33. Chapter Thirty-Two
33
William
W illiam knew Death, and she traveled with them. She trailed their steps and shared their breath. The stench of death had yet to take, but it would in two days. One day. An hour. A minute.
Oscar’s teeth chattered louder than a fork scraping against a plate. His rifle rattled, captured beneath his pale fingers. The gray sky greeted them, somber as days prior. Snow coated their uniforms, dampened their hair, and bit at chapped, peeling lips. Death would drown many in the cold, biting at exposed skin and curling around those in hiding, hoping being still would spare them. The rest would be lost to the beasts Fearworn set in their path.
“Never stop moving. A moment of hesitation will get you killed,” he warned. The battle horns raged. Thousands of soldiers pushed through the trees. “Stay with a group and if you thought you heard something, you did.”
Oscar nodded, eyes wide with fear, as if he had seen the future, and it was bleak.
“Do not rely solely on your guns. They will fail you more often than not. You have a knife. Use it.”
Oscar patted his side in search of the blade. He gripped the handle and swallowed hard. Another blast of the horn in immediate succession. They had arrived. The ground shook and cracked open like the undead came to reclaim the living world. Oscar clung to William’s arm with bruising force. Beasts known and new burst from the soil to color the sky in inky gloom. Fearworn had hidden himself underground. His monsters scurried to the surface like ants protecting their hill. A musky scent permeated the air, followed by gunpowder.
Thunderous cracks, and the sting of metal against bone, engulfed the once silent terrain. Bodies crushed together in their attempt to flee. Soldiers screamed to calm their nerves, or they saw excitement in the coming bloodshed. Beasts cut through their ranks, picking up men to rip in half. Blood rained upon them, streaking winter with crimson.
Oscar’s rifle fired. A grump fell, shrieking from the bullet in its chest. Another lunged over soldiers, claws and fangs bared. William shoved Oscar aside. He was too busy deciding to load his gun or use a dagger. William caught the grump by one horn and rammed a blade between its ribs. The grump yowled, then he twisted, and the creature fell dead.
“If you aren’t sure whether to use a gun or a knife, use your knife,” he said, unclear if Oscar listened. His dim eyes fell on the grump, then the surrounding chaos.
A boisterous roar hurtled toward them. He leapt away from a debrak, dashing through the soldiers. Its heavy steps crushed unfortunate souls in its path. The beast flailed its head, sharp horns tearing soldiers apart. The debrak caught men in its paws and shredded them faster than a toddler with wet paper. Guns fired, bullets pierced its abdomen and shoulders. One arm swatted at the soldiers as if they were no more than flies. He shifted further through the ranks, knowing he’d die too if he stayed crushed like this, but he lost sight of Oscar.
“Oscar!” He called to no avail. The young soldier vanished. All he could do was hope Oscar survived long enough for Nicholas to end this war.
William swerved around battles to find ailing soldiers. Those with minor injuries capable of healing were taken care of, then returned to the fray. Mages and fae battled with all their might. Towers of flame touched the clouds. Howling gales swept beasts off their feet to impale them in trees. A fae confused a group of grumps with copies of herself that burst into a puff of smoke when they landed an attack. Everyone fought hoping this would be the last.
Through it all, fuschia light edged closer and closer. A burst of energy severed a dozen grumps at the torso. Their ruined bodies joined countless others. Nicholas lurched through the masses, his eyes joyful in a way William could not comprehend. He came to William’s side, lips sharp and hungry, as he said he would. How Nicholas found him was beyond him, or rather, he didn’t want to ask.
“We must hurry,” he said. “I know where to go, and we must accomplish this swiftly lest we risk Fearworn’s beasts overtaking us.”
“Where do we even sta…” William’s question fell silent when spotting Charmaine over Nicholas’ shoulder.
She prowled over the dead. Wild eyes, black as night, observed her prey. Shadows squirmed beneath her brown skin, now scaled around the edge of her eyes, lips, and hands. Skin peeled from her cheeks, molting like a reptile. She had the movements of a predator, low to the ground, shoulders high, and nostrils flaring as if she could smell everything. Including William and Nicholas. Her gaze shot to them. Head cocked, she simpered with a row of dreary red teeth.
She leapt. William’s hand trembled, refusing to raise his revolver. Nicholas caught his hand and sprinted. They swerved past battles and jumped over corpses. Behind them, Charmaine shrieked. Her scream sent many, even the beasts, howling and falling to their knees. A debrak crushed a handful of soldiers and others fired their rifles, shredding a herd of grumps.
