29. Self-Defense
29
SELF-DEFENSE
Red daylight burned, picking at the fog’s scab-edges. The Poisonwood stretched, crackled, creaked, and squeaked. Ari caught glimpses of trees thickening, losing their spines, and bushes shaking off pendulous berries as their branches shifted shape. Mushrooms shriveled, deliquescing swiftly; the black sunflowers crumbled, seeds puffing into bursts of ash before they hit the ground.
The entire place was morphing, and she was almost glad for the thinning screen of mist. Seeing the woods around the Keep growing in fast-forward was one thing, akin to watching a timelapse in a nature documentary. This was… something else, and she didn’t like it.
At all.
Maybe Hannixe agreed. The Grey Lady didn’t point out new species of flora or talk about tinctures and pastes. She rode close to Ari, her hood thrown back and ashen mane bobbing as she scanned what could be seen of the forest. Keners and Sarle led the way, Leshe before Sarle in the saddle, occasionally pointing in one direction or another. They accepted direction without question, sometimes steering away from what she indicated, other times turning immediately at her urging.
The chained man’s black equine was just behind Ari’s, and she felt his scrutiny. Her back ran with harsh tingling gooseflesh, her breath turning short when the sounds around them crested. She couldn’t decide what was worse, the mutating vegetation or that little phrase they tossed around so casually.
Restless dead . Those horrible moans, the damp slap-padding footsteps, and that other extremely concerning term, contagion . Not to mention blight .
At least the falling leaves, branches, and other crap avoided their group, though sizable boughs frequently thudded down to one side or the other. The equines laid their ears back and snorted at the noise, but did not prance; they were tense and alert as their riders.
Ari’s fingers were cold. The chill crept up her arms, and her toes were numb as well. Maybe it was the constant stress, or the knowledge that she was just an appliance. The chained man wanted out of his tin can, and that was understandable.
I just wish he hadn’t said all that stuff . Thank heaven she hadn’t reciprocated, or made a bigger fool of herself. There was that to be grateful for, at least.
If she was eventually sent back home—assuming she wasn’t a changeling—it was time to start thinking of how to cope with the cops and the Hardisons. Ari might be able to make a case for self-defense even without the bruises, unless her injuries returned when she did? If the media got interested—or a savvy public defender—she had a good chance at manslaughter instead of murder charges. Of course Mike’s parents had a lot of money, but that wasn’t everything, right?
That was if she stayed to face the music. If she could deal with lakes of blood and giant, shiny horned robots, maybe crossing state lines and starting over again wasn’t such a big deal. Maybe she could even emigrate, putting an international border between her and the entire awful mess.
Ari straightened in the saddle, pushing her shoulders back. The deep piercing chill was new, at least since her arrival. It could be purely psychological, she supposed. A fresh breeze brushed her cheeks, slid away to dance in the speaking forest, and the mist shredded.
The trees no longer wept red resin or thick black tar. Some of the poisonous things Hannixe had pointed out lingered, true, but they looked far less virulent as they jostled with other flora. All in all the place looked a lot healthier now, and that was good because?—
“ Allalai! ” Majan yelled, and his mount gave a high shrill shriek. “ ’Ware, they come! ”
The things boiled out of the forest, and a scream tore from Ari’s throat.
The worst wasn’t the smell, overpowering as the stink of the Blood Mere but hitting the nose differently, sending atavistic pin-prickles over her skin—every living being knows death when they scent it. Nor was it the hanging flesh overgrown with metallic excrescences and widening, weeping sores, though the sight was far more terrible than any Last Judgment painting or special effect on a high-definition screen. Nor the way they moved, twitch-jerking, sometimes dropping to run on all fours, slim moving pistons and tiny sharp-edged gearwheels tearing at flayed muscles.
No, the worst thing about the Bright King’s other servants was their rolling, empty, cobweb-filmed eyes, bulging with horror. And the sounds.
Palms and soles swollen, fingers and toes receding, they made soft slapping noises while running crabwise; their jaws worked endlessly, champing and dripping yellowish foam. Little piping cries issued from shredded throats, whistles and chuffs when they were moving at speed. And they moaned, too—like damned souls, those terrible, chilling cries she’d heard while huddling among Jazarl’s men.
Ari’s mount screamed as well, Hannixe’s rearing. Jazarl gave a short sharp shout which might have been an obscenity. Naithor’s equine lashed out with a back hoof, catching one of the things in the chest and flinging it against a swiftly growing tree with a wet, sickening thud.
The things massed like flies, swarming, and no few turned their heads blindly in Ari’s direction as her equine stood trembling and sweating. The chained man said something, a low imperative command; dull-black metal snakes shot in every direction, finding their targets unerringly. The splorches were deeply nauseating, and the way rotten flesh exploded into metal-starred chunks even worse. Alzarien avoided a splatter, leaning back in the saddle, and the flash of disgust married to a moment of fear on his sharp-featured face spoke volumes.
Another scream—Leshe, huddled before Sarle in the saddle as his rapier swung, lopping off an undead creature’s bumbling, questing hand. The chains sang, snaking through cringing air, and Ari’s mount decided enough was enough.
The white equine bolted. For a terrifying moment the world was cockeye and Ari knew she was going to fall, tumbling over frantically working hindquarters. But her hands were tangled in the reins and her knees clamped, stirrups pinching slipper-clad feet unmercifully. She managed to hunch forward, cowering against the massive creature’s neck.
Bugling in terror, the equine shot into the forest. All a rider could do was hold on, and hope for the best.