The leyline pulsed.
Gritting her teeth, Bell snatched up her sword and braced herself for the impact. She held her free palm against the dull edge of the sword and closed her eyes tight as the hammer whistled through the air and hurtled towards her.
Bell retreated into her mind. She had one chance. She had to live so that she could save her brother. She had to see him again. He had done so much for her his whole life, and now she had the chance to give that life back to him. She dared not fail.
She had an idea, and it was a bad idea. But if she had ever learned anything from Ranthos, it was that one can get pretty far by simply wholeheartedly committing oneself to a bad idea.
Ranthos worked for Nosgrim for something like three Winters. Nosgrim. And he killed that buck with what? An antler and a cliff?
All bad ideas, but he had done well enough for them so far.
This was Bell’s bad idea, her venture into the unknown with both feet. She was out in the middle of nowhere alone. She was going to die if this idea didn’t work. And so would Ranthos, who she loved so much.
The hammer met the blade, and Bell’s hand, at the same time. She breathed in a slow breath of the magic stone, feeling it pour into her body like water into a cup. With a deep breath, Bell channeled the magic into her hand and into the hammer with one thought.
Glass.
23
The Standing Stone
The leyline receded.
There was a stinging pain on Bell’s cheek.
Bull’s Hoof stumbled away, clutching his wounded shoulder. Blood dripping over his fingers.
Bell pulled herself to her feet and held her sword up to him. It was bent and broken. She was alive.
She was alive!
Bell touched her cheek and felt blood, and a small piece of debris lodged inside. She winced as she extracted it, a small shard of glass. Bell looked at the ground, and saw it littered with black fragments of natural glass, and the handle of a hammer.
Bell felt a surge of confidence and her jaw dropped. She wanted to scream. Bad idea. Do not scream.
Bull’s Hoof rushed her, but Bell stepped out of the way just in time, thrusting her sword into his back, which wasn’t as armored.
He gasped.
Bell pushed it in as deep as it would go. She heard the tip touch the inside of his breastplate. She let go of the blade suddenly, terrified of what she had done.
Bull’s Hoof fell to his hands and knees, and then to his side. He looked at her, “No…” He whispered, barely audible, “No longer are we…”
Bell pitied him, panting for air. But she couldn’t let him follow her. She stepped carefully around the glass shards with her bare feet and stood over him.
“Dust,” said Bull’s Hoof.
She didn’t feel strong enough to do what she needed to do. She knew she wasn’t.
But there was nothing else that she could do.
Bell closed her eyes and knelt in front of him, and delivered him to Death.
Bell’s stomach felt like it had turned upside down. She had ended his life forever. She ended a person’s life. She could feel the color drain from her face.
She kept her eyes away from him. She wanted to look at the man she killed so badly—she was so curious—she didn’t know why, and it made her sick that she wanted to see something so wretched. But she averted her eyes and turned around. She started down the back of the hill fast as she could, which was rather slow.
It was only a matter of time before the other flockers ran her down and killed her.
Bell reached the bottom and started up another hill. She felt on the verge of collapse. The edges of her vision darkening, and her balance wavering.
She heard shouting and footsteps. Armor clanging against itself. Bone chimes. A scream of pain. Another.
Bell fell to her knees. She could barely keep her eyes open. She was on the edge of consciousness, ready to tip over and drift away at any moment.
Bleating sheep. Shouts.
Bell tried to stand but could hardly move.
“Which way?!” demanded the growing voice of Vhurgus.
Bell heard bones break.
She fell to the ground and rolled on her back in time to see a man in red armor crest the hill. “Vhurgus!” she said weakly.
“Bell!” he shouted, smelling relieved, barreling towards her.
Bell smiled and fell asleep.
Bell had no dreams. She was simply too tired. She woke in the shadow of the standing stone, in the afternoon. The late Summer sun warmed her aching body, and a soft breeze made her wet wounds feel cold. Vhurgus’ heavy hand shook her shoulder. Bell could barely open her eyes to see him.
