12. Nooks and Crannies
Nooks and Crannies
Faren
The sun had fully set by the time they crept into the heart of town.
The moon was high and full, illuminating the cloud cover until everything glowed a pale and eerie blue.
Nearby, but out of sight, the River Gray frothed and hissed, and strange sounds came from the neighboring wood: growls and howling, but also a high-pitched keening that made the back of Faren’s neck prickle.
Mariana led the way as they quietly heel-toed across the cobblestones, the fog eddying in their wakes. They’d stashed their gear a little ways back, within the rubble of an upturned wagon. Their swords were drawn, but they kept the flames of their Oath magic unlit.
“It has occurred to me that we ought to discuss what exactly you’ve been tasked to investigate,” Mariana whispered, sounding far too calm given their sinister surroundings. “Do you have a form to fill out?”
She was mocking him, but his orders did come with a list of inquiries.
“You are to give me a thorough tour,” Faren said, adjusting his grip on Mercy’s hilt.
Honor remained sheathed, and he used his free hand to thumb the fox figurine in his pocket, comforted by the trinket.
“I’ve been tasked to explore as much as possible. Spare no nook or cranny.”
“Buy me dinner first, won’t you?”
He snorted. “You wish.”
“For dinner? I really do.”
“I meant the other thing.”
“Sex?”
The word sent a pulse of awareness through him—one that was ill suited for the current context and company.
Faren stared at the cascade of thick hair down her spine, shifting like a curtain as she moved, catlike, through the gloom ahead of him.
While Faren’s armor practically glowed in the moonlight, Mariana—with her black clothing and leather straps that crisscrossed her shoulders, hips, and thighs—all but disappeared into the gloom.
When Faren was a boy, he’d read a fairytale about a woman made of shadow who lured young men into a haunted wood; he felt a bit like he was following that woman now.
“I’m not sure this is the time or place for innuendos,” he said.
“You’re the one who brought up my nooks and crannies.”
A distant shriek rent the air, echoing off the crumbling stone to their right. Faren startled. Mariana barely seemed to notice, her footsteps remaining steady.
She spared him a glance over her shoulder. “You’re doing great, sweetheart,” she murmured suggestively.
Faren spluttered. “Mariana.”
“I knew you had an affinity for praise.”
Faren refused to dignify her crudeness with a response.
With the fog and moonlight, the town around them was reduced to shadows and shapes.
They were walking up Main Street, presumably toward the town square.
The bell tower rose ahead like a bad omen.
Narrow shops lined the road, and from a distance, all seemed normal—but as Faren passed closer, the evidence of destruction became more apparent.
Doors were splintered and bashed in. Windows had been shattered; broken glass glittered on the sidewalk.
A terrible rotting smell spilled out of an abandoned butcher shop.
Another building was charred to a husk. Carriages lay tipped on their sides in the middle of the street, many still attached to the carcasses of horses and oxen; some of the animals had strange protrusions: antlers and the nubs of new limbs.
Blood splattered the stonework; black sludge congealed in the cracks of the cobbles.
Chaos and carnage, preserved in the eerie stillness of abandonment.
Faren swallowed hard. It was so much worse than he had been led to believe. Whatever had happened here had been a thing of nightmares. A cursed Fate.
“On your right, you’ll see a shopfront adorned with a lovely mural of blood,” Mariana said in an airy tone. “And on your left, a dead ox. Doesn’t its swollen body compliment the flower boxes?”
“What are you doing?”
She swept her free hand out in a grandiose gesture. “I’m giving you a tour.”
They’d come to a modest plaza, where a stone carving stood in its center: a swan with wings outstretched, its serpentine neck broken off.
“From here, we can explore the residential area,” Mariana said, pointing west, “or do a bit of window shopping,” she added, pointing south.
“The bell tower offers a romantic view of the devastation.” With her back to Faren, she spread her arms, the tip of her sword stirring the fog.
“If you see a particularly enticing nook or cranny, feel free to explore thoroughly.”
“Enough. Have some respect.”
Mariana faced him. He half expected her to continue with her callous bit, but when she met Faren’s gaze, her eyes were devoid of mirth. Hollow.