“Where are we going?” He held tight to Nicholas’ hand, cold as winter.
“Fearworn is below, somewhere in the citadel, no doubt close to a Scar. I saw shadowed disciples earlier. I think they emerged from an entrance nearby,” Nicholas replied. “Our best bet for finding a cure is in Fearworn’s workshop. I saw glimpses of the interior of this citadel, but perhaps not enough.”
“Some is better than none.”
Though they needed more. They needed proof, hope, a miracle. William stopped putting faith in miracles. Out here, faith and miracles did not exist. There was skill and luck. If you didn’t have either or both, you died, like Oscar. William saw the poor boy through the crowd, half his corpse in the hand of a debrak, and the other lying broken yards away. His face held fear, his last moments of pleading that were never heard. Oscar’s death felt like an omen, the world trying to tell him that nothing mattered. Today would be his last, too.
“This way,” Nicholas demanded. They veered around a group battling spions and ran for a large boulder covered in gore and snow. On the other side, a smaller boulder had been tossed aside, half of it uncoated by snow and covered in dirt. It had been used to hide a stairwell into the earth.
“This is where the shadowed disciples came from. It must lead to the citadel below.” Nicholas snapped his fingers.
Two flaming spheres hovered. The spheres descended into the tunnel and they followed. Impatience bristled, prickling cold, a biting anxiety that had William twitching and groaning. It was unlike him. If Nicholas noticed, it did not encourage him to hasten their steps. That was for the best, regardless of his nerves. There was no telling what would meet them at the bottom of the cracked stairwell.
Blasts overhead caused dirt and debris to fall. Cracks formed along the walls. Nicholas hopped over the last two steps. He presented a hand that William accepted. The press of Nicholas’ fingers along his callouses urged a sense of calm, and they continued through the narrow halls.
The citadel had been made with haste, rooms and halls carved out of rock leaving behind uneven and sharp surfaces. Crooked doorways led into wide rooms reeking of rot. Maggots and flies hovered over the carcasses fed to the creatures. Other rooms contained makeshift bunks constructed of rock and covered in moth-eaten rags.
Growls emanated from the shadows at their back. He nudged Nicholas’ side and held a finger to his lips. Nicholas listened. Low growls headed their way. He settled a hand in front of William, waiting for a group of grumps to burst out of the darkness. One wave of his hand and the stone embankment expanded into spikes, piercing the yowling beasts. Their bodies fell limp.
William and Nicholas stepped forward, though stopped at the sound of another growl. Nicholas sent a ball of flame forward, slipping around the grumps’ corpses. Behind them, camouflaged by the shadows, were a pair of black eyes. Charmaine.
Nicholas gripped his hand tighter. “Move.”
Shrieking, Charmaine slammed against the spikes, shattering them left and right. Nicholas burst into a run, surprising William. He expected the fae to stand and fight, to raise his hand against her since they were in close quarters. He admired Nicholas’ back, his heaving shoulders and serious eyes, beautiful even when shadowed. He liked to think Nicholas didn’t hurt her because he may not understand their relationship, but he respected it. William appreciated that, more than he could ever say.
They sprinted through the halls. Nicholas led the way, albeit haphazardly. Neither was certain where they were headed. A wall of webs nearly caught them. The thick, slimy substance hung from the ceiling. Countless bodies had been trapped within, some wiggling. The giant oval room reeked of burnt flesh and dozens of spions crawled about their nest.
They raised their clawed legs and hissed. William shot two that dared to leap at them. Nicholas sent the nest up in flames. The heat brought a sweat to William’s brow. Memories bombarded him, thoughts of Hugh and his last moments, that William may follow and nothing would be left of him to bury.
But Nicholas had his hand. He sprinted out of the room through the only other hall, dragging William with him. Behind them, Charmaine shrieked. Her heavy steps bounded after them. Nicholas swerved left and right, stumbling upon a room that stopped them. His eyes widened, then he ran with newfound vigor.
“This way!” Nicholas called.
He and William lurched through a dining area far cleaner than the rest of the rooms. This had been carefully crafted, each surface smooth with clasps on the walls for torches. Six long tables filled the circular room. Chipped bronze cups and silverware adorned the tables.
