7. Chapter Six
7
William
A thick fog hung over the forest, unnatural and creeping further up the trees. The snow never ceased, reaching to William’s knees and biting through his nerves. They wouldn’t risk Charmaine’s flames, not in the open where something may see them. They came upon the monster’s corpse laying broken among shards of evergreen. Paw prints led to and from the heap of meat. Creatures feasted upon the carcass over the days. Once white snowflakes melted into red pools. Teeth had shredded and devoured much of the beast’s gut. Rib bones peaked through a leather hide. The tail had been ripped off entirely, strewn about the area in pieces, and a familiar stench encircled the corpse.
“Sulfur,” William noted under his breath. He smelled it as they marched through the woods. That gave him a nagging suspicion that the scent didn’t come from the Deadlands, but from the beasts themselves. They could have circled the encampment, waiting for an appropriate time to strike.
Charmaine slipped away, showing interest in the monster. He kept a watchful eye on her and the two fae circling the carcass. Nicholas approached the creature, eyes alight in a vastly uncomfortable manner.
“Fearworn saw use in the ratwings.” Nicholas observed one of the wings so thin it was nearly transparent. Two claws sharpened to razors decorated the ends of each appendage. He pinched one claw between his fingers as if he suspected it secreted poisons like the stinger. They did not, and he dropped them.
“Creating a flock of flying beasts to dive on an unsuspecting army is a tactic he would use,” Nicholas added. “Certainly would do more damage than even a hundred ratwings.”
“But why did this one shoot acid and not the other? The beast had every opportunity to fire upon me, or the mortal.” Arden inquired from somewhere behind the corpse.
Neither were surprised that Arden didn’t recall her name. She made an offensive gesture behind his back.
“I suspect these are monsters in the work, not quite perfected.” Nicholas lifted a hind leg that looked far too big for one of his size to hold. Fae had unnatural physical abilities, capable of wielding substantial weight as if it were nothing. Nicholas leaned closer, inspecting the area.
Grimacing, William muttered, “Why are you staring at the monster’s groin?”
“Because it doesn’t seem to have genitalia.”
That caught his attention even if he loathed to admit it. William shuffled forward. The beast had a smooth backside, save for a rectal area. Nicholas dropped the leg and his nails grew into sharp spears.
“You may want to step back. This will get messy,” Nicholas warned.
“Guts do not bother me.”
“What does?”
“Nothing I will ever share with you.”
Snickering, Nicholas cut further into the beast’s abdomen. The stench grew. More innards and blood oozed onto the forest floor. After a moment of squishy inspection accompanied by soft murmuring, Nicholas retreated.
“I don’t see reproductive organs either, which I doubt Fearworn wants. He needs beasts to multiply on their own to grow an army,” he declared while waving his arm. The filth splattered on the ground and evaporated from his arm in a wave of bubbling heat.
Charmaine peeked over the head of the creature. “Are we certain he created this one and did not pull it through the Shimmer?”
A century ago, the world suffered terrifying weather, droughts, deadly storms, and spontaneous volcanic eruptions. Then the Shimmers appeared. Mages declared the weather had resulted from Terra and Faerie realms colliding, like two glass globes scorching from the kiln knocking against each other. Rather than separating, they clung, and the broken bits let the worlds seep into each other.
Fearworn learned how to reach into another world through small Shimmers at first. Monsters slipped through, equally small and not worthy of worry. But as Fearworn’s power grew, so did the Shimmers. Soon, monsters such as spions, debraks, ratwings, and grumps—technically called gitans, but their grumpy faces had mortal soldiers referring to them as grumps—made it into both Terra and Faerie. It would not be odd for Fearworn to have discovered more beasts. In fact, it would be stranger if he didn’t. If the monster’s realms were even half the size of Terra and Faerie, there had to be more species, potentially worse ones.
No one had ever gone to this dark plane Fearworn opened, at least no one to survive the tell the tale. The mortal kingdoms forbade anyone from mimicking Fearworn. No one knew what other realms were out there, what opening a Shimmer to them could do, so the possibilities remained unknown, and William hoped it stayed that way.
“I seriously doubt this beast came from a Scar.” Nicholas climbed a hind leg to strut along the monster’s crooked spine. “This beast is not well. With such a mangled spine, it probably wouldn’t have survived much longer either. The wings are mismatched, too. Do you recall the look of yours?”
Arden pondered a moment, giving Charmaine a chance to reply. “It had two legs instead of four and struggled to walk. I don’t recall a stinger on its tail, either, which may explain why it didn’t fire on us.”
“Both misfits, both likely initial creations and thus expendable for him,” Nicholas claimed, then slipped the book from his tattered shirt.
