Marysvale (49 page)

I slowed our small group to a trot
until we were out of their sight, and then we too
rested.

It turned out to be quite a long rest,
which was good for the animals as well as their riders. Ideally, it
should have lasted for days. Hannah looked extremely pale. The ride
was the roughest on her, but she didn’t complain. A part of me
wished she would, at least then I would know she still had some
kick left in her. Both Hannah and Sarah’s clothes were stained with
fresh patches of blood from their many wounds being constantly
reopened by the long, hard ride. Exhausted and in pain, no one said
much of anything.

Using the opportunity, I took to
reloading the pistols, and then my crossbow, with the last
remaining arrow. After that, I tracked the soldiers with my extra
vision. We mimicked their movements. When they rode, we rode; when
they rested, so did we—always staying out of sight, but not by
much. I hoped if they never saw us, they would get discouraged and
give up. They didn’t.

We continued through the rest of the
day in that strange standoff, until…

Behind us, in the distance, a lone,
high, staccato-like cry floated across the hilltops. A chill ran up
my spine. I knew what it meant, as I had heard it once
before.

T
HE
cry was answered just like before. And again, it was
answered. It was echoed so many times, I lost count. From behind,
and from our sides, those bone-chilling cries rose over the
treetops.

Judging from the location of the first
call, I guessed they had found our tracks.

I turned to check on the women; terror
was written in their faces. The soldiers weren’t concerned.
Apparently, their part in this ordeal had been played; with nothing
to fear, they simply mounted, turned around, and departed at a
leisurely walk.

“
How far away are we from
our destination?” I asked anxiously.

“
Perhaps three or four
miles—possibly even five; but no more,” replied Sarah
tensely.

An all-out run of that distance, on
already tired horses, was asking a lot, if not too much.

I didn’t think Hannah could get any
paler, but I was wrong. She said nothing, but resolutely gripped
the reins and shot me a look of courage that melted my heart. She
really was much stronger than I would have ever guessed before all
this happened.

I searched the surrounding countryside
for the source of the cries and found nothing. Though I couldn’t
see any Brean, I did see the clearest and flattest path through the
trees.

“
Keep up and don’t spare the
horses,” I instructed. “If any of your mounts fail, I will come
back for you. The others keep going.”

They all nodded in understanding, and
we set off at a fast gallop—one that I knew would stretch their
horses’ endurance past their limits.

I opened my vision and left it open, in
search for the black vortexes that were the Brean. It taxed my
already exhausted body. I wasn’t so much worried about the monster
calls that came from behind us; they would have a tough time
catching up. The more worrisome ones came from our sides. They were
the ones that had a chance at heading us off.

As we galloped, the feeling was
surreal. The trees flew by in the crisp, autumn air. Much had
progressed in the week since I started this strange journey. The
woods were now completely ablaze in a sea of color. Whereas only a
few leaves had fallen to the ground before, now they rained down,
leaving a thin blanket of the colorful foliage. Unfortunately, it
wasn’t thick enough to cover our tracks. As the leaves fell, the
cries of the monsters intensified.

Still, I couldn’t see them.

It wasn’t until the town slowly
materialized on the edge of my vision, did the terrible, soulless
voids emerge into sight. More accurately, it wasn’t the town that I
saw, but men manning yet another wall, or what I assumed was a
wall, because they looked oddly suspended in the air.

Running in that awkward stance of
theirs, weaving through the trees, the Brean poured out of the
forest. A wall of Brean began closing in on each side of us, giving
the impression that we were hurtling through a narrowing
canyon.

I judged our speed and the distance we
still needed to go, against the speed at which the monsters were
closing in, and my heart sank. It wasn’t enough. Despair washed
over me—its dark waves crashing all around, filling my lungs, and
choking off all hope.
How could we make it through so much,
just to fail so painfully close to our goal?
It didn’t seem
right.

So close, but not close enough. Smoke
could have made it, but I couldn’t live knowing I’d left the women
I loved to stand alone. Hearing their cries of pain, and to imagine
or possibly witness the hideous beasts feasting on them, was too
much to bear. Life without any of them would be hollow and empty. I
wanted to be where they were, even if it was in these dreadful
circumstances.

I still had two pistols and an arrow;
if I had to, I would make their deaths quick. Not slowly, not
horribly, not to be toyed with, for who knows how long, at the
hands of those monsters.

And after that, I wouldn’t care what
they did to me.

I closed my vision; it was too much for
me to take in.

I bowed my head, as if a heavy weight
had fallen upon me. My eyes closed and, unexpectedly, I found
myself praying. I prayed desperately for God to do something. I
prayed that it be His will for us to live. I prayed for a
miracle.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, and noticed
the sweat pouring down Smoke, drenching his dark coat and making it
even darker. His gallop was still strong, and I knew it would stay
that way right until the end. To see his magnificent stride and
unbreakable spirit, to know that he wouldn’t give up until he was
forced to, kindled something deep inside of me—not hope, but shame.
Smoke wouldn’t quit until a pack of monsters drug him down, or
until his heart literally gave out.
If he won’t give up, why
should I? We may die; but why make it easy?
I wasn’t going to
fail simply because I didn’t try.
No. I won’t vanquish myself
or the girls. I’ll make the monsters do it—and I’ll make them work
for it.