Charmaine entered behind them. Her wild eyes had no recognition. Claws tore through her scaled hands and darkness seeped out of her skin like oil. Her head twitched atop her shoulders like a fluttering insect. She jumped over the tables and ran across them. One clawed hand swatted at William, barely missing his shoulder. Nicholas waved and the table she ran across lurched up to throw her aside.
William winced at how she landed, but bit his tongue. He could not complain. Nicholas was keeping them alive and he could have done far worse. They sped out of the room. Nicholas blocked the entryway with enough rock to give them time to find Fearworn’s workshop.
The battle above raged on, making the ground shake. Ahead of them, a metal door waited. Nicholas clenched his hand and the rocks around the door crushed it. He kicked the door in, then they stumbled into Fearworn’s workshop. The rancid stench sent William to his knees. That was more than death, it was decay and unforgivable torment. His eyes watered and he gagged, then vomited.
Countless dissected bodies hung from hooks along the walls and ceiling. Blood stained the room and calcified along the grates on the floor. Shelves lined two walls full of jarred specimens and preserved body parts. Limbs fell to the floor from the ruckus. A strange green liquid leaked from the jars. Fearworn’s sporadic ramblings had been scratched along the facade and floor. Papers laid scattered about his desk full of markings and plans.
“We don’t have much time.” William coughed and staggered to his feet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “There has to be something in here for Charmaine.”
Nicholas blocked the entryway with a wall of rock and caught the torches aflame. Light filled the crevices of the room, revealing more of Fearworn’s victims. Monsters laid about, cut open or crudely sewn up. One wiggled atop a slab, trapped by iron chains that burned its skin. William had seen no creature like it, something scarcely human but with too many limbs and eyes. Nicholas killed the beast, likely less to do with mercy than their survival.
“Did you ever see him working on antidotes?” William asked from the desk. His brows furrowed, perplexed by the peculiar symbols. They were a mystery, and the symbols worsened his mounting anxiety. Trembling fingers moved from one paper to the next, wishing to see anything to potentially decipher.
“I saw him working on a great deal of things, but nothing he did reversed any of the effects he set upon his victims.”
William deemed the desk a lost cause and dashed toward the specimen jars. He cautiously stepped over broken shards and unknown fluids. He scoured the shelves, then came a weak snarl. Dust fell from the ceiling. Charmaine beat against the doorway. William hastened his search. Nicholas joined him.
“What if it isn’t here? Where are his personal chambers?” William asked, now tossing jars aside haphazardly when they did not give him what he desired.
“Through there.” Nicholas nodded at the blocked entrance, where a long crack formed. Charmaine’s growls grew closer.
“What if he has the antidote on him?”
“Or there isn’t one?”
William glared, then the walls groaned. Charmaine burst into the room. Nicholas ripped a table from the floor and swung at her. Charmaine caught the opposite end. She tore the metal into pieces like it was nothing more than melted butter. She leapt toward them. Nicholas ripped the legs off the table to hit her temple. Blood seeped from the large cut on her head.
“Don’t hurt her,” William demanded, heart lurching.
“If I don’t, she’ll kill the both of us.” Nicholas threw the table legs aside.
William returned his attention to the jars. There had to be an antidote. There had to be answers, the ones they needed.
Behind him, Nicholas battled against Charmaine. She was little more than brute force and rage, more intelligent than the monsters, but easily antagonized. When Nicholas landed a punch, she yowled and thrashed about. His flames sparked around the room, hissing by and encircling her. Charmaine swatted at them, seemingly fearful of the fire, then determined to seek freedom. She ran past the flames, uncaring of how they caught her clothes alight. She rammed into Nicholas, sending him into the wall with a low grunt.
“Fuck, fuck!” William aimed his gun at her. Nicholas was holding himself back. He could have killed Charmaine six times over. William wouldn’t let Nicholas be harmed, either. Charmaine raised her arm, moments from piercing Nicholas’ shoulder. William fired. The bullet shot clean through her bicep. She screamed, and Nicholas kicked her away.
William would apologize later, after they healed her. He had to. His jittery hands continued the search. The jars either had no label or scribbled words he couldn’t understand. A rare few had drawings that looked like creatures, perhaps depicting the ones Fearworn created or planned to.
Nicholas held out a hand. Rocks tumbled from the ceiling. They fell upon Charmaine and pushed her to the floor. Her eyes raged, muscles twitching as she fought against Nicholas’ power.