William wished the fae would cover himself to not entice further unwanted staring. But the cold didn’t even cause goosebumps to break across his flawless skin, so William was stuck reminding himself that Nicholas was a rotten bastard, nothing worth admiring. If only his eyes listened and would cease straying toward Nicholas’ chest and the black hair descending from his navel.
That’s how fae brushed past a mortal’s fears. Though tales of fae were known far and wide, each more gruesome than the last, mortals continued falling for their trickery. Deceit had been woven into their very essence, into every hair and breath. Mortals looked upon them enviously and fell for their charms regardless of the warnings fed to them from childhood.
Matilda told William a few, one of a woman yearning for love. She promised the fae under her floorboards that she would weave the most beautiful blanket for their family to sleep in together in exchange for a man to love her. The fae agreed. She spent sixty days and nights constructing their blanket. On the sixty first day, she woke to the blanket gone and a man knocking at her door. He was of low noble birth but had enough to keep them secure. She had her love, but as the days went by, the man became possessive. She couldn’t leave without him latching onto her person. He grew jealous of anyone she spoke to, claiming he loved her so fiercely he couldn’t accept she had any others in her life, for any reason. By the end of the year, she so feared his love she risked running away in the dead of night. But her husband caught her fleeing and said he would rather die than lose her. The next morning, the staff found them hanging in the foyer together, the screeching of the ropes unable to cover the laughter in the floorboards.
Fae always delivered more than any bargained for.
Nicholas leapt off the beast to flip through the pages of Fearworns’ journal, glancing continuously between the two. A frenzied glint flooded his eyes. “I have not stumbled across their kind in the book yet, but I am sure they’re here.”
“You truly are excited by all this,” William grumbled, unsettled by the memory of his mother’s story. He never discovered if the tale had been a myth or the truth, but after the time spent around fae, he believed the tale couldn’t be entirely false.
“Are you not?” Nicholas shot him a perplexed look. “Your heart races.”
“We’re in unknown territory waiting for monsters to attack.”
“Which you handled fine until now, so I don’t see them as capable of frightening you.”
“Your belief in me isn’t the least bit flattering.”
Nicholas chuckled. “Think what you must, but I will not deny that this is the most fun I’ve had in my short life.”
“I’m continuously baffled by the humor fae find in the face of pure evil. Do you not appreciate life because you’re needlessly gifted so much of it?”
“You are always so touchy.” Nicholas slammed the book shut to hide beneath his clothes. He breached William’s personal space, hands on his hips, and voice a whisper, “I sense you do not have many fond memories of fae.”
William recalled a horror that visited him on the worst nights. A place of heat and smoke, the echoing of screams, chittering of spions, and fae laughter, conniving and cruel as the damned. The noise ripped at his eardrums, like needles piercing the tender flesh. He remembered running, a moment where he spoke to the Holy Soul after many years, begging for the moment to not be real, but deep down, he knew begging was pointless. Gods were not real, and neither was mercy. The chance of a sweet future withered away in front of his tearful eyes.
He learned to hide all of that behind a mask of apathy and a brisk voice. “Your senses are correct. I do not have fond memories of fae, especially considering one would have let me fall to my death the other day. Another used my friend as bait, and I’ve been on the field enough to witness the joy fae get out of torture.”
“What’s wrong with a little torture?” Nicholas laughed and might have honestly expected William to answer. When he didn’t, Nicholas circled him like a hawk stalking prey. “Fine, humor me. What do you like to do?”
William wasn’t so certain anymore. Normalcy hadn’t been a part of his life for many years, but he recalled what he used to favor as a boy, safe and loved in a tender home. He hoped to keep those interests, hoped to see and feel them one day, that he could be that kind and oblivious boy again, innocent and naive.
“I like to tend to the garden, knit at my mother’s side, read a good book, and take long afternoon naps after a warm cup of tea,” he replied.
“How unexpectedly tame. What of bloodshed? Of the adrenaline on a battlefield? Of liquor during a grand celebration?” Nicholas hesitated at his back. His breath tickled the shell of William’s ear as his voice shifted into a low purr, “What of a good fucking?”
William caught the wild glint in Nicholas’ roseate eyes. The promise of danger and taunting destruction.
“I do not thrive in the face of death because I am so bored with my pathetic life, though I do enjoy a good fucking. I didn’t think to mention it, as you wouldn’t know what that is,” William replied.
“A bold assumption I should be given the opportunity to disprove.”
“So you can tell everyone afterward that I’m a traitor and laugh as they hang me? How dull do you think I am?”
Nicholas laughed. “Oh, I find you unbearably pedestrian.”
“The simple mind of a child would think that way.”
“Maybe you should act more like a child. Seek fun outside of testing my patience.” Though Nicholas growled, amusement strangled his tone, and his attention fell across William in a slow and methodical manner.
