Chapter 7 A Weaver in the Wood #2
Yes, it hissed, saliva dripping from its gaping maw. See, sisters? It knows what we are. And we know what it is, too. The entire clearing reeked of rot, and between the overwhelming stench and the war in her mind, Hazel knew she was going to pass out.
Another clawed mental finger caressed the exterior of her conscious mind. What the Hel is this? Hazel wondered. As it became more brazen and dug in its talon, Hazel did her best to repeat what she had done last time, baring down with all her might. It worked.
The mental assailant withdrew again, screaming in agony. The creature’s physical form screamed in unison. Hazel was on her hands and knees, panting, certain she would black out at any moment. But something deep within willed her to have strength.
The Striga lunged, opting for a physical assault instead of a mental one. It was a snarling whirlwind of gnashing teeth and slashing talons. And it was upon her in a flash.
Hazel was knocked onto her back with a force that shoved the air from her lungs. The Striga landed atop her with all the ferocity of a pouncing helcat. It unleashed an otherworldly screech Hazel was sure would have her ears bleeding.
No. She would not die today. Not like this.
She mustered every bit of strength she had and let out a scream to rival the Striga’s own.
In desperation, she shoved with all her might, pressing into the monster’s thin gray flesh.
Something surged within her, and a vibration of energy zipped up her arms and into her hands.
Those same hands glowed brighter than the sun itself before emitting a blast unlike anything Hazel had ever experienced.
The Striga catapulted across the clearing.
It landed with a bone-crunching thud, but to her disbelief, the monster sat up, slowly popping its bones back into place.
It was the most heinous thing she’d ever witnessed.
At least until it stood back up and started toward her again, this time with vengeance.
And Hazel couldn’t get up. Blood trailed from her nose, and her mouth tasted of scorched ash.
Whatever she’d done to create the blast had left her utterly drained, still prostrate on the ground.
She could barely will her muscles to move, let alone stand or flee, so fighting was out of the question.
Whatever power she’d drawn on, she could no longer feel it.
She was completely and utterly fucked.
The Striga was nearly on top of her again, when movement in her periphery snagged Hazel’s attention. Drained of all ability to move, she couldn’t turn her head to see what it was. The creature before her was too busy deciding which parts of her it would tear off first to notice the disturbance.
Something burst in between them, a flurry of steel and…
feathers? Hazel glimpsed a starch-white wolf’s skull the newcomer wore as a mask, black leather armor and…
yes, those were feathers at the shoulders.
He moved with inhuman speed, battering the creature and beating it back.
But the Striga was faster. She landed a vicious blow to the man’s exposed side as he failed a thrusting lunge at her, and she ripped his armor to ribbons, exposing the mangled flesh underneath.
The follow-up strike disarmed him. But then, the man used magic—actual magic—and Hazel knew she was losing it. No one could use magic within the wards except the King’s own mages. Except that part where I literally just did.
The masked man ripped the glove from his right hand, outstretched as if reaching to grab hold of the Striga. Tendrils of shadowlike black mist flowed from his hand, weaving in and out of one another.
The clouds overhead darkened the sky, and the soft breeze whipped into a whirlwind. His shadows ensnared the Striga, wrapping her body and squeezing it tight. His breathing was labored, but he showed no signs of relenting.
“You don’t belong in these woods, Striga,” he growled.
The Striga hissed, though it was unclear if she was in pain or simply pissed her meal had been interrupted. Fallen-born scum! You belong here no more than I! We do as we are told. Same as you.
“Who sent you?” he grunted through gritted teeth, his struggle to hold her captive growing more apparent.
We’ll never tell! She cackled fiendishly, Helish creature she was. It made Hazel’s hair stand on end. Kill us and get it over with. More will return in our place.
“You will leave immediately, Striga. Crawl back to your master and tell them that if you or any of your kind cross the wards into my territory again, they’ll receive only heads in return.” The Striga hissed angrily, eyeing her forgotten prize sprawled on the ground behind the warrior.
Holding it tight with his shadows, he glanced over his shoulder at Hazel, and then back to the Striga. “And you will leave the human girl alone. Not a hair is harmed on her head, or I’ll remove yours.”
Her gnarled face scrunched into something resembling confusion, and she sniffed the air. Human, you say. Hmm… we think there is more to her than meets the eye, Dark One.
“Don’t call me that.” He squeezed a shadow tendril a little tighter around her neck and she gasped for air.
That is enough! We’ll let her go… for now…
She turned her gaze upon Hazel, then. Be gone, ill-fated spawn.
My master hunts for you, and if you stay, he will find you.
He will flay the skin from your very bones.
Leave this place and never return! The Striga’s body and the incorporeal voice were at odds with this decision, the former still desperately wanting to make a meal out of her.
Through vision blurred by fading consciousness, Hazel watched as the Striga shifted again, her extra pair of arms wilting and shrinking back into her body, its bones cracking as they reshaped back into her human form while the warrior in black stood guard.
And then the world went dark.
To her horror, the strange male was still there when she came to. He sat with his back against a tree, picking his nails with a dagger. When he noticed she was awake, he stood abruptly, sheathing his dagger as he strode toward her.
As he stalked forward, Hazel fought to stay conscious. She tried to crawl away, but her limbs were weak, as though the magic had drained her.
“Please…” she begged. “Don’t…”
He towered over her, a menacing figure. A visage of death incarnate.
He cocked his head, drinking her in. Examining.
It was animalistic, the way he looked at her.
Perhaps he was another beast from beyond the Border and not a man at all.
Perhaps he’d run off the Striga just to secure her prey for himself.
“Who are you?” came his gravelly voice.
Who am I? Not an unreasonable question. Up until moments ago, Hazel could have answered easily. But now?
He drew closer, so close Hazel could see the soulless black orbs where eyes should be. Not the slightest hint of white or color. She sucked in a quick breath.
She couldn’t see his mouth beneath the mask, but when he spoke, the smirk was there in his voice.
“You should be more careful, sweets. Monsters roam these woods,” he growled.
And she was looking at one. She was sure of it. Escaped one beast just to fall prey to another.
“You see, I’m looking for something. Or someone,” he said, his gaze looming over her. He crouched down. “It’s not by chance that I’m here. I have an acute sense for… certain things.” He began circling her. “And those senses led me here. To this glade. I want to know why.”
The magic. The magic. The magic. Hazel gulped. Her head was still swimming, and forming words was a foreign concept. Instead, bile rose in her throat. She kept her mouth tightly sealed as she forced the feeling back down.
“Well? If you’re not going to tell me why this glade reeks of magic that most definitely did not originate from that Striga, you could at least thank me for saving your ass.
” He leaned in close, and Hazel watched wordlessly as his black eyes shifted to gold beneath the skull’s bony sockets. Predator eyes, glowing in the shadows.
Hazel averted her eyes. He reached out and stroked her jawline before grabbing her chin and tipping her face toward his. Those yellow irises burned into her soul, locking her firmly in place. Her gut screamed run, but she couldn’t even if she wanted to.
“Whoever it was, whatever it was,” he began, letting go of her face and standing up, “they should know it’s not safe out here. I was hoping to catch up with them and offer aid. I have connections. Resources that could help them, but you’re clearly not who or what I’m looking for, are you?”
Hazel shook her head. No. She most definitely was not who or what he was looking for. Even if she was.
“Right. Well, I’ll be going, then.” He backed away several paces.
The air behind him twisted and warped, as though it was melting.
A flickering opening appeared, a doorway carved into the air itself, and with a half-hearted salute, the warrior stepped in.
In a blink, the warped doorway was gone, and Hazel was alone once more.