Marysvale (8 page)

P
ERHAPS
it was fate that saved me, or the dark. It could
even have been simple luck in Smoke’s stride…regardless, the ball
shot past me, so close that I felt it tousle strands of my hair. I
let out my breath, and thundered on. Martin’s shot had missed, and
he knew it. Uncertainty now filled his eyes.

After a few more gaits, I pulled so
hard on the reins that Smoke slid to a stop and reared up right
next to the cowering Martin.

Time again slowed to a crawl; but this
time it was for him. Terror spread across his face and his mouth
fell open in shock. He had no time to react.

In one fluid movement, I pulled out my
own musket, flipped it in the air, catching it by the cold barrel,
and swung it in a low arc. With a sickening crunch, the butt
crashed into the side of Martin’s head, causing his body to
cartwheel and sprawl prostrate on the ground. Blood poured from his
smashed skull and soaked into the dirt.

Smoke’s front legs slowly came down as
my eyes locked with the hollow eyes of Martin’s ghost. It was not
the first time I had seen a spirit—I’d seen a man die before.
However, it was the first time I had taken a life.

The ghost looked bewildered, like it
couldn’t figure out what had just happened—not realizing it was
dead. The specter tried to figure out how I’d missed. It didn’t
take it long to understand. Something caught its attention and it
lowered its hollow eyes to the crumpled body that lay unmoving at
its feet—and it knew. The spirit of Mr. Martin began to scream a
horrible, unnatural shrill. I don’t know if it was a cry of fear or
that of a damned soul; but I was sure I was the only one who could
see or hear it.

The shock of what had happened began to
wear off and men leapt into action. The fallen scrambled to their
feet, groping for their muskets. Stealing a glance behind me, I
could see the riders returning from my cottage. There would be no
going south and joining the hunting party now.

I turned Smoke into the black night
and, with a small kick, we shot forward down the main street, and
through the fields, heading for the forbidding forest. Cottages and
farms whipped by. As I neared the boundary, I looked back on the
town; more lights were appearing through the windows of the homes.
From the chaos and the noise, there was no doubt the whole
settlement knew by now. Bad news always spreads quickly in a small
village. In Syre, it appeared to travel faster than the pursuing
riders.
Almost by magic
, I thought ironically. More
horsemen joined the chase as they passed the town hall. With a
fleeting look, I counted six.

We crashed into the dark woods. I knew
Smoke could see in this blackness; however, I wasn’t so sure of
my
abilities. If a protruding branch knocked me off, it
would take Smoke a few moments to realize what had happened before
coming back for me, assuming he even did. Though, at this point, he
seemed to be enjoying the ride. So, I let him choose our path and
turned my attention to the daunting task of hanging on.

Smoke found a narrow, overgrown path,
and we followed it. I settled down in the saddle as low as
possible, leaning forward, almost to the point of lying down—which
I would have done, except for the heaving, powerful muscles that
rose and fell, making it impossible. I was always amazed at the
strength, speed, and endurance that Smoke possessed. It was
exhilarating to be on such a creature. To hear the rhythmic,
thumping sound that his hooves made, as they tore up the ground
beneath us, was intoxicating. We catapulted through the trees. As
long as I hung on, there really wasn’t much of a chance the
pursuing riders would catch us.

After a long while, they seemed to have
come to the same conclusion. The crashing and cursing behind me
faded. Even in their numbers, they wouldn’t risk traveling very
deep into the woods at night. Too many things could go wrong and
one could easily get lost.

Suddenly, there in the darkness, I
wondered if Thomas and Mr. Shepherd were right. Had the woods grown
dangerous over the last few years, particularly to the north? The
few who ventured there never returned—or at least that’s what the
rumors were.

The direction I’m traveling,
I
thought glumly.

I slowed Smoke’s gait to one he could
hold for some time. Putting miles between me and Syre still seemed
the best choice.
After all, they might decide to try again in
the morning.

Dark shadows encroached all around us
as we traveled deeper and deeper into the woods. The trees grew
thicker and the path disappeared. A canopy of leaves blocked the
light of the moon and stars. Sinister branches reached out as if to
pull us into forbidden paths. An owl hooted somewhere, hidden in
the blackness. I was glad to have lost the riders, but a strange
part of me wished they were there; at least they were something
tangible I could fear. Now, before me stretched the unknown,
unending, ominous forest.

After losing track of time and
distance, and no doubt completely lost, we burst into a small
clearing that was bathed in pale moonlight. I shivered. The
temperature had been dropping steadily as the night progressed, but
this felt unnaturally cold.

A mist hung low over the ground,
swirling angrily behind us, as if disturbed from a deep slumber by
our mere presence. I slowed our pace and looked around. After a few
minutes, we stopped completely. Smoke’s breathing grew more
regular. Steam rose off his gigantic, sweating body; and puffs of
vapor shot out his nostrils. I strained my ears to listen…nothing.
Except for Smoke’s breathing, and the cold settling around us (if
there is such a sound), the woods were completely silent. Upon
realizing that I had been holding my breath, I slowly exhaled,
careful not to disturb the now sleeping mist.

The forest sounds (or in this case, the
lack of them) could play tricks with the mind; but something didn’t
feel
right, and I decided now would be a good time to arm
myself. I looked at the musket strapped to the side of the saddle,
a tool that had a tremendous amount of power and distance; but
there were drawbacks to using it. For one, I wasn’t terribly fast
at reloading, and even worse was my marksmanship. Unless both the
target and I were stationary, the target had a very good chance of
surviving.

Deciding against the musket, I turned
in the saddle and reached for my crossbow secured to the outside of
a pack. Unlike the musket, I was a much better shot with it and
could reload quickly. Quietly, with a few fluid movements, I strung
the bow. Any bow kept strung up for too long would eventually lose
its spring and would be worthless. However, a bow not strung up in
time of danