[Anthony] Battle
The signs are subtle when I first see them; a tree blackened from lightning, a line of brush charred beyond recognition. I stay close to Anthony, never more than an arm's length away. There's an uprooted tall pine that leans at an angle against a stand of younger trees. When I see the oak, its trunk ending in a shattered ruin, I put my hand to Anthony's shoulder. I don't know if it's more for his comfort or mine.
As we reach the end of the defile where it opens into the bowl, Anthony slows. At some point, he stopped using his metal pole as a walking stick and began carrying it like the weapon it so clearly is in his hands, loose and easy, and with no doubt that he could kill someone or something with it. He watches everything with clear eyes and a steady gaze.
The resonance of this place makes me want to sneeze, and I wrinkle my nose against it while I ease the shotgun from my pack and settle it into the crook of my arm. I follow his gaze, cast my eyes towards the sky and shudder as we round the last curve.
The edges of the bowl show the destruction that happened here. Trees are scarred and burned where snow hasn't covered them and the entire dell reeks of a magical malignancy so palpable I can nearly smell it. I cough on the faintly greasy resonance, snort to try to get the smell out of my nose, but it's not there, not really. Grommet used to say that everyone feels magic a little differently, but in truth, it's just the way our minds bend themselves around the ineffable to grant understanding. Some people see it, some people feel it. I always smell magic, especially when it's corrupted. For some reason, it's always more pungent.
As I scan the edge, I stop when I see the cave, twin to the one in my dream, blackened around the mouth and large chunks carved out. I can't help the gasp, the perfect feeling that I've been here before and never at all. Anthony pulls the pipe off his shoulder and aims it in a threatening slant, but when he sees that there is nothing here but my imagination, he relaxes minutely and resumes his own survey of the snowy dell. He steps closer to me and presses his right shoulder and back against me. For once, I don't flinch away from his touch; I'm glad to have it. Unfortunately, I feel his tension all too well as his eyes fix on something on the edge, a spot of red against the snow, a branch from the middle of it.
I open my mouth, then think better of it, glancing to Anthony, whose eyes are fixed to the spot. His magic has made the air still around him again and the hair on my arms stands up and the wires in my brain buzz, sending the sensation through my skull. He steps away from me, as if he's aware of the effect, and in that movement, the buzz stops and my hair lays flat against my skin again.
"Go ahead," he murmurs. "Anything watching saw us already."
"Just wondering if you had an idea what that is," I whisper. Another shudder runs firmly up my spine and tingling nerves all the way to my toes.
He watches the spot for a breath longer before saying softly, "None. But it wasn't here when I left. Stay close." He moves off, graceful and balanced, leaving me to catch up.
"Don't need to tell me twice," I mutter. I have no intention of being left alone anywhere near this place. I keep one eye on the cave mouth, not trusting it in the slightest and another on Anthony. I aim my shotgun at the ground, fairly certain that if anything warrants killing here, I'll be resolved to kill it and without hesitation.
As we get closer, the branch resolves itself into an antler, the rest buried under the snow. Anthony brushes his left hand across the surface, revealing that it is merely a dusting, and that the antler is still attached to a deer that has been roughly savaged by something. The face hangs on by scraps, shredded. As he brushes more snow away, it looks increasingly grim, something subtly wrong about all of it, with ragged tears of flesh like it had been sawed through. I bend over to take a closer look, then straighten as I realize the bulk of what bothers me about this: it hasn't been eaten, just brutalized.
"Wolves would have eaten it. And I'm no expert, but wolves' teeth and claws don't look like that."
Anthony glances up to me and nods, and then his eyes widen. Suddenly, I'm on the ground as something crunches a foot from where I stood. Anthony lets go of the front of my jacket while I try to find the air that just left my lungs with the impact of the ground. He whirls, faster than I can see and a sharp crack of impact is the next thing I hear. By the time I roll over, Anthony has already knelt beside me again, face betraying concern.
The thing he killed looks like it started life as a timber wolf, but that's about where the similarities end. Saw-like teeth and claws distend its jaw and paws, and its fur is matted and glistening with something black and unidentifiable. Anthony has cleanly broken its spine, for which I'm profoundly grateful, but a snarl stops that sentiment before it can really get started. All around us, the woods are filled with dark, looming shadows, the rough size and shape of large wolves.
