18. Chapter Seventeen
18
William
D eath returned, always hungry.
William dodged and cut, shot and stabbed. None were safe from the beasts pouring out of an ebony sky. Their strength caused gales that ripped tents from the ground. Fire spread. Flames chased those daring to hide, only to meet death in a myriad of other ways. Fangs. Claws. Poisons. Acid. The monsters carried an arsenal that mowed through the ranks.
Charmaine had been separated from William ages ago. The chaos of battle made one lose themselves. Survival kicked in. William’s body moved of its own accord. He knew what to do and trusted his muscles to work, to fight, to survive, and maybe a part of him enjoyed this. He hated to linger on such thoughts, hated that Nicholas was right. The danger and the rush, he persisted in the face of death, defying her again when so many believed he wouldn’t. Including himself.
A debrak, a red towering blister, spotted William through the carnage. It charged, as most did. He aimed for the eyes, firing twice. The bullets blinded one eye. The beast didn’t stop, yowling like the Broken Soul had taken hold. William knew not to swerve. Debraks were swifter than they appeared and they loved crushing one in their fists. He fell to his knees, rolling between the debrak’s legs. The knife in his opposing hand sliced at one of the ankles. The beast shrieked and stumbled. William dug a blade into the ankle tendon, then lunged onto its back. He stabbed his second blade deep into its spine.
The debrak screamed and swatted meaty hands about. William stuck the head of his revolver by his blade and fired. Blood coated his cheeks. The debrak fell forward, twitching. After retrieving his knives, he stalked to its head to finish it with a stab to the brain.
The skittering of spions warned William of an attack. He jumped off the debrak as two spions sprang on. They were a rare breed, far older than any he had come across. The older they got, the bigger they became, and the two of them were the size of a horse. William fired at the eyes. Their pincers shielded themselves. The bullet ricocheted, and he bolted. He dashed through debris for a nearby group of soldiers, though ratwings soon overran them. Thousands of them tore the men to shreds, leaving little more than bloody bones. The spions chattered behind William. He kept a brisk pace, sliding around a ripped tent where a group of mages battled shouting grumps.
Their magic called to the spions, glimmering and distracting. They lurched toward the mages as William fell to a knee, grabbed a rifle from one of the dead, and fired from below. The bullets pierced the abdomen of one of the gruesome creatures. The spion shrieked and fell after a full clip riddled its guts. The mages handled the last, but they would have to find and dispose of the shadowed disciples controlling the beasts to end this carnage.
William lost count of how long the battle lasted, of how many lives he attempted to save. The days were too murky here to guess the time. Gray clouds loomed, soon accompanied by suffocating smoke from the flames. Though the monsters lay dead or retreated, he could not call this a victory. In a single glimpse of the camp, he lost count of the dead.
He shifted through the bodies, searching for who to save, when a pained shriek echoed nearby. The noise sounded like a woman, potentially one of the nurses caught in this debacle. He hurried toward the origin of the noise. Silhouettes swayed from within a surviving tent, sitting lopsided and torn. Keeping his gun high, he brushed back the flaps.
One nurse had shrieked from a monster, only those monsters were two men haphazardly zipping up their pants. The nurse sat huddled at the back of the tent, clinging to her ripped attire. A jittery hand covered her freshly bloodied lip and bruising cheek. William recognized one monster; Frederick Holtson. The second son of a merchant who loved reminding everyone of his family wealth, typically while tormenting them through words or fist. He never received punishment for his offenses because of his father’s position, which is why he had been on William’s list for some time. An opportunity never presented itself until now.
“Hey Doc,” Frederick said with a nervous laugh, having noticed the stained white collar along William’s arm, noting him as a doctor. “Listen, this may look bad, but let me explain what happened. Miss Elizabeth here found it in her heart to help the war effort by giving my friend and I a little relaxation time after such a terrible battle. She’s a sweet lass and would likely be more than happy to comfort you too, isn’t that right?”
Frederick wore a charming smile, a well-placed lie. Elizabeth shrank, whimpering with approval when Frederick’s friend took a threatening step toward her. William’s vision blackened, overwhelmed by a raging anger that lived eternally within him.
“The battle is over. We must bury our dead and save the injured. Now certainly isn’t the time for any relaxation, lest you wish to court trouble,” William replied in a steady voice, a perfect one, and offering his own lying grin to Frederick, then Elizabeth. “Take your leave, Miss Elizabeth. Your medical services will be required by staff and soldiers.”
