13. A Sword? #2
The sword was heavier than he expected and awkward to hold. With Anara’s help, he hurriedly strapped it on around his hips. Still, it felt uncomfortable and foreign at his side. Swallowing his nerves, he posed with one hand on its hilt.
“So, how do I look?”
“Same old Darien,” Anara muttered, tightening one of the straps.
He looked away from it, his hands dangling awkwardly at his sides. “What about you?”
Anara’s lips pulled back as she moved away from him, revealing sharp pointed canines. “I am my own weapon.”
Darien pushed down the instinctual desire to run. “ What are you?”
“Wait.” Anara held up a hand, shushing Darien’s questions. He watched as her nose grew, blackening, into the long snout of a wolf. She sniffed once, shaking her head harshly, and the transformation vanished. She spat out a curse. “Loki’s Knot! We’re too late.”
“What do you mean? What did —”
Then Darien smelled it. Burned wood and ash. A faint scream sounded in the distance. Darien ground his teeth in distaste. It was the cry of an animal before slaughter.
The blood drained from Anara’s face. “Run, Darien, as fast as you can!”
She dropped to the ground on the paws of a pitch-black wolf, her fur hackling around her neck and ears laying flat. Then Anara was gone, bounding toward the sound of the scream.
“Njorer’s beard!” Darien exclaimed, running after her, knowing he had no chance of keeping up.
Through the trees he could see the light burning from a fire, so he ran toward it, his sore feet forgotten.
The sword banged against his leg as he ran.
Only minutes later he left the trees, emerging into a field.
The house before him was engulfed in flames, its roof long gone and the sides of the home collapsing in on one another.
The fire reached out with long fingers, stretching and searching for their next victim.
Already they lunged across the yard toward the family barn.
A fresh scream drew Darien’s attention, reverberating through his skull and grating against it like a hoe scraping against hard rock under the soil. He clapped his hands up against his ears to protect against it. The shriek was cut off by the sharp howl of a wolf.
Only a hundred feet away stood a monster from the old stories, the kind of stories that Aagen would tell in front of the fireplace at night.
The creature was bent over something on the ground, but it straightened at the wolf’s challenge.
At least eight feet tall, the body was humanoid but elongated and distorted, covered entirely with scales as dark as night.
To his surprise, Darien found his hand gripping the hilt of the sword as if by reflex. The weapon no longer felt strange in his hand, but comforting.
The creature bared its teeth and flexed its talons, leaping after the wolf that danced just out of reach. It looked as if the wolf, Anara, was intentionally leading it somewhere.
Darien moved toward her, then stopped. Anara said that they needed his help, not her. This had to be their farm. Where were Larissa and Halla?
In the firelight, Darien made out the outline of a limp body lying amongst the bushes where the monster had been standing. The figure’s bright white hair was muted by dirt and what Darien feared was blood, but he knew it was her.
Larissa.
Keeping an eye on the beast pursuing Anara, he ran toward Larissa. She was laying face down in the dirt, her hair torn from her braids and sprayed out, covering the side of her face. There were rips in her clothing, but the biggest wound was on her neck, which was coated in blood.
We’re too late , he thought.
The depth of his grief surprised even him as sorrow lanced through his chest. He reached out to turn her over, to close her eyes if they were open, to give her some closure in death. But when he touched her, Darien heard a small moan of pain.
“Larissa!” Pure relief colored his voice as his fingers found a pulse on her neck.
Darien cradled her head in his lap. He could see now the wound in her neck was not as severe as he’d feared.
It started just behind her ear and wrapped its way onto her face, cutting into her cheek.
It had stopped bleeding, but it would leave a permanent scar.
More blossoming bruises covered what skin he could see, but otherwise, she seemed intact. Could she move?
From the field, Darien heard the creature’s ear-splitting screech. Larissa would have to move, or Darien would have to move her. They couldn’t stay here and wait for the creature to return. He swept strands of hair from her face.
“Larissa, can you hear me? It’s Darien. Come on, we need to get you out of here.”
