A tree to my right shivers and creaks. Dried roots snap and the earth regurgitates something black and long.
One spindly leg like a spider’s that ends in a heavy, sharp knob, shoots out from between the tree roots. The tree falls back and the ground collapses as three more legs reach out and dart into the ground. The creature pries itself from its burrow and launches out. I take a step back and draw my bow. My arrow follows the trail of its long, undulating body, and up its poised, curved tail that hangs over its own head from behind. It splits into two sharp pincers that arc out toward me, snapping at me.
It spears its tail at me, and I dive to my left, tumbling in the sooty soil. As I plummet into the soil, the dirt poofs into a thick cloud of black dust, coating me in a second skin of dirt.
I shift onto my knees and shoot an arrow straight for one of its innumerable yellow eyes. It moves with surprising speed and dodges. It’s smarter than it looks. Raising itself to its full height on its stilt-like legs, it screeches with a bubbling, clicking voice.
Its underside is one long slit; a mouth, with thousands of dagger-like teeth. A seam torn wide open. It could swallow me whole.
I shoot an arrow into its belly and it screeches…. But it doesn’t die.
It’s mottled, hairy body quivers and every fiber of hair oozes a slick reddish slime that rains down on the soil. The earth sizzles where it lands.
It drops back down onto its front spidery legs, hiding its hungry underbelly.
I dance backward, tripping and nearly landing on my bow. I’ve never tried to kill something… and failed! I ready another arrow. “You’re one ugly, Gods-forsaken fucker aren’t you?” Panic grips my chest. Mrithyn’s power has never been futile against any of my opponents. The Death Spirit is completely silent, and I’m starting to feel like my God has forsaken me.
It can’t be. Mrithyn will never leave me. He promised.
The monster’s jaw extends into another set of arced pincers, which it snaps at me, showing off rows and rows of jagged teeth in its sputtering mouth. As if it needed more.
I consider using magic, but every move the beast makes sends shivers running up the tree trunks and my bones, alike. My hands shake and I want to say it’s from the adrenaline, but it’s not. For the first time ever, I might be out of my depth.
The beast lurches towards me. I jump back and don’t stop. I keep moving to the edge of the haze. I’d hate to see this thing ruin the orchard, but I don’t know if I can fight it alone and Darius can’t fight it here. I shoot my next arrow and strike its skull. It bounces off.
Bounces right off its head!
“Oh, come on.” I skip reaching for another arrow and take off running for the orchard. I make a mental note. Only its belly seems vulnerable. It won’t show me its mouths unless it’s sure it can eat me— I jump over a patch of rotten ground. The damned thing spits acid at me.
“Fuck you too!” I shout over my shoulder. My voice has never sounded so brittle before.
It’s following me. I run all the way back to the orchard, hoping to lure it there.
Darius is at the ready, his blade bouncing a ray of sun which glares in my eye. He keeps a steady gaze at the monster that follows. I run up to him shouting, “Arrows bounce off its top! Weak underneath, lots of teeth! It spits. Don’t touch it.”
“Use magic!” He shouts and runs straight for it as I skid to a halt where he’d been standing.
Ugh. Fine.
I whirl around just as the monster comes barreling into the serene orchard, charging down the row of apple trees. With every step of its twelve legs, the green grass melts and the soil turns black. It shakes its body like a wet wolf as the fresh air hits it, and its bristles stand up. Toxic goo flies off its body as it shudders.
The unfortunate trees that catch the acid rain wither like fragile little roses. Their branches snap, the apples tumble to the ground, rotting and melting with the soil. The monster screeches again.
It pauses, appraising Darius as he roars and lunges for it.
It swings its head, deflecting his sword with its pincers and nearly disarming him as it knocks Darius back. He stumbles but regains his footing.
I bring my hands to my chest and allow that overly familiar warmth to boil inside and spill out of my pores.
Fire sparks into the palms of my hands and I throw bursts of fire at it. When my fireballs make contact, it flinches and clicks back in a nasty tone. The monster lashes out its legs one at a time, taking jabs at Darius.