“Bell,” said Vhurgus softly. His face was badly bruised and his nose looked broken. His armor was in a pile beside them with his sword, and both his arms and his left leg were wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. He may have actually looked scarier this way.
“Vhurgus!” Bell managed as she slowly adjusted to the light, throwing her arms out limply in front of her for a hug.
Vhurgus grinned weakly and indulged her. His huge arms wrapped around her little body.
Bell buried her face in his shoulder, “Vhurgus…”
“Yes, Bell?”
Bell didn’t say a thing, and just breathed in the warmth and the comfort of a person who wanted her safe. Vhurgus was pretty stinky, but the smell of relief and sweet kindness overwhelmed his sweaty odors, and urged Bell’s own scent to match it.
She searched for the words to say. The words to make him know that she was so glad to see him, and how she hated parting ways. She wanted to tell him everything that had happened to her, but could barely bring herself to remember any of it; the thought of the gruesome things she saw twisted her heart.
Bell wanted to tell him something. She wanted to talk to someone. She didn’t know how to tell him what she saw. She didn’t know where the nightmare started or if it had ended at all.
Bell eventually spoke over the mile-high lump in her throat. “I did magic,” she said, lost for anything better.
“I know. You did very well, Bellelar.”
Bell felt her emotions building and swelling inside her. She felt ready to burst. “I’m sorry Vhurgus.” Tears brimmed on Bell’s eyes. She didn’t find the healer. She fell asleep. She wasted time. She ran away from town. She was out West, disobeying his orders. She may have killed Ranthos and Sarky.
“I am too,” said Vhurgus.
What? Bell pulled her face away from Vhurgus’ shoulder, “What?”
Vhurgus pulled a kind expression over his bruised face, “I killed about thirty flockers—“
“What?!” said Bell, “How?”
“Let me finish,” he said pointing a finger at her.
Bell smiled and folded her hands together, resting her back against the pulsing standing stone.
Vhurgus nodded, and continued, “I killed about thirty flockers back in town trying to find you or Blossom—“
“The carts!” said Bell, “They were destroyed!”
“I know, I know,” said Vhurgus, “And many people were killed. I don’t know whose bodies they were. I probably knew them. But I won’t know for certain until we rendezvous back with the caravan.”
“Vhurgus I’m so—“
“Bell! Let me say what I mean to.”
Bell shut her mouth and hid a smile. It was good to not be yelled at anymore. His new way of shutting her up was much more preferable to his previous.
“I killed about thirty flockers in Sortie-on-the-Hill—”
“Did you kill Worm’s Heart?”
“He got away.”
Bell’s heart skipped a beat, “Who told Worm’s Heart my name?”
“I don’t know,” said Vhurgus. “Maybe the flockers from Tatzelton told him after Ranthos killed the buck and you ran off.”
“I didn’t like that.”
“I can’t imagine,” said Vhurgus, “Sounds terrifying.”
Bell nodded.
“I killed about—”
“Sorry!” said Bell, her cheeks feeling warm, “I interrupted you.”
“It’s alright. I killed—”
“Continue.”
Vhurgus squinted, “I—”
“Sorry.”
“Bell!” he roared. “Enough speaking.”
Bell nodded.
“I killed about thirty flockers in Sortie-on-the-Hill,” he cleared his throat, completely expecting Bell to interrupt him again.
She did not. Smiling brightly.
“And all I could think about was how sorry I was for treating you—”
Bell put a hand on his shoulder, “Vhurgus—”
“I am hated by many people. I don’t want to be hated by you.”
“I’m sorry, Vhurgus. I didn’t—”
“You did. Hodges are awful liars, and you meant it.”
Bell looked down at her hands nervously. She was embarrassed.
“You’re doing a brave thing. And I don’t know what mess you got yourself into out here. But you’re a brave girl. And I ought to treat you a little better than I have been.”
“I’m just happy you’re alive, Vhurgus. I thought—”
“I thought the same of you.” He sighed, stroking his beard distractedly, “I couldn’t imagine losing Sarky, Ranthos, and you. I could never look at Alrys again.”
