CHAPTER THREE #2
It was close now—close enough I could see the boils on its body periodically burst, leaking putrid liquid all over its flesh.
I was even more grateful to the raven for its magic because I couldn’t stop myself from retching aloud.
The monster failed to react. I could see now that the liquid had an iridescent sheen to it—odd that something that smelled so foul could look so beautiful.
What was it? Another boil burst, and the liquid dripped into the swamp.
As it hit the ground, a small, spontaneous fire sputtered to life.
My eyes widened. The swamp monster before me was covered in bog oil.
And if its smell alone was anything to go by, it was potent. Not to mention possibly infused with magic.
Could this be what I need to light my lampposts?
I checked my satchel—glass vials stared back at me.
From where I was located on the tree branch, the swamp monster just below, I had the perfect vantage point to jump onto its back.
I could take it by surprise…but it would be incredibly risky.
I had no real exit plan. Just the dagger at my side.
I hesitated, surveying the swamp for any alternative escape routes.
Biding my time, I evaluated the monster again—it was huge.
Could it knock me out of my tree? I had no way of knowing how long the raven’s protection would last. I couldn’t live in this tree forever.
If I had to face the swamp monster, I could use any advantage I could get.
This was my chance to gain the upper hand. Maybe my only chance.
Besides, who would care if I died? The thought drifted through my mind, leaving a hollow feeling in its wake.
It was the truth. I was all alone now. Two wasn’t much, but it was infinitely more than one.
There was no one to greet me anymore if I made it home alive.
And no one to mourn my death if I didn’t.
What exactly did I have to lose? I felt reckless suddenly, numb to the danger.
The bog oil was my path forward. The alternative—remaining isolated, alone on the island, alone with no light forevermore—was too bleak to contemplate.
Then the darkness really might overtake me.
Impulsively, I stood up, balancing on the edge of the tree branch, and leaped onto its back.
A jolt of pain radiated through my legs at the impact, but I stuck the landing. Desperately, I searched for something to grab onto, to secure my handhold. I latched onto its algae-like strands of hair, just as the monster began to thrash violently.
“Wicked bones! I want to taste your flesh. Let me eat you…”
The monster extended its right arm, patting along its expansive back, searching for me.
I held my glass vial to an overflowing boil, filled it to the brim with the rancid bog oil, and shoved it back into my satchel.
I cried out as the monster switched arms without warning, its sharp claws raking against the flesh of my leg.
Hoping to distract the monster long enough to change positions, I withdrew my dagger, stabbing the short blade into its flesh.
It bellowed, slapping the water in quick succession.
Retrieving my dagger, I grabbed another tuft of its greasy hair, swinging myself closer to the center of its body, out of reach from its long arms.
The wound on my leg bled freely—it was painful, but didn’t look deep. I grabbed a second glass vial and quickly filled it, clinging with one hand to the monster’s hair. It started to thrash its body again, trying to dislodge me, forcing me to grab onto it with both hands.
One more… If I could just fill one more.
I reached for my last vial. Triumphantly, I collected one final portion of bog oil.
The thrashing grew even more violent. Holding on for dear life, my knees bumped painfully against its back as it ramped up the intensity of its movements.
A boil near my left hand exploded, coating my hand in slippery bog oil.
My grip weakened. The swamp monster bucked back and tore its hair roughly out of my hands.
I landed directly on its skin, flailing wildly, searching for something, anything, to grab onto so I wouldn’t fall.
Its skin was slick, too slick, and I began to slide.
Down, down, down.
Right into the mud.
A slimy hand clutched me around the waist, squeezing me so tightly the air was forced from my lungs.
My vision blurred as the swamp monster drew me closer to its open mouth.
The moldy, sour scent of rotting flesh wafted from its teeth, clogging my nose.
Just when I thought I might pass out from the smell alone, a black shape plummeted from the sky, talons extended, scraping against the monster’s cloudy, buggy eyes.
It roared, swatting at the raven, as it dropped me back into the swamp.
I landed in shallow water, the breath knocked out of me once again.
The water broke my fall, but I landed hard nonetheless, pain blossoming through my arm and hip, which had taken the brunt of the impact.
I lay there a moment, catching my breath.
Whimpering, I pulled myself into a sitting position and assessed the situation.
The raven was still engaged in aerial combat with the swamp monster—diving at its head, pulling back without a moment to lose. I looked down. Water. I was out of the mud. I could move. Tentatively, I attempted to stand, shifting my weight onto my uninjured leg. My body screamed, but my legs held.
Now that I was standing, I could see where the swamp monster had flung me. Dry land was back in sight. I hobbled forward through the shallow water, pausing when the pain became too great or my vision too blurry. If I passed out now, I wasn’t going to survive.
The swamp monster roared in pain from somewhere behind me. Join the club. I could muster little sympathy for a creature that would have gladly eaten me. Wading forward out of the muck, I reached dry land—soaked, covered in mud, leg throbbing—but alive.
Alive, and hopelessly turned around.