9. Chapter Eight
9
Charmaine
C harmaine woke up to Arden leaping out of bed. She stumbled onto her feet, staring in disoriented confusion. William’s attention stayed on the door. Nicholas stood adjacent to him.
“There’s something outside,” William said. “I know I heard—”
The roof collapsed in an explosion of dust, snow, and growls. A beam caught her in the stomach. She hit the floor, sputtering for air and nails tearing at the beam. Through the dust, a sinewy torso of a serpent-like abomination slithered inside. Yellow eyes flashed, fixated on a figure in the mist—Arden, based on the abrupt movement and flash of a blade slicing at the creature. Then William cursed, and another crash reverberated through the house.
Bewilderment and fear clouded her senses, weighed her like an anchor at sea. Charmaine struggled against the weight pinning her to the floor. A portion of the wall caved in. Another of the snake-like beasts lurched inside, a long-scaled body standing on six muscled and clawed feet. They weren’t the flying beasts that grabbed them. These were yet another new monster intent on ripping them to shreds.
The one Arden battled against caught his arm in its jaws. The abomination slipped from the destroyed roof, with the fae kicking in its grasp. Nicholas, donning an expression of calm certainty, surged after them, his figure encased by rose light. This left them to fend for themselves.
“Fuck!” Charmaine pressed her feet to the floor, trying to use her waist to lift the beam. The beam shifted, then forced her down.
William slid left and right to avoid a deadly snout riddled with too many teeth. Unlike the last, these beasts were scaled blacker than ink and their spine lined by thick spikes that could pierce flesh. The abomination’s long body shattered the east wall. Charmaine raised her hands to shield herself from the falling debris, wondering if this was it, if they would die here. She, buried under the house, and William pierced by vicious fangs.
The snake lunged at William. He pivoted, but not fast enough. The weight of the beast sent him hurtling into the remaining wall. His head hit the bricks. He plummeted, cursing when the monster trapped his leg between its teeth. William grabbed the beast’s snout. The monster’s jaw went lax to release his leg, but the creature slammed its forehead into his chest.
Panic surged, pierced Charmaine’s chest more painfully than a blade. Truth be told, the day she received her enlistment letter, she found herself believing she would die young. She would rest in a plot long before she had a chance to truly live. She wasn’t confident she’d survive out here, especially without William. He was all hard corners, sharpened points warding off evil, and she was too soft, welcoming any misfortune.
Looking back, she spotted the fire sputtering in the hearth. The Sight revealed the strings of fire, orange tinted lines raging around the flames, begging to be touched. They refracted the light, bewitching any who gazed upon them. She called for the fire, and pleaded for their help. The strings listened, they caught around her fingers. She commanded a wave of fire at the beast. Yowling, it released William and retreated. The fire had done little more than encourage its wrath.
Snapping wide jaws, the snake gave Charmaine a look that curdled the blood in her veins. Its yellow gaze shifted to William, as if it had enough intelligence to understand Charmaine was trapped and it could come back for her later. If that were the case, they were in even bigger trouble. The grumps were the only beasts capable of thought without a shadowed disciple’s control. If a monster as large as this could think of its own free will, they could bring about even worse destruction.
The monster’s muscular hind legs prepared to jump. Panic and fear should have surged within her, but instead, an unfamiliar rage roared. Something unbridled, hotter than the fire at her fingertips, turbulent as the typhoons ripping through coastlines, vicious as a sickened and cornered dog.
Charmaine wouldn’t die out here. She wanted to go home. She wouldn’t lose the first friend she ever truly had. Two months hadn’t passed since she told her mother she identified as a woman before the draft dragged her away as a son, as a reminder. No matter what, she would return home to live the life she always wanted, that—damn it all—she deserved!
Setting her hands against the beam, she shoved the wood off with a scream. The beam rolled across the floor. Charmaine summoned the fire around her, catching every string and letting the festering rage eat at her skin and mind, then shot all of it in a violent blast. The beast caught fire. Rearing on its four back legs, it shrieked in agony.
Charmaine sent another fireball and another. The beast stumbled into the remains of the village. Its tail snapped wildly, shattering homes and leaving blood in its wake. With every step the monster took to advance, Charmaine countered with another fireball. She felt the tug, magic’s warning that she was pushing too far. Before, she had always stopped, but here she kept going, as if her thoughts weren’t her own. This force poured from her, demanded to attack, to survive at any cost.
Then the beast fell to the snow, hissing and withered, scales shattered and the skin blistered beneath. Dead. She stood over the corpse heaving, burnt fingers twitching and the rage still sizzling. Her arms ached and blisters formed along her hands.
“Charmaine,” William called.
Hearing her name—her true name—settled the anger to a dull throb in the back of her mind. Hissing from the sudden pain, she hurried to the remnants of the house. William leaned against the exterior wall. Blood seeped through his torn uniform around his leg. Charmaine’s shaking hands peeled back the cloth.
