FORTY-ONE
brYNDIS ASHGLO
When faerie blood is ingested, humans heal at the same rate as faeries. Applied topically, healing is almost instant. Faerie blood does not darken.
The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper
Beasts as big as cattle leap into the path behind me, three of them baring their teeth. Their howls are loud and bring bile to the back of my tongue. I’m going to die. I ‘m going to die. I’m going to die.
“Keep going!” Aed roars. “Faster!”
They’re so close I can smell them. The air is thick with their putrid death-like stench.
Branches sway in the trees around me, distorted and twisted, as though something lurks within their cover, reaching out to grab me.
My horse’s breaths are strained, a faint whistle escaping its lungs. No one can run forever.
The mountains loom ahead, towering over the trees. The trail becomes narrower, guiding me deeper into the forest. Darkness engulfs everything, obscuring my vision. The thick canopy obstructs light from entering. Sharp teeth snap at my heels, and my horse’s muscles twitch with fear.
I whip the reins, urging him forward. Branch’s lash at me, drawing blood.
The hounds’ growls echo in my ears, a symphony of impending doom.
I lean low, my body pressed against the horse’s sweaty neck, desperate to minimise our profile and avoid the branches I struggle to see.
The forest’s grip tightens, the trees closing in.
Dead branches snap beneath us as we weave through the thicket, dragging burning lines across my bare legs.
The hounds’ claws tear into the earth, their breath hot and rancid.
A beam of moonlight penetrates the dense canopy, illuminating the outskirts of the forest to reveal a small meadow. “Head for the clearing!” Aed commands.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious!” Snapping at him keeps me grounded.
Keeps me from giving up. The open expanse stretches before me, a sanctuary of temporary respite.
We surge forward when my horse neighs, making a sound like a pig being slaughtered.
One I’ve never heard from an equine. A sound I’ll never forget.
Claws sink into its quarter. Crimson floods its coat of white.
We stumble to the ground, and I roll onto my shoulder as the ground shudders beneath us with a deafening thud.
Pain radiates from the back of my head, making the world turn white and then black, but only for a moment as adrenaline forces me into action.
I unsheathe my gifted iron blade with my right hand.
The world spins around me, coming into focus as a beast with burning red eyes leaps for me.
I don’t know what these creatures are called, but if nightmares had a face, it would have theirs.
I dodge its attack, my iron blade slicing through the air. Its jaws snap shut inches from my face. I counter, driving the blade into its side. Luck. Pure luck.
Hot blood sprays across my face and down my neck as another beast circles me. I stumble to my feet, parrying its attacks with swift, yet unpractised movements.
Make your anger your strength, Aed once told me.
I use his advice, shifting my grip on the blade.
I wait for it to move first, praying my plan will work.
It leaps forward, and I jab, putting all of my strength behind the simple action.
I strike at the right moment, lodging my dagger into the side of the beast’s head.
It falls partially on top of me, lifeless and limp.
Its saliva burns my skin, causing blisters to rise instantly.
A scream rasps up my throat as I fight to free myself, my body protesting in agony.
I’m not ready for this. Three weeks of training isn’t enough.
I free my blade from the beast’s skull with a forceful pull.
The sound of bone crunching and soft tissue tearing is enough to make my insides turn.
Stumbling sideways, I tighten my grip on the hilt. There’s no giving up. No turning back.
Blood gushes from the creature’s wound, mixing with the dirt and grass beneath my feet. The stench of it fills the air, assaulting my senses. My muscles ache, screaming for relief, but I ignore the pain. The weight of the blade in my hand is my only comfort.
Staggering forward, I lose my balance, falling ungracefully onto my knees. The clang of weapons and roaring voices sound from the other side of the trees. I need to keep going. I need to help him.
I stumble toward my horse, the bow and quiver lying on the ground a few feet from its body.
“Odhran?” I call across our bond, reaching for him once more, but there’s only the feel of his anguish reverberating through our connection. “It’s a trap!” There’s no reply.
I lock eyes with the hound’s lifeless gaze.
Its mouth is fixed into a snarl displaying long sharp teeth, too long to be normal.
Its ears form sharp, point-like thorns, matching the spiny protrusions along its back between its coarse green fur.
It’s terrifying, but I don’t look away. I’m not a born warrior, but at this moment, I know I’m not helpless. I will not falter.
Mounds of black and green litter the battlefield before me, fur and bodies of fallen soldiers laying side by side. Black armour and copper clash in battle.
