Page 11

11

Familiar Face

Anya

S econds after the fearsome wail, a grotesque creature leapt out of the woods, landing on top of the first wagon. Prisoners awoke, screaming in terror. Their cage shook violently, the wooden roof cracking under the creature’s thrashing weight.

From my vantage at the back of our caravan of three, all I could see was the beast’s vague silhouette in the nighttime darkness: a bear, but with spindly antlers and too many legs. It screeched as it reached through the splintered roof, swiping with unnaturally long claws.

The sound of wet hit my ears like an axe. Blood splattered the grass.

Guards rose from their bedrolls, shouting out to one another as they searched for their armor and weapons. A few simply ran off toward the road. The horses—tethered to nearby trees—whinnied and grunted, some tearing free of their headstalls to make their escape.

In mere moments, the first wagon became carnage. The second wagon took longer, diverted as the creature was by the efforts of the guards trying to hack it back. But one by one, all fell.

Then the beast swung its glowing red eyes on us.

“What the fuck?” the young man beside me moaned. “What the fuck .”

Beady Eyes cowered behind the elder fellow. The woman across from me curled into a ball on the floor and began chanting a prayer to the Fates while her partner—logically, incredulously—cried out, “This isn’t how I’m supposed to die!”

I had the same thought, but any predictable Fate seemed moot in the face of such a creature. I’d never heard a myth, legend, or tall tale involving something so terrifying, twisted, evil. Monsters were supposed to be fiction, and even then, the ones from folklore paled in comparison to this .

The bear-like abomination crept toward our wagon across the blood-slicked grass, its maw dripping crimson. A low, growling hiss emanated from its throat. Claws scraped the front bars of our iron prison, its overgrown paws too wide to reach through.

Among my fellow prisoners, prayers turned to whimpers. Whimpers turned to silence. Bodies pressed into the back of the wagon, all of us united in our terror. I smelled urine. I kept as still as possible.

The axels of our wheeled cage groaned as the monster climbed up, disappearing from our view onto the wooden roof. Its shadow blotted out the starlight streaming through the slats. I braced for the moment the beams split; I would try to escape through any gap I could, I decided. I couldn’t run fast in shackles, but I could hide. I would not die this day.

I drew a steadying breath, even as I quaked in my chains.

Then the wood groaned, cracked. The beast fell through in a great crash, snapping its teeth. It crushed the elder and caught Beady Eyes in its teeth, and I turned my head before I could witness the rest.

Behind me, the bars of our cage had bent, creating a gap. I lunged for it, forcing my shoulders and torso through—but the iron was too narrow and unyielding for my wide hips.

With Beady Eyes shredded apart at the monster’s feet, it swung its attention on the couple. The woman shrieked; her partner stood gallantly between her and the beast. We were powerless in here—completely and utterly powerless.

I wiggled frantically against the bars, desperate to escape. My chains rattled against the iron, announcing my struggle—but they were no longer the only metallic sound to reach my ears. Distantly, I heard the unmistakable shing of metal freed from leather.

A figure appeared from the northern stretch of woods, his arrival announced by the ringing of his steel. His black armor rendered him nearly invisible, but his sword—it glowed with blue flame, casting odd light on the wreckage. He ran full force toward us, his primal roar piercing the night. Without hesitation, he jumped up onto the driver’s bench of our wagon and thrust his sword into the creature’s haunches.

The monster wailed .

I recognized that wail, but there was no time to contemplate.

The beast swiped out with one of its many claw-tipped legs and knocked the couple sideways as it rounded on the newcomer, our savior. Black blood leaked from the gaping wound by its flank. All the other prisoners in my wagon were either unrecognizable or unmoving, but I forced that observation out of my mind before it could immobilize me with fear. With the creature distracted, I had to move .

I dislodged myself from my attempted escape through the bars and climbed onto the bench, hoisting myself through the caved-in roof. My dress caught on the splintered wood, but with a few tugs, I cleared the jagged beams and dropped down onto the ground with a thud. A stabbing pain shot up through my right shin, like a thousand hot needles, and I buckled, rolling under the wagon and out of view.

I panted, testing the range of motion in my ankle as a battle was fought above. The ground felt cold and wet beneath me, and some of the beast’s black blood had dripped down, slicking my hands. It was sticky as pitch and stung like hot oil, and I whimpered as I wiped it on a clean patch of grass, careful not to get any on my clothes. Then I shimmied backwards on my bum, out from underneath the wagon and away from the growing pool of sludge; from the new angle, I caught sight of the man with the flaming greatsword.

In his expert hands, the weapon arced in elegant flashes. He made it look like a dance, dazzling and graceful as he circled the fearsome monster, heaving his sword in precise but powerful blows. In the onslaught, the beast became agitated, snarling and snapping at him—but his footwork was surprisingly quick.

His self-assured bravery awed me.

Then it frightened me.

With a guttural cry, he ran straight for the beast, blade outstretched, black armor reflecting the blue fire so that he himself appeared aflame.

My heart lodged itself in my throat, strangling my warning: “Watch out!”

The creature swung at him with a huge paw, but at the last moment he dropped onto his hip, sliding under the beast’s would-be blow, and lodged his blade deep into its chest.

It whined the same sound I’d heard two days prior, eerie and strange. Then it stumbled backward on its haunches, allowing the man to slide his sword free of its chest as it slumped onto its side, defeated.

The night around us paused, as if all the animals of the wood were holding their breath. The loudest sound became my own blood in my ears, my heart pounding furiously.

On shaky legs, I stood, pain lancing through my right ankle. All around me was wreckage. Blood, bodies, destroyed wagons—and a rotting, cloying reek on the wind. If it weren’t for the shock that paralyzed me, I might’ve wept, or ran, or crumpled onto the flattened grass of this clearing—but my knees locked, keeping me rooted in place.

The monster slayer rose from the ground slowly, the dark waves of his hair obscuring his face. He raked it back with his fingers, assessing the scene as I had—only to pause when he noticed me. “You, there! Are you harmed?” he called out, circling round the beast to get to me—only to halt again when our eyes met.

His were blue-green—the color of the Wend.

Idris, my future killer, had just saved my life.