Ever since they’d met, Faren had thought her glib remarks were a sign of how little she cared, but the look she gave him now told a different story.
He thought, inexplicably, of his sister Beatrice, who had a habit of telling jokes at the most inopportune moments: awkward dinners with stuffy guests, the first time Eva had her heart broken, whenever their parents fought.
It was her defense against emotions she did not wish to face, whether they be embarrassment, second-hand hurt, or instability.
Mariana might’ve worn a black breastplate and carried a deadly blade, but that barbed tongue of hers was her true shield. Faren was momentarily overcome with a sense of compassion—but he wasn’t here to make jokes. He was here to find answers and face the truth.
He glanced around the square. The cobblestones were discolored, sticky under his boots. Blood, and far too much of it, for how empty the place was. “Where are all the bodies?”
Mariana’s gaze—which had been fixated on him—flicked to the side. In a flash, her sword ignited, and she swung the blade at his head. Faren ducked instinctively, and something thudded behind him.
He turned slowly. A wolf was slumped at his feet, its antlered head hanging at an unnatural angle, black blood oozing out of the gaping wound. Mariana had nearly cleaved its head right off—mere moments before it’d done the same to him.
“Fuck,” Faren burst out as adrenaline belatedly hit his bloodstream. “What the fuck?”
“There will be more,” Mariana said, extinguishing the blue flame of her shortsword. “Come.”
She led him out of the square, down an alley, moving silently but swiftly.
A chorus of howls filled the town, pinging off the crumbling stone, echoing confusingly. Mariana picked up her pace as she turned down the next street. Faren glanced over his shoulder, panic rising as he spotted another cursed wolf a block back. Its head was low, tail tucked, stalking.
“Mariana.”
“Shh.”
“Mariana,” Faren insisted. “Behind us.”
She hooked right, leading them through the front door of a shop.
Inside, shelves were toppled in a heap of wreckage, and tiny vials littered the floor.
The scent was herbaceous and astringent.
Faren closed the door behind them with a click.
Yips and snarls gathered outside. Mariana did not slow, did not pause.
She walked into the back room, out the back door, and into the night once again.
“One nook down, a thousand more to go,” she whispered.
Half a block down, a hanging sign above a pub door dangled crookedly from a single hook, squeaking as the breeze stirred.
Mariana smoothly led him into the pub, where tables and chairs were strewn about the bar room, splintered wood poking out everywhere.
Broken bottles littered the floor, along with large puddles that—in the darkness of indoors, absent of moonlight—were hard to identify as ale, blood, or ichor.
Mariana stepped around the pools, leading him into the kitchen. A body was slumped against the far wall, and judging by the rancid smell, it’d been there for a while. Faren did not look too closely as they slipped through the back exit and into an alley.
“Two nooks down,” Mariana announced quietly. “Or was that a cranny? I don’t actually know the difference.”
“Do you want me to respond? Because before we got here, you made it sound like you preferred that I keep my mouth—”
A howl from the west.
“—shut,” Faren finished quietly.
Mariana was already hurrying east. Faren followed, his heart rate rising. When they reached the end of the alley, Mariana dared a peek out at the next street.
“Two to the south,” she whispered, then angled her chin up, her attention sweeping the surrounding rooftops. Faren caught a glimpse of her Oath tattoo above the top edge of her breastplate. “On my count, we’ll turn left and run.”
“Run?”
“We’ll head for the bell tower,” she said. “Unless you’ve seen enough?”
It was a fair question. What constituted enough in a monster-infested town?
Faren had reviewed his orders numerous times over the past few nights, seated across the campfire from Mariana in less-than-amiable silence.
The blank report he’d been tasked to fill out seemed rather asinine now that he was here.
Assess the damage, evaluate the remaining threat, and report on the severity, Lord Haron had said in the throne room. It all seemed irrelevant when there were no survivors and packs of abominations roamed the streets.
The Valiant already sent reports, Mariana had argued. There’s nothing left to see.
Surrounded by gore and destruction, Faren had the sinking sense that he’d been sent on a fool’s errand.
