4. Chapter Three
4
William
N o one knew what to expect of the Deadlands. The generals sent scouts as soon as the battle ended. They didn’t waste time browsing the ruined Lockehold citadel. When the scouts returned, speaking of a better location for encampment, the generals called for a march. The Medical Corps agreed the wounded could not stay on the battlefield or follow through the pass. Come morning, soldiers guarded the caravan of the injured south to the last city before the Dread Peaks. There the wounded could heal, then catch up later. They may pass a few friends along the way, too.
Soldiers celebrated too enthusiastically that night. Three made life ending decisions and found their corpses hanging from trees. The word traitor had been carved crookedly into their bare chests, no doubt while they were still breathing, and their severed hands lay at the ground beneath their feet.
“Were we truly in need of more dead?” Charmaine muttered, teeth chattering from the morning frost.
Oscar huddled close to her. The young soldier followed William around most of the night, then Charmaine upon realizing she spoke more than her friend.
“They laid with fae, didn’t they?” Oscar sniffled and rubbed his hands against his flushed cheeks. “During training, everyone said fae and mortal ain’t meant to be together. Folk said you’d meet a bad fate, but I never expected that.”
“The consequences aren’t always so bad,” she explained. “Sometimes it’s nothing more than being ignored, but after this battle, I am not surprised by the violence. I doubt the men were fond of their friends laying with those known for treating us worse than the dirt beneath their boots.”
“Mortals have always found the act more egregious than fae,” William contributed. “I’ve overheard the lying scum treat bedding mortals as a game, seeing who can deceive the most in a single evening. I wouldn’t be surprised if the fae they laid with were the ones who revealed to everyone what had transpired.”
“Well, I ain’t going near one of ‘em with a twenty-foot stick,” Oscar grumbled. “I never saw much of the lot till now. Never had fae in our ranks, only heard they were no good. I would rather not learn that the hard way.”
“No, you certainly do not.”
Although it would be inevitable. Fae ensured any who crossed their paths had fearsome stories to share. Nightmares plagued William concerning his.
“But you stood up to one.” Oscar sounded awe inspired. “To a shade, no less. You are brave, doc. I never learned much about shades, but I know they’re not right, corrupt.”
“They have strength we, and even their own kin, cannot fathom,” Charmaine said, then swung an arm around Oscar’s shoulders and pointed accusingly at William. “Do not take notes from William. He shouldn’t have done that last night, so you should rethink idolizing his moment of insanity.”
“Idolize? I, no, I just thought it was brave, is all.”
William nodded. “Albie is right. Such behavior shouldn’t be idolized, but never let a fae walk over you, either. Once you do, they will end you.”
Oscar repeated the advice as if his words were gospel and the march continued on.
The Deadlands had a fitting name, for they came across nothing living, save the trees. A sea of evergreens stretched far and wide. Snow piled high. Clouds blocked out the sun, coloring the world a dull gray. Soldiers coughed and hacked. Medical officers ordered everyone to cover their faces. There was no telling what they inhaled, and the scent of sulfur grew during their long walk.
“We’ve yet to cross any monsters,” Charmaine said, voice muffled by the cloth wound around her face.
“With how many protected Lockehold, Fearworn likely assumed they didn’t need more near the keep,” William replied.
“Or they fled,” Oscar said. “After what happened, they could have retreated and regrouped elsewhere.”
“That could be true. I’ve heard Nicholas Darkmoon gained a tremendous artifact from Lockehold,” Charmaine whispered, as if this gossip hadn’t already spread through the troops. “A tome, of sorts, something very secret. The beasts may have known this and fled to their master. We’re close. Not just to Fearworn, but to the end of this damned war. I can feel it.”
“Are you sure that feeling isn’t indigestion?” He winced when Charmaine pinched his earlobe.
“Don’t mock me. Your optimism may be dead as a poisoned rat, but I carry mine wherever I go.”
“I am more than aware of that, though that will not prevent me from reminding you we’ve been told for years that the war is almost at its end.”
“And we never had a genuine reason to believe that until now.”
He allowed Charmaine her hope. Not as if he could ever douse it, nor did he truly want to. However, Calix Fearworn went two decades with no one paying his devious plans any mind. Then almost another decade before he attacked both Terra and Faerie. Humans and fae finally agreed to fight together. Within all those years, Fearworn showed himself only when absolutely necessary. It’s how he survived this long.
Even if they defeated Fearworn, the world changed forever. There are more Shimmers, portals that once joined only Terra and Faerie. Fae call them Scars, probably because they considered humans a scar upon their lives. Now, there are Shimmers to the unholy plane Fearworn opened to summon monsters. Those portals will never close. Their lands will forever be infested.
Even his Mother, across the sea in Heign, suffered from an increase of monsters invading their backyard to steal cattle, ruin crops, and kill innocents.
William pressed a hand to his chest. Beneath his jacket, tucked in one of the interior pockets, was one of her many letters.
