Page 12 of The Arrow and the Alder

S eph shoved the coat behind her back, but it was too late. The baron had already seen it, and his beady eyes reflected silver. His guards waited behind him: Hayworth and Kole, his faithful hounds, always sniffing around Harran for contraband, hoping the baron would toss them the choicest meats as reward.

“What do you want?” Seph demanded, though her voice trembled more than she intended.

The baron slunk forward like the weasel he was. “You didn’t actually believe I was going to let you get away with that little stunt earlier, did you?” His words slurred a little, as did his gait. The sot. Apparently, he’d been enjoying those four barrels of mead that he hadn’t paid for.

Which could work in her favor.

“Go home, baron. You’re drunk.” Seph took note of her shovel. It was just within reach, should she need it, though she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Her hopes were short-lived.

“You don’t tell me what to do, you seditious little vixen,” the baron snarled as he took another step forward, and another. “What is that in your hands?”

“None of your business.”

The baron backhanded her before she could register the movement. Seph staggered back, gasping in shock and pain. She flexed her jaw and caught the metallic taste of blood just as the baron ripped the coat from her hands.

“Give that back!” Seph demanded and lunged for him, but Hayworth was there, grabbing her arms and restraining her. “Let go, you—!” she screamed, but Hayworth’s large hand clamped over her mouth. She squirmed and pulled, trying to break free, but Hayworth was unshakable.

The baron’s gaze slid over the coat’s shimmering fabric. “You crafty girl…now this isn’t the same coat you gave the high lord, is it? Which means you gave him a fake, but…” His gaze lifted to hers, where it probed. “How could you know that he would come?” His eyes narrowed, and he leaned nearer. “Are you saints-touched ?”

When Seph didn’t answer—mostly because Hayworth’s hand was still clamped over her mouth—the baron said, “Let her speak.”

Hayworth promptly lifted his hand.

“You greedy, pathetic son of a?—”

The baron quick-slapped her face. Her cheek stung, and Seph sucked air through her teeth.

“I asked you a question, you lying little wench,” he said, but when she still didn’t speak, he quick-slapped her other cheek—the one he’d struck initially, and this time Seph cried out in pain.

The baron grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked hard as he leaned in close. His breath reeked of mead and rotting gums. “What is so special about this coat?”

“I don’t know—” she gasped.

The baron pulled harder.

She winced. “I swear, I don’t know anything about it!”

The baron’s expression darkened, and his gaze slid over her face with hate. “You’re nothing but a liar and a thief. You think you are above the law. That you have a right to my woods, and my stores, but they belong to the good citizens of Harran, and it is from them that you steal, you insolent girl. You can thank your sister that I have turned a blind eye to your selfishness for this long, but unfortunately, you’ve spent all my good graces, and now it’s time to teach you a lesson in humility. To…remind you of your place.”

He handed the coat to Kole as his gaze slid brazenly over her, and a brick dropped into Seph’s stomach.

“Please, I swear I don’t—” Seph started, but Hayworth shoved Seph to the ground. She landed on her stomach so hard that the impact knocked the rest of her words from her lungs, and when she tried pushing herself up again, a boot landed firmly between her shoulders and shoved her back down.

Seph pleaded to the saints that if they would extend any mercy at all, to do so now and give her strength. Still, that boot pressed upon Seph’s back, but fury turned molten inside of her. The baron had taken so much from her, and now he thought that he could take this .

Over her dead body.

The baron knelt beside her, his fetid breath at her ear as he stroked her cheek with the backs of his ringed fingers. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Not as much as I am, I assure you,” Seph rasped.

“ Oh ?” He laughed. “You think?—”

In one quick motion, Seph grabbed the shovel and wheeled it around, striking the baron across the head. The baron cried out and tumbled back into Hayworth, and Seph was on her feet in the next instant, swinging the shovel at Kole, who’d started unsheathing his sword. Her shovel collided with his jaw, and she whirled, only to find herself face-to-face with a now feral Hayworth.

