned with a pack carrying their belongings. He pulled a belt from the pack and looked at Eymeg. ‘Let’s get this shit over with,’ said Tiebalt, showing his sharpened teeth.
After setting Tiebalt’s arm, Eymeg wrapped it tightly with their remaining bandages. They would have to purchase new ones before too long. Then Tiebalt thoroughly cleaned Eymeg’s wounds and applied an ointment designed to attack any infectious agent that threatened to fester in the wounds. The tar-like smell of the black goo was strong enough to compete with the smells of cooking in the cabin. After Tiebalt was finished, Eymeg allowed himself to relax, with his back resting on the cabin wall. The chimney fire had finally warmed the cabin enough, so he didn’t shiver. Eymeg stared at the woman, who was still covered in mud and stealing angry glances at him.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
The woman turned to him with a glare. ‘The food is almost ready if you want to know.’
‘Look, I was only playing…about…you know,’ said Eymeg, motioning in between his legs. ‘Do you know what we are?’
‘Hunters? Bandits? What difference does it make? I know you’re not knights.’
‘What difference? A big one. We are Veledred. Hunters of daemons,’ said Tiebalt with a stern look. He turned to Eymeg, who was shaking his head.
The woman curled her nose. ‘What, is that supposed to impress me?’
‘Well…a little, yeah,’ said Eymeg, a look of hurt spreading across his face.
‘I wonder how many women you get in between your legs with showing off your title,’ said the woman. ‘You men are all pigs.’
‘Well, you’re not wrong about that, sweetheart, but then all women are whores,’ said Eymeg, sitting up and squinting from the pain in his chest.
‘’Meg, leave the poor woman alone,’ said Tiebalt, standing in between the both of them. ‘She’s been through a hell worse than any of us could imagine.’
‘But she—’
‘Stop,’ said Tiebalt, pulling a pouch from his belt and handing it to the woman. ‘My name is Tiebalt Isynmerys, and these are spices from Alder Isle. Turmeric, vlasovic, and pepper. It will add flavour to the soup.’
‘Why are you giving our spices away?’ protested Eymeg, but one angry glance from Tiebalt made him throw his hands up in the air in defeat.
‘Are you some sort of daemon?’ asked the woman as she took the spices from Tiebalt with caution.
‘No, my dear. I am just a creature of old. One long before the time of man.’ Tiebalt knelt beside her. ‘I want to make something clear to you. We wouldn’t have let that boy harm you. We knew he was pious and would never really do that to you. We just had to call his bluff, that’s all.’
‘You knew he was bluffing?’ asked the woman.
‘We would have killed him rather easily had he posed any real threat to you,’ Tiebalt assured her. He picked up the knife and showed the edge of the blade to the woman. ‘See? It’s only a butter knife.’
The woman gasped and slowly took the butter knife from Tiebalt’s grey hand. ‘I suppose I should thank you for three things then.’
‘No need,’ said Tiebalt, sitting in a heap beside the woman. ‘But that soup there is smelling good. Better put the spices in.’
The woman nodded and began stirring the pot.
‘Jolien Harwig is my name,’ she said, again curling her nose at Eymeg.
Eymeg rolled his eyes.
‘The rude one’s name is Eymeg Farnesse,’ said Tiebalt, pointing at him.
Jolien took in a deep breath and then looked at Tiebalt. ‘Can I go with you when you leave this place?’
Eymeg shook his head. ‘No, you cannot—’
‘Yes,’ interrupted Tiebalt.
‘What?’ Eymeg’s eyes darted to Tiebalt’s, but the grey shuck ignored him.
‘It’s the least we could do, but our road will be harsh. We are searching for someone,’ said Tiebalt.
Jolien poured the contents of the black pot into three bowls. She handed one to Tiebalt and then Eymeg. She picked up her bowl and dipped a wooden spoon into the soup and began to slurp the contents. Eymeg hadn’t realised how hungry he was. Bits of rice were clumped together, floating in the creamy soup. Eymeg slurped loudly. Jolien watched him eat for a moment and then set her bowl down, clearing her throat. ‘Who are you searching for?’
‘My daughter,’ said Eymeg, looking up at her. ‘You haven’t seen a little girl running around here, have you?’
‘No,’ said Jolien. ‘You are the first I have seen si
nce I returned from Flodden.’
‘What were you doing in Flodden?’ asked Eymeg.
‘Searching for a healer for my husband.’
‘And?’
‘I was robbed of all coin and…’ She paused as if remembering something she had desperately tried to forget. Again, she cleared her throat. ‘I had no choice but to come back. When I returned, my children had been murdered, by my husband no doubt, and then I found this.’ She went to a corner of the house and dug through a pile of broken wood. She pulled out a worn book.
‘I’ve kept a journal since I was a child. My father was intent on teaching me to read and write,’ she said with a fond smile, but the smile faded into a look of sorrow. ‘When I returned, someone had written on it. Someone buried my sweet children and left a coin, but what was I to do with it? Here, perhaps it will persuade you to allow my passage with you.’
Eymeg glanced at Tiebalt. ‘How much?’
Tiebalt sighed audibly and squeezed the flesh in between his eyes. ‘Eymeg, for fuck’s sake, you behave like a common bandit.’ The grey shuck turned to Jolien. ‘Keep the coin. You will need it in Aivaterra. We will leave on the morrow, once the sun is up.’ He glanced at the pot of hot soup. ‘You had better eat, Jolien, and try to sleep.’
‘I’m not hungry. I want to say goodbye to my children.’ Jolien stood up and walked out of the house. Eymeg stared at her as she went and squinted his eyes.
Once the door was closed, Tiebalt glared at Eymeg. ‘I forgot how rude you could be. Eye of the Crow, indeed. Didn’t your friends used to call you that to make fun of you?’
‘I was merely pointing something out,’ said Eymeg in a huff. ‘And don’t blame me. The boy bought every single word I uttered. I saved her life.’
‘I guess I overestimated the threat of a butter knife.’ Tiebalt shook his head and began to slurp the soup up with his grey tongue. ‘You’re a fool, ’Meg.’
THE SUN ROSE red in the morning sky, poking its rays in through the window, waking Eymeg from his troubled slumber. Tiebalt was already up and preparing the horses outside the house. He’d left the door ajar, much to Eymeg’s annoyance. The warmth had all but escaped the small cabin. Jolien lay fast asleep on an empty sack in the opposite corner from Eymeg.
