Abomination (38 page)

She heard a familiar sound and looked up, shielding her eyes against the sun, to see Venator circling in the sky above. She smiled, the sight of him bringing fresh hope to the day. He would have word from Canterbury that would help her prepare for what was to come—and his return meant something more besides. She had no doubt that Wulfric was right, and that she would not be able to follow him if he did not want to be followed. But she had never heard of any man or beast capable of shaking off that hawk.

The afternoon had been long and tiring, and Indra was relieved when at last night began to draw in. Wulfric had proven true to his word; tracking him was all but impossible. He seemed to move far more nimbly than any man encumbered by such a heavy weight should, and along a route designed to make him difficult to pursue. He kept far from any beaten path, moving instead through only the most tangled and overgrown brushwood; thorns and other prickly things had been snagging on Indra’s clothes and scratching at her skin all afternoon.

Had she been stalking him alone, she would have lost him hours ago, with no hope of finding him again, but fortunately she was not alone. Venator had caught sight of Wulfric without delay and, from his aerial vantage point, had had no difficulty following him. It was following Venator that proved so difficult; for every bramble or thicket above which the hawk glided effortlessly, Indra had to find her way over or around it. At one point Wulfric had crossed a shallow but wide river, which would have made him even more difficult to track had she not had Venator in the air. As it was, she still had to wade waist-deep through the frigid, fast-moving waters. An hour later, her saturated clothes only barely starting to dry in the sun, she was still chilled to the bone. And just how fast was this man moving that Venator had to maintain such a pace to keep him in sight? Several times the hawk had circled back to
allow Indra to catch up, which was embarrassing, and she had to convince herself that her friend was not scowling at her reproachfully as he soared overhead.

As her exhaustion and frustration grew, Indra looked constantly toward the sun, tracking its progress across the sky. She knew that Wulfric had to stop sometime before it set, and with enough time to safely secure himself for the night. But it was not until the sun had sunk completely over the horizon that Venator landed on a treetop up ahead, indicating that Wulfric had finally come to a stop.

She sank down onto a fallen tree to rest and catch her breath, wondering how much ground they had covered. She guessed that it was no more than ten miles, but across terrain like this it felt more like fifty. Their course had not been a straight one, Venator banking left and right many times over the course of the day to follow Wulfric’s own winding path, and Indra suspected they were not so far from the clearing from which they had set out that afternoon. That, at least, was good, as it meant that tonight’s meeting place was not so far either.

Venator swooped down and settled on a branch nearby as Indra wiped the sweat from her brow. He, of course, appeared completely unflustered, not a feather out of place, and again Indra had to tell herself that he was not silently judging her. The hawk did not make a sound but moved keenly along the branch, nodding his head toward a dense wall of trees that the encroaching night had already begun to shroud in darkness. To Indra, his meaning was clear: Wulfric was close by, in that direction. She nodded in acknowledgment and, standing, gestured for the hawk to stay as she moved quietly toward the copse of trees he had indicated.

She crept low and slow between the trees, careful of every footfall, wondering if Wulfric might have set some trap with which to snare her—from what she knew of the man, it would not be surprising. But there were none, and she was able to close on the
small glade where Wulfric had set himself up for the night without alerting him.

She caught sight of Wulfric beyond the trees directly in front of her and froze. Thirty yards away, but close enough that she could hear the soft jangling of his chain as he shed it from his body and began winding it around the trunk of a stout oak tree. Carefully, quietly, she hunkered down, and, from her hiding place, watched as Wulfric shrugged off his tattered cloak, tossed it aside, and sat naked at the base of the tree, pulling the chains over his head and around his chest. The same ritual Indra had witnessed the night before, only now she was doing so without his knowledge. Something about it felt wrong, as though she were intruding on the man’s deepest, darkest secret, a moment of almost sacred privacy. She had to remind herself that everything she was doing was so that she could help him.
God, I hope so
.

The change came upon Wulfric less than a minute after he had secured the chain around him. As his body began to shudder and convulse, Indra turned away. She knew what happened next and had no desire to see it again. She headed back the way she came, more quickly this time. There was no need for stealth now. All she wanted now was to be away. Her heart was already beating faster, and when she heard the first howl of the beast echoing through the forest, she broke into a full sprint, bounding between the trees, running faster and faster, away from the nightmare unfolding behind her.

She was gasping for breath by the time she made her way back to Venator, who flew from his perch to her shoulder as she came to a halt. He sidled close to her face and nuzzled her, the touch of his silken feathers against her cheek helping to calm her.
Venator, ever my protector
. Over the sound of the wind she could still faintly hear the distant howling of the thing Wulfric had by now become, no less terrible for being so much farther away. She knew now that it was the same beast she had heard on the hillside several nights ago, the same dreadful wail. It had put a chill down her back then
as it did now. She could not block it out; all she could do was distract herself by attending to what needed to be done.

She raised her forearm for Venator and he hopped onto it obediently. “Dinner,” she said, and that was all the command the hawk needed. He took flight and within moments had disappeared into the night sky. Indra then drew both her swords and placed them on the ground before her, blades glimmering in the light of the rising moon. There was one more thing to do tonight before she could eat or rest. The thing she had been dreading ever since she sent her message to Canterbury, and could not put off any longer. It was time to go and meet her father.

