Iron and Hemlock
Autumn Dawn
Jordon flinched and shielded her eyes. The glow of lightning lit the darkness behind her lids, persisted in dots of colour as she slowly lowered her hand. She blinked, disoriented. Death was a lonely country road?
It was no wonder she was confused. Only moments ago, she’d been crossing the street on her way to meet the bus.
When the speeding Porsche had lurched around the corner, then gunned for her with an angry growl, she’d known she was dead.
Only the lightning had struck before the car did.
Had it somehow knocked her out of the way?
She drew a shaky breath and looked around. No. It was dark here, and stormy. The sun had been directly overhead in Spokane. The city had disappeared completely, leaving nothing but whispering trees and a crawling sense of unease.
A cold wind worked its way through her jeans, stealing her warmth.
She hitched her light leather jacket closer and thanked God for the vanity that made her wear her cashmere and silk sweater, though it had been a little warm for it this morning.
Unfortunately, the suede boots didn’t fare as well, quickly becoming waterlogged in the rain.
A flash of lightning illuminated the outline of a tremendous stone wall lining the dirt road.
A quick glance showed nothing behind her – no lights, at least, which would have indicated people.
A hundred yards ahead, the wall was pierced by a wrought-iron gate.
As she drew closer, she could see that the panels were unlatched, swaying slightly in the wind, almost in invitation.
When she was close enough to touch it, the torches above the gate flared to life, illuminating the gravel path.
She glanced up and started slightly at the fierce gargoyles flanking the wall on either side.
As she watched, one of them blinked.
Jordon froze. But she was not the kind of girl who screamed and ran at every shadow, even in such dire circumstances. She watched the gargoyle instead. It did not take long to convince herself that she’d imagined it. The statue was obviously stone.
Still, she felt watched. She looked behind her, but there was nothing out there. Blackness, night. And yet she had the feeling that something was watching her; something other than the gargoyles.
Shrugging her shoulders against the sensation, she slipped through the gates. Uneasy, she glanced back, just in time to observe the wind pushing the gates closed. They shut with a loud clang and remained fixed, as if they had latched. Was she locked in?
She did not have time for further speculation.
The sound of hoof beats heading her way made her stiffen.
When she saw what was bearing down on her, she ran.
She did not need the lightning to see the flames shooting from the head of the midnight-coloured stallion charging her way.
His eyes and nostrils blazed, as if he were a living furnace.
Sparks flew where his feet struck the earth, and the ground shook.
She doubted he was checking to see if she’d brought oats.
She did not get far before she was snatched from the ground by unseen hands and flung on the back of the nightmare horse.
“Hide her, Sam!” a fierce voice shouted as she was dropped astride.
She grasped franticly for the mane, scrambled not to fall off.
It seemed safer to ride the creature than to fall under its hooves.
Unfortunately, Jordon was no rider. The glance she spared to see who’d dropped her unbalanced her completely and sent her tumbling from the back of the galloping horse. She landed on the wet lawn with stunning force, too dazed to move. Winded, she lay there as chaos reigned around her.
A scream jerked her attention to the right. Jordon peered through the curtain of rain, scanning the darkness. As lightning flashed, she gasped. There was a woman out there. Battling a . . . griffin?
Jordon had no time to fight with her automatic rationalizations that griffins didn’t exist; the woman was losing.
Seizing a fallen tree branch, she struggled to her feet.
There was a flowerbed in her way. Without a thought for the daisies, Jordon tramped through the plants and dashed across the wet lawn.
It wasn’t until she’d nearly crashed into the combatants that she realized her mistake.
Up close, she could see that the “woman” was nothing more that a wasted wraith, a monster with bones peeking out where pieces of her had rotted away.
Jordon could see the creature’s ribs through the rags it wore.
It hovered over the ground, using a rusted sword to hack at the griffin.
If the griffin hadn’t been such a tremendous jumper, gifted with wings, it would have been dead.
When it spotted Jordon, the wraith’s red eyes lit.