“Faren?” Mariana urged.
Fool’s errand or no, they’d come all this way. He had to report on something.
“Romantic view it is,” he replied.
Mariana shrugged. “It’s your Fate.” Then she was running.
Faren raced out of the alley after her. Excited yips echoed behind them, but he didn’t dare glance back. He pumped his arms, breathing deeply, focusing on the power of his legs, just as he did in training—trying to ignore the deep and instinctual fear threatening to strangle him.
Mariana was surprisingly fast, given her short stature.
With sword in hand, she sprinted over the cobblestones.
The bell tower loomed to their right, their path to it blocked by another line of shops.
As they darted parallel to their salvation, Faren could hear the rhythmic clack of claws on stone getting closer and closer.
Then: teeth, snapping at Faren’s boots.
Mariana hooked right, darting down a crossroad. The wolf on Faren’s heels overshot the turn, its momentum carrying it past the opening. “Fates,” Faren swore, his speed renewed as he ran after Mariana, encouraged by the bell tower rising out of the fog ahead of them. Almost, almost.
But as Mariana reached the small square surrounding the base of the tower, another wolf appeared.
“Watch out!” Faren shouted, but her sword was already aglow in blue flame.
She slashed at the creature, which scuttled backward on the many claw-tipped legs protruding from its sides.
Faren arrived moments later, both swords drawn and ignited.
The blaze of his weapons cast the scene in red, throwing gruesome shadows on the surrounding stone structures.
Two more wolves came, lunging and snarling, and Faren swung his swords in circular arcs, scaring the monsters back.
“Inside!” Mariana ordered.
“Should we not try to kill—” The wind was knocked out of Faren as a wolf collided with him from the side.
He fell to the ground, dropping Honor with a clatter.
The beast landed on top of him, saliva splattering Faren’s cheeks; it stung like hot oil.
A horrified grunt loosed from his chest as he used his free hand to shove the creature’s open maw away from his face.
The abomination’s fur was matted and damp, caked with gore, its temperature oddly cool under Faren’s fingertips.
The wolf snarled and snapped, its considerable weight pressing down on Faren’s breastplate.
He tried to angle Mercy up into its side, but his arm was pinned at an awkward angle underneath one of the monster’s many legs.
Faren pushed on the creature’s throat, locking his elbow as it fought to maul him.
Then, with an abrupt and fleshy crunch, the monster’s neck tore open with a spray of black blood and blue flame. Mariana kicked the creature with her boot, shoving it off Faren’s chest.
“I said, inside,” she scolded.
Muscles shaking with adrenaline, skin stinging with foul blood, Faren retrieved Honor and got to his feet.
Two dead wolves were slumped in the small plaza, with others closing in, prowling slowly, baring their too-long fangs.
Faren’s sense of duty told him to fight, but he was not the mindless follower Mariana had accused him of being.
Though he did not trust her in all matters, he trusted her in this.
Faren brandished his swords at the wolves, scaring them back as if he meant to fight—then he darted for the bell tower door, bursting through with Mariana close behind. The moment she was inside, Faren slammed the door shut and secured the drawbar, locking them in.
Wolves scratched at the door, snarling and whining, but the bar held firm.
For a moment, Faren simply panted in the flickering light of their weapons, his lungs aching with exertion.
His face burned from the splatter of the beast’s venom and ichor.
His chest felt tight with the memory of the monster on top of him.
“Here,” Mariana said, handing him a clean square of fabric. She barely sounded winded; her voice was almost melodious as it echoed off the curved walls. “Wipe the blood off your face before it blisters.”
While he did, Mariana ventured deeper into the foyer of the tower, using her sword as a torch in the darkness. There wasn’t much to see, just a few stacked crates, vertically strung ropes tied off on pegs, and the spiral stone staircase leading up.
After wiping his face, Faren used the soiled fabric to clean the splatter off the front of his breastplate. When he was done, Mariana plucked the used fabric from Faren’s fingers, dropped it on the floor, and used her sword’s flame to burn it to ash.
“Your romantic view awaits,” she said, gesturing at the stairwell.