22. Soft in all the wrong places
Soft in all the wrong places
Cypress felt as if her feet were going to fall off, or that her ass would become permanently attached to the saddle.
Finally, though, Torren finally led them off the road and into the Wylds proper.
Immediately, the trees seemed to close in around them, stealing all of the warmth and light of the day.
Branches grew so thick overhead that Cypress thought she could probably walk across the canopy without falling through.
Vines hung from branches covered in moss so thick the bark wasn't visible anymore.
The sounds, though, were not quiet. If anything, the noise of the forest seemed to intensify as they traipsed through the trees. Birds called to one another, chirping in a symphony she couldn’t even begin to understand.
Wind whispered through the leaves, rustling her hair. Little light sprites flitted to and fro among the flowers, giving off a soft luminous ring of light. Some flowers even glowed, dotting the forest floor in the barest pinks, purple, and blues.
The ever-shifting forest of the Wylds was a truly untamed place. Cypress could scarcely comprehend the depth of the power reverberating through the trees, but she felt it through the soles of her boots, in the thrum in her blood.
“Mind yourself here, Lass. The tomb is ahead,” Torren said, and dismounted his horse. Then, he pulled his sword free, the blade singing.
Cypress mirrored his movements, then whispered, “Do you expect to fight the Hounds?”
“Not the Hound, but its guardian will likely attack before I am able to command it to stand down,” he responded using the same hushed tone.
“What guards the tomb?”
“Something almost as old as the Old One,” Torren replied, and something in his tone told Cypress to leave it for now, that there would be time for questions later.
Torren took three more halting steps before a grating, clicking, hollow call echoed through the trees. The reverberating sound caused all of the hair on Cypress’s arms to rise. Her heart seemed to stall in her chest, lungs forever frozen.
Seconds later, a great beast burst through the trees. It lurched forward with an outstretched limb practically as long as one of the trees, ready to eviscerate Cypress and Torren. Moss and vines hung seemed to grow from beneath it's skin, the long lengths dragging on the ground.
The body of the thing was odd, soft in all the wrong places, with wrinkled, thick skin hanging loose from bone. It had large, saucer-like eyes that were completely white, broken antlers erupting from its skull.
Cypress barely had time to raise her blade into a defensive position before it was on them. The horses shrieked and ran off, back the way they’d come. She couldn’t say she blamed the beasts, this thing was horrifying.
Torren swung his blade, the metal sparking against long, curved talons that were the same size as his sword.
Cypress didn’t try to mimic his movements; she just said, “I’m your distraction, get this thing under control!” and then dashed under the beast's arm, sprinting for its surprisingly short and unprotected legs.
When she reached one of the stout legs, Cypress immediately went to work slashing and stabbing, even swinging her sword upward in a large arc to do as much damage as possible before she sprinted away once more to reassess where to attack next.
Torren shouted, “Again!” while parrying the creature’s talons once more, sweat beading on his brow.
Cypress did as he commanded, sprinting in between the thing's legs and slicing its flesh to ribbons. She couldn’t say what Torren was doing, but she heard the words he spoke, even if she didn’t understand the language.
“Beu dame, lon nyoe pangeran droeneuh.”
The creature let out another of its horrible, clicking, grating calls and then flung itself at Torren’s feet as if a hand had pushed it there.
Cypress let out a breath and wiped her brow on the back of her hand. “Well. That was exciting.”
Torren chuffed a laugh and shook his head. Again, he spoke in the language of Faerie, the words sounding like nothing but a collection of syllables to her untrained ears before he said to her, “You are a strange one, Lass.”
“Or, am I fun?” Cypress asked, twirling her blade in a flourish behind her back and around in front of her.
Again, Torren shook his head, then moved, walking toward the now-sleeping form of the creature. “This is a Gilamesh, one of the guardians for the tombs of the Old Ones.”
Despite its appearance, Cypress did feel a sort of… guilt for attacking it the way they had. It was only doing what it was meant to, after all. When she said as much to Torren, he brushed off her concerns.
“Don’t feel bad, Lass. The Gilamesh barely felt what you did, and it will likely be healed in the hour.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Lass. It would have eaten you had I not been here, in any case.”
Cypress snorted. “Wow. Thank you so much for making me feel better. What about the horses? Will something have eaten them while we were distracted, too?”
Torren’s smile was as bright as a cloudless day when he whistled three times in a sharp trill.
A nickering whinny answered the whistles, and then through the trees came the horses, Seren still tied to Torren’s mount, and the pack horse bringing up the rear. All were unharmed, and by the looks of it, unfazed by the battle minutes before.
Cypress nodded to Torren, giving him the slightest acknowledgment.
“The tomb will be through these trees, don’t go inside until I tell you the way is clear,” Torren said, and collected his horses' reins to lead them all toward shade.
“Because of… wards?” Cypress thought that was the term he’d used before, but she wasn’t sure.
He nodded. “Yes. Wards. Like… sentient magic. It is what warned us that the hounds had awoken, and what keeps intruders out.”
“So the guardian is the first line of defense, the ward the second?”
Torren nodded. “Yes.”
From behind the trees, a hulking, black tomb rose above the ground. Steam floated through the air above it, water evaporating in the heat of the day.
The tomb had four slanted sides that met at the apex, where a large cap of white stone sat. The entrance was on one of the four sides, an arch leading down a set of stairs into the belly of the earth.
Cypress’s heart skipped a beat when Torren approached the building, and the air around it rippled with iridescent light.
Using another length of rope, he tied the lead horse to a nearby tree and then checked the ties to the other horses to ensure they wouldn’t come apart.
They would all have enough space to graze on the long grasses and flowers dotting the ground beneath the tree.
“Did you see that?” She asked.
“That was the ward, Lass.”
“And you’re sure the horses will be safe?”
Torren heaved a sigh. “Yes, Lass. They will be safe. Can you stop questioning everything?”
“No. Probably not.”
Shaking his head, Torren said, “Come, link hands with me.”
Cypress narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”
In response, Torren rolled his storm grey eyes back at her. “So the ward will let you pass as well.”
She huffed a dramatic sigh, but did as he had requested anyway.
Then, they were walking down down down, into the belly of the tomb, Cypress’s hand clutched in Torren’s larger one.