Elizabeth stumbled to her feet. Her crossed arms hugged her body so tightly she’d bruise herself more. Then she limped out of the tent, dead-eyed and muted.
“If this remains between us, I swear my father will reward you handsomely,” Frederick said with a haughty laugh that his friend mirrored. William joined, forcing mirth as he settled a hand on Frederick’s shoulder. The strings of magic knotted around his fingers and he tugged. Frederick dropped, numbed, and muted.
“What the?” The other man barked. He reached for his revolver, but the dolt hadn’t retrieved his belt. William caught the beast’s vile face and slammed him into the dirt. Rather than use a gun, William’s blade slid between the man’s rib bones. His palm muted the bastard’s anguished cries that followed every piercing of the blade until his eyes dimmed.
Sighing, William stalked toward Frederick. The fool lay motionless on the ground, gaze shifting between the corpse and William. Frederick’s palpable terror did nothing but encourage him. How many times had he shown that same look and received nothing but pain in return? Did Elizabeth not show that same horror when Frederick took what didn’t belong to him? Was the blood on William’s hands truly dirty if it belonged to wicked bastards?
“Don’t worry, Mr. Holtson,” William whispered. “This will remain between us.”
Then his blade carved Frederick’s chest, ensuring that any who stumbled upon the mess would believe a grump got their nasty claws on two unfortunate soldiers. William’s hands had long since stopped shaking. He lost count of the lives he saved and those he took. Frederick was simply another name scratched out on his list. A face that would be forgotten in a few days time and the world would be better for it.
The military never reprimanded sick souls, saw them as necessary to toughen up the ranks. Cruelty was welcome here. Their punishment would come after their death when the Broken Soul dragged them below the seas of Elysium. But William didn’t believe in that nonsense. He didn’t miss the conversations of his instructors laughing over beer late in the night about another fight in the yard, how the weak boys like William squealed for a moment of reprieve from the torment.
“The beating does them good,” his instructors laughed. “We need men in this war. Not boys.”
William hated how, sometimes, he thought them to be right. They taught him cruelty and cruelty kept him alive. Most of the time, he knew those bastards couldn’t be more wrong. Pain did no one any good. That’s probably when he stopped believing in the Souls. If men were depictions of the Holy Soul, pure, and courageous, then why were they so cruel? If women were depictions of the Broken Soul, sinister, untrustworthy, and vengeful, then why were they the ones who suffered man's ceaseless wrath?
After cleaning his blade in the snow, William searched the battlefield for those who could be saved. He lugged limp men onto his back to carry across fields of ash and blood to the few surviving tents made into the new medical bay. Elizabeth worked among the chaos. William found crates containing herbs that surviving soldiers brought for the healers. He crushed the ingredients in a small pot. Inside the tent, he nodded at Elizabeth. Her nerves were not missed, hands twitching at her side as she followed William. They hid together in the shadows outside.
“Take this,” he ordered, while handing her the bowl. “I had nothing for the taste, but it will ease your pain and ensure there are no surprises.”
Elizabeth released a shuddered breath, then downed the liquid in a gulp. She stuck out her tongue, gagging. “Thank you for this and getting me out of there. I didn’t think…I saw them huddled in that tent and thought they were injured.”
“You did what you thought was right, and they took advantage of that. It happens far too frequently here.”
Elizabeth wrung her hands together, every word erratic and pleading. “You will not speak of what transpired to anyone, will you? Please, Doctor, I…this job will pay off my family’s debts, and once they are paid, a man far above my stature has agreed to take my hand in marriage. He is a good, kind man, but should he discover what happened, he may end our engagement.”
Then he mustn’t be a very good man, William thought, though he dared not utter. No one spoke about what transpired out here. Nothing would be done and many, like Elizabeth, were too frightened of what their partners or family would say. William certainly never spoke of his experiences, either. His family would never know.
“I will not tell,” he promised.
Sharing a mournful smile, Elizabeth returned to her work, pretending nothing happened. William understood the look, dim eyes set upon bright features, hoping they’d counteract. Praying no one would ask what bothered you because you may not have the power to hide any longer. It made his hands shake and innards boil, but he had work to do, too.
Charmaine soon joined, along with the other fire mages. They were useful for cauterizing wounds. She and William didn’t speak to each other, but seeing her set him somewhat at ease. In truth, nothing could fully settle the constant turmoil in his stomach. A knot formed the day he left home that expanded with every passing day.
Eventually, William stepped outside for fresh air. He wasn’t called to another cot, so he took the chance to let freezing air fill his lungs. Then a soldier rushed by, arms arms full of food he probably stole. The soldier handed out the food to a group of bruised men while gossiping. “The fae scouts have returned. Seen them headin’ for the general’s tent.”
