Eclipsed. #2
The slight curl of his hair, the rounding of his shoulders, and his heavy-footed gait were unmistakable.
My stomach dropped as I scrambled for a better vantage point.
When the man turned, his side profile revealed a slight bump on the bridge of his nose—an inherited trait in the Smith household.
Without a doubt, I knew it was him. Finn.
“That’s—” my words faltered as I felt a rumble underfoot.
It reminded me of all those months ago, in the Walled City, when the ground shook like something was trapped beneath the cobblestones.
The soldiers dispersed, backing away from the source of the trembling—where the sand erupted and frothed like a ruptured hot spring.
Then the tremors ceased—the grains now eerily still, as if time had frozen in Cambas.
Before I could sigh in relief, something coiled out from the sands, emerging with blurring speed. The thing was made of rubbery skin in a muted pink and appeared boneless and blind—its tongue flicked from its mouth, as if it could see through taste.
Red balled his hands into fists, like he was planning on beating the beast with punches alone.
“By the gods,” he said, his fiery hair blowing in front of his feral gaze.
“That’s one mighty worm,” Godwin gasped, shielding his eyes from the glare—his scar pulling taut as he squinted.
Its segmented body writhed, as if adjusting to its surroundings, before stealthily threading through the sands.
“Run!” Fitzroy bellowed from below the bank I stood on.
The men didn’t hesitate to obey their commander’s orders.
Finn darted across the sands—frantic and clumsy. I willed him to find stamina he didn’t possess. As I watched him stumble and slip, my heart thumped in my throat so aggressively I worried I’d throw it up.
The beast swept its long tail end across the sands, swiping the legs out from underneath the soldiers and sending them skyward. Each one thumped onto the ground with dull impact, like conkers dropping from a chestnut tree.
I held my breath, anticipating my brother being struck—but Finn narrowly escaped, darting left just in time to avoid the whip.
The worm shrieked—its great mouth opened wide, strings of thick mucus flailing from jagged and yellowing teeth. Then, with rapid speed, it burrowed its tapered head into the charred sands. In a blink, the entirety of its thick, wriggly body was beneath the earth.
I finally breathed, drawing in a ragged wheeze. The worm was gone. Relief flooded me—until I noticed Fitzroy.
He stood stiller than a stone wall—feet shoulder-width apart, hand resting on the hilt of his sword as if waiting.
A slight rumble rippled the blackened sands, moving the grains like lapping waves.
Suddenly, the worm reemerged—jetting upward, spraying the lucky soldiers in grit and throwing the unlucky ones aloft.
This time, Finn wasn’t fortunate enough to escape the creature’s wrath. He was flipped high into the air like a tossed coin, landing head side up facing the murky sky.
Panic overcame me, leaving no room for rational thoughts.
“Brother!” I wailed, bolting toward Finn—fearing he’d broken every bone in his body.
I stumbled, tripping over the bank and tumbling down, kicking up grains as I picked up speed. By the time I reached the bottom, I was sprawled out with black sand clinging to every crevice of my face. I clambered onto all fours, spitting out the gritty, salty specks.
My vision spun as if I was caught in a whirlwind. Slowly, the dizziness passed, and my vision shifted into focus.
The sword-fighting men had dissipated faster than morning mist, and the worm coiled round, licking the air in search of the easiest target.
As I clambered to my feet, kicking salty particles into the sea breeze, I made my presence blindingly obvious.
The worm slithered across the sands like an eel of the land—a slight hiss reverberating in the back of its throat as it came for me.
I screamed, hitting a pitch higher than I ever had before. I knew that if I survived this, I’d face endless teasing about that noise in the smithy.
Without a weapon, I clenched my hands into tight fists. Then cowered behind my open palms. I’d never beat this beast. I prayed for a swift and painless death.
A yell, deeper and fiercer than the shrill I’d let out, echoed across the beach. I peered between my splayed fingers, glimpsing a silhouette—backlit by the skyglow reflecting off the silvery swells.
The figure charged my way, sword gleaming above his head.
Fitzroy slammed the pointy end toward the worm—it scarcely squirmed aside—the tip chipping into the dark and dense sands.
Quickly, Fitzroy adjusted his grip, changing his tactic and striking the face of the beast. Sparks flew as his sharp sword clanged against the worm’s serrated teeth—a sound like scraping flint traveling across the beach and hitting my ears.
With one mighty lunge, the worm collided fiercely with the weapon, thwacking it out of Fitzroy’s grip and sending it hurtling into the air. It crashed against the ground in the near distance—my heartbeat faltered, fearing for Fitzroy’s life.