“Find something soon or we will have to end this,” Nicholas warned. “She will break her damn neck at this rate.”
Charmaine’s struggles wouldn’t cease. Nicholas raised his hand. The rocks dispersed. When Charmaine stood, he sent them hurtling at her. She flew into the wall where the rocks pressed against her once more.
William fell to his knees to investigate the bottom row. He ripped out a jar, and a breath caught in his throat. The jar had a label, a drawing similar to the beasts that took them from camp but in their perfected form.
Charmaine shrieked and put her full power into ripping free. Rocks crumbled when she crushed them. A bone snapped loud enough to hear and Nicholas’ power was relentless. Her heels pressed against the wall and sent the rocks scattering. She hurtled forward to grab Nicholas, catching his arms and his side and squeezed. With such a grip, she could break bones.
There was little more to be done. They either saved her or lost her.
William searched for a way to inject her. He couldn’t possibly get her to drink this. A needle sat on a table nearby. Behind him, Nicholas shook in her grasp, cursing at her. William grabbed the needle and stabbed the top of the jar. He took as much as he could just as Nicholas shouted, “Hurry up, I am not interested in being crushed!”
Charmaine screamed when William pierced her leg. The needle went deep, and he injected as much as he could. She vaulted away to rip the needle free. Her bleak gaze fell on him.
William’s hands shook, wishing, praying to the Holy Soul he hadn’t spoken to in years that this worked, that she’d be okay, that, for once, there could be some good divine intervention. Nicholas shielded him, hands raised to continue the battle.
Charmaine approached, then her knees gave out. Coughing, she clutched her throat and fell to her side. William ran for her, but Nicholas caught his waist. He clawed fruitlessly, kicking and cursing at Nicholas to let go. The fae stayed silent, eyes firm and lips set into a grim line.
Charmaine kicked and squirmed, breaths ragged, then silent for a long, tortuous moment. Murk swelled beneath her leg, breaking through skin to release a black puss. More slipped out of her ears, nostrils, mouth and eyes. She heaved a gurgled breath and gagged on it, rolling onto her hands and knees to vomit shadows.
“Let go,” William demanded, desperate and pleading.
“Not yet. We do not know what that is and if it can affect you,” Nicholas countered.
He hated how Nicholas became the voice of reason. He hated standing there, watching helplessly as Charmaine withered.
Nicholas’ attention strayed between the entrance and Charmaine. With the battle continuing above, there was no telling who or what may come below seeking shelter. William understood they shouldn’t be here waiting to see how things play out, but he would not leave without Charmaine. If she did not survive, he would take her corpse out of here. He would give her a proper burial, at least.
Charmaine scrambled away from the puss to press her back against the wall. The black of her eyes dulled, revealing their natural brown. She held up her hands as if she had never laid eyes upon them, then quietly whimpered, “William, what…w-what’s happening?”
That was her voice, and those were her eyes, brown as an autumn forest. William shoved out of Nicholas’ hold, running around the mess to fall at Charmaine’s side.
Nicholas inched closer, one hand behind his back. “Do not touch any of that.” He nodded at the fluid. “That could have been what she was infected by. The same may happen to you.”
“Infected,” she echoed in a hoarse voice.
William wanted nothing more than to hug her and tell lies, that they would be okay and everything would be better. Instead, his hands shook, hovering near her. “What is the last thing you remember?”
Charmaine pressed a hand to her temple. “Uh, we…we were in a room? A storage room with some men? I was arguing with…” Her eyes widened. “I killed them. Those men. I killed them.”
“That wasn’t you. It was this infection. You didn’t mean to.”
“I killed others. Out there, the battle, our soldiers… while chasing after you, I killed them.”
“Don’t think like that.”
She may not be thinking much of all, mind far too rattled to comprehend much. Charmaine’s attention strayed from one item to the next, eyes rolling in her head. He wished to comfort her. He went to lay his hand on her shoulder and Nicholas hissed.
“There is no time for this. We must get her out of here. She is in no condition to be on a battlefield,” Nicholas said.
“And where can we take her, especially if we cannot risk touching her?” he countered.
“I’ll find a blanket or something to cover her, then we’ll figure out the rest.”
Two small lights blinked in the darkness. William cursed too late.
“You won’t be going anywhere,” Fearworn said from the entryway behind them, eyes of seething violet. Snapping his fingers, the ceiling caved in.