Dear Muse (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 1) (19 page)

The creature cried out from atop the cave entrance. Vargrim managed to get to his feet, having used a torn cloth to bind his wounded arm. With another piece, he patted his scratched up face.

Vargrim wearily seized the hilt of his sword, and as he lifted it, the creature leapt at him with a shrill screech. He raised the blade in time to impale it on the tip. The body sent both sprawling backward, sinking it further through the blade, faces inches away. The creature gnashed its teeth, breath so foul it turned Vargrim’s stomach. He managed to twist the blade, push the body off his, and pin it to the ground. Placing all his weight on the hilt, the creature was stuck.

The two locked in this position for days without flinching. The creature feigned sleep to trick Vargrim into letting his guard down. He did not falter, not even to yawn. In time, the creature eventually through a fit, begging his nemesis to let him go and fight on fairer terms. Vargrim would allow this on the condition it accepted defeat. It proved equally stubborn, kicking and screeching like a petulant child.

After a full week, Vargrim was seized by the creature’s boredom. They talked about the Yod, exchanging battle stories, Vargrim against the island spawn and the creature against the Yod. Both grew to admire the other, yet neither would admit to being bested by the other, and neither could bring themselves to leaving it as a draw, despite their agreement that it had been a worthy battle. Vargrim offered to release his sword in exchange for an oath. He ran his hand against the blade, as did Lefnir. They clasped palms and firmly shook. The moment Vargrim unpinned his new friend, it knocked the sword from his hand and slashed his belly. Both seized the other by the throat, intent on mutual destruction. As Vargrim’s lungs craved air, so did Lefnir’s. Their strength waned, their grips with it. They simultaneously collapsed, and both reached for the sword, hands touching the hilt. As they tugged for control, Lefnir waved his talons toward Vargrim, who caught the hand by the wrist. He twisted it, causing Lefinir to screech. He gained control over the sword and sliced the creature’s arm in half, severed the head in one blow, then seized it by the ear, and tossed it into the cave mouth.

Within seconds, Lefnir crawled out of the cave. It walked right past him, crouched as though ready to pounce, and instead knelt. Vargrim sheathed his sword, and after burying the remains of Tooth and Talon, returned to the kingdom of Yod with a new ally. As a constant token of their battle, Lefnir dons a wolf mask made from Tooth’s face and a necklace of Talon’s leg. If the two were to wage battle again, these tokens were a reminder to Vargrim as to its cost.

Entry 35

My condition has vastly improved in the past few days. Aiden was permitted to visit, and by the time of my next entry, I will be back home. My uncle nursed me back health at his house, though from his brief descriptions, it was an affliction of the mind rather than body. At one point, my screaming had become so dreadful, I needed to be gagged for days. Whenever my uncle tried to feed me, I would nip at him like a savage animal. He has the teeth marks on his hand to prove it. Fortunately, that was the extent of my violence.

He read all my writings two nights ago and spent most of the next day scrutinizing my state of mind. If not for the Vern incident, which made the supernatural forces around us known to all, Aiden would have been tried and executed for my untimely miscarriage. I assumed my journal had absolved me of any explanation, but he claims to have heard a baby wailing in the woods, the sound far too authentic to blame repeated auditory hallucinations. Despite this doubt, my uncle has defended me publicly to such a degree that I can rest easy of all accusations. As far as everyone is concerned, I was the victim of some demonic power. Whatever crawled from my womb disappeared into the cave’s mouth.

There is no doubt, no matter my uncle’s adamant insistence, that something in my mind has been irrevocably lost. I sense a sharp decline in my faculties, a marginal decrease in wit and the inability to remember certain events, before and after my life on the island, with no correlation between the two. My second meeting with Kantos is a blur, as well as my wedding ceremony. I have an intense memory of swearing a blood oath with Aiden and the incident that prompted our exodus to the island.

I can scarcely recall today’s conversation with Aiden. Not many words were exchanged, merely the sight of the other was enough for us. He demanded to bring me home, and after hostile exchange with my uncle, brought the sentence down from one week to two days. Aiden’s point made it clear: people were starting to ask questions. The most important brought up has got me thinking. When do I return to teaching?

The women spent their spare time watching the children, who spent more time asking about my condition than misbehaving. This is enough encouragement to quit languishing in melancholy and focus on improving myself. Looking into a mirror would also suffice. It has been days since I have thoroughly bathed.

And even I am beginning to smell it. Apologies for gracing these pages with my repugnant stink, friend. Know that I am well and we will speak again shortly.

Entry 36

My homecoming was greeted with more visitors than necessary. The front door has been open all day, people walking in and out as though it were an open invitation haven for the unoccupied. First my parents, then the mayor, and then my uncle. I love the man, and he has my eternal gratitude for the constant care in the last month, but I would like to go an hour without his presence. Fortunately, he left eventually with Father and the mayor, leaving us with my despondent mother.

She was far more devastated by recent events than Aiden and I. Something had murdered my unborn child. Not a curse, but an inhuman monstrosity meant to do me harm. Why did I go into the woods that night? I could provide no easy answer, and like my uncle said concerning the whole affair, chalk it up to a lapse in sanity. No one would think twice after the red trail leading from my crotch to the distant woods. Before finally leaving, she made sure to remind me that some of the more superstitious members of our town suspect me of witchcraft, believing that I had orchestrated the events concerning Vern and much more to come. It seems I have usurped my father’s position as their scapegoat.

But I will still be in charge of their children. They all insist another week of rest. I need only two days. Tonight, I have business with a certain moonlighting rascal. I cannot blame him for the miscarriage, even if it had been his intent. I drank from that bottle without hesitation, and in honesty, do not regret the consequences. If Aiden ever read those words, he would be distraught.