It opened its mouth and screamed, a piercing shriek that paralysed her and sent her to her knees.
She dropped the branch and pressed her palms to her ears, but nothing stopped the pain.
Her ears had to be bleeding. She gritted her teeth, but couldn’t hold back a moan of agony. That sound would kill her.
The banshee had forgotten the griffin. He sprang at her while she was distracted, shredding the monster’s decayed flesh with his razor-sharp talons. The monster fell to the ground, writhing. With one final snap of his powerful beak, the griffin severed her head from her shoulders.
Jordon panted as the pain ceased, cautiously lowering her hands.
Shuddering, she watched the griffin rip the corpse apart.
Her hand felt through the grass, closed around the branch.
Hoping the griffin would stay occupied, she began to back away, eyes lowered, as if she were backing away from a mad dog.
She had not gone three feet when she bumped into something. It moved.
With a war cry, Jordon whirled and swung her stick with all her might.
She thought she had struck the head that belonged to the eyes that now hovered above her, but she didn’t linger longer than it took the beast to grunt in pain.
She ran towards the house she could see at the end of the gravel path with a speed that would have surprised her old gym teacher, propelled by sheer terror.
The griffin leaped in front of her, landing in a flurry of wings. Jordon cried out, tried to brake, and skidded on the wet grass. She landed on her butt with a wet squish. Terrified, she waited for it to attack.
The griffin eyed her, then sat back on its haunches. It cocked its great head, and began to clean its talons calmly.
Jordon drew a deep breath. Slowly, she got to her feet. A furtive glance to the side showed more dark shapes in a loose circle around her. The night was black, but she could hear them breathing. It was hard to contain her fear, but she put forth a mighty effort. Panic didn’t seem like a good idea.
“It was brave of you to attack the banshee,” the griffin said, giving her a start.
“Foolish,” someone grumbled.
Jordon shifted. The heavy stick in her hand was hardly reassuring.
“I wasn’t attacking her.” There was a short silence.
“I didn’t realize what she was until I got closer.
” She was babbling. To counter it, she bit down.
It helped to still the chattering of her teeth, too.
The rain may have abated, but the wind was frigid.
“You’re cold,” the griffin observed. “You should go in.”
“Great idea,” she said quickly. “If you’ll excuse me?” She waited for someone to move, but no one seemed in a hurry to do so.
Another flash of lightning lit the circle around her, giving a glimpse of big, winged bodies to her right and left. It was enough to see that there were gaps in the ring, easy enough for her to slip through. Shaking, she took a quick breath and darted between the bodies.
She couldn’t help a glance back, but none of them had moved. Eyes front, she speed-walked towards the house in the distance. She didn’t look again to see if anyone followed. She hoped not.
The driveway must have been a quarter-mile long.
Though she could only snatch lightning-lit glimpses, the mansion at the end looked old, gothic.
Were there people inside? Only the darkened windows kept her from breaking into a sprint to reach the place.
If it was deserted, would she find a door or window unlocked?
The griffin had said she should go in. Did he know the people inside?
The storm was fast becoming one of the worst she’d ever seen. Whips of lightning split the sky with almost supernatural frequency. Suddenly one speared an ancient oak tree not fifty yards from her, splitting it in two. The thunder came so quick it deafened her, drowning her shrieks.
Jordon decided she didn’t care if the mansion housed a battalion of zombies; she ran for it.
Stumbling up the stone steps, she skidded to a halt at the door and pounded for all she was worth.
“Hello? Help! Please let me in.” She looked quickly over her shoulder, expecting to be pounced on at any moment.
It took a determined round of banging on the old iron knocker but finally there came a deep echoing sound as the door grudgingly swung open. An old woman with black eyes, and the biggest nose in Christendom, scowled down at her. “We’re not open to travellers.”
Jordon stood up straight, her composure somewhat restored by the long wait. “Ma’am, I know we’ve never met, but I would be grateful if you’d allow me in. I—” She was interrupted by the crashing voice of thunder. There was a howling note to the wind, like a live thing denied its prey.