Darius returns the gesture with his blade, dancing around at a still-dangerous distance and letting his sword reach out for him. I continue throwing fireballs at it, trying to follow their mad dance down the orchard aisles. I’m getting drained quickly.
Trees topple over, roots snapping. Darius swats away an attack, slicing open the creature’s leg. It rasps and hisses, shuffling back from him. He roars when he lunges, and the hoarseness of his voice tells me how raw his throat is from the bout of coughing. I notice the air getting visibly thicker. It’s already corrupting the environment. The air will soon be too dangerous for Darius to breathe.
“Darius, move!”
Fire erupts in the palms of my hands and runs up my arms to my shoulders, coating my skin in blue flames. I raise my hands from my sides and gather the flames to my chest before extending my arms and propelling the fire in a burst of light toward the monster. Blue and white flames shoot from my palms and scorch everything in their path. I hear the monster cry out and know I’ve hit my mark.
Fire magic has always come easiest to me, naturally as thinking the flames into existence. Ivaia tried schooling me in other branches of Mage skills, but I’ve stuck with the Elemental Magic I’ve known since childhood. Her mind houses an arsenal of spells I never dared attempt. I don’t prefer to use magic but it proves useful.
I recharge, bringing my hands back to my chest. The monster rears up again, exposing its belly as three long tongues loll out of the seam of teeth. Darius rolls back into its path and thrusts his blade into its stomach. I hear one less heartbeat and it screeches in pain and fury.
“Now!” The monster darts its tail at him, and he jumps away, crashing to the ground and losing his blade from the impact.
I run closer and allow the flames to move with the wind up my arms. Again, I throw all my magic fire at the beast, and watch the outline of its massive form; following its movements as it tries to escape. Darius catches my eye in my periphery. He’s shielding his eyes, watching the monster burn with a laugh playing at his mouth.
The only thing I didn’t see coming was the monster boiling. Its skin melts the way the earth did. Yellow eyes flicker open and closed, orbs dimming in its wide, burly head. Its screeches are silenced, and every poisonous hair and inch of skin has been charred. The stench of its reeking burnt body and boiled toxin fill the air with smoke. Darius breathes heavily as we approach the sizzling carcass.
“Stay back,” I hold my hand out across his chest. He bends down and picks up his sword, pushing past me without breaking eye contact.
“I need to find the nearest pint of ale as soon as possible,” He says, coughing into his elbow before pounding his fist against his chest.
“I need to find the nearest blank page and well of ink as soon as possible.” I poke at it with a fallen branch.
“Want to write me a love poem?”
“Fuck poetry. I want to write about monsters,” I say. “Glorious ugly bastard. I want to write down everything. This was the first time in my life that I shot an arrow and my target didn’t die. Two arrows. Hit and nothing. My first real combat challenge.” I stand and start laughing, watching it sizzle. “I don’t know how or why my Death Spirit was ineffective against this monster— maybe this just proves my point that I am a monster. Even playing field. Can you even believe this thing lived in our world?” I laugh at it.
“It’s a wonder we’ve seen nothing like it, living in the woods.”
“I wonder why it’s here. According to th
e books I’ve read, monsters live on the other side of the mountains. In Illyn.”
“According to my books,” He says in a mocking, scholarly tone, “The creature can be found in its natural habitat—”
I smack his arm and his laugh breaks down into a cough.
“I’d love to know why your lungs gave out and mine didn’t.” I look back at it.
“Maybe you should keep reading monster books and find out.”
I look at him and smile. I plan to read all the monster books now. The sun breaks through the clouds just as a rainstorm starts. We stand there, panting. Him from the chokehold of the noxious air. Me, from the adrenaline of bringing down something so marvelous. The rain sizzles on the monster’s corpse.
I glance around the orchard.
“No one got hurt. That’s good.” Something on the ground catches my eye. “Look!”
The grass is back. The fog in the air lifts and the trees go back to normal.
