I mean I couldn’t even remember the last time someone mentioned the Myrmidon people. Not in this century anyway. Unless it was for a history of paranormal society. The Myrmidon people were extinct. They had been completely wiped out centuries ago. One man and one war led to the extinction of an entire paranormal species.
There was one story still passed down where every child among the paranormals learned of the dangers of lacking control. And that was of Achilles. The Myrmidon warrior led his fellow warriors into the chaos of war and nearly destroyed the heart of the civilized paranormal world with their reckless pursuit of fleeting glory. Achilles and the Myrmidons tipped the scales for the Trojan War in addition to Odysseus’ cunning tricks. Of course, Odysseus was rumored to share a bloodline with the Myrmidons as well as being a descendent of Hermes, which was perhaps why he felt compelled to fetch Achilles and bring him to fight at Troy.
The behavior of Achilles at Troy and the warriors he brought with him was so chaotic that the Fall of Troy led to a purge. Aimed at the Myrmidons because every other paranormal species rallied together to eradicate them for fear of another Achilles. That was one thing all the history books actually agreed on regarding the Trojan War and its aftermath. No one wanted to see another in the likeness of Achilles where madness combined with petulance to form a deadly fury no one could withstand.
As I stacked the dishes, I tried to ignore the ridiculous claim. It was too impossible to believe. Yet, every time I almost convinced myself Mathias had said it only to stop me from asking, the question came back to why any sane paranormal would claim to be a Myrmidon. No one wanted to be a Myrmidon. And, Mathias had never struck me as the type of man who would say just anything no matter how much he wanted a conversation to end.
After more debating and more attempts to make the cottage a little more livable by dusting and scrubbing the table, I was stuck with the same questions. Mathias hadn’t returned from wherever he had run off to, and I didn’t want to venture out into the cold again. He had seemed more aware of himself and his surroundings when he left this time, so the urgency to make sure he didn’t do anything foolish was no longer as strong.
Eventually, I caved and pulled the compendium out of Mathias’ bag. As I flipped through the pages to the rare and extinct section, I once again turned to the number scale. 9s and 10s were listed as the most dangerous paranormals, but 10s were confirmed to be eliminated after Hannibal of Carthage ravaged the Roman world and nearly conquered Rome herself. I pursed my lips. Whoever made the entry had not consulted with a Spotter before writing it. I flipped back to find the entry on Myrmidons. It was even less helpful than the entry about Spotters. A lot of focus on Achilles and not a lot about the species as a whole other than the fact Myrmidons were feared warriors who courted madness. Again, the chronicler had written in bold letters that the Myrmidons were extinct even though there was a note that Alexander the Great, another 10, had inherited some Myrmidon blood despite being Macedonian and a descendant of Heracles in addition to being born long after the end of the Myrmidons. Perhaps that was why his military cunning and ambition was nearly unparalleled. Myrmidons were supposed to be extinct . . . and so were the 10s. Yet, Mathias existed with a golden 10 always blazing above his head.
I closed the book as a thought occurred to me. It was possible that he wasn’t lying or delusional. But that meant accepting that somehow both 10s and Myrmidons survived the purges. Drumming my fingers against the book’s cover, I couldn’t help the wry thought that perhaps the paranormals should have worked harder to protect Spotters before we were struck by a purge too . . . if they truly wanted to be safe from the fiercest high numbers. It was enough to make one question why we hadn’t learned anything from our past. Now, however, I needed to try to find Mathias before he froze out there.
* * *
Mathias
I stormed away from the cottage, breath coming in harsh bursts. The only noise was that of the thin layer of snow and ice crunching beneath my feet and my own panting breaths. What had I been thinking? I had survived my entire adult life without being hunted down like a rabid monster by keeping my true heritage a secret. Most of the people I had known and worked with at Weard assumed I was a berserker or one of the Unseelie Fae. I had never gone out of my way to correct them. If anything, I encouraged the misperception because it was better and safer than allowing my true heritage to be known.