I roll to my stomach and take aim with the shotgun towards the first bounding shadow. "Any reason why I shouldn't?" I ask loudly, as crisply as I can manage. No use in being quiet any more.
Anthony rises from his crouch. "None."
I invoke the word and imbue it with every ounce of loathing I have, pressing my finger into the trigger and the unholy little needle that takes blood with each shot. The shot ignites in copper sparks and that first wolf-thing collapses.
My ears are still ringing when I make out the shape of Anthony's oath and he lifts me to my feet by the back of my coat, with no effort at all. "Away from the trees," he says coolly. He guides me by the elbow and I let him put me wherever the fuck he wants me. I cast a single glance to the cave, then back to the treeline, where ten or so shadowy forms run in and out of the trees, their bodies seeming to writhe, but none yet come closer.
In the lull, I ask, "What are they?" I have a good theory, but want the reassurance. I wonder if I sound as terrified as I feel.
Anthony hisses two words in High Speech that are so accented that I can't even catch their meaning, then he bends to remove his snowshoes. Despite the accent, his magic works and works well; his nimbus calms the air around us to that frightening stillness which his voice emulates. "I don't know for sure. But sometimes... the Outside can leave a taint behind. Twist things of this world."
"Christ, your magic is fucking eerie." It's a cover to hide my fear, even as I unzip my pocket to get a better draw on the .9 mil I'm carrying. The shotgun has limited firepower; eventually, I'll need to go to something that doesn't talk back and does just shoot the things that need shooting.
"Not all of us were blessed with nice fuzzy electricity." It takes me a moment to realize that he's teasing; his voice is as still as the air around us. "Any second. Don't be afraid you'll hit me."
I snort, amused despite myself, despite being here - gallows humor at its finest, and strangely, it calms me. "I'll try to avoid it, regardless."
He murmurs another few words in his odd Speech and my skin nearly crawls off my bones. Before I can make a crack about it, a surge of movement from the treeline erupts in wolf-creatures from two directions. The ooze I saw on the first one seems to fly off their fur, and they run towards us, clumsily.
Fights happen quickly, and this is no exception. I stay out of the circle Anthony makes with whirling kicks and the wide sweep of his pole, chant my own incantation and punctuate each high point with another drop of blood spilled to the gun. I don't dare pay attention to Anthony more than my own wolf-creatures, and drop three in rapid succession, trusting that Anthony is able to hold his own - and probably better than I am. I hear his battle, though, and smell it, and feel the quietude of his magic creep over my shoulders as his circle overlaps mine and draws away again.
The remaining three are on top of me. I whirl to protect myself, but not before one manages to get through my shield and the layers of clothing. A claw connects with flesh, raking across my chest, tearing my body open and scraping sickeningly against bone. It knocks me to the ground, and having spilled blood, the shotgun requires no further blood to kill the thing on top of me. I roll before it falls in a bloody, oozing mess, narrowly avoiding being covered in it. I only have a moment to see the next wolf-creature pouncing for me before I sense rather than see Anthony leaping over me. He drives his staff into that wolf while the last rushes him, attacking with teeth and claws.
I look around for a second, see the pile of wolf corpses that Anthony has left in his wake, and more see the third group of wolves breaking the treeline and running directly towards us. It is all I can do to keep moving, to take the .9 mil from my pocket where, so far, its primary purpose has been to bruise my hip when I fall, and begin shooting them as they come. After my first shots, laden with Forces and Prime, the body of a wolf goes flying into the newcomers, scattering them far. I manage to lever myself to my knees, feel the wound tearing as I do so. Adrenaline is the only thing that is keeping me upright, and I intend to use it to my advantage, using the moment to continue my methodical sniping.
I catch a glimpse of Anthony bleeding from lacerations with a metal arm down a wolf's throat, another of lifting the huge wolf off the ground before I hear him shout, "Behind!"
I turn in time to see two beasts charging, one knocking me to the ground, cracking ribs as I hit. I bring up my left arm to protect my face while my right hand still holds my gun. I shoot it in the throat, but the slug doesn't discharge its magic and the wolf only bites my arm through the coat with a crack.
Something happens, I'm not sure what. Anthony stands above me, his left arm coated in blood, his face a rictus of controlled rage. I close my eyes, and suddenly the weight of the wolf is gone. After a long moment, I hear nothing more than a giggle, unwholesome and unnatural, but otherwise, the dell has gone still. I can count the places where I hurt, where the adrenaline dulls the pain, and where the hurt is so deep, that all I can think of is Grommet's workshop. In that moment, I know that nothing will ever hurt that much and I find another reserve of will, one I didn't even realize I had.
As we reach the end of the defile where it opens into the bowl, Anthony slows. At some point, he stopped using his metal pole as a walking stick and began carrying it like the weapon it so clearly is in his hands, loose and easy, and with no doubt that he could kill someone or something with it. He watches everything with clear eyes and a steady gaze.
The resonance of this place makes me want to sneeze, and I wrinkle my nose against it while I ease the shotgun from my pack and settle it into the crook of my arm. I follow his gaze, cast my eyes towards the sky and shudder as we round the last curve.
The edges of the bowl show the destruction that happened here. Trees are scarred and burned where snow hasn't covered them and the entire dell reeks of a magical malignancy so palpable I can nearly smell it. I cough on the faintly greasy resonance, snort to try to get the smell out of my nose, but it's not there, not really. Grommet used to say that everyone feels magic a little differently, but in truth, it's just the way our minds bend themselves around the ineffable to grant understanding. Some people see it, some people feel it. I always smell magic, especially when it's corrupted. For some reason, it's always more pungent.
As I scan the edge, I stop when I see the cave, twin to the one in my dream, blackened around the mouth and large chunks carved out. I can't help the gasp, the perfect feeling that I've been here before and never at all. Anthony pulls the pipe off his shoulder and aims it in a threatening slant, but when he sees that there is nothing here but my imagination, he relaxes minutely and resumes his own survey of the snowy dell. He steps closer to me and presses his right shoulder and back against me. For once, I don't flinch away from his touch; I'm glad to have it. Unfortunately, I feel his tension all too well as his eyes fix on something on the edge, a spot of red against the snow, a branch from the middle of it.
I open my mouth, then think better of it, glancing to Anthony, whose eyes are fixed to the spot. His magic has made the air still around him again and the hair on my arms stands up and the wires in my brain buzz, sending the sensation through my skull. He steps away from me, as if he's aware of the effect, and in that movement, the buzz stops and my hair lays flat against my skin again.
"Go ahead," he murmurs. "Anything watching saw us already."
"Just wondering if you had an idea what that is," I whisper. Another shudder runs firmly up my spine and tingling nerves all the way to my toes.
He watches the spot for a breath longer before saying softly, "None. But it wasn't here when I left. Stay close." He moves off, graceful and balanced, leaving me to catch up.
"Don't need to tell me twice," I mutter. I have no intention of being left alone anywhere near this place. I keep one eye on the cave mouth, not trusting it in the slightest and another on Anthony. I aim my shotgun at the ground, fairly certain that if anything warrants killing here, I'll be resolved to kill it and without hesitation.
As we get closer, the branch resolves itself into an antler, the rest buried under the snow. Anthony brushes his left hand across the surface, revealing that it is merely a dusting, and that the antler is still attached to a deer that has been roughly savaged by something. The face hangs on by scraps, shredded. As he brushes more snow away, it looks increasingly grim, something subtly wrong about all of it, with ragged tears of flesh like it had been sawed through. I bend over to take a closer look, then straighten as I realize the bulk of what bothers me about this: it hasn't been eaten, just brutalized.
"Wolves would have eaten it. And I'm no expert, but wolves' teeth and claws don't look like that."
Anthony glances up to me and nods, and then his eyes widen. Suddenly, I'm on the ground as something crunches a foot from where I stood. Anthony lets go of the front of my jacket while I try to find the air that just left my lungs with the impact of the ground. He whirls, faster than I can see and a sharp crack of impact is the next thing I hear. By the time I roll over, Anthony has already knelt beside me again, face betraying concern.
The thing he killed looks like it started life as a timber wolf, but that's about where the similarities end. Saw-like teeth and claws distend its jaw and paws, and its fur is matted and glistening with something black and unidentifiable. Anthony has cleanly broken its spine, for which I'm profoundly grateful, but a snarl stops that sentiment before it can really get started. All around us, the woods are filled with dark, looming shadows, the rough size and shape of large wolves.
I roll to my stomach and take aim with the shotgun towards the first bounding shadow. "Any reason why I shouldn't?" I ask loudly, as crisply as I can manage. No use in being quiet any more.
Anthony rises from his crouch. "None."