“What on Enithura’s good green earth just happened?” Darius looks around too. We make eye contact before running back to the monster’s burrow. The air is clear, the soil is plush and moist. The trees are intact, save the one the monster burrowed under, and autumn leaves wisp around the roots where they’ve fallen.
“Who’s in there?” I turn and see Darius readying his blade as he approaches the house. Only, it has transformed into a beautiful cabin. There are wind chimes adorning it, and the steps climb to a brown door. The wicker rocking chairs out front are back in order. Candles burn inside.
“We are harmless!” A woman’s voice lilts through the open window. The door squeaks open and four elves in intricately draped robes that still barely cover their bodies step out into the revived glade.
“Who are you? What’s going on here?” Darius orders them to stand in a line by gesturing with his sword.
“That’s an awful long sword you’ve got there, handsome,” The dainty one with a upturned nose and giant blue eyes pipes up. Her wavy blond hair is woven into a bun with decorative sticks jutting out of it.
“And he’s not afraid to use it.” I draw my scythe. She gives me a daring smile.
“My name is Famon,” the only male states. He’s bald and his long ears stretch high above his oval head. His eyes are a deep shade of auburn brown that glow red when the sun hits them. “These are my companions.” He gestures to the three females beside him before folding his hands in front of his bare chest. His leather vest covers only his collar bone, shoulders, and sides. A big cut-out leaves his chest and chiseled abs on display.
“Emisandre,” the blond one says as she steps forward and runs her fingers along Darius’ blade. He lowers it and she leans on his shoulder. She twirls her finger through a curl and plucks out a hair.
“Ouch!” He grabs her hand. She holds up the strand and giggles. “I want to make you something.”
“Careful, little witch,” I spin my scythe and bare my teeth at her.
“This is Iantharys,” He gestures to the female on his left. “And this is Diomora,” he takes the hand of the female on his right.
“We are the Alchemists of Trethermor Glade.”
“Alchemists. Others call you the Apostates. Why?” I ask.
“Because we have abandoned our duties to the palace. After Queen Herrona died, we left.”
I look from face to face.
“I see. I am Keres and this is Darius.”
“We are indebted to you, Keres and Darius. We would like to each give you a token of our thanks.”
“For what?” I ask, keeping Emisandre in my peripheral vision as I lock eyes with Iantharys. She’s stunning. The most beautiful of the four. Her hair is ash brown, pin straight, and reaches to her waist. A thick braid sits on either of her shoulders. Her cat-like eyes are as close a shade of green to my own, but her skin is olive-toned. Freckles dance around on her cheeks, across her chest, and down her arms, following the loose strap of her dress. I love freckles. I was always jealous of Katrielle’s.
“For slaying the Gnorrer,” Diomora says. She’s also lovely and her features are bolder. Her eyes are like gold, her skin is like the earth, and her short black hair makes a halo of innumerable tight curls around her head. Her body is lean and slender, but her cheeks are full and so are her lips. Darius seems to find her most appealing.
“That’s what it’s called?” He smiles at her sheepishly. Emisandre follows his gaze to her companion, Diomora, and smirks at me.
“What was it?” I ask. “The Gnorrer, I mean.”
“Few know enough about the creature. We know its birthplace is Illyn, the mother-earth of Monsters. It prefers wooded lands well irrigated by lakes and rivers. Its legs make effective tools for burrowing and tunneling. It uproots trees, preferring to steal the water from their roots as it gnaws its way through the soil. It’s saliva and secretions are toxic, and both emulsify natural matter as it digs, while also absorbing nutrients from the territory it occupies.”
“Is that why everything was rotten?”
“Nothing rotted,” Famon gestures to the wholly unravaged glade.
“We saw it.”
“Its toxin pollutes the air. The atmosphere above the underground burrow turns sour for the mind. It causes many people to hallucinate. Above ground, its secretions are weakened by the air and turned to fumes that cloud thoughts. As you can see, the only damage done to the glade and the orchard where you slew it was from the physical barrage of its gnashing teeth, its powerful legs, and your fire.”
“Is it a magical monster?”