There had only been two men at Weard who knew the truth and that was because they knew me before I was recruited into Weard. One of them was dead and the other . . . Might as well have died too. The fewer people who knew the truth, the better. I knew this, I had lived with that knowledge all my life. Yet the moment Lauren suggested I was one of the berserkers, it had suddenly been so important for her to know the truth.
I scrubbed a bare hand over my face as I stopped in the shadow of one of the tumbled cairns. Why had I done that? Myrmidons were so hated and feared that the mere possession of the knowledge I was one could potentially endanger Lauren. I hung my head, a groan escaping me, as I recalled anew the surge of need for Lauren to not think I was one of the undisciplined and untrustworthy berserkers. The way she had been looking at me with fear and concern that I was going to act against her, but cared too much to leave me alone had pierced my determination to keep her from knowing the truth of my heritage. All I had wanted was to assure her that she didn’t need to worry that I was a berserker or going through drug withdrawal. But when she pleaded for me to tell her the truth and promised her only concern was her desire to help me, I had slipped. And then, when I told her . . .
She hadn’t believed me. I could see it in her eyes. The disbelief, the shock, and I had not been able to bring myself to wait for those emotions to change to hate and disgust. Just the thought of seeing that change in the way she looked at me was . . . unbearable. So, I had abandoned the cottage to avoid the final rejection.
Another groan escaped me as I moved away from the cairn venturing into the glen. Lauren had broken my resolve in many ways and now I turned coward because I didn’t want her rejection. Like some lovestruck boy who would rather walk an extra mile out of his way to avoid his crush while she walked to school with her current boyfriend. Pathetic.
It would be a good thing for Lauren to reject me for my heritage. The words had a hollow taste to them even without speaking them out loud, but I refused to give in to the urge to go back and try to explain to Lauren that I was not . . . That I was better . . . Explain how I was not another Achilles, petulant and unpredictable, acting as a spoilt child moving from one whim to another. And that she was far more to me than a mere travelling companion. That as a Myrmidon, giving my vow of protection carried a far deeper meaning than she probably suspected. The vow that still burned through me with the pull to go back to her and resolve everything.
I had turned back to the village before I caught myself. No. I needed to stay out here and clear my head. Everything in me was burning with a desire for Lauren or freezing with a cold fury waiting to be used once again. I needed to make smart decisions and going back to Lauren without a clear plan for getting her out of here would be beyond foolish.
There was a cackle in the distance. Instinct drove me to approach fast and low crouching down as I made my way toward the sound. I stopped, dropping to one knee behind the toppled stones that had once been another cairn, and peered around the stones. A scraggly looking figure was bouncing around in the distance cackling and spinning in circles. It wasn’t much taller than Lauren but definitely skinnier, almost skeletal. I bit back a curse as I caught a glimpse of rough greyish-green skin, exaggerated chin and nose, and a dark-colored cap. A redcap. If the cowardly scavenger of a goblin was this far north, it must be tagging after one of the more powerful paranormals. The question was which one.
The redcap continued to bounce around, cackling, but it didn’t notice me. And, it wouldn’t. I was a Myrmidon, and I was uninjured. The goblin suddenly shrieked and pointed off into the distance before running
as though hellhounds now snapped at its heels. I stayed still, watching and listening for any sign of its current benefactor, but nothing emerged. Perhaps the redcap was going to rejoin whatever predator it was shadowing . . . the excitement seemed to indicate prey found.
I considered going after the redcap and tracking it to the true danger, then I dismissed the idea. The only reason to hunt them would be to protect Lauren, and she was safe behind the glamours and protections laid around the village. They should be strong enough to keep her presence hidden as long as she remained away from the border. My certainty faltered slightly, however, and I headed back toward the cottage. I just needed to make sure Lauren was safe and I would bed down in one of the outlying buildings.
“Mathias!”
Lauren’s voice carried to me, but it was fainter than it should have been. “Lauren!” I shouted as I quickened my pace.
There was no response.
I ran faster, worry whipping up the cold and causing it to freeze through my veins. Upon reaching the cottage, I dashed inside. Lauren was nowhere to be found. No. I raced back outside. She was injured and on crutches. Surely she couldn’t have gotten far.