Matilda wrote to him often, far more than he replied. He knew that hurt her, but he ached after reading and asked himself if he remembered her voice correctly.
Am I terrible son if I struggle to remind them? He wondered.
Matilda always sprayed the letter with perfume, too. By the time the letters reached him, the scent had dulled. He barely got a whiff of honeysuckle, but when the aroma hit his nostrils, he had the urge to cry, to scream, to beg, and to run home. Fear overtook him because his family would not recognize who he became. He’d be reminded home hadn’t changed, but he did, and life would never be what it once was.
Plucking the letter from his pocket, he flipped open the pages to read a fifth time. Matilda shared updates of their family. Arthur married two years back. They recently welcomed a daughter. He ached over missing his brother’s wedding and the birth of his niece, but Matilda always wrote in great detail. Even that charming dolt, Richard, started courting a lady. Matilda and Robert hoped to receive news concerning an engagement soon.
The brief moments reading over her letters set him at ease. She did what she could to remind him of the home waiting for him. She ensured he didn’t feel left out, that he knew his family and what they were up to, that he had a home to return to, and they were waiting for him.
Any comfort brought on by the letters shattered when a set of horns blared proclaiming the troops were to make camp.
The scouts discovered ruins of an old village once inhabited by the unfortunates who farmed these lands before Fearworn claimed it as his domain. Two of the buildings became the medical bay where William inspected soldiers suffering from fever, fatigue, and potential Shimmer Sickness.
Although the army didn’t come across a Shimmer for days, some were more sensitive than others. The affected became dazed and loopy, stumbling over their feet, forgetting to eat and drink. These were simple cases where giving them more food and water eased their symptoms. The more severe cases left people laying motionless in bed, as if the Shimmer called for their souls and trapped them in limbo. The only solution was to take them far from any Shimmers and hospitalize them. Most woke up eventually. Those who didn’t passed slowly.
Between inspections, he took breaks to write Matilda back. He never shared much. It was doubtful his mother wished to know how many limbs he severed or fingers he reattached. The least he could do was let her know he was alive and pretend to be himself.
With the sun about to set, he worried he couldn’t find the postmaster. Another soldier explained the postmaster refused to pass the Dread Peaks. Two soldiers volunteered to cart letters to the nearest town, but that would be the last of any letters. The generals wouldn’t risk sending men on their own or force anyone to retrieve letters. Birds didn’t work, either. All the messenger birds died when entering the Deadlands, an ominous omen for certain.
The soldiers in charge of tossing duffle bags into a rickety old carriage were kind enough to allow him to write a swift note, informing his family they may not hear from him for some time. Then the carriage departed.
He watched with an ache in his heart, wondering how he would survive this torture without news from home. In truth, he knew he would be fine, that he may even forget about not receiving the letters at all. And once more, he wondered what sort of son that made him, if he was an awful person.
“The insubordinate medic.”
William rolled his eyes at the sound of Nicholas’ grating voice, then faced the shade, smiling viciously as a rabid dog. “The little lord with a weak stomach,” he replied. “How’s the shoulder?”
“We’ll see how weak my stomach is when I split yours open and wrench it out,” Nicholas growled.
“Always resorting to violence, your kind never changes. You trick and deceive. Such pathetic minded creatures.”
“Says the mortal living among those who make little sense.”
William tilted his head. “Do you care to elaborate?”
“You send your men to war and leave behind half an army because of their genitalia?” Nicholas laughed, a low and foreboding sound reverberating in the back of his throat. “Are your men frightened that the women may outperform them? I heard tales of mortal men beating girls for going against your arbitrary rules.”
“Don’t speak of arbitrary rules as if fae don’t have their own. Your kind isn’t known for their caring demeanor toward anyone. They harm for the sake of it, even their own children. I would bet a shiny silver that daddy never hugged you, did he?”
“The constant need for so-called affections is a disease laid upon your kind, not mine.”
“You consider any kind of affection a disease because you’re so incapable of it.”
The tension between them was palpable. Though they marched with an encampment of thousands, not a soul stood nearby. Any who stumbled upon them surged in the other direction. Seeing the roseate embers of Nicholas’ eyes and coral mist twisting about his form told all that he wasn’t to be trifled with.
“I hoped to see you again.” Nicholas took a step forward, allowing the heat emanating from his figure to wash over William. “Though I wanted it to be under different circumstances, preferably with you as a corpse at my feet.”
“Is that what you’re interested in? Corpses?” he chuckled. “Fitting for fae. You’re as disgusting as you are delirious.”
When Nicholas went for his neck, he caught the fae’s wrist. The Sight revealed Nicholas’ convoluted strings, blinding and blazing to the touch. He never witnessed anything like them. The world itself struggled to withstand Nicholas’ presence. One brush of his finger against the strings and his skin hissed similarly to touching a heated kettle, but he caught that string and made Nicholas’ arm fall limp. A swift shove from the shade’s opposing hand sent him rolling across the snow.