I invoke the word and imbue it with every ounce of loathing I have, pressing my finger into the trigger and the unholy little needle that takes blood with each shot. The shot ignites in copper sparks and that first wolf-thing collapses.
My ears are still ringing when I make out the shape of Anthony's oath and he lifts me to my feet by the back of my coat, with no effort at all. "Away from the trees," he says coolly. He guides me by the elbow and I let him put me wherever the fuck he wants me. I cast a single glance to the cave, then back to the treeline, where ten or so shadowy forms run in and out of the trees, their bodies seeming to writhe, but none yet come closer.
In the lull, I ask, "What are they?" I have a good theory, but want the reassurance. I wonder if I sound as terrified as I feel.
Anthony hisses two words in High Speech that are so accented that I can't even catch their meaning, then he bends to remove his snowshoes. Despite the accent, his magic works and works well; his nimbus calms the air around us to that frightening stillness which his voice emulates. "I don't know for sure. But sometimes... the Outside can leave a taint behind. Twist things of this world."
"Christ, your magic is fucking eerie." It's a cover to hide my fear, even as I unzip my pocket to get a better draw on the .9 mil I'm carrying. The shotgun has limited firepower; eventually, I'll need to go to something that doesn't talk back and does just shoot the things that need shooting.
"Not all of us were blessed with nice fuzzy electricity." It takes me a moment to realize that he's teasing; his voice is as still as the air around us. "Any second. Don't be afraid you'll hit me."
I snort, amused despite myself, despite being here - gallows humor at its finest, and strangely, it calms me. "I'll try to avoid it, regardless."
He murmurs another few words in his odd Speech and my skin nearly crawls off my bones. Before I can make a crack about it, a surge of movement from the treeline erupts in wolf-creatures from two directions. The ooze I saw on the first one seems to fly off their fur, and they run towards us, clumsily.
Fights happen quickly, and this is no exception. I stay out of the circle Anthony makes with whirling kicks and the wide sweep of his pole, chant my own incantation and punctuate each high point with another drop of blood spilled to the gun. I don't dare pay attention to Anthony more than my own wolf-creatures, and drop three in rapid succession, trusting that Anthony is able to hold his own - and probably better than I am. I hear his battle, though, and smell it, and feel the quietude of his magic creep over my shoulders as his circle overlaps mine and draws away again.
The remaining three are on top of me. I whirl to protect myself, but not before one manages to get through my shield and the layers of clothing. A claw connects with flesh, raking across my chest, tearing my body open and scraping sickeningly against bone. It knocks me to the ground, and having spilled blood, the shotgun requires no further blood to kill the thing on top of me. I roll before it falls in a bloody, oozing mess, narrowly avoiding being covered in it. I only have a moment to see the next wolf-creature pouncing for me before I sense rather than see Anthony leaping over me. He drives his staff into that wolf while the last rushes him, attacking with teeth and claws.
I look around for a second, see the pile of wolf corpses that Anthony has left in his wake, and more see the third group of wolves breaking the treeline and running directly towards us. It is all I can do to keep moving, to take the .9 mil from my pocket where, so far, its primary purpose has been to bruise my hip when I fall, and begin shooting them as they come. After my first shots, laden with Forces and Prime, the body of a wolf goes flying into the newcomers, scattering them far. I manage to lever myself to my knees, feel the wound tearing as I do so. Adrenaline is the only thing that is keeping me upright, and I intend to use it to my advantage, using the moment to continue my methodical sniping.
I catch a glimpse of Anthony bleeding from lacerations with a metal arm down a wolf's throat, another of lifting the huge wolf off the ground before I hear him shout, "Behind!"
I turn in time to see two beasts charging, one knocking me to the ground, cracking ribs as I hit. I bring up my left arm to protect my face while my right hand still holds my gun. I shoot it in the throat, but the slug doesn't discharge its magic and the wolf only bites my arm through the coat with a crack.
Something happens, I'm not sure what. Anthony stands above me, his left arm coated in blood, his face a rictus of controlled rage. I close my eyes, and suddenly the weight of the wolf is gone. After a long moment, I hear nothing more than a giggle, unwholesome and unnatural, but otherwise, the dell has gone still. I can count the places where I hurt, where the adrenaline dulls the pain, and where the hurt is so deep, that all I can think of is Grommet's workshop. In that moment, I know that nothing will ever hurt that much and I find another reserve of will, one I didn't even realize I had.