“Lauren!” I shouted. The wind had already obscured her trail making things a little more difficult. I cupped my hands over my mouth and shouted again, “Lauren! Where are you?”
The memory of the redcap burned in my brain. Lauren was a small woman and she was injured, the perfect target for a redcap. She had no idea where the protection boundary lay between the ruins. I went back inside the cottage only long enough to grab a torch. Shining the light on the ground, I scanned the snow covered grass for any hint of Lauren’s passage. A little circle and the edge of a shoeprint led me to run northwest, bypassing the stable. I followed Lauren’s trail until it crossed the boundary.
“Mathias! Mathias, where are you?”
Relief penetrated my icy haze as I realized she was still okay. Her voice was faint though. My steps slowed a little as I gathered breath to shout an answer.
“Lauren, over here!”
Cold fury rippled through me. That was my voice, but I wasn’t the one calling out. One of the Fuath was hunting Lauren and luring her by mimicking my voice. The malevolent water spirits were akin to the kelpies but they were less water bound, enabling them to hunt for victims farther out from their haunts. This one must have come up out of a loch or a river . . . and it was most likely what the redcap had followed out here.
The Fuath mimicked my call again, moving toward the northern end of the glen. I ran faster, no longer following Lauren’s trail but tracking the Fuath itself. I needed to kill it before it could touch her.
Finally, I caught a glimpse of bright green crouched among the lichen covered ruins of what had been a storehouse. My steps slowed as I approached from behind. This particular Fuath was a little less than six feet in height with shaggy dull yellow hair and clad in a bright green robe. Its focus was on Lauren who was hobbling closer to the ruins, a determined look etched on her face.
The Fuath placed one webbed hand on the remnants of the stone wall and the spiked end of its tail flitted out from beneath the edge of its robe as it prepared to attack. I ran forward on silent feet, but my attack was interrupted by a screeching shadow. The redcap landed on my shoulder knocking me slightly off balance as it scratched at my face and neck. I reached up and dragged the pest off, throwing it away from me. It hopped up on one of the taller sections of the wall and cackled, waving its blood red cap. I followed its gaze . . . the Fuath was no longer poised to strike. Lauren.
Cold seeped through me, lending speed and strength to my movements, as I vaulted over the ruined wall. The Fuath had already reached Lauren, its webbed hands were latched around her neck as she gasped for breath and struggled to stay upright. She wasn’t able to kick at it but she still had one of her crutches in hand, which she swung at the Fuath’s head. The blow glanced off the Fuath’s shoulder, instead, then Lauren’s face changed and her grip on the crutch faltered.
The Fuath opened its mouth, revealing dark serrated teeth, as it continued strangling Lauren. Ice flooded my awareness as I reached them and tackled the Fuath, ripping its hands from around her throat. I sprang back to my feet before the Fuath could take advantage of my proximity to give a poisoned bite. The Fuath scrambled up and its spiked tail whipped toward me snagging in the top of my boot and knocking me on my back. It came in close, aiming for the kill, and I waited until it was leaning over me before I struck. The Fuath’s piercing shriek sounded like nails on a chalkboard as it reeled away clutching at its shoulder where the dagger had sunk hilt deep.
I got to my feet as the Fuath collapsed. The cold steel of my dagger turned it fatal despite the fact I hadn’t pierced the heart. I yanked the dagger out of the Fuath and wiped the blade clean on its robe, staining the bright green fabric with oily black blood. Sheathing the blade as I hurried back to Lauren, I spied the redcap leaping down from the ruins. It started to approach Lauren who was lying completely still on the ground, but stopped as soon as it noticed me.
The redcap hissed and cursed, but didn’t retreat when I drew my dagger once more. I bared my teeth at the goblin and offered the creature a cold promise, “Approach her and die.”
The redcap hissed again and rattled off a curse on my parents. Not that it would affect them since they were long dead. I flipped my dagger into a better throwing position and the goblin turned tail and ran. Coward.
I watched the redcap vanish and then sheathed my dagger once more. Dropping into a crouch beside Lauren, I held my hand over her nose and mouth. I didn’t relax until I felt her breath warm my palm. Thank God, the Fuath had not bitten her. My fingers traced over her cheek and then along her jaw to examine her throat. I didn’t feel any cuts, but pulled the torch out of my coat pocket to be sure.
