A Season of Rendings Page 10

  The troll tore her neck open.

  She spun face-first into the dirt, limp as a rag doll. Angbar screamed her name, felt it grating uselessly through the smoke and char of his throat in an instant that stretched to eternity. Something broke in his mind, a frayed string finally snapping.

  He turned and ran.

  Everything was blind, shrieking panic. There were no thoughts, no plans. His friends' screams fell behind him, merging with the stink of scorched flesh, the sizzling afterimage of the cloud of fire. He tripped and fell, his jaw smacking shut like a slap to the face. Pain exploded in his tongue and disappeared, forgotten immediately. He threw a wild look back as he scrambled to his feet—it's behind me, oh god, it's behind me, it's gonna grab my leg—and saw Syntal, smoldering, hurl another Ves at it. It leapt through the flash of light without slowing, swatted her down in a spurt of blood, and scrabbled to pivot toward Helix, spraying the air with dirt clods.

  "Vashan Akir!" he heard again. Lyseira was on her knees, her throat whole. Iggy knelt beside her.

  Angbar's mind locked, uncomprehending.

  "Vashan dehall san Akir!"

  The troll staggered once, its limbs seizing—and pitched to the ground.

  "Seth!" Lyseira ran to the ruined stable, as Iggy sprinted once more toward Syntal.

  Finally, Angbar's thoughts jerked free of their paralysis.

  Impossible. She was dead.

  I saw her die. I saw her throat. It tore out her throat.

  Ah, Kirith! Syntal!

  He lurched into a clumsy run, reaching the girl just as Helix did. She was a bloody, unmoving mess, lying only a few feet from the hulking body of the troll. A dark stain welled up from her stomach. Iggy was already there, his pouches strewn haphazardly around him. Herbs? Angbar thought deliriously. What can herbs―?

  "Get back!" Iggy snarled. "Let me work!"

  "Lyseira!" Helix screamed, turning away. "Syntal needs help!"

  "Help me with him!" Lyseira screamed back, her voice fraying. Seth had nearly escaped the burning stable, but a collapsed beam had collapsed had pinned his legs. She had him under the arms, trying to pull him out. He was engulfed in fire.

  Angbar looked at Syntal, at the black pool spreading outward from her stomach, and back to Lyseira, who he'd been certain was dead.

  "Go help them!" Iggy snapped. "You're useless here!"

  He ran, his mind churning through the few chants he knew. Slumber. Spellsight. Syntal had refused to let him study Ves. He knew the word, but without understanding how it worked, he couldn't chant it, and it wouldn't help anyway. If I knew any of the chants from the new book, I could Hover the beam off of him. But he didn't know them; he barely comprehended the ones he'd already learned.

  Feeling as useless as Iggy had accused him of being, still lurching moment to moment in a heady near-panic, he grabbed Seth's other arm and pulled. Lyseira left the job to him and Helix, took up a cloak, and started trying to bat out the flames engulfing her brother.

  It's too late. Seth had been an insufferable bastard, but he'd risked his life for them over and over. And now he dies. A wail boiled at the back of Angbar's throat. He dies, and Syntal dies—

  Then, somehow, they pulled him free.

  Lyseira knelt at once, words like worship tumbling from her blistered lips. His legs, crushed by the beam, straightened. His scorched skin sloughed off, revealing pink flesh beneath.

  "Syntal," Angbar and Helix both said, and Helix went on: "She needs you!" But when they turned back, the other girl was on her feet, getting her bearings. Blood still drenched her shirt, but she was clearly alive.

  Again, Angbar's thoughts stumbled to a disbelieving halt. Am I losing my mind? But that was impossible. Helix had seen it too; he knew the girl had been mortally wounded. He looked at the smith's son, but Helix was already running, calling his cousin's name.

  Seth's eyes fluttered open. He licked his lips, climbed to his feet. "Where is it?"

  Angbar pointed dumbly at the gangly body of the troll, splayed unceremoniously across the ground near Iggy and Syntal. "Lyseira . . . Bound it," he heard himself saying. He felt disconnected, apart from everything. Nothing made sense. A fire-breathing troll? Wounds that weren't there?

  "But it won't last," Lyseira said. "It's strong. I can feel it fighting."