Without hesitation, Fitzroy darted after his weapon, with the worm clinging to his heel—slithering fast as its giant mouth snapped rabidly.
With ease, Fitzroy swooped his hand downward, snatching the hilt and reclaiming his sword.
My pulse thrummed—one moment from fear, the next in amazement—as he spun the blade with such speed it dazzled like a pinwheel.
Then, Fitzroy slashed forward, cleaving a chunk from the creature’s rubbery flesh.
The worm whimpered, blood staining the last flecks of gold sand as it curled in agony and fear.
In a merciless second strike, Fitzroy pierced straight through its veined head—and it cried no more.
He’d successfully vanquished the worm.
Fitzroy withdrew his blade, blood dripping from the tip.
Without cleaning it, he slipped the sword back into its sheath, swaggering toward me with an air of nonchalance.
Bravado oozed from his every pore, arrogance etched into his handsome face—proud that he’d successfully put his training into practice.
I almost wished the worm had ended my life and saved me from enduring his insufferable hubris.
The men, brave now the worm lay dead, closed in on their liege with cheers and hollers of admiration.
“I thought you were worm food, Smith,” Fitzroy teased, fists planted firmly on his hips—chest puffed out like a bird during mating season.
His men laughed, and Fitzroy fed off their adoration.
Luckily for the prince, one couldn’t get fat from a well-fed ego—because if he could, he’d be the largest man in the kingdom.
Before I could think of a witty rebuttal, two hands seized my shoulders and spun me around.
“Nia—”
“Brother!” I interrupted, throwing myself into Finn’s arms. “Are you all right?”
Finn pulled back, his eyes darting over my face to confirm it was truly me.
“I’m fine—I thought you were dead,” he said, brows furrowed in confusion. “What happened to your hair?” he asked, pinching the short lengths between his fingers.
My mind went blank, unsure of what to say, as I caught the sight of white locks bounding toward us.
“You took a tumble and a half!” Fletcher remarked, cackling at my misfortune.
Bash chuckled. “You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked, a flicker of concern in his eyes as he gripped my shoulder.
I shook my head, trying to savor Bash’s touch—but my savior caught my eye and ruined the moment.
I glared at Fitzroy.
He was watching me intently, a smirk tugging at his rosy lips, brow arched like he was expecting my thanks.
He’d be waiting until the stars flickered out.
An uneasy silence fell. The men exchanged awkward glances, while I gathered the courage for the introductions.
I wanted Finn to meet Bash. I wanted to share with him the person I cared for so deeply—deeper than I should have. But the circumstances made this unbearable.
“Bash, Fletcher,” I announced, gesturing toward them. “This is my brother…” I paused, apprehension choking me.
Ever since I’d adopted Finn’s name as my alias, I’d feared the consequences of that panicked decision.
“Finn Smith,” Finn declared before I could stop him.
Fitzroy sucked his teeth, his panicked expression mirroring my own—as though he knew I was about to drown in a flood of my falsehoods.
With my eyes, I pleaded for him to save me once more. But as he turned away, I knew I’d have to fight this battle alone.
“That wasn’t the welcoming party I had planned,” Fitzroy bellowed, stirring a few nervous titters from the new soldiers. “Go—retrieve that thing’s head and put it on a spike. We’ll take it back to camp as a reminder that we will win this war.”
The soldiers obeyed, following their liege back down the beach to claim the head of the worm.
For a moment, Bash sneered at the idea of putting a head on a stick, before turning his attention back to me.
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re both called Finn Smith?” he asked.
Finn whipped his head toward me so sharply I thought he might snap his neck.
Dread consumed me at the thought that missing Niamh was about to be found—right here in Cambas, on the beach, amid this circle of men. As everyone waited for an explanation, the tension thickened until it felt almost tangible.
I looked to Finn for help, but he only met my gaze with an expression that I read as: You dug yourself into this hole—now find a way out.
I cleared my throat. “When I was born, Finn was sickly. Believing he wouldn’t survive, our mother gave me his name in his memory,” I lied. “Unfortunately, he recovered, and now we are both Finn Smith.”
After I’d woven another thread to my web of lies, silence resumed, broken only by the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the shore.
“Excuse us,” Finn cut in, his voice slicing through the quiet. “I need to talk to my…brother in private.”
The cousins wandered along the sands to examine the worm with the other men, while Finn led me in the opposite direction. Once we were secluded from eavesdroppers, he turned to face me.