A fresh wave of cold fury swept over me as I took in the bruising already darkening her skin. If it had been in my power, I would have revived the Fuath only to kill it again. “Lauren.” I looked around knowing the redcap might be compelled to linger if I didn’t get her back inside the boundary. My gaze dropped to her still features once more, and I brushed her hair back from her face. “Lauren, you need to wake up.”
She still didn’t respond. Only her breathing assured me that she wasn’t going to fade. If the Fuath had managed to bite or scratch her, she would have succumbed to the poison by now. Unwilling to wait any longer outside the protection of the glamours, I scooped Lauren into my arms and started back to the cottage.
As I walked, I struggled to ignore the sense of rightness that settled over me with Lauren in my arms. The pull toward her strengthened forcing back the cold detachment and fury. She had risked injury, hypothermia, and getting lost . . . She had made her way to a Fuath because she was trying to find me. Lauren gave a low moan, and I realized I was crushing her against my chest. I loosened my grip and whispered, “That was a foolish thing to do, Lauren.”
“Mathias?”
Lauren was squinting up at me and her voice was a rough whisper, but it soothed me nonetheless. My own throat tightened and I found myself unable to respond save for a curt nod. By the time I reached the cottage, Lauren was shivering terribly. I set her down in front of the fireplace and tossed more wood onto the fire feeding the greedy flames. Then, I turned my attention back to her. “Take your coat off.”
“No,” came the hoarse refusal. She frowned at me. “What happened?”
“You almost got yourself killed because you crossed the boundary,” I stated, hearing the chill seeping into my calm and precise words. The image of Lauren in the Fuath’s clutches flashed before me again. I clenched my jaw and turned away from her as I found the tea kettle. The water was boiling and only needed tea leaves. I busied myself with the tea as I added, “You shouldn’t have gone out there. I told you to stay in the cottage.”
“Actually you didn’t say anything. As usual.”
I looked over my shoulder to find her glaring at me. “I told you t
oo much as it was, but you should have the common sense to stay inside where you will be safe.” I poured her a mug of tea and handed it to her. “Drink this before you lose your voice entirely. And, stop trying to talk.”
The look she gave me would have killed if she had been a different paranormal. There was silence as she drank her tea, and I lingered only long enough to assure myself she was moving without pain or stiffness. Then, I headed for the door. My steps slowed, however, when she broke the silence, “I see you’re running away again.”
I turned back to find her watching me, disapproval in her dark eyes. I frowned at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are running away, again,” she repeated.
A harsh laugh escaped me as I stepped toward her. “I am not running.”
“Looks like a duck . . .”
I glared at her. “Why are you doing this, Lauren? Are you being foolish because you’re a Spotter or because you’re female?”
Lauren sucked in her breath. “Get off your high horse, Mathias! Don’t make this about me when everything that has happened since we left Edinburgh has happened because you decided to stop talking to me. Instead, I’m given the choice to go with you to wherever by however means that you don’t bother to discuss with me or strike out on my own knowing your current frame of mind is ripe for stupid ideas about going after Weard’s hunters for no reason.”
“If I went after them, it was to protect you,” I countered coolly.
Lauren laughed, but there was no pleasure in it. She tugged her shawl down and ran her fingers through her hair, sending pins tumbling, then shook her head. “I don’t know why I’m here, Mathias. I truly don’t. You are being completely unreasonable, and I don’t understand why. You just stopped talking about the plan and made all these changes by yourself like I’m just some sort of baggage you have to handle and move around until you decide you’re done. Then you disappear, leaving me alone for hours or days, without ever offering an explanation of why we’re doing this or why we’re going to go here instead of there. Which is what you did when we were still in the States. We talked, we made plans together. But for the last two weeks, you’ve been acting like you don’t even know what together means or how to share your plan before you enact it. And, I don’t understand why this changed. Why you changed. Because you believe you’re Myrmidon?”
Rogue Spotter Collection Page 26