  Seth sprinted to the others as she shouted after him, "Seth! We need to get out of here!"

  Seth reached Helix and fairly tore his friend's sword out of his hands. Angbar ran after him. "That won't work!" he shouted. "Didn't you see? It just heals! Like in the stories, it always heals!" The words tickled a memory in the back of his head. Something about the story of Beh'lal.

  "That's why I'm doing it," Seth grunted, and cut the troll's head off. It took two swings, punctuated by gouts of blood that reeked of sour eggs. When the stuff hit the dirt it slowly blackened, hardening. "It can't grow a new head," Seth growled, wiping a glob of the stuff from his face.

  Are you sure of that? Angbar wondered for a feverish instant, but he couldn't deny his relief at seeing the thing decapitated. When Seth moved on to its arm, Lyseira put a hand on his shoulder.

  "What are you doing?"

  Seth glowered. "Making sure."

  Lyseira withdrew to pray over her burns. Most of the others turned away—no one wished to challenge the crazed glimmer in Seth's eye—but Angbar stayed, mesmerized.

  The whistle of the blade, the squish of the steel into the thing's rubbery flesh, the spray of darkening blood. It doesn't have bones, Angbar realized. Instead, its neck and limbs were each a single, fibrous mass of muscle and veins. How does it eat? Does it have a heart? Lungs? He was mortified, disgusted, but curious, too. That narrator's voice came back, framing everything in a nice, safe fiction.

  Each swing, each new display of the monster's alien insides, only seemed to inflame Seth further. A grimace of disgust twisted his face, normally so stoic. This is harder for him than any of us. The revelation struck Angbar like a bolt from the sky. The young man had trained his whole life for combat, but this thing broke all the rules. It wasn't an opponent; it was a monster.

  When he stabbed it, it didn't die.

  Angbar felt he should say something, try to calm his friend, but in truth, he was nearly as unsettled himself. And the troll's systematic dismemberment, gruesome and madness-driven as it was, brought him a weird comfort.

  Seth took off each of its arms, then its legs. When the limbs were loose he started again with the first one, chopping each of them further into pieces.

  "M'sai," Angbar finally murmured. "You've got it, I think."

  Seth staggered back, chest heaving, his face a glowing sheen of sweat. "Heal that," he spat.

  "There's a river down the hill," Iggy said as he came back with the others. "I think the villagers—sweet Akir." He broke off, his eyes riveted to the carnage.

  Lyseira looked green. "M'sai." She took her brother's arm. "Come on. We're going."

  Seth shook her loose. "I'm not mad. The thing heals. We need to be safe."

  "All right. M'sai." She started to lead him away, and Syntal said: "It's still healing."

  Angbar's mind fumbled with the words, turning them left and right, trying to comprehend them.

  "Sweet Akir," Iggy said again, and finally he saw: the fibers at each bloody end were wriggling forward, dragging a fresh layer of skin behind them like a filthy blanket. Worse, the head was moving again, its jaw grinding slowly against the dirt as the ripples came back to its eyes.

  "By God," Helix breathed.

  "What in Hel is this thing?" Iggy demanded, as Lyseira said: "There has to be some way to kill it."

  Again, a memory clamored for Angbar's attention. How had the story gone? There were two trolls . . .

  "Fire!" he exclaimed. "Fire keeps them from healing!"

  The others looked at him.

  "These things, these trolls. They're from The Epic of Beh'lal. The hero fought two of them, but they kept healing, and he couldn't kill them. The
way he won―"

  Its fingers flexed, black talons scraping through the grass. Angbar forced himself to look away.

  "He dove—he dove between them. Tricked them into breathing on each other. It was the fire!"

  "Angbar," Syntal said, "they breathe fire."

  "I know! Exactly! They can breathe it, but they can't . . . it kills them." Her skepticism made his tongue run on, desperate to convince her. "Listen, everything we've seen is just like the story. M'sai? My father has it. Beh'lal's Epic. Beh'lal fights a pair of fire-breathing trolls. They're red. Eyes like lava. Black horns." He pointed at the head. "Just like that! Black talons. It's these things. And he almost dies, but he tricks them into breathing on each other!"