“It may be. That remains a mystery.”
“But it is dead?” Diomora asks.
“Burnt to a crisp.”
“Good!” Famon sneers.
“Everybody thought you were dead. When we arrived, your home appeared to be in ruins. Is that why no one knew where you were?” Darius asks.
“Yes, it would be why.” Diomora says.
“Were you trapped?” I ask.
“We were terrified. The Gnorrer didn’t bother us when we remained inside. Whenever we opened the door, it resurfaced. Thank the Gods you came when you did, we have just run out of water.”
“We came for its bones,” I say. “I’m glad we could help you in the process.”
“Now, let us help you.” Iantharys steps forward. She approaches me, smiling as she presses a smooth stone into my hands. “It is called Krovos by our people. It is the bloodstone.”
“Bloodstone?” I ask, flashing her a reassuring smile. Of course, I get the bloodstone.
“A gift from the Hallow-Mother of all, Enithura. It represents all life, rebirth of the spirit, and physical health. It will channel nurturing, healing energy and shroud you with the All-Mother’s protection to ward off any evil that would threaten your growth. I’ve carried it all my life. Now, you will.”
“Nice,” the Death Spirit hums. “Best of both worlds.”
“Wow,” I turn it over in my hand. The dark stone fits right in my palm and has blood-red and orange accents that swirl through it. “Thank you, Iantharys. I will treasure it always. You don’t know how meaningful this is to me.”
She beams, every freckle in her face lighting up like the stars of a constellation. She bows to me.
“Horro root,” Diomora reaches into the pouch Famon is holding open and pulls out a small jar filled with what looks like pine-needles. She approaches Darius.
“Do you smoke?” She asks, her voice thickened by an exotic accent.
“Occasionally.” Darius rubs the back of his neck. Diomora smiles and soft lines ripple at the edges of her eyes. I watch her glide his way until they’re inches apart. She’s almost as tall as him. “Put this in your pipe before a battle, warrior. It will heighten awareness of your surroundings and enhance your agility.”
“That’s fantastic!” Darius holds the little jar up in his massive hand and smiles. Sunlight bounces off the cloudy glass and glimmers across his coal eyes, lighting them on fire as he smiles back at her. “Thank
you.”
“Oh!” Emisandre’s smile falls off her face. She looks from me to Darius. “She will give you words.”
Darius and I exchange glances.
“You will be her tongue.” She approaches Darius without the same flirtatious swagger. Her steps are heavy and fast.
“What do you See, Emisandre?” Famon steps forward.
“A master of snakes will try to silence you.” She walks around Darius in a circle and the clouds eat up the sun. A chill runs down my spine.
“You will need a stronger voice than your oppressors.” She rounds to face him. “You will need this.” She removes one of the accessory sticks from her hair and wraps the strand she plucked from Darius’ head around it before handing it to him. It looks like nothing more than a red wooden stick, but the strand of hair starts to burn. A gold line etches into the stick where the hair was.
Darius looks at us both before taking it from her.
As it leaves her hand the stick grows. Darius steps back, holding it away from himself as it lengthens into a rod.
“Emisandre, are you sure you want to give—”
“He will need it.” Her peculiar voice silences Famon’s.
Darius is now holding a scarlet ornate staff bearing an etched golden snake which winds around it.
“Pophis will show them who you are,” She says.
“Pophis,” He repeats. “Thank you, Emi, but what do I do with it?”
She laughs. “You will know.” She bows her head and I count the many more magical sticks she’s got sticking out of her hair. Six. All different colors. As she raises her head once more, she gives him a sensuous smile.
“Your woman will not like this.” She snatches his face in her hands. “But then again, she’s not your woman.” Emisandre kisses Darius.
I tighten my hand on my scythe and move for them, but before I can make her stop, she’s already back at Famon’s side.
“How dare—”
“My apologies,” Emisandre tilts her head at me and raises a sheer yellow hood above her bun. The sticks in her hair poke against the fabric like a row of tiny horns. “I had to strengthen his tongue.”
The Sunderlands Page 27
