Briardark, page 19
‘There might be others nearby,’ Samuel advised Aaric, keeping his voice low and his eyes on the fell bat. ‘They’ll sleep until nightfall, as this one does, unless something disturbs them.’
Aaric whispered, ‘Do you think we can take this one without rousing others?’
Samuel gauged how high up the creature was. He’d hoped to find one that occupied a lower perch. A fell bat was too big to reliably take down with an arrow, but a solid cast of a spear could incapacitate one… if it was close enough. ‘I don’t know. It’s too high up. If we want to take this one, I’ll have to lure it down to us.’
‘Time could be critical,’ Aaric reminded him. ‘I think we should try for this beast.’
‘All right.’ Samuel nodded. He rested his spear against his side and reached to his belt, drawing his knife from its sheath. With his other hand he opened a pouch on his belt and caught the animal inside. A little white mouse. Bait for the sleeping predator.
The mouse squirmed in Samuel’s grip. A quick slash of the knife ended its struggles. He could feel its blood dripping over his hand. He waited until he felt the gore running down onto his wrist, sure that the scent saturated his flesh. Arcing his arm back, he fixed his gaze on the sleeping bat. A powerful throw sent the dead mouse flying upwards. The tiny carcass glanced off the bat’s head, spattering its face with flecks of crimson.
The smell of blood more than the impact of the mouse stirred the fell bat from its slumber. Its upturned nose twitched as it detected the scent. The mouth opened in a hungry yawn, the sharp tongue licking across the gleaming fangs. As it awakened, the monster’s eyes stared down at the forest floor. Samuel could see the irises dilate as the creature focused on him.
‘Be ready,’ Samuel said, taking hold of his boar spear. He couldn’t afford to take his attention away from the bat to see what Aaric was doing. The animal might take wing at any moment.
The bat continued to regard Samuel, its nose twitching as it caught the smell of mouse blood from his hand. It kept its body still, but one eye snapped shut while the other kept watching him. A moment later and the predator reversed the process, so that in quick succession it had made a separate study of him with each eye. Samuel knew the beast was gauging the distance between itself and the hunter, trying to calculate the best angle of attack.
Even though he was expecting the bat to launch itself into action, when the creature did it still managed to surprise Samuel. One instant it was utterly still, the next it had released its grip on the tree and was hurtling down at the hunter. Before it crashed into him, the bat suddenly opened its wings and turned its fall into a dive.
Samuel could smell the reek of the bat’s breath as it dove at him. It chirped in anger when it spotted the spear. Dipping one wing, the creature wheeled away. It turned its dive into a glide and arched between the trees. Samuel cursed under his breath and lowered his spear, ready to rush after the bat.
Before he could move, the fell bat came swooping back at Samuel. The hunter had only an impression of bared fangs and red eyes before he threw himself flat against the ground. He felt claws snatch at his clothes as the creature flew past his prostrate form.
A shrill howl echoed through the forest. Samuel rolled onto his back to see Aaric thrusting his spear at the bat. The point ripped through the membrane of its left wing, tearing it like old parchment. The injury failed to knock the beast down, and a buffet of its other wing spilled the scholar to the ground.
Before the bat could attack Aaric, Samuel lunged. He slashed his spear at the beast, forcing it back. It gave another angry chirp, a sound sharp enough to shatter glass. The animal tried to climb back into the air, and by doing so made a fatal mistake. The torn membrane crippled its ascent, slowing its rise. Samuel didn’t give the fell bat an opportunity to change tactics. With a mighty heave, he threw his boar spear at the monster. The cast struck it in the middle of its body with such force that the head and several inches of the shaft were driven into its flesh.
A pained shriek rang out. The bat flapped its wings furiously, trying to keep itself aloft. The grievous wound it had taken quickly eroded its command of its own body. Unable to coordinate its wings, the beast plummeted to the ground. The impact drove the spear still deeper into its body, and the barbed tip erupted from its back. It made one last effort to rise, beating its wings hopelessly against the ground. Bloody froth spilled from its mouth when it lifted its head and gave Samuel an accusing glare. Then the beast slumped against the earth and was still.