“He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”
“He and Sarky,” said Vhurgus, more vulnerable than she had seen him prior.
“Ranthos is important to me,” said Bell.
“Me too,” said Vhurgus.
“Why?”
“He’s a good cub. If a moron.”
Bell snorted and then covered her mouth as she flushed.
Vhurgus laughed as well. A deep belly laugh. His face was well worn by laugh lines, and Bell hadn’t noticed it until now. He smelled like fresh air, like joy. “I could never forgive myself if we failed. If they all died.”
“Me neither,” Bell said quietly, ashamed slightly. She didn’t know why. But she didn’t speak up.
Vhurgus certainly didn’t hear her. But he seemed to catch her meaning, and nodded, “I know.”
She smiled up at him broadly. “Vhurgus,” she said, “I did something very strange.”
“Stranger than transmutation?” he asked.
Bell nodded, “When I touched the scarred barrus… I felt something I had never felt before. Like I was inside her mind.”
Vhurgus smiled and nodded, “That’s alfish business.”
“Alfish?” asked Bell, “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know too much about it,” said Vhurgus, “But the rare alfar has traits and abilities others just don’t. Like how some humans are naturally quicker or smarter than others. But alfar are different from humans, more wild.”
“So I have one of those rare traits?” asked Bell with wide eyes.
Vhurgus nodded, “I think you do. I’ve met some with similar traits, it’s called ‘connection’ in our language, but the proper alfish name is lost on me.”
“But what is it?” asked Bell, “I could understand the barruses more clearly, and I even felt some of a horse’s memory. I did something strange with it too… I put myself in her memories, if that makes sense. Or made her think that I was someone else. I don’t know.”
“I don’t either, really,” said Vhurgus, “But it might just get us through this. I’ll have Alrys teach you a few alfish things once this all settles down a bit.”
“Does Alrys have the ‘connection?’”
“No,” said Vhurgus with a grin, “But he knows how to be an alfar better than I.”
“Alright,” said Bell, “I would like that. The connection felt peaceful, I felt like…” Bell blushed, “Oh, I don’t know how to explain it, Vhurgus, it just felt…”
“Right.”
“It felt right,” Bell agreed with a wide smile.
“Well, Miss Bellelar,” said Vhurgus, poking her dimple. “We oughta find that healer.” Vhurgus stood and began donning his armor.
Bell found that her wounds had been bandaged while she slept and stood on her shaky legs to offer to help Vhurgus with his armor. There were a handful of straps on the back that he couldn’t get on his own.
Vhurgus put his helmet on Bell’s head. It did not fit, and she could hardly see. But she didn’t let him have it back until he spun it around backwards and left her blind. Vhurgus gave Bell her choice of the flockers’ weapons, which he had arrayed neatly in perfect lines for her to inspect when she woke.
“So many choices!” said Bell, her excitement almost managing to bleed through her worn voice, before pursing her lips inquisitively. There were three pikes, two swords, six knives, a shield, and half a hammer.
“I already took the best one,” said Vhurgus.
“Excuse me?”
His hand rested proudly on an axe on his belt.
“That one,” she pointed at it.
“Bell—”
“VhurgusIwantthatone!” she shouted.
He placed it into her hands, and she immediately dropped it.
Bellelar, such a klutz.
She lifted it back up quickly and held it like nothing had happened, raising her eyebrows to silence Vhurgus before he could comment. She inspected the axe. It had a fine varnished oak handle, which curved forward at the bottom end, which was carved in the likeness of a barrus’ face. The handle was inlaid with elegant ivory, curling into trees and flowers, and the head, covered in a leather sheath, was gleaming steel, honed to a deadly edge.
It was a stark contrast to the brutish weapons that the flockers used, all carved in bone and dangling with chimes.
“Vhurgus…” said Bell, her jaw dropping. “It’s beautiful.” She had never seen something so intricate. How did a person make this?
“I know,” he said with a smile, “That’s why I wanted it.”
She looked up at him, pretending to have a sorry face, “Well then you shouldn’t have given it to me.”