Seph swung again, but Hayworth leaned back and caught the shovel instead. He jerked it from her hands, smirking and jabbing the shovel back at her. Seph lunged out of the way, scrambling for the chopping block.

The ax.

She climbed to her feet, jerked the ax from the stump, and swung it around just as Hayworth brought the shovel down again. Her ax sank into his gut. He froze, eyes wide with shock.

Seph released the ax’s handle and staggered back, breathless as she watched dark blood bloom upon his tunic. The shovel slipped from his hands a moment later and he collapsed.

Dead.

Seph had killed plenty of animals, but she’d never killed a man. Her heart drummed in her ears, her vision tunneling as she stepped back on unsteady feet. She glanced frantically about her, at the injured and dying, and at the coat, which lay in a heap on the ground beside the baron, who was still trying to hoist himself onto all fours. “I’ll kill you, you little bitch.”

Seph didn’t doubt it. She considered grabbing the ax again, but the idea of pulling it out of Hayworth’s gut made her stomach turn over, so she picked up the shovel instead, snatched the coat, and ran.

“Come back here!” the baron yelled. Something crashed, wood splintered, and she heard the rhythmic pounding of pursuit.

Seph ran faster. She had no idea where she was going, only that she needed to get away. There was no going back to Harran now, not after killing one of the baron’s loyal dogs. It didn’t matter that they’d been about to exact the worst sort of harm on her. Seph only regretted that she didn’t get to say goodbye to her family.

She maneuvered down the dark alleyways, trying to lose them, but the snow was a traitor. It put her footsteps on full display no matter which way she went, screaming, Here she is! Follow her tracks!

The woods. They were her only hope now.

Seph scuttled on like a mouse, holding tight to the enchanted coat and her shovel—her only weapon—until she was bounding over a low perimeter fence and bolting across the clearing. She ducked into the woods, praying the cover would save her as she glanced back.

The baron and Kole—who now carried her lantern—also jumped the fence.

Cursing, she pressed on, deeper into the woods. Snow gave way to a thin and lazy mist. Branches tugged at her coat and slapped her face, until the mist grew impossibly thick. Seph had never seen it like this before.

No sooner had that thought entered her mind than a strange tingling swept over her skin, and she was falling.

Seph yelped as she hit the ground seconds later. The breath left her lungs, and she rolled over, coughing and gasping for air. The coat and shovel had slipped from her grasp, her shoulder and ribs ached where she’d landed, and though she looked desperately around, she could see nothing but darkness.

She felt blindly around. Her fingers grazed earth and a few pebbles until she caught the soft, velvety fabric of the coat.

Seph sighed her relief, which was quickly dispelled when voices sounded above, followed by a diffused halo of light. The lantern slid into view as the baron and Kole peered into the pit she’d, apparently, fallen into. A dark bruise was forming around the baron’s right eye, which Seph was glad to see.

“Even the saints conspire your justice,” the baron said with triumph.

Thankfully, the lantern had also illuminated the shovel. Seph picked it up and held it like a weapon. “Touch me, and you will never touch anything else ever again.”

The baron considered her with predatory eyes. “Unfortunately for you, that is not how this ends.” He took his time, as if delighting in her turmoil and his impending victory. “You disrespected a kith high lord, and then you murdered one of my own men in cold blood. Justice must be served.”

This was the story he would spin to the people of Harran. This would be her new legacy.

Seph’s body trembled with fury. “Do not speak to me of justice while you send Harran’s men off to war and you sit in the comfort of your estate. Do not speak to me of justice while we starve and you feast from our sacrifice. May you burn in hell, you manipulative, self-serving snake.”

A fat vein throbbed at the baron’s temple, and to Kole, he said, “Find a branch long enough to get her out, and bring her to me.” Each word was articulated like a promise of torture and pain.

Seph felt desperately around the pit’s walls, searching for anything she might climb—roots, rocks… anything —but the walls were too steep and too soft. Soon, Kole returned with a long branch. He clamped his dagger between his teeth and slid the branch over the edge.

A horrible screech rent the night, warped and otherworldly.

Seph’s blood turned to ice.