“A little late, aren’t they?” His friend grunted, the words slightly slurred because of his two missing front teeth and bloodied face. “Those monsters ripped through us.”
“And how do we know they didn’t spook them our way?” mumbled another shivering soldier. Blood stained the wrap around his head. “Probably got themselves caught, then went running and let them beasts come for us.”
William wouldn’t put that past fae, and yet that negative thought didn’t prevent him from touching the ring in his pocket. The flower had not wilted, somehow becoming fresher, as if plucked that morning. The ring may shield him on the way to Nicholas’ tent, where a ravenous touch could ease him. Could let him pass on to a blissful sleep and forget all that he saw today, forget all he remembered through the frightened eyes of an innocent woman, if only for a single evening.
You’re a fool, he thought.
“Doctor Vandervult, we need you in here!” a nurse shouted, and his body moved. He focused on the flailing body beneath his hands. Listened to the patient beg and plead for the pain to end and know that, sometimes, it did end. Along with everything else.
By the time the dying passed, and the living stabilized, red painted William’s hands. He washed himself clean of blood, staring at the threads twisting in the once clear water. His thoughts felt the same: dirtied and swirling chaos. Exhaustion settled, familiar in its gloom. Nothing like a long day or little sleep. This exhaustion was agony. It was the ocean beating against the cliff, chipping away until the cliff crumbled into the depths.
William fiddled with the ring while leaving the tent. Most of the camp slept. Maybe it was night or midday. Who knew? It was always grim and damp and fucking miserable. By the Broken Soul, William was exhausted. Unwell, even. His teeth gnashed. His cheeks ached from biting them. Everything grew painfully tense. Sleep would not greet him tonight. He’d lay in bed remembering the worst of the past, of being miserable and in pain with no way of escaping. Nicholas could fix that. Just one more night, one evening to forget and feel good out here in all the horrors.
Sorry, Hugh. I’m tired. I just… I’m sorry, William thought, and in the shadows, slipped the ring on. His body shimmered, making his appendages translucent. Soldiers patrolled carrying torches or conjured spheres of flames. Two came toward him. William stepped into the light. One of the men would have run into him if he hadn’t stepped aside.
The soldier shuddered. “Did you feel that?”
“What?” asked the other.
“I could have sworn I felt something on my neck.”
The patrol continued, unaware of William’s presence. The ring worked, although he stood there a moment longer, berating himself for another bad decision.
Apparently, he loved bad decisions.
Nicholas’ tent had as much presence as its owner; a massive, deep green enclosure at the center of the fae quarters decorated in delicate vines and roses. The fae were quick, had their camp fixed long before the mortals did. In fact, most of the mortal arrangements hadn’t been salvaged. Soldiers practically slept on one another to fight back the cold.
The fae did not have guards, either. Any mortal foolish enough to enter wouldn’t survive long. Fae senses made them keenly aware of intruders. Usually. None noticed William sweep by, still doing so as carefully as possible. That shouldn’t have excited him, but it did. The rush returned, making his heart jump and fingers twitch. Getting caught would spell trouble, but getting away with it was exciting.
Checking no one was around, William slipped into Nicholas’ tent.
“Finally. I was beginning to think you foolish enough to deny yourself a more than satisfactory evening,” said Nicholas from a desk of thorns at the center of a wide tent.
William slipped the ring off to place in his pocket. “What if I were dead?”
“I cannot fathom you allowing such a thing.”
“How flattering.”
His gaze swept over Nicholas’ bare chest, shirt forgotten on his bed. A much better bed than any mortal soldier had, that was for damn sure. Layers of furs covered the thick mattress set upon curving brush that broke from the earth. A trunk sat at the end, no different from the one William had back home. Two chairs sat at the center of the tent with a small table for food and drink. Nicholas’ accommodations may be simple, but out here, they were grand.
“If this causes the least bit of trouble, it’s done,” William warned.
Nicholas approached, tugging at the strings of his trousers. “Define trouble.”
“Don’t toy with me. This is sex meant to ease us for the night, not a chance to frustrate me.”
The fae snickered. His pants fell around his ankles. William’s attention betrayed him, straying to every part of Nicholas he hadn’t gotten a good look at before. The admiration didn’t go unnoticed. Nicholas smirked against his parted lips.
“I will frustrate you, but in the best of ways, that I can promise.” Then Nicholas captured him in a frustrating kiss.