Chapter Thirteen- Duty Calls #3
Fortunately, it must plant its palms firmly in the person’s life blood to begin absorbing it, an act often done while kneeling.
It’s a horrendous sight, the blood bubbling before his porous skin takes it in with a squelching sound.
The smell of heated blood threatens to evacuate the contents of my stomach, but I’m already moving.
Elm crouches behind the beast, a flaming arrow lit and leveled at its back.
I make a clicking sound with my mouth, signaling him to release the arrow as I slide in the dirt towards the Riftwraith.
I bring my sword upward, catching him in his gut and dragging towards it back just as the flaming arrow makes contact with its spine.
Abdomen split open, its rotting entrails begin tumbling out as it roars in pain.
It blindly lashes out, hurling itself towards me.
The creature crashes into me, all blood and burning flames as it squeals in anger.
My sword makes contact with its leg before hitting the forest floor.
Its mouth opens up vertically from where its chin should be to the back of its head.
Its black eyes on either side offer it minimal sight, so it can’t see my look of horror at its endless rows of teeth before Elm tackles it.
I stumble away.
The thing wriggles in his grip, the flames on its now-charred back extinguished. It gets on top of Elm as I pant and hurry in their direction but I’m not fast enough; I won’t get to them in time.
“Viyco!” I cast a protection spell forth as it unsheathes its claws and spears them towards Elm’s eyes. With a scream, Elm thrusts his forearms over his face and I hurl a dagger through the air. It whistles and strikes the Riftwraith in the neck. The Riftwraith’s claws miss Elm by a hair.
Another scream sounds, and my head whips around in search of it. The little girl covers her mouth and darts east, a raggedy old bear in her arms.
“Hey!” I call out to her. But the creature has pulled the dagger from its neck and is now fixated on the girl. Her braids bounce behind her when she runs.
Children’s blood is pure and provides more concentrated power.
The magic given to us by our respective Fallen Titan’s is the purest sort of magic.
But overtime it becomes contaminated by human weakness…
Grief, fear, desire. As such—children’s gifted magic is said to be closest to its divine state.
Even if untamed. The Riftwraith will not let her escape easily.
“Shit.” Elm pants as the beast jumps off of him. He’s quick, spinning to his knee and getting his bow up and poised to shoot. Two arrows whiz past me and hit the Riftwraith in the back of its knees. When it crumples to the ground with a pained howl, it reaches out in time to grab the girl’s foot.
Her small frame hits the ground hard enough to knock the wind from her as it drags her towards him.
The sound of that maw gaping open is too much and with deafening speed, I whirl my sword in my hand and spin downward.
The sword makes contact with its neck, removing its head in a violent gush of blood, painting the small child whose face has become frozen in horror.
She wails and scrambles backward from me.
I try to wipe the creature’s blood from my hands and face but I only end up smearing it.
Elm rushes to the girl.
“Hey, hey,” he shushes her wailing.
“Are you a knight?” She sniffles and asks.
“We both are,” Elm points at me and I offer my best reassuring smile, despite being soaked in blood.
Elm picks up the teary-eyed girl.
“I’ll get the man,” I tell him as he whispers something to comfort the child. “Joanna,” I say, and she looks over Elm’s shoulder at me. “You were very brave.”
At that, the girl gives a proud grin and buries her face in Elm’s neck, her tattered stuffed bear hanging over his shoulder in her grasp.
“Iizyiah,” I whisper.
My beloved snakes slither forth from my hands, hungry for the rotting flesh which twitches at my feet.
When we trot back into the village, sleep has claimed anyone who didn’t care to learn the fate of the child.
“Jo!!” Her mother bursts from her home and falls at Elms feet as he takes the girl down from the horse.
“Mama!” She cries. Her mother sobs into the girl’s tattered clothes, thanking Xeusis that we got to her.
I turn to Zena who has three bodies strapped to her and pet her snout in annoyance. My eyes start to burn, reminding me that my snakes are still drawing on my magic. I send them back to the Venomwoods.
“These three men fell victim to the Riftwraith,” I inform the remaining guards, who seem to be miraculously fine. “And what did you lot do? Huh?” I gesture to them. They quiver under my gaze.
“It—was—it killed him so easily, sir,” the oldest one stammers.
“So you abandoned a child to that fate?” I roar, anger swelling inside of me. I know by the way the three guards flinch that both of my irises have thinned to that of a snake’s.
“Go, hike the Hifrost Mountains. Do not return until you locate fifteen Ridge Sprites, and bring them here,” I banish them. “Netherhelm has no use for cowards!” There are no Ridge Sprites in those mountains. They have migrated for the cold months.
The Death Bringer has emerged into the town square, his workers carrying stretchers for the bodies.
“A new group of guards will arrive tomorrow,” I assure the small group gathered around me. A few noblemen, a knight who resides here in Whitmire, the Death Bringers, and some common folk all look to Elm and I for answers.
“What of the beast? Are there more?” The nobleman, Niteworthe, asks. A plump man with more money than brains.
“It’s dead and they’re rare. We will monitor the kingdom for sightings. I can assure you,” I clasp my hands behind my back.
The people begin talking amongst themselves. Angry that I sent their guards away, confused, and scared above all else.
The girl is explaining herself to her mother.
Apparently, she wanted to take sweet bread to her father.
Her father whose body is buried under rubble in the mine with a dozen others.
Whitmire is the mining district and dread lives here; the look on their faces is not just because of the Riftwraith.
These people live their lives waiting for something to go wrong.
In a perfect kingdom there would be protection, magic in place to ensure these senseless deaths did not occur.
But the wicked King needs the lesser people to be poor and scared.
Resources are not “wasted” here. I swallow my hatred and tap Elm’s shoulder.
“Let’s go,” Elm nods and mounts his horse beside me. A unified front: the knighthood on display for Netherhelm’s common folk.
I summon Crowley who was undoubtedly with Fable because it takes him forever to materialize and land on my shoulder. He helps me heal the small scratches dealt by the Riftwraith and restores my power to its full capacity.
“Well, the Pleasure Halls have surely closed for the night…” Elm complains.
“Given that the sun is rising, I’d say you’re right about that,” I smile.
He curses the Riftwraith under his breath but rides on in silence. When we reach the northern edge of Whitmire before entering the royal lands, I inform him that we must part.
“Go back to Netherhelm and send guards to Whitmire. Inform Reese that I will be back in ten days. I’m going to the Venomwoods,” I instruct. The Venomwoods are a few days’ ride to the west, through dense forests towards the coast.
“Be safe,” we say in unison and laugh like kids.
Ensuring that Caelthar Cryovale hasn’t set foot near my family is of the utmost importance to me. Even when Crowley begins to bug me that he wants to go back to the palace.
“No—you are my familiar before you are Fable’s mate,” I stab my finger into his little bird chest. He’s perched on Zena’s head, staring at me as we move through the morning fog. I understand the exasperated look he gives me but I ignore him.