Hour of Mischief (20 page)

“Nice statistic,” Kova said. “But we have a new record. It’s a whole tribe of them. Twenty-five strong.”

Laetatia and Itazura inhaled sharply and I resisted the urge to snap,
“What the hell is a wendigo”
since I didn’t think my sudden emergence from Laetatia’s private bar would go over well with Kova.

“There’s no way. Twenty-five?” Laetatia asked.

“Exactly. That’s why I came looking for you two.” Kova shrugged. “Five, I could handle by myself. I could take all of them, really, but it would take too long. My sword can only occupy itself with five heads at a time.”

“The great Kova, asking for our lowly help?” Itazura said, but his usually light tone was strained.

“Not the time to make jokes, Itazura.” Laetatia jammed an elbow into his side. “We’re on our way. Where did the tribe get off too?”

“Well, they just blasted through the western sector of the middle ring,” Kova said. “So somewhere around there. They picked up a hefty meal of souls when they went through the prison. That should slow them down a little bit.”

My heart stopped. I had to cover my mouth to keep from gasping. The west sector prison . . .

Where my friends were being held.

My mind dropped into a panicked fog and my vision went blurry. Time slowed nearly to a stop, just as it had the day I lost my arm. Only my heartbeat sped up, ringing in my ears like a war drum.

“Three of us should be enough,” Laetatia said. “For one tribe at least. We should hurry.”

“No need. The hoard isn’t going anywhere. They’re having too much fun.” Kova shrugged.

“Just because you don’t mind human casualties, that doesn’t mean Itazura and I feel the same way,” Laetatia said.

“Well maybe you should pay better attention to your precious humans then.” Kova sneered. “Mother and Father aren’t pleased with your negligence.”

“We’re sacrificing all the humans to the elder gods, so why does it matter?” Itazura retorted.

“Don’t get smart with me, little brother. I will lob off your head again, if I have to,” Kova said. “Personally, I’m only here because I like the hunt.”

“Don’t decapitate the one who brings logic to the situation,” Itazura said, though he held up his hands in obvious surrender. “Fine, we’ll indulge your bloodlust and help you. Are we going or what?”

“We are,” Kova adjusted the broadsword balanced over her shoulder. She gave a dark and honestly terrifying grin. “It’s been a good while since I’ve gotten to battle wendigoes. I kind of miss it.” She turned and strode from the room. “Don’t fall behind.”

“We’re not,” Laetatia muttered, following after Kova. “And we’re not your minor gods, Kova. Don’t give us orders.”

Kova said something in retort, probably a death threat of some kind, but at that point, she was too far away for me to hear her. Itazura stopped in the doorway, looking back at my hiding spot. I could see the concern in his gaze. He must have figured it out, too.

My friends were in the prison attacked by these wendigoes. I didn’t know what these mysterious creatures were capable of, but whatever it was, my friends were in grave danger.

Or worse, they were already dead.

Itazura stared at me for a good five seconds but at an irritated command from Kova that I couldn’t make out, he hurried from the room.

For a while, I just sat in the cabinets, completely forgetting Kova had gone and I could come out. I could only stare at the dark wood of the doors, blank faced. My mind whirled with questions.

What’s a wendigo? Why are twenty-five of them so bad? Are they like shape shifters? Did they kill everyone in the prison?

Are Sylvia, Parker, and Sid gone?

Did I fail again?

“No. I can’t have failed. They’re going to be fine. I made this damn pact to save them, so I’m
going
to save them.”

With this promise burning on my lips, I kicked the cabinet doors open and scrambled out. I touched the button on my left arm just below my wrist and my newly installed blade shot into view.

Whatever these wendigoes were, I hoped they were vulnerable to the taste of steel.

Because if one of them so much as touched my friends, I would destroy every last one of them by myself, no gods required.

ooking back on it, I probably should have considered the possible repercussions of charging into battle with a tribe of creatures I had never seen or heard of before in my life. After all, they were so bad it took three gods to take down one tribe. Not to mention, there was that little issue of me being in a pact with Itazura and if I happened to die, I could cause the end of the world as we knew it.

That seems to be a trend with my life, actually. Looking back on all the things I should have mulled over before charging in like an impulsive moron. No wonder Itazura didn’t think I could persuade the knowledge twins to come over to our side. I was as logical and contemplative as . . . well, Itazura himself.

The closer I got to the western half of Fortuna, the more chaotic the streets became. It seemed as if people were trying to run away from
something
, crawling over each other to escape. They squeezed through alleys and stumbled around abandoned carriages, heedless of anyone but themselves. But the thicker the crowd became, the faster I ran.

At one point a short, balding man caught my arm and tried to stop me, “You can’t go that way! Strange things are about. Evil things. You must turn back.”

“Thanks for the concern, but I’m not going anywhere.” I jerked my arm from his grasp and kept on running.

My lungs were nearly burned out by the time the time I reached the intersection of West Street and Vigil Boulevard, and the landscape had changed immensely as well. Usually this intersection was quite busy, filled with automated carriages, crowds of busy people, and even caravans. This was the only section of the middle sector that allowed the nomads to sell their wares. Now their carts were overturned and their tents collapsed. A thin layer of pocket watches, pendants, and other trinkets littered the cobblestone streets. Many of the goods had been trampled and ruined in the previous commotion.

The silence scared me the most. The voices of the crowds had long faded from the area and only the faint lull of the crisp wind as it ruffled my hair filled the streets remained. There wasn’t another person in the vicinity.

I couldn’t help but rest my right hand over the button on my wrist, just for precaution’s sake. When I had regained my breath and my legs no longer felt like jelly, I hurried on, this time at a brisk walk. Shattered pocket watches crunched under my leather boots. The splintering of already shattered glass echoed through the silence, rattling my nerves.

I walked for two minutes without running across anyone. No guards, no civilians, and no evil creatures. Then, a new sound joined the crunching of my footsteps.

‘Ping’

I stopped and looked around, searching for the source of the sound. I still didn’t see anyone on the streets. Maybe something had fallen over. I took a slow, hesitant step forward.

‘Ping.’

I stopped. No, it wasn’t the sound of something falling. It was the sound of something striking a hollow, metal object. Sort of like the sound a knife made when it bounced off the helmet of a vigilant guard.

‘Ping.’

An annoying sound too. In normal circumstances, it would be easy to ignore but in the crushing silence, my nerves tingled each time the sound echoed through the streets.

‘Ping.’

The noise sounded almost rhythmic in nature, like the slow ticking of a clock. The intervals between “pings” never grew longer or shorter. I counted twelve beats in between each sound. Twelve beats; twelve gods.

Ping.

I continued forward, cautiously, keeping my arm out in front of me in case I had to block an attack. I walked, unconsciously, in the exact same rhythm of the noise. I took twelve steps in between each hollow, metallic sound.

Ping.

The sound grew louder. Slowly I rounded the corner, praying silently to all of the gods—yes, even Meroquio—that nothing would catch me off guard. If anything so much as moved, I might’ve had a heart attack.

Ping.

The sound echoed from my left. I turned, though I almost didn’t want to, searching for the source.

Ping.

I exhaled, annoyed I had been so nervous. It was only a child, a little girl, sitting on the side of the road. She crouched over what looked like the dented helmet of a vigilant guard. Her stringy brown hair fell like a curtain in front of her face, obscuring it from view, but by her dirty, travel worn clothes and sun-tanned skin, I guessed she was a nomad child.

Ping.

The girl held a small metal rod in her hand and she appeared to be entertaining herself by striking the helmet in front of her over and over again. Why? Why wasn’t she running like everyone else? Perhaps she was in shock. Her parents must have left her behind in the chaos.

I took a step forward, but stopped as she struck the helmet again. Now, her beats seemed to be speeding up. She waited only four counts before striking the helmet again.

Ping.

Ping.

Then she waited only two beats.

Ping.

Ping.

One beat.

Ping.

Ping.

Until at last, she didn’t pause at all. She struck the helmet over and over again, as if counting the seconds with the sound.

Ping, ping, ping, PING.

The final strike rang loudest and reverberated through the empty streets like a gunshot. Despite the girl’s age, something about the steady noise still set me on edge. I did not take my hand off the button on my arm.

The girl laid her metal rod aside and I took this as a chance to try to talk with her.

“Are you lost?” I asked.

She didn’t reply. She didn’t even look at me. A soft breeze past between us, ruffling her stringy hair in time with mine.

“It’s all right, I’m not going to hurt you,” I said taking a step forward. “My name is Janet. I’m a good person.”

“Good person.” The girl repeated, though she still did not turn. “You are good? Do you want . . . to play with me?”

“I think we should get out of here first,” I said, taking another cautious step forward. I didn’t want to advance to quickly or I might upset the girl more.

“But I want to play.”

The girl finally turned to look at me. I froze in place.

Until now, I couldn’t describe exactly what unnerved me about the girl outside of her strange hobby of hitting metal helmets with steel rods. But as soon as she met my eyes, I could put words to my caution. Her eyes were
not
the eyes of a child. They were calm, unblinking, and completely inhuman.

They were like the eyes of a corpse.

As soon our eyes met, I knew this child wasn’t scared. Or in shock. I didn’t know
what
she was, but her mere gaze made me take a step back.

“Play.” The girl repeated, standing slowly to her feet. She swayed on her thin, little legs as if she’d only just started walking a few days ago, but she did not fall to the ground. She turned to face me, neck bent at an odd angle, her stringy hair dipping in front of her face. “I want to play now.”