Samuel helped Aaric to his feet. The scholar looked to have suffered no serious injury from the bat’s attack. ‘Well, there’s all you’ll need and much to spare,’ the hunter declared, waving his hand at the dying monster.
‘Would that I had enough of the other ingredients, I’d be able to make talismans for every soul in Felstein,’ Aaric said. The prudent thing to do would have been to wait until the fell bat was completely finished, but the scholar argued once more that time might be vital. Handing off his spear to Samuel, he rushed over to the creature and slit its throat.
Samuel watched on as Aaric quickly set about harvesting what he needed from the fell bat’s wings. He opened his bag and began combining the hairs with the other components, wrapping it all within the dried gryph-hound skin. The hunter felt regret at that last inclusion, for to secure it he’d had to exhume Saint’s body and take the loyal creature’s paws.
‘This is for you,’ Aaric said when he’d finished the first talisman. It was a grisly, bag-like affair with a cord fixed to one end so it might be looped over the neck of the person it was to protect.
Samuel started to reach for it, then shook his head. ‘You need the protection more than I do.’
‘I have enough materials to make three more,’ Aaric told him, waving his hand over the components.
‘All the more reason for you to keep it,’ Samuel persisted. ‘If time is as vital as you say, then we can’t take the chance that the enemy has set its sights on you and may strike at any moment.’ A chill crawled down the hunter’s spine when he made the conjecture. A feeling not unlike those times when he’d been stalked by some beast in the forest. It was the sense of a hostile awareness being directed at him. Still, he insisted Aaric keep the first talisman. ‘If you were struck down, I lack the knowledge to make more of them. You need the protection more than I do.’
Aaric reluctantly accepted Samuel’s logic and put on the talisman. ‘I’ll hurry,’ he promised as he set to making the second.
Never had time passed so slowly for Samuel as it did while he watched Aaric work. The unease that wore at him swelled with every heartbeat. He knew their enemy was fixated on them, aware of what they were doing. Any moment he expected it to strike, and if it couldn’t get Aaric, then it would seek another victim.
‘Be sure to make one for Cicely,’ Samuel enjoined the scholar. If death did suddenly fall on him, he would rest easier knowing his daughter was safe. Right now, that was more important than anything.
To know that Cicely, at least, was safe.
The onyx needle was jolted from Cicely’s fingers, provoking a gasp of pain. She looked down at the nearly completed image of her uncle, then glanced at her hand. The flesh had become almost vaporous, the bones stark beneath the gossamer veil of her skin. Panic thrummed through her. She’d resisted doing what she needed to do for far too long. She had to hurry or it would be too late for her.
She retrieved the needle from the floor. An awkward task, now that her fingers were practically invisible and nearly devoid of any tactile sensation. It took an inordinate degree of concentration just to maintain a grip on it. Hurriedly, she brought it back to the tapestry and tried to continue to work.
Again the needle was jolted from her hand, unable to even finish a single stitch. Half expecting such, now Cicely was more aware of what had happened. It wasn’t her deteriorating condition that had knocked the magic needle from her grip. It was an outside force. Trying to drive the point into her uncle’s incomplete picture was like stabbing at a wall.
Cicely used the thread still attached to the needle to draw it back to her. She considered the strange obstruction and at once realised what had happened. Indeed, she’d vainly tried to resist saving herself for far too long. Her delay had given Aaric time to protect himself with the talisman he was crafting. He was immune to the terrible power that was at her beck and call. The power that alone could prevent her death.
Cicely undid the thread and fumblingly attached another to the needle’s eye. She had to forget about Aaric now. She had to choose a different victim and pray she had enough time to complete their image before it was too late.
It would have to be a small figure. Something she could finish quickly. Cicely thought of the delicate shape of the infant Anya had left behind. She hesitated for only a moment. ‘Poor thing,’ she muttered, ‘to go through life without your mother. It’s a cruel existence and one that it’s merciful to spare you.’