We were next visited by Judith, Thomas, Phoebe, and her mother. The children would have come themselves, Judith confessed, so to prevent an intrusion, they were promised a short visit. They were eager for my return. Phoebe openly admitted to hating the substitute, a woman named Bernice. She is a few years my senior, married to Patrick, and quite a hen. It is miraculous she has not pecked one of the children to death.

Janice arrived, and with a kitchen filled to capacity, the others left. Phoebe’s mother did not say goodbye, and I am fairly certain she did not say hello. However, I would not allow her sour face to taint the long-awaited reunion with my good friend, her belly ready to burst. Like my mother, Janice seemed genuinely upset that our children would not grow up together. She did not put it into words, but the sentiment was surely there. I wish her better luck than mine.

That was all for guests. When put to paper, the day seems less busy than it felt. Given my recent captivity, it is a matter of adjustment. For now, I must prepare for my meeting with Kantos. Let us hope there are no meddlers.

I was going to save the entry for tomorrow night, but my aching body and restless nature has proven to be a potent combination, as though some outside force were preventing me from sleep. Not even a nap! It is well into morning, so I will make haste. Prying eyes are liable to visit at any moment.

I went to meet Kantos and found every shred of his existence gone. The small campsite was now a bunch of bushes, the cavern entrance covered so thoroughly with rocks that not even a crack of light could pierce the other side. I called out his name a few times, scouted the vicinity for a few minutes, then decided to slim the risk of getting caught and make my way back. This sort of operation seemed to be typical of otherworldly entities. I was foolish to expect him here, as I was foolish to expect answers to anything from a demonic sot.

In the last few days, as I mentioned, my memory has been cloudy. However, I knew full well that my markings were being displaced. Not just sticks and rocks, but cuts on trees barks were wiped clean and placed on other trees. This took me some time to figure out. By then, I was utterly lost. As though to punctuate the realization, a hard object fell from one of the trees and landed directly on my head. The shock caused me to trip and fall, scraping my knees on a tree root.

I quickly got back to my feet, brushing the filth off as a trickle of blood dripped between the bridge of my nose and the edge of my eye. Cursing my luck, I wiped it away with my hand, then wiped the hand on the nearest tree, so not to accidently leave a stain on my clothes. Another object struck me in the chin, creating quite a large gash and leaving my last action for naught. As I looked up at the tree, expecting to see a bird’s nest or something or other, a large rock belted me in the gut so hard I initially thought it was a fist. Before it could strike again, I started to walk off, eyes darting back and forth for an intruder. The second another rock struck my ankle, I fled like a faun from a predator.

The scoundrel had impeccable aim. Each stone struck every inch of my body, never the face after the first. I tripped several times, bloodying my nose on the ground, inches away from another exposed root. Fortunately, despite all my scrapes and bruises, running back made the trip drastically shorter. I was winded, and upon leaving the woodland path, looked back for any sign of my assailant. No yellow eyes or darting shadows. Not even a peep. Nothing.

Back home, I immediately tore off my clothes to assess the damage. My back was especially sore, taking the brunt of the hits, but I could not get a decent view in the mirror. I drew a bath and did a remarkable job of tending to the worst of the wounds, though there was no accounting for my split chin.

I almost avoided Aiden. As I finished dressing the wounds, searching for suitable attire, he clumsily stumbled into the room. Drowsily inspecting me for a few seconds, he seized my shoulder and got a closer look at my face. I told him everything. Kantos, the winged men, and Vern. He listened without word, sitting at the table, head tucked in his arms. I thought he fell asleep, but after a long silence, he lifted his face, revealing eyes swollen with tears.

Since our wedding, whenever Aiden and I are together, the conversation always steers to how lucky he is to have married a beautiful woman like me. Meanwhile, here I am, cavorting into the dead of night with monsters and spirits. After the last month, he has every right to kick me out of the door. Everyone knows this, and when they see my wounded face, they will come to despicable conclusions.

All this cost him a child. I did not think he cared, that he could always try again, though it was going to be different from here on. Aiden knew the truth: I did not want a child. Whether the miscarriage was deliberate was not up for discussion. I could not comfort him, for in that moment I was a scourge on his unfortunate life.

No more ventures into the woods. What did I learn from all this? This island is full of monsters and it is only a matter of time before they come into our homes.

Entry 37

Seeing the children again brought the first moment of joy in weeks. Rather than clamoring during attendance, they were perfect models of good behavior, hands folded neatly on their desks and heads upright. I opened the textbook and skimmed through the pages, looking for the location of the last lesson, unable to recall the subject, let alone the right book. As I started to look through another book, one of the girls asked if I had a baby now. I merely shook my head, unwilling to touch the subject. Phoebe whispered that my child had died, and the girl let out a sharp gasp. Who killed my baby? I slammed the book shut and told Phoebe to sit in the corner.

I hated to reprimand my favorite student, though I respected her ability to face the wall with an uncharacteristic steeliness. I mistook it for endurance for punishment. A few minutes into the lecture, she started to cough. Small and dainty at first, then loud and ostensibly obnoxious. I mistook it for defiance, and judging by the giggles from her peers, I was not alone. The coughs sounded hoarse, like barking, something that belonged to an old man and not a young lady. I beat my fist against my desk, unwilling to lose my brightest student to the vice of foolery, screaming that she turn around. Instead of doing so, she burst into tears, letting loose that awful sounding cough between sobs. I grabbed her shoulder and whipped her body around, far rougher than I intended.

Two thin strands of blood dripped from her mouth, one in a corner and another down her lip and chin. It was quite a shock. My reaction caused the class to panic. I dabbed the blood from Phoebe’s face and sat her down at my desk, told the others to wait, then ran to the doctor’s house. He usually joined the others on their expedition, and fortunately it was not one of those days.