Page 59 of Burying Venus
Startling as the donkey brayed, Dermot turned back to the road. He sat there motionless as his mind rushed to recognise what approached them. A behemoth stood with dark, greyish hair running down its sharp face, altogether too human for a beast. Dermot’s hands shook, still uncomprehending. Body acting faster than his mind, he swung the reins so the donkey near collapsed onto the grass.
The creature was from Aleyn’s tales. Yet it stood before them, alive. Its tusks arched downward, curling towards its chest, each one sharp enough to spear a man. It was surely Maldred’s answer to his refusal in the forest. Now Aubrey was tangled in his scheming, his plan to maim the Stanleys, and the only one who suffered for it was the boy who least deserved it.
‘Run! I’ll hold it off for as long as I can!’ Dermot shouted. This, he knew, was brazen stupidity. The dagger at his side would not fell a beast of that size.
Dermot watched as Aubrey stared at the creature before them. But it drew nearer as they sat transfixed, the sharpness of its teeth fit to grind them to paste. He gave Aubrey a light shove and stood on top of the cart master’s seat. There would be no outrunning the beast. From the way it crawled, the thing resembled a primitive man as he had seen depicted on the Stanleys’ cloth canvases.
‘Run!’ Dermot cried, unsurprised he wasn’t heeded. Dermot had already seen faeries, even mermaids, but Aubrey grewup without the stories, studying history without any of the mysticism.
Inching forward, Dermot said, ‘If you don’t run, you’ll die. It’s my fault this is happening, and it’s worse than you know. Run!’ He rushed towards the creature and feinted one way before going another. The beast was slower than he, though the unnatural flecks of gold in its eyes brought about unpleasant recollections. Visions of Maldred and the faerie boys, even, he realised, the witchfinder. All shared the same look.
Unsheathing his dagger, Dermot’s legs shook with the force of rushing forward without thought for his own life.
‘Dermot!’ Aubrey cried. The boy was still nestled in the cart, dark eyes peering out from beneath black locks.
‘Run!’ Dermot urged. Moving his arms as if to shoo Aubrey away, he procured the dagger and held it firm to his chest. He prayed the beast erred enough to be hit.
Breath catching as one errant claw lashed out, Dermot drew back. His eyes closed in anticipation but all that could be heard was the beast’s roar. Standing for what must’ve been minutes, Dermot blearily opened his eyes and saw the beast already lying dead. There was not a fleck of blood upon his dagger.
Noticing Aubrey watching something past him, Dermot turned and observed a man approaching them. His flaxen hair was braided neatly back and he wore what appeared to be armour. The clarity of his complexion was unlike anything he’d expected from the north. Dermot had never seen a soldier so handsome and free of blemish.
‘What business have you here?’ the stranger hissed. ‘How did you come to be here, why did the buggane attack? It is not so easily drawn to a person.’ He gave Dermot a once over with his golden eyes. ‘Especially not someone like you.’
Dermot had hoped to be rid of such talk after leaving the castle. Laughing, determined not to be talked down to in front of Aubrey, he said, ‘You know nothing about me.’
The faerie’s handsome visage twisted into a snarl. Neck inclining unnaturally towards Aubrey, he said, ‘That one is a foreigner, an intruder.’
Darting into action, Dermot grabbed the faerie’s wrist, marvelling at the man’s sharp nails. They better resembled talons.
‘He’s with me,’ Dermot said.
Hissing again, the creature said, ‘He of black blood is yours? It is sad indeed to see our kind fall.’ He leaned closer to Dermot and, incredibly, sniffed where shoulder met neck. ‘Especially when you yourself are tainted so.’
Dermot inched away, fingers clutched at the blade. The faerie evidently hadn’t noticed it. ‘We are here to see Queen Fand. Do you happen to know where she is?’ He whispered this, keen Aubrey shouldn’t hear. The boy was still with the donkey.
The faerie snarled as he moved closer. His knife shot through the air, brandished in front of Dermot’s head. ‘I will blind you so you cannot find us again. Your beloved, I will kill.’
‘No!’ Dermot cried. He didn’t care if Aubrey thought him a lunatic. Steeling himself and twisting his own knife, the pair of them were caught in a deadlock, vying for mastery.
‘That dagger!’ the faerie gasped, pulling back. ‘Stolen?’
‘No,’ Dermot said firmly, incredulous at his own strength. But faeries weren’t warriors, instead relying on wiles. ‘Aleyn gave it to me. He asks that your queen grant us an audience.’
The faerie peered at him, eyes wide. He tittered, watching as Dermot sheathed his dagger, and said, ‘Why didn’t you simply say so? Aleyn is a friend of mine as well.’ Gesturing with sharp nails towards a nearby structure, he grabbed Dermot’s wrist andpulled. ‘Bring your friend, then. I shall endeavour to protect him. Our kind can sense them, you know, those who do not belong.’
‘I’ll kill anyone who touches him,’ Dermot said, tiring of their infernal chatter. Aubrey was not some demon. Faeries themselves were monsters.
‘Will you now?’ the man teased. ‘Brave words for a man who hasn’t done any touching himself.’
Grinding his teeth, Dermot signalled for Aubrey. They could not afford to keep the creature waiting. Faeries, he’d decided, were fickle and prone to hysteria.
Even though the buggane was infinitely more shocking to Aubrey, the boy meekly got to his feet and stumbled over to them. Forever cautious of strangers, he lingered behind Dermot.
‘What was that?’ Aubrey murmured. His grip on Dermot’s arm belied his terror.
The faerie inclined his head and peered at Aubrey, a cruel smirk on his lips. ‘A buggane, my dear. A vicious creature, one occasionally used by my kind to whet their appetite.’ He lurched forward with a snap of his teeth, displaying each jagged fang with pride.
Pushing Aubrey back, Dermot glowered at the creature while Aubrey cried out behind him.