Resigned to her course, Cicely quickly began to work. There was no guarding power to turn her needle this time, only the threat that her fingers would become too phantasmal to complete the picture before it was finished.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘I’m so sorry to tell this to you, but your cousin’s youngest child is dead.’ Hochmueller gave that report to Samuel as he and Aaric left Briardark and headed back into town through the man’s fields. The farmer’s visage was grave, his eyes tinged with fear as he related what he knew of the accident that had claimed still another member of Samuel’s family.
To every emotion there comes a threshold at which it can be sustained no longer. There was no more room in Samuel’s heart for sorrow. The news that little Enoch, Anya and Rukh’s infant, had died was unable to add to his grief. He took the information as dispassionately as he would hearing Hochmueller tell him about the weather. It was just a fact to be filed away in his mind, not a tragedy to be registered in his soul.
‘These are ill tidings,’ Aaric said, disrupting the strained silence from Samuel’s lack of reaction. He nodded and added in a sagely tone, ‘Too many accidents to be accidents.’ Hochmueller had already reached the same conclusion, but at the scholar’s words, the farmer made the sign of Nagash and pressed the bone amulet he wore to his lips.
‘Mortarchs have mercy,’ the farmer hissed. ‘Thayer was right. There is witchcraft!’
Samuel gripped Aaric by the arm and drew him towards town. ‘We waste time tarrying here,’ he said as he urged him along. He didn’t care overmuch what impression their abrupt departure made on Hochmueller.
Samuel’s focus had to be on who could be saved, not on what was already lost. There was nothing he could do now for Enoch, but it was possible to still save others from the witchcraft running rampant in Felstein.
‘Give me another talisman,’ Samuel told Aaric as they started down the narrow road and Felstein’s buildings began to emerge from the fog. ‘I want one to protect Cicely.’
‘I knew that you would,’ Aaric said, proffering the grim article to his brother-in-law. He closed his hand around Samuel’s as he started to take it. ‘I was only able to make four, and even that was a strain of resources. You must emphasise how vital it is that she keep the talisman safe. She must keep it with her at all times.’ He raised his finger for emphasis. ‘At all times.’
Samuel drew his hand free of Aaric’s grip. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Do you think I’d take any chances with my daughter’s life? That’s why I must be the one who gives it to her. She’ll do what I tell her.’
Aaric nodded. They were passing through the square now, with the gruesome hanging tree at its centre. The Skintaker’s Swallow had a small crowd gathered outside. Conversation died away when the group noticed Samuel. From their uneasy looks, the beasthunter could guess that he’d been the subject of their discussion. One way or another.
‘Fear breeds strange ideas,’ Aaric said when they were past the tavern. ‘The longer fear lingers, the stranger the ideas. But it is panic that makes people act on those ideas. So long as we can prevent the fear from germinating into panic, we can maintain some control of the situation.’
‘And how do we do that?’ Samuel demanded, anger in his voice. He’d already seen Felstein descend into panic, and Anya had been the one to pay the price. Who might suffer when next the town lost control was a question he didn’t want to think about.
Aaric turned, a grim cast to his expression. ‘By learning. By observing.’
There was that in Aaric’s manner that curdled Samuel’s blood. He didn’t know what provoked such a feeling, he only knew that he felt it. A menace, a danger that Aaric wasn’t ready to put into words.
‘Come, we must hurry to Cicely,’ Aaric said, almost visibly pushing aside the subject he’d started to broach. The idea so terrible he wasn’t ready to share it with Samuel.
‘My mind will be at ease once she has protection,’ Samuel said, hand tightening about the talisman. He wondered how long such relief would last. How long before Aaric disclosed his suspicions.
The house was dark when they reached it. The gloom hovered about the place like a shroud. It was strange to remember what it had been with Emelda and Marden there, old Saint curled up in the yard. All gone. All the light and cheer. Only Cicely now, lingering in the empty home like a shadow. What he wouldn’t give to restore even a small part of happier times, just to draw his daughter from the melancholy that hounded her.
Samuel hesitated on the threshold, his hand upon the latch. He felt his pulse quicken, but the blood that coursed through him was cold as ice. ‘What if…’ he muttered. He choked on the rest. To even say it was anathema. The sorcery abroad in Felstein, ravaging his family. He turned desperate eyes to Aaric. His fear burbled forth in a whispered sob. ‘What if Enoch wasn’t enough? What if it’s taken Cicely?’