“Hold the line!” Odhran’s voice thunders through the valley. My heart aches as though it’s being squeezed in the palm of an unrelenting fist. He’s bleeding. Behind him are wounded men being tessered away, evacuated to safety.
My hands shake as I reach for an arrow behind my back. I can do this. I notch the arrow, drawing back the bowstring with trembling fingers. Sweat drips down my forehead, mixing with dirt and blood.
Orange capes outnumber black armour tenfold, but Odhran stands tall at the forefront.
His sword of black gleams in the moonlight.
Cavalry ready their charge, gathering on the edge of the battlefield.
I steady my breath, take aim, and release.
The arrow soars through the air, missing its mark.
Fuck! Drawing a second, I release the string.
It pierces the armour of a Fómhar rider.
He falls, and his horse takes off into the woods.
Those among him scatter, unified in uncertainty, searching the shadows but not finding me.
“Good,” Aed growls, his talons digging into me.
Biting down, I reload, muscle memory guiding my movements. I’m using a skill Declan taught me to fight against his planned ambush. I stabbed him. I stabbed my friend. Raising my bow, I take aim, ready to let my arrow go, just as I’m ready to let Declan go, too.
I let loose another arrow, watching as it pierces through the enemy’s ranks. Another rider falls, and Aed roars with approval.
Odhran shapes his shadows into an impenetrable shield as Sheridan tessers his men away.
I watch as King Brogan’s cavalry charges, ignoring my arrows streaking the night sky.
Odhran is retreating, shielding his men as they go.
He’s standing ground on their behalf. Reaching behind my back, my heart clammers against my ribs. My quiver is empty. My last arrow shot.
I barely feel my legs as I run toward him from the edge of the forest. Each stride is clumsy with exhaustion.
“Odhran!” I cry out. His eyes find mine amidst the chaos.
The roar of battle is deafening. Black tears spill from his eyes, brought on by an overuse of power.
There has to be balance. There is always a cost.
A spear sings through the air and misses me by mere inches. I don’t let it deter me, not halting my approach, not even when the ground trembles beneath my feet. Not even when a rider charges at me, sword drawn.
“Take the spear!” Aed snarls. “Use it! Now!”
I stop and turn, bending down to pick it up out of the mud. As I grasp the cold metal, the weight of the spear fills my hands. Hatred surges through my veins. I rise, my grip firm, and face the charging rider. His eyes widen in surprise, but it’s too late.
With a primal scream, I thrust the spear forward, aiming for his horse as I angle the other end into the ground.
The force of the impact threatens to knock me off balance, but I let go just in time as horse and rider fall to the muddy ground.
My muscles ache, but I push through, driven by the urgency to join Odhran behind his shield.
A grating roar sounds behind me, and I turn to look.
The rider regains his footing, sword drawn.
My bare foot catches on something hard, slicing into my flesh—a discarded sword from one of the fallen.
I duck under his swing, narrowly avoiding the blade that seeks to claim my life.
Out of nowhere, a dagger cuts through the air, planting its black blade deep between the soldier’s eyes.
His features relax, and the anger in his eyes fades as he falls to the ground, defeated.
I turn my attention back to Odhran who clutches his abdomen.
His shield of unwavering resolve has fallen.
I charge toward him, dodging arrows and sidestepping fallen warriors.
My heart pounds in my chest, an erratic, fast-paced rhythm that matches the intensity of the battle.
Odhran’s gaze never wavers, his eyes filled with exhaustion.
Hooves echo through the valley, growing louder as more riders approach.
It’s like a rolling thunder drawing near.
Dangerous and threatening. Everything inside me vibrates with panic.
I’m not a warrior. I don’t strategize. I only want to correct the wrong I did.
I never should have trusted Declan. I never should have taken notes of Odhran’s map and plans.
Only a few of Odhran’s men are left on the battlefield. Three riders charge at me, their steely resolve contrasting with my complete lack of arms. A deep sense of dread seeps into my veins.
“Look after her, Reptile,” Odhran’s voice echoes across our bond.
“Certainly, Blood Sucker,” Aed agrees.
I want to scream at them. I want to tell them I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.
That they shouldn’t speak in such a tone.
That they better not dare leave me. But no words form on my lips, neither through our connection.
My gaze returns to Odhran, and a wave of his power, as dark as the night and colder than ice, strikes my chest. I stagger backwards, and a chill runs through me, freezing me from within.
His outstretched palm points in my direction as arrows fly toward him, piercing his body, one after another.
He falls backward onto the unforgiving ground.
My eyes remain fixed on Odhran until I can’t see anymore.