What was that ?

“The hell was that?” asked the guard, mirroring Seph’s own thoughts. His attention diverted to a sky veiled by mist and darkness.

“Hurry,” growled the baron.

Kole had pushed the branch over the edge again when a massive, winged shadow swooped out of the mist and plucked him from the ground. Kole screamed as the creature carried him higher, legs kicking. His screams cut short and something hot and wet and thick rained upon Seph’s face.

Blood.

What in the blazing stars … ? Was it a depraved? Seph had never seen one before––if it was a depraved, what the hell was it doing outside of little Harran?

The baron gripped the lantern as he looked wildly around then furiously down at Seph. Another screech sounded, and another, and the mist churned like a storm. One shadow dove, and—in a split-second’s desperation—the baron jumped into the pit.

With the lantern.

He landed before Seph and rolled, moaning as the lantern slipped from his fingers and into the mud. The glass broke, spilling oil into the dirt, and it struggled to stay aflame. Seph kept flat against the pit’s wall, holding the coat and shovel, trying to stay out of the glow and remain unseen by the monsters circling above.

The baron shoved himself to his knees, murder in his eyes. He’d picked something off the ground—a blade. The one Kole had been holding between his teeth. He must’ve dropped it when that monster took him.

“Give me that coat,” the baron snarled. “Pass its power to me, and I will make your death quick.”

“You can go to hell.”

“Have it your way,” the baron said just as a monster landed in the pit, right behind him.

Seph’s heart nearly stopped beating.

She’d never seen such horror before, and no description could do justice to the nightmare. This creature was a corruption born of man, shaped like a mortal memory, but exaggerated proportions and contorted, protruding bones made it an abomination. It stood upon two legs, and in place of arms were two ribbed, bat-like wings that extended from its grossly bowed back. Its eyes were black and hollow like an insect’s, its nose as flat as a serpent’s, and brilliant red blood dripped from the razor-sharp teeth set within its elongated jaw. It looked like it’d flown straight from the pits of hell.

These were the bone masks the kith high lord and his guard had worn, Seph realized. This contortion of good, this demon made of flesh and bone. This depraved —for Seph knew it could be no other creature, and she was paralyzed with fear.

The baron must have seen something upon Seph’s face because his expression morphed from determination to concern. The creature emitted a low and rumbling growl, and the baron—slowly—peered over his shoulder.

The depraved ripped the baron’s head from his body.

A startled gasp escaped Seph as the baron’s body dropped like a stone. The depraved tossed the baron’s head aside with disinterest—the quintessence of barbarity—then set those black and hollow eyes upon Seph.

She plastered herself to the wall, gaping at the heinous monster as she considered her options. The blade was out of reach, not that it would do any good. Saints have mercy…what horrors had the kith committed to deserve this ?

“ The coat …” The words gurgled from the creature, this thing composed of nightmare and evil. Its voice lacked tone, its words like a wheezing exhale. “ Give meeeee…the coat .”

Linnea’s news about the depraved assimilating into ranks and talking swam through her mind. Seph hadn’t wanted to believe it, and despite the merciless decapitation that the creature had just performed, she couldn’t ignore the fact that it had just spoken—with actual words.

The depraved took a step forward upon clawed feet, a guttural growl rumbling from its belly. It took another stalking step and Seph itched to bolt, but she was already pressed against the pit’s wall; there was nowhere for her to go. She clutched the coat to her breast and held her shovel tight, praying to every saint and god she could think of—even the three Fates—that someone would intervene and do something to save her.

“Give meeeeee?—”

Thwick .

The depraved howled as it arched, toppling back and collapsing with its wings curled inward. Its horrific features fell slack, and its black eyes stared—vacant—as the tip of a silvery arrow protruded from its skull.

Seph stared, hardly believing her eyes, while vowing to commit the rest of her life to prayer.

Thwick — thwick .

More horrific screeching sounded, and Seph looked up to where shadows churned in the mist. Silver arrows flew like shooting stars, more depraved screamed and dropped from the sky, the lantern finally flickered out, and then…

Silence.