With a few twists of his wrist, Nicholas’ arm moved on command again.
“Numbing my arm? How quaint,” the fae remarked, then snapped his fingers. The snow rose high and shifted into spears of ice. “The Collision Treaty prevents me from killing, but I’ve always been curious how far I can bend those rules.”
“Bend them too far and the magic of your people will render you as a corpse you so love.”
Nicholas’ light raged. The shade called to magic as if he were made of nothing else. Power, pure as can be, circled him in violent waves of coral sparks.
“William!” Charmaine called, rushing into the mix. She skidded to a halt, brown eyes darting from the ice to Nicholas. “Uh, Lord Darkmoon, excuse us. We’ve been summoned to the medical bay.”
“Tell your officers that William and I have important business to attend to.” Nicholas clicked his tongue. Two spears flew. William rolled, dodging both, then a third struck near his head. The tip of the ice sliced his cheek.
“I fear we are needed immediately.” Charmaine clutched his arm. She lifted him to his feet. Three spears of ice fired, hitting the ground where she nearly stepped. She cursed.
“Answer my riddle first and I’ll let you go,” Nicholas said with a wild glint in his eyes.
Typical of fae to be obsessive over one thing, then get distracted by other possibilities.
“Fine,” William replied, but Nicholas waggled his finger.
“Not you.” He pointed at Charmaine. “Him, and the medic cannot assist.”
Charmaine stiffened. William bit back the urge to correct Nicholas. Oddly enough, fae honored the request of pronouns, but Nicholas would let the whole camp know about Charmaine’s identity for the chaos.
“Okay, what is it?” Charmaine muttered.
“A mission I can have, but do not choose. I can save, provide, defend, or kill. What am I?”
Charmaine’s attention drifted back and forth.
William had the answer, having been fond of riddles as a kid. Normally, a book of riddles called his bedside table home, but after being around fae all these years, he came to despise them.
“Tick tock.” Nicholas sent another spear of ice that clipped her leg.
William grabbed the revolver at his waist. The next spear slammed beside him in warning. Charmaine’s shivering intensified.
Nicholas took two steps closer. Snow drifted about his form. He became the center of an ice storm, little more than a pale silhouette in a wintery gale.
“You are boring me,” Nicholas growled, eyes a sea of rose quartz. No longer beautiful, but deadly.
“A blade!” She screamed. “You’re a blade.”
The corner of Nicholas’ vicious lips quirked, and he laughed.
William shoved Charmaine out of the way before the knife Nicholas formed hit her. The blade embedded itself into a crate behind them, and with that, they sprinted. Nicholas didn’t follow. With the riddle solved, the fae was easily distracted.
They rounded a couple of tents, rotted fences, and old huts, panting from the sudden run. William stifled an idiotic laugh. Now wasn’t the time for it, and yet, he often found his pulse racing in hazardous situations. That frightened him, and not in the way one may expect.
Charmaine pushed farther forward and hissed, “Have you gone mad? Why would you pick a fight with him? By the Holy Soul, I was almost impaled!”
“For starters, he picked the fight with me, and he wouldn’t have impaled you, though he seemed insistent on testing if he could hurt you.” He dusted the snow from his uniform while Charmaine slapped a hand against her chest.
“I suppose he is the mad one, but the moment he showed up, you should have excused yourself and be done with it. Treating a fae, let alone a shade, like that is not a good idea. He wished to torture you.”
“Nothing he does could ever be worse than what I’ve already gone through. We both know what happens when those like us don’t stand our ground. I’d sooner he torture me than bow to another ever again.”
Charmaine frowned. Her words muted upon her lips.
He hadn’t meant to stir up old memories. He didn’t want to think of his training days, either. All he wanted was to forget. However, so long as they were among the desperate and dangerous, they couldn’t let their guard down.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Just…we especially cannot back down from fae.” He set his hands on Charmaine’s shoulders. “Those with haughty heads, like Nicholas, will perceive us as weak and they will do as they wish. I don’t want to be put in that position again, do you?”
“Of course not,” she whispered, gaze lowered. “But I don’t want to attract their attention, either.”
“It is too late for that. I attracted his attention the moment I shot him.”
Her eyes pinched shut. “That was rather dramatic, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No. You saw how swiftly he healed. He would have cut off that man’s arm otherwise.” Though the man in question didn’t survive the night, anyway.
“Do be careful.” Charmaine gave his arm a firm squeeze, then let go. “I can’t lose you.”
“Nor I, you. I promised to meet Charmaine in all her wondrous glory. I hear she’s a lovely woman.”
Charmaine giggled, sad yet hopeful. “She is, and she’ll adore you.”
“How splendid. After all, there is nothing I want more than a lovely lady on my arm.”
With a playful shove, the tension dissipated, although he was not foolish enough to think that was the last he’d see of Nicholas Darkmoon.