The scholar gripped his arm in sympathy. ‘Whatever is past, you cannot change. All you can do is what’s left to be done.’ He pulled on the latch and bowed Samuel into his home.
Inside was dark. Not so much as an ember glowed in the hearth. Cold shadow engulfed everything, leaving only the vaguest outlines. Fear clawed at Samuel. She’s gone, it told him. Enoch wasn’t enough and the evil has taken her. You were too late.
Samuel stood just inside the threshold, frozen like a statue, fear hammering at his heart, despair tearing at his soul. Aaric pressed on him, trying to urge him onwards. Not even on the worst of his hunts had he found it so difficult to move. It was like trying to shift blocks of lead to lift his feet. Every step was an effort that made sweat drip down his face. Cicely was all he had left. If she was gone too…
‘I’ll start the fire,’ Aaric said. ‘Light is what this place needs.’
The scholar drifted away from Samuel. By now his eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dark. He could see Aaric leaning over the woodbox to retrieve a few logs. Something else caught his notice, visible now that his vision was accustomed to the gloom. There was someone sitting in one of the chairs. He started forward with a gasp. He could discern the pale skin and dark tresses of his daughter.
Samuel could see more clearly when he got closer. Cicely had a dazed, weary look to her, staring fixedly at the table. He was almost beside her before she shifted her gaze and noticed him. A strange, indefinable emotion showed in those eyes. He couldn’t decide if it was relief or guilt or alarm. Perhaps all three at once trying to find release.
The hunter’s gasp brought Aaric hurrying over. It was only a matter of seconds, but by then Cicely had composed herself. She gave her uncle a tired smile. ‘I’m sorry, I was dozing. I didn’t hear you come in.’
Aaric chuckled and shook his head. ‘That would explain the dark house,’ he said, gesturing at the cold hearth. ‘It caused us some trepidation, thinking something happened.’
‘Something has,’ Cicely replied, her voice cracking with grief. ‘Little Enoch is dead. Lucilla came and told me about my cousin and I just couldn’t stop crying.’ She turned an apologetic look to her father. ‘I must have cried myself to sleep.’
Whatever might have happened, Samuel knew that wasn’t true. Cicely had been awake – brooding, perhaps, but awake. There was an insistent undertone to her speech. She obviously didn’t want Aaric to know she hadn’t been sleeping. For the moment, he decided to support her lie. It was a small thing to balance against his relief that she was all right.
‘I… was worried about you,’ Samuel said, leaning beside Cicely’s chair. He held her hand in his, relieved to find that it felt warm under his touch. There were times when she seemed impossibly cold, an effect of the recurrent malaise that had settled upon her since Marden’s death.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Samuel told his daughter. ‘I treated you so badly after Marden died. I didn’t think. I didn’t try to think.’ His voice cracked as regret poured out of him. ‘I’d take all of it back if I could.’
‘I’ll light the fire,’ Aaric declared, returning to the hearth and giving father and daughter their space. He put the logs in place and set them alight with a bronze-coloured device he drew from one of his pockets. Samuel could see a duardin rune embossed on its side.
As light threw back the shadows, Samuel reached into his own pocket and grabbed the extra talisman. He held it towards Cicely. She wrinkled her nose and drew back. He could sympathise. The wrapping of gryph-hound leather was pungent enough and some of the things Aaric had bound inside it were still more noxious. He pressed the talisman into her hand and closed her fingers around it.
‘Uncle Aaric made this for you,’ he told his daughter. ‘It will protect you.’
Cicely gave him an uneasy smile. ‘I’ll be all right,’ she said, trying to reassure him.
Aaric walked over and leaned against the table. ‘Making that talisman was no easy thing,’ he stated. ‘But it will protect you from this evil that is abroad. Sorcerer, witch or vampire, whatever fiend has been set loose on… Felstein… will be balked by this.’ He reached to his neck and displayed an identical bundle hanging there by a cord.