He rolled his eyes. And started marching away, beckoning her to follow him. Bell hurried to collect two of the prettiest knives in the bunch, pull off their bone chimes, and hobble off after Vhurgus. If she bent her legs too much, she felt like she was getting bitten all over again, like her flesh was being reopened by their rotten teeth, or she was still being battered by their horns or hooves.
This was most certainly the worst pain she had ever felt. Without the rush of almost being eaten alive, Bell could feel it all very clearly. Each crescent of sheep teeth in her body, and each horn-scrape, or bruise. Her thighs were chafing from the horse.
She almost couldn’t process it all at once; she had never had to deal with so many painful injuries. But Ranthos was in worse shape, Bell reminded herself firmly.
She took her next step with purpose, steeling her resolve to be strong and to be the hero that would save him.
“Where’d you find the axe?” Bell asked to distract herself from the terrible sensation of using her knees.
“In town,” he said, “A flocker tried to kill me with it. But I killed him.”
“Oh…” said Bell, “Where’d he get it?”
“Sortie-on-the-Hill had a great blacksmith… Before the flockers took over, anyway.”
“What was his name?”
“Hunkledorf, I think.”
“Does the axe have a name? Like Saint Penelope’s sword?”
“Nothing as beautiful as Radiance.” Radiance was Saint Penelope’s sword’s name, said to glow like the sun.
“But it does have a name, then?” asked Bell excitedly.
“That it does,” said Vhurgus.
“And what is it?” asked Bell again, now growing impatient as she struggled to keep pace with him.
Vhurgus noticed that she was falling behind, with her wounded legs and such, and slowed his pace for the first time since they had left the camp in the canyon. “Its name is whatever you give it.”
Bel
l absolutely beamed, “Oh!”
“Any ideas?”
“Barrus axe.”
Vhurgus cringed.
“Tuskchop.”
Vhurgus shook his head.
“Elephaxe. Trunky.”
“How about Orphanmaker?”
Bell wrinkled her nose, “That’s so… dour.”
“It is a weapon,” said Vhurgus. “Grimsever. Hellsblade.”
“No!” Bell shouted, “There is no way I will call my beautiful axe Hellsblade!” She was currently decorating the sheath with wildflowers, and hid it behind her back when Vhurgus turned to look at her.
“Edge of Justice.”
“I like the barrus theme I was going for! Vhurgus it needs a theme.”
“A weapon has a theme: murder.”
“Vhurgus…” Bell whined.
“Well, I brought it here for you. I should at least have some say in the naming.”
“You can’t fool me! You brought my axe here for yourself, Vhurgus! ”
“Oh, I suppose you’re right,” he lied.
Bell hid a smile, and paused for a few moments to think, “… How about Grimtusk?” It was a little dour, but it aligned with Bell’s theme.
Vhurgus smiled, “That’s good. I like that one.”
“Me too.” Bell strapped Grimtusk about her waist and strapped her two knives onto her belt beside it. She felt like a real warrior, even if she wasn’t wearing any real clothes, and if she was covered in bandages. “Vhurgus?”
“Yes, Bell?”
“Where are we going?”
“Blossom wasn’t in town. So we’re headed West, obviously.”
“Oh… Obviously,” Bell repeated. It was not in any way obvious. “What do you think is out here?”
“Blossom.”
Bell’s heart skipped a beat. “Really? You believe me?”
“Yes, I do.”
“A blunder, I assure you,” said Bell with a smile.
Vhurgus chuckled. How fun. Big, tough Vhurgus thought she was funny. “I am fairly certain the road does not end here.”
Bell smiled ear to ear, both their scents flowing with hope, “I think you’re right.”
Vhurgus responded somehow, but Bell was distracted by a rather large wildflower that caught her eye. A yellow-pedaled lily. She hadn’t seen one of those since Tatzelton. Bell tried to tame her filthy hair before she picked it and put it over her ear. It didn’t work, but at least she had a flower!
Enter the Lamb's Head (The Adventures of Ranthos Book 1) Page 25