  "But why would your story have anything to do with―" Helix started, and Seth hurled the troll's torso into the closest bonfire. The fire snapped and spat, a wolf tearing into a raw steak.

  Angbar followed suit, throwing in something that might have been part of its arm, and then everyone was helping. In seconds, the only thing left was the troll's head, its jaw still clicking. Rather than risk picking it up, Iggy kicked it into the fire, and shuddered.

  They waited, bathed in the glare of the flames. Finally Helix said, "We should've taken the other road."

  Angbar managed a dry snort.

  "No," Seth said. "Better this way. Fewer people who might recognize us." Helix turned to him, a weary smile on his face, but it melted when he couldn't tell whether Seth was playing along with the joke.

  "Lyseira," Angbar said. "Earlier, when the troll got you, I thought—I would've sworn―"

  "I need to check on the horses," Iggy interrupted, brushing past him. As Angbar watched his retreat, the Bahiri's imagination got the better of him.

  No, he thought at once. Iggy? Iggy's been to church about as often as I have. He couldn't—

  "Angbar," Syntal called, sounding harried. "Could you help me?" She was chasing down supplies from her pack, thrown loose in the attack.

  "Yeah," he grunted, stomping a wayward piece of paper as it tried to flutter past. Oh, forget it, he told himself. It wasn't Iggy. And if it was, so what? If he wanted to talk about it, he'd bring it up. He decided to forget it, to let it alone.

  The problem was, his mind just didn't work that way.

  iv. Iggy

  He stalked down the road, chased by dread.

  He knows. And Lyseira didn't believe me. He'd told her that Akir must've healed her torn throat, but of course she didn't believe that. She knew what His aid felt like.

  Had he really thought he could keep this secret forever? They knew. And now that they knew, he would never be able to escape it. They would have questions. Expectations.

  I have to get out of here.

  That was ridiculous. He couldn't leave his friends. They would understand. They weren't the Tribunal—they wouldn't try to harm him.

  But they would force him into the open. Slowly pry all the details out of him, demand that he make choices, that he choose sides.

  He had spent his whole life hiding. He wasn't ready for those decisions—they were the last thing he wanted to face. God above, I just want to be normal. I just want to be a Hel-damned rancher.

  He rounded the last corner, near the burning inn, with no idea whether he was about to take Chuckler as far east as the land would bear them or return to his friends with the horses.

  He was spared the decision. The animals were gone.

  "No. Ah, blesséd sehk―" He sprinted to the tree where he'd left them, spewing a stream of anxious curses.

  He hadn't tethered them because they were allies, not slaves. More than that, if the monster had come after them while they were tied up, they would've died. But the monster hadn't come after them; they'd simply spooked.

  Talking or not, Pa drawled, they're still just horses.

  Iggy turned his back to the tree and slid to the ground, all the strength draining out of him. He could still leave, but the others would look for him. The only way to get away clean would be to explain that he was leaving, and that would mean an interrogation.

  God above, he had never wanted this. He had never asked for it. He—

  A gentle whicker made him snap his head up.

  They ran, Chuckler panted, trotting up the road toward him. Scared of dying or something.

  Iggy gained his feet. And you didn't.

  I did, the gelding admitted. Hard not to, when everyone gets all worked up. But I came back.

  Iggy clapped the animal's neck in a grateful hug. He'd never been so happy to see another living being. You're a rare animal, my friend.

  We know our own, his friend said, and chuckled.

  Iggy sighed and mounted up, then sat still, listening to the wind and the crackle of flames.

  Everything handled in town? Chuckler prodded him. We headed on?

  Old instincts warred in his head, shouting past each other, settling nothing.

  You and I are, he finally whispered. Going to get out of here, get some clear air. This isn't where I belong.

  He nudged the horse toward the others, fighting the urge toward cowardice. If he was going to leave, he was going to do it right.

  I just need to let my friends know first.

  v. Angbar

  "I thought you were dead," Angbar said levelly. "I would've sworn the thing tore your throat out."

  Ashes dotted Lyseira's hair; dirt and soot smeared her face. She glanced at the ground. "I know. I don't know what happened."

  "Did Akir save you? Was it a miracle?"

  Her mouth opened, working uselessly. "It . . . must have been."

  Still a terrible liar, Angbar thought. If Lyseira hadn't saved herself, Iggy must have. He'd been the only one there.

  He turned to Syntal. "Iggy came to you, too. Did―?" He broke off as his parched throat, abused by all the smoke, seized in a coughing fit.

  "Here." Helix handed him a water skin.

  It was warm, but it helped. As his coughing fit ended, he saw movement in the bonfire.

  "I've had enough of this place," Syntal said. "We should keep moving."

  Lyseira hefted her pack, nodding. "I hope the horses are well."

  "Thank Akir for your father's stories, Angbar," Helix grunted. "Can you imagine if this thing had gotten into Shientel? Into Southlight?"

  At first it just looked like a shift in the fire—a final crossbeam giving way, or some buried support collapsing—but it wasn't.

  The thing rising from the ruins had white-hot eyes, brilliant as coals.

  That's not fair. It was a futile thought, but it was all he had. Everything else about the story was right. That's not fair.

  "Angbar?" Helix said, and Angbar pointed, tears leaking down his cheeks.

  The troll climbed out of the flames, its skin glowing. Behind it, rising in the fire like a wraith, stood another, then another.

  Then another.

  The others were shouting. Seth bellowed orders. Angbar heard none of it. That's not fair, he thought again.

  The troll dropped to all fours and charged him—its talons blasting divots of black earth behind it, its eyes like suns. The stink of its sulfuric blood would be the last thing Angbar smelled.

  It leapt, black teeth flashing. In the instant before he died, Angbar's reflexes took over. He wailed and twisted away—bashing the troll's face with something in his hand—and braced himself for the bright scream of pain that would tear the back of his neck open.

  Instead, the troll shrieked and scrabbled past him, clutching at a ragged, steaming scar on its face. The red flesh there had fallen to grey, like magma cooled to rock.

  Angbar looked dumbly at his hand, saw the remains of the water skin there, and struggled to understand what it meant.

  "The water," Syntal breathed. "The water―!"

  An army of the things crawled from the fire, glistening like newborn embers.

  Seth's eyes stole down the hill. "The river!" he shouted. "Now!"

  vi. Iggy

&n
bsp; Chuckler seized beneath him, terror flashing like lightning in his veins as he scrambled to turn back.

  Fire walkers! he screamed. Run! Run!

  No! Iggy fought him. There's too many! Get to the river!

  The animal reared, sizzling with panic. Iggy held on, watching the wave of trolls boil out from the flaming ruin. The river! Iggy shouted again. You have to!

  Chuckler's hooves came down, launching them toward the river.

  They shot behind the trolls, past Iggy's friends, tearing down the hill at breakneck speed. Slow down! It wasn't a steep hill, but at a mad gallop one misstep would doom them both. You'll break your leg!

  It was too late. Chuckler's balance shifted, growing front-heavy, out of control. The horse screamed, frothing, as the river loomed ahead. The animal wasn't speaking anymore—its mind was a slate of black horror.

  Calm down! Iggy roared. Chuckler―!

  Its front leg buckled, and the world dove into a somersault as they crashed into the water.

  vii. Lyseira

  The trolls were faster than her.

  She could hear their claws, feel their heat on her back. I walked in the flames, she thought numbly. Their fire can't hurt me. But she hadn't prayed when the things had emerged from their fiery womb; she had run.

  The others pulled ahead of her. Iggy was already at the river; even Seth had left her behind. She wasn't halfway down the hill yet. The glittering red waves of the river were unreachable. A nightmare's horizon, constantly receding.

  She stole a glance backward. The nearest troll—running on all fours, its limbs pumping like clockwork—was maybe twenty feet behind her and gaining. Behind it, a red glow welled over the crest of the hill: a horde of the things, a sea of white-hot eyes.

  Then something caught her foot—a rock, or a hole—and her left ankle snapped.

  She howled as her legs disappeared from beneath her. The hill hurled her downward, the sky and the cold earth flashing past in turns as she screamed.

  viii. Iggy

  He scrambled to his feet in the river shallows, drenched and coughing water. He had been thrown clear when Chuckler went down—now the animal thrashed next to him, safe in the water but fighting against a broken leg. A pang of sorrow pierced him.