“I am not in any position to be childish, unlike a certain coddled prince,” William replied, disliking the attention entirely, and yet, he couldn’t stop. He wanted to goad Nicholas further, push him to the edge, see what would make him stumble.
“Prince? Fae don’t have monarchies, though I am flattered by such a lovely title.”
“I am well aware, and yet your kin treat you with a safe distance that others do for our royalty, which is by no means flattering. Quite a few of our royals have met an unpleasant demise, beheaded or worse by their own people.” William’s gaze swept over the beast to Arden. The fae prodded at the stinger with his foot, unaware of the attention. Then William’s gaze landed on Nicholas, who strengthened at his next accusations. “You’re prince-like, pretentious, juvenile, moronic, and infuriating.”
“Have you met many princes to come to these conclusions?”
“I know enough to make an educated guess.”
“You’re quite insufferable yourself.” Nicholas brushed his knuckles along William’s cheek, gentle, unlike his low voice. “Every moment I yearn to hear your screams.”
“My screams are one of many things you will never have.”
The gleam in Nicholas’ eyes stated he was about to test that theory when the forest rustled. In the stillness of the Deadlands, any noise caught their attention. The sound of crunching branches and a low growl spoke of violence.
“We should leave,” William said, breaking away from Nicholas. He hurried to Charmaine, where he grabbed her arm to make haste toward the forest.
To their surprise, Nicholas and Arden followed. A couple of steps between the trees and a howl reverberated through the foggy terrain. Certainly not any wolf, that noise belonged to a much larger creature. Charmaine’s eyes met his. Fear embedded itself within her wide pupils. The howl sounded too near and unfamiliar. It could be the surviving beast that caught them or another, a bigger one that Fearworn had yet to reveal. William had no interest in meeting the creature.
“Can we risk returning to camp?” Charmaine muttered, keeping a close eye on the forest and what may hide within.
“Why would we?” Arden bit.
“Food, idiot,” William replied. “We have enough dried spion legs to last a couple of days.”
“We’re likely to run into more.”
Charmaine shivered. “That is not a good thing.”
“Keep quiet,” Nicholas ordered. The group strained to hear thudding steps growing closer. “Returning to camp is an unnecessary risk. We move on. Now.”
William clicked his tongue. Something about Nicholas gave him an attitude. “Is the big bad shade frightened of a few monsters?”
“We now know Fearworn has beasts we’ve never seen. There is no telling if he has more, how many, or what they are capable of. Yes, even I can be overrun by enough teeth and fangs,” he replied.
Nicholas snuck through the trees, ducking under low branches and keeping to the shadows. The others followed, with Arden taking up the rear. Fae steps rarely made noise. They didn’t now. William and Charmaine did their best, but nothing truly prevented the snow from crunching beneath their boots.
The snarling lessened the longer they trekked. None uttered a word, though William and Charmaine’s breathing grew ragged, and steps slowed as the day slogged on. After the fog dispersed and the sun slipped toward the horizon, the shape of a building emerged, followed by another. William tapped Nicholas on the shoulder. The fae gave him a cursed look, then followed where he pointed. Nicholas took a careful step forward and another. Closing in, a town materialized, or rather what was left of one.
Young trees sprouted from the grove, shorter than those encircling the rubble. Snow buried the decrepit bricked facade, covering portions entirely. The houses decayed, overgrown by withered vines and roots, each leaning at odd angles, their foundations threatening to give out. Roofs collapsed, doorways caved apart, and walls crumbled. Steeples for three cathedrals struggled to touch the sky. A vast road led to the center of a town where a fountain froze over. Not a single soul lived there, monster or otherwise.
“We can camp here tonight,” Nicholas said.
“Is that a good idea?” Charmaine’s teeth chattered. “This place is abandoned for a reason.”
“Yes, because shadowed disciples inhabited these lands. The people either fled or died decades ago.” Nicholas nodded to Arden. “Let’s search the buildings and find one suitable for a night’s rest.”
The fae moved without considering the thoughts of others. Charmaine had a face of displeasure equal to the sensation prodding William’s chest. A foreboding aura encapsulated the village, warning trespassers, promising to become their grave. He wasn’t sure if that sensation was true or it felt that way because he knew, once, this village had been lively. People lived here, like him and Charmaine, happy and oblivious to the misfortune and chaos Fearworn would bring upon them.
“I would like a roof and preferably four walls tonight. We could risk a fire, beat back this cold,” he finally said, huddled against Charmaine’s side. The previous attacks tattered their attire, and with the sun setting, the chill worsened. He wasn’t interested in losing any of his extremities to frostbite.
Charmaine huffed. “I would too, but I still find this to be an atrocious idea.”
Regardless, they entered the town together.