“I count at least six puncture wounds,” she said.
She eased William inside. He took a seat in the surviving chair and said, “Your hands.”
“Your leg first, you fool.” She kept her hands close to her chest, letting him know she wouldn’t move until he took care of himself. William had always been like that, watching out for others. Those he deemed worthy of it, at least.
Reluctantly, he settled a hand over his leg. The blood slowed, then ceased all together. The wound didn’t heal as easily as the others. After healing everyone over these days, lack of proper food, water, and rest, exhaustion settled beneath his eyes and along his slumped shoulders. That didn’t bode well for them.
“Your hands,” he demanded. “I cannot fully heal both of us, but we need to be able to fight after this.”
Sighing, she obeyed. William healed most of the blisters. His magic felt different than hers. Fire was hot, even in her hands, reminding her of what she commanded and how easily she could destroy. William’s was the opposite, smooth and cool as river water. The magic poured through her, smoothing out pain like wrinkles in a blanket.
William fell against the wall, exhausted. “This could have been far worse,” he said. “Adrenaline is no joke, particularly yours. Remind me never to piss you off.”
Laughing, she caught him in a hug. William’s warmth always eased her. The torment of training ended because of him. Charmaine hadn’t lived her life as a woman prior to the draft either, but among frightened and lonely teenage boys, wrath was rampant. They took that anger out on those they deemed different, and Charmaine stood out no matter how she tried not to. They saw her as too soft, too kind, too effeminate and strange, so the torment became a daily occurrence. Beatings and cruel remarks all stopped because a surprisingly small boy a full year younger than her started a fight.
“When they hit you, make them regret it,” William always told her.
Charmaine thought he meant to hit them back even if it was a losing battle, but over the next week, the boys that taunted her suffered mysterious illnesses. William never admitted to anything, but Charmaine understood. People like them, those who stood out among the terrified youth, would meet horrendous fates if they didn’t incite terror in return.
She never questioned nor demeaned William for his actions. Never berated him for striking another name off his list, no matter how frightening because, deep down, she wanted them to hurt too. No one else would defend her, and none of the abusers would see themselves punished. She didn’t like dwelling on that truth and didn't want to ask herself when those thoughts emerged or if they would ever go away.
Once Charmaine released him, William asked, “Where did those pointy eared assholes go?”
“I hear nothing. Either the beast is dead.”
“Or it killed them.” William smirked.
“Don’t smile while saying that. It isn’t proper.”
“None of this is proper, and if I find a little joy in their demise, what’s so wrong with that? They’d dance in our blood if they found us dead.”
He stood with her help, and the two limped out of the house.
Charmaine never fought too hard against William’s distaste toward fae. She wasn’t so fond of them, either. Fae always gave her a sense of deep discomfort. The first few years of war passed without issue. Fae and human armies hadn’t completely integrated yet. They worked together by sharing intel and separating tasks, thus staying mostly apart. But the closer the military came to the Dread Peaks, the more the armies intertwined. Seeing fae on the daily was normal, which meant she saw their constant mistreatment.
However, working together has always been better than working apart. The war was proof of that. Together, humans and fae did more in the last five years than decades apart. Many didn’t want to admit that. Sometimes, neither did she, but she wanted to go home. Not the home where she was raised, of course. Her father never welcomed her, no matter who she feigned to be. She tried relentlessly to be the son he wanted, examined his every move to copy what a “man” should be. She kept her voice low and gravely, cut her hair short, wore bland colors, and pretended not to care about flowers, fashion, or jewelry. Every step she took was like walking blind through a minefield, but rather than avoiding blasts, she avoided the truth. Always waiting for that single moment where the truth showed through, where she would mess up and her lies would explode.
Late at night, she cried and ran her nails over her skin that never set right. She hated the way she looked, how every mirror reflected a stranger she loathed more and more each day. As time went on, she avoided reflective surfaces entirely. Not a difficult task, but occasionally, she went into town and caught sight of herself. She stared and hated and cursed and imagined digging her fingers beneath her skin to shed herself of this false suit like it would reveal the woman beneath. That’s the life her father wanted for her.
Her mother, though? Bessie knew, somehow. She sensed the difference and wished to nurture it. Once, Charmaine bought her mother a make up set from town. Had taken her almost six months to save up for it. Bessie cried, thanked her, then that night while her father slept, Bessie came into her room and offered to put some on her. They would take it off before her father saw, but in those moments, Charmaine had never felt so right, so peaceful. Bessie told her about makeup and all the ways she could do Charmaine’s hair one day, if she wanted. By the Holy Soul, she wanted nothing more.