She moaned in protest but pushed open her eyelids, her brow lowered over her eyes. “Darien?”
“The one and only.” He slid an arm behind her back.
Her golden eyes flooded with tears. Her voice was rough, from emotion or smoke inhalation. “They’re all dead.”
He paused. “What?”
Her eyes turned to look to his right. Tears streaked her face, forming rivers in the soot and ash on her cheeks. Darien followed her gaze, seeing the body, mutilated and past saving.
Larissa sucked in a harsh breath. “Pappa. Mamma. Onkel Tucker. It killed them all.”
“What about Halla? Lara, where is Halla?”
“I don’t know. Anara said she sent her back to the house. I thought I found her,” she whimpered. “It wasn’t her. She’s probably dead too.”
“Come on, Lara,” Darien said, his voice firm yet kind. If there was a chance that Halla was alive, they needed to think fast. He had a feeling Anara could distract that creature for only so long. “Where would Halla go? If she got home and realized there was danger, what would she do?”
Larissa blinked, her eyes staring blindly into Darien’s face. Then they sharpened. “There’s a trap door in the barn.”
“Then we need to look for her there. We can’t give up, not if she’s alive. Can you stand?”
Darien pulled her to a sitting position, then up to her feet. Anara howled, but differently than before. Less of a challenge, more of a warning. Their reprieve had come to an end. Larissa leaned heavily on him, her breath shallow. Then she screamed.
“No!”
Darien flinched at the word ripped from Larissa’s throat. He followed her gaze to the barn, where fire licked up the wooden walls. Larissa took a stumbling step forward, and then another, half-supported by Darien as they raced against the rising flames.
As they drew nearer, Larissa moved with more surety than before, relying less on Darien’s help. They were so close now. Smoke billowed from the door.
Another screech caused them both to turn. The monster was back.
“ Draugr ,” Larissa whimpered.
The monster, draugr as Larissa called it, stood over Tucker’s body, screeching as it searched the ground for its missing victim.
It sniffed the air, turning its stark white eyes to look in their direction.
Anara was gone, perhaps killed by those horrible claws.
Though the smoke obscured its face, Darien could swear the monster smiled as its eyes narrowed on its prey.
It never saw the raven that dove through the air, swooping downward with talons extended.
Before the creature could react, the raven flew off with one of those pupilless eyes clutched in its talons, cawing in triumph.
The draugr wailed, one hand covering the hollow and bloody hole in its grotesque face.
Again the raven dove, but the monster was ready this time. The smack of its claw sent the raven’s body plummeting to the ground. Darien heard the crack that resounded across the field.
“Anara!” Darien’s voice was drowned out by the draugr ’s roar.
The creature advanced toward the fallen bird. Darien gripped his sword, his head turned in Anara’s direction, although his body still supported Larissa. Indecision paralyzed him.
“Go!” Larissa shouted, shoving herself off of Darien’s shoulder. “I’ll find Halla.”
She threw open the doors to the barn, which immediately spewed forth a breath of hot, burning air. Darien could only watch as Larissa threw herself into the dark building, and the smoke swallowed her whole.
The monster cackled at the raven’s weak caw.
Darien’s feet pounded over the soil. The creature lifted the raven by its broken wing.
Anara flapped feebly with the other, trying to catch its claws with her sharp beak.
Prodding the raven’s torn wing with one of his sharp talons, the monster did not see Darien approach.
Darien drew the sword and lunged forward with a shout, swinging the weapon overhead in a great arc and bringing it down upon the creature’s back.
Pain shot through his arms as the sword clanged against the iron scales on the monster’s spine.
The blade rebounded, jarring straight out of Darien’s hands and flying in the opposite direction.
Although the strike left no mark, the creature had felt it.
Dropping the raven to the ground with a dull thump, the draugr glared at him, licking its lips.
Darien stepped back, his empty hands flailing as they searched in vain for a weapon. “See,” he muttered to himself, “this is why I need a gun.”