Edgard had arrived at the old church a full hour before dusk. He and his men had ridden as hard as their horses were able, stopping for rest only once the entire journey, and so by day’s end, man and horse alike had arrived at the meeting place tired and hungry, but ahead of time. Only then did he realize what a wasted effort it was; the time they had saved en route still had to be spent waiting for Indra to arrive, and as those dead hours passed, they only sharpened Edgard’s sense of anticipation and, increasingly, impatience. What could be keeping her?

By now night had fallen and so she might arrive at any time, and every moment that passed dragged out interminably while his mind filled with worry. Was she all right? What if the beast had harmed her? What if she had changed her mind?

What if it was all some cruel trick, her childish idea of retribution for all the wrongs she imagined he had done her?

Was she capable of such a spiteful act, against her own father, the man who had raised her and cared for her and tried to keep her safe? He would not put it past her. For all that he had done for her, that girl had shown him nothing but ingratitude her entire life. He did not expect her, at so young an age, to understand the
hard choices he had been forced to make regarding her upbringing, but she could at least have tried to appreciate that he had done the best he could under difficult circumstances—that every decision he made had been in her best interests, for her own protection. Was that not what a father was supposed to do? Still, she had resented him and rebelled against him at every opportunity. Though he knew that was not uncommon with fathers and daughters, the anger Indra carried inside of her had made parenting her an almost impossible task.

She had insisted, against his wishes, to be trained in combat, almost from the day she was old enough to pick up a practice sword. When he and others had tried to tell her that martial artistry was not an appropriate pursuit for a young lady, it had only encouraged her more, as though she were determined to prove otherwise. When he had refused to let her train with the initiates, she had gone behind his back and saw to it herself, spying on and following along with the daily sessions in the training yard from the shadows, cajoling private lessons from the instructors whenever she could, and practicing. Always practicing. No punishment or discouragement could deter her. He would take away her sword; somewhere she would find another. He would confine her to her room; she would find a way to sneak out. Eventually Edgard had thrown up his hands and allowed her to train with the initiates, in the hope that taking all rebelliousness out of the endeavor would lead her to eventually lose interest. But she only became more committed, and, over time, better and better.

By the time she was beating men five years her senior in the sparring circle, it was clear that this was no idle hobby, nor could her obvious talent be ignored, be she a girl or not. But when she demanded to join the Order as an initiate herself, enough was enough. He, of course, forbade it. The idea of a female initiate, much less a paladin, was as preposterous as it was unprecedented. But again, his refusal only fueled her determination. She had become obsessed with the idea of slaying an abomination, as
though that would somehow make right what she saw as wrong with her life, and had given him an ultimatum: either she would do it as a fully trained, fully prepared member of the Order, or she would do it on her own, while vowing never to speak to him again. Either way, she would not be denied.

And so, against every parental urge, he had allowed her reckless quest, for fear of losing her entirely if he did otherwise. It was ten long months ago that he had watched her go, knowing that she might never return, but hoping that, if she should, her time away might have given her an opportunity to reflect, to come to appreciate all that he had tried to do for her.

He pulled himself from his reverie. His boots had scraped a shallow trench into the sodden earth where he had been pacing back and forth, back and forth. His men had made far better use of their time, setting up camp in the churchyard and making the other advance preparations he had ordered. Some of them were around the fire now, eating a hearty dinner. The smell of flame-cooked meat carried on the wind, and though Edgard’s belly grumbled at the scent of it, he had no appetite. He was far too anxious—in part to see his daughter, to be sure, but also for what she had discovered.

An abomination like no other, a unique hybrid of man and beast. And a unique danger to him and Indra both. It was of vital importance that this be handled correctly. Which is why he had brought twenty of his best men. Indra might harbor some naive notion of saving this beast, whatever that meant, but he alone knew the threat it represented. And he alone knew how to deal with it.

Edgard looked up at the moon, wondering how long he had been waiting. Some of the men were already finished with dinner and had begun setting up tents in preparation for a night’s stay. What could possibly be keeping her? He had chosen this place because it was the closest landmark to the area from which she had sent her message, so it should not take her so long to get here.
At nightfall
, he had said in the message he had sent back with Venator.
But then, since when had Indra followed any of his instructions to the letter, or at all?
Where the hell is she?

“My lord.”

One of his men, standing near the edge of the encampment, was looking into the nearby woods, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Edgard turned to see, just as a slight silhouette emerged from the darkness between the trees that formed the boundary to the churchyard. The figure stepped into the open to be caught by the moonlight. Indra. A great smile of relief widened across Edgard’s face, and he moved across the open grass toward her, his pace quickening as he approached.

“My child,” he said. “I cannot tell you how much it lifts my heart to see you.” His arms came out, his first instinct to put them around her, but Indra stiffened and took a step backward, away from him.

Edgard’s face fell as he halted; “Will you not embrace your own father?”

Her face said it all. Edgard’s heart sank. He recognized that look. It was the one he had seen when she left him ten months ago, the same one she had turned toward him her entire life. She was as resistant toward him as she ever had been.

Perhaps she just needs time
, he told himself.
I should not try to rush her
. He made no move closer, but tried to appear warm and hospitable. “You look well,” he said, and indeed she did, far better than he expected. A few scrapes and bruises, but if anything it appeared that her Trial had strengthened her. There was steel in her eyes and in the way she carried herself, more than he remembered, and there had been plenty enough before. “How has your Trial treated you, these past ten months?”