Charmaine never looked at her reflection after the makeup had been done, too terrified that she still wouldn’t like what she saw. However, she felt right, like someone realized she was the wrong puzzle piece and finally found her place in the correct picture. After serving all these years, Charmaine would find her mother and herself a place to make their own, a proper home. No longer would she wear a fake persona for a bastard father or the military forced upon her. She and her mother would buy new gowns from the market and giggle over fresh pastries in the city. They’d have a life better than before. Maybe they could open a shop and live out their days far happier than they had ever been. If fighting with fae meant the start of a better life, then she would cope with them.
“Should we wait here for them to return?” Charmaine asked.
“We’ll search around the village first. They might have gone through with leaving us,” he answered.
Charmaine bit the inside of her cheek. William mentioned it earlier in the washroom. They agreed she would suggest taking the first watch, then wake William next. That way, he got some sleep, but he’d stay awake to ensure the fae didn’t run off. Though she considered the possibility, she had hoped it to be a lie. Everyone’s inability to work together pissed her off, but she was especially irritable in their current dilemma.
They searched the side of the house first for tracks. A path of blood, debris, and footprints led them a little way into the woods. Trees had been ripped from the roots. Scorch marks scarred the earth. Melted snow made the terrain muddy, then through the broken trees, they found Nicholas and Arden investigating the corpse of the downed monster. Nicholas had the book out again as if he were nothing more than a botanist on an evening stroll collecting specimens on a boring day.
“They survived. Your resilience is becoming impressive,” he said mockingly.
“No thanks to either of you,” said William. “You could have returned after slaying the beast.”
“We could have.”
The look William passed her said enough; he wanted to kill that damn fae. Charmaine couldn’t blame him. Neither of the fae were delightful company.
“What have you learned from the beast?” Charmaine pressed a hand to William’s back, guiding him to a nearby boulder. He attempted to argue that he was fine, but one stern look from her had him sitting.
“They do not appear to be one of Fearworn’s creations.” Nicholas snapped the book shut to slip into his blouse. “None of the anatomical drawings match.”
Charmaine and William shared concerned looks. She passed the monster another glance, taking in the long body that, when standing on its legs, made a towering debrak seem small. The creatures were frightful, intimidating, and from what they experienced, powerful. Fearworn didn’t need any more creatures on his side, but alas, the world taunted them. She felt like peace had been dangled before her then snatched away.
“If it is not a creation, then he has summoned another beast from the dark plane,” William said.
“And for it to be one of that size, he has opened a Shimmer bigger than we have seen.” Charmaine shivered. “There could be even more new monsters in his ranks.”
“The size of a monster doesn’t necessarily mean the Scar must be bigger, however, we could guess he has opened another that has brought these creatures. Perhaps more new monsters will follow, thus he will have more to experiment with and on.” Nicholas’ gleeful smile didn’t go unnoticed. Neither did Arden’s.
Charmaine suppressed the urge to shout at them. An unusual thought for her. She never liked raising her voice. Her father always raised his voice, even for minor issues. She sought to never follow in his footsteps, to speak in kindness and respect, but the fae were testing her patience.
“We should keep moving. Fearworn must have sent these monsters. He knows we’re alone out here and he wants his book.” Nicholas tapped his chest. “We must return to the encampment before we come face to face with Fearworn himself.”
“Book or not, that is unlikely,” William argued lowly. “Fearworn has rarely shown himself. It’s how he has done all this for so long.”
“Yes, but once he realizes sending monsters after us isn’t working, he may come for us himself.”
Charmaine hated the prospect. All heard stories of Fearworn, nightmare tales, more like it. Bessie told her bedtime stories about him, and those like him, how they prowled the forests in search of innocence to snuff out. As an adult, she understood it was their parent’s twisted way of keeping them safe, making them fear the darkness and unknown as to not wander off. However, they weren’t entirely lies either. Fearworn truly was the monster everyone feared, and she never wished to see him face to face. His presence meant death.
Nicholas and Arden stepped past them, heading into the woods.
“Where are you going?” she called.
“We can’t afford to dawdle,” said Arden.
“But William is exhausted. We all are.”
Nicholas pivoted, a teasing glint to his eyes. “Shall I carry you then, darling?”
William made a rude gesture, resulting in the fae snickering.
“Keep up, little mortals.” Nicholas waved for them to follow. “You wouldn’t want to be left behind in the deep, dark woods.”
The shadows devoured Arden and Nicholas’ silhouette, leaving William and Charmaine among the debris and dead. She cast the creature another perturbed glance, overwhelmed by the power still visible in its lifeless body. Firm muscles that could tear apart caravans, razor-sharp teeth to gnaw bones, and a tough hide that sabers would do little against, that a clip of bullets may not stop.
“How do they know where to go?” she mumbled.
Rising, William ambled after their rude forced partners with her in tow.
“There’s no telling with them. We could be going in circles,” he snapped.
“As unpleasant as this all is, I will try to view this as useful, since we can bring all this new information to the generals. They must hear of this. They must prepare.” She said that more to make herself feel better than another.
William probably guessed that and nodded. “You are right. At least we know this now rather than later.”