That shame inside me suddenly sparked,
and determination ignited in its place, burning slowly but
resolutely.

I raised my head and drew the two
pistols. Not so much because I thought I’d actually hit anything—it
just felt like the right thing to do. Plus, I was tired of them
digging underneath my belt—a silly thing to be concerned about, I
know.

Still, I left my vision closed. It’s
easier to take on one problem at a time than to focus on them all
at once.

Our appointed time with destiny grew
near. At first, it felt like a trick of the eye through the falling
leaves: dark, hairy bodies, blending and merging with the foliage,
appeared momentarily, dancing through the autumn sun, only to
return again to shadow. One by one they appeared.

As they saw us, they changed course
slightly, and plotted our interception. A small one, in particular,
ran amazingly fast. It angled and streaked toward me.

I wanted desperately to shoot, but I
had to wait. Hitting anything with a pistol, on the back of Smoke’s
heaving body, was as close to impossibility as I could think of for
me. So I waited.

It drew close.

And when I thought I couldn’t wait
anymore, I waited.

Finally, when it was mere yards away, I
shot.

The ball blasted into its chest.
Despite the obvious wound appearing, all it did was slow him
momentarily.

Frantically, not bothering to aim, I
fired the other pistol.

The poorly aimed shot was rewarded with
nothing. I missed.

I fumbled for the dagger, just as the
Brean snarled ferociously... and leapt.

This is it,
I
thought.

I felt somewhat disappointed. I had
imagined a more glorious fight—perhaps it taking three or four of
the beasts to stop me. I envisioned being a little closer to the
town, where there would be a witness—someone to pen a song about
the heroic stranger. I certainly didn’t expect to die at the hands
of the first Brean that attacked, and a small one at that—at least
for a Brean.

Two things happened at the same time.
The first was a crack from a musket, and the second was a huge
chunk of the monster’s head exploding before my eyes.
Unfortunately, the shot didn’t stop its momentum. Bracing for the
impact, I dropped the dagger and ducked. Using every ounce of my
strength to hang on, I clung to the saddle and Smoke’s mane The
Brean’s bloody, stinking, hulking body careened into me. It rolled
and flopped over my back, then tumbled to the ground.

I wasted no time in looking back to see
my savior.

Jane smiled and winked, her smoking
musket still clutched in her hand.

I returned the smile.

Then she did something I thought quite
odd…. She screamed.

There wasn’t anything I could see wrong
with her, or Sarah, for that matter, or Hannah.

Suddenly, Sarah’s eyes went wide and
Hannah screamed, too.

They were looking at me.

Perhaps the smaller Brean had injured
me when we hit. But I didn’t feel anything wrong.

Sarah pointed frantically.

Following their eyes, I realized they
weren’t looking at me, but at the huge monster materializing right
in front of me.

Naehume was gigantic, towering at least
two or three feet above me atop Smoke. I knew he was large, but
hunched over in the dungeon didn’t convey the proper scope of his
size. Seeing him drawn up to his full height was truly
terrifying.

With Smoke’s speed, there was no time
to stop, and no going around him at this close range; there was
barely time to take in his terrible reality. Our reunion was
imminent and Naehume knew it.

I desperately fumbled for the crossbow,
sure that I wouldn’t be able to retrieve it in time, but still
tried, nonetheless.

His red eyes burned with the eternal
hatred that constantly fed his soul. He hunched and squatted,
spreading his massive arms wide, as if preparing to wrestle, or
snatch us if we tried to pass. He thundered a booming, chilling
roar, revealing rows of long, sharp teeth. His putrid breath washed
over me. He truly was a demon of the dark—the monster from my
nightmares.

Then, for the second time, something
remarkable happened. Smoke again burst forward in a blast of
amazing speed. What should have taken three or four strides, took
only one. I was completely unprepared and, again, nearly toppled
off his back.

More importantly, it took Naehume off
guard. Smoke tossed his head back and charged into him.

It was like hitting a tree, practically
stopping all of our forward drive. The only thing keeping me from
flying into Naehume was Smoke himself. I launched into his neck
and, reacting naturally, I wrapped my arms tightly around
him.

Naehume was knocked flat on his back.
Smoke half leapt, half high-stepped over the prostrate
Brean.

The women galloped around the
entanglement of horse and monster.

Naehume rolled over to protect his face
from the trampling hooves and to set up for his
retaliation.

As soon as we passed over him, his head
snapped up, and he sprung into a crouch, preparing to
pounce.

I worked to free the crossbow, but
Smoke’s natural defenses took over again.

His hind legs cocked up under his
stomach, and then shot back, smashing into the demon.

The sound they made, when connecting
with Naehume’s face, was strangely like two boulders hammering
against one another. One of the hoofs landed a particularly savage
blow, tearing a long, deep red split into his gruesome face, which
instantly filled with blood.

Sadly, he wasn’t decapitated; though,
for a minute, there was hope.

Naehume howled in pain, trying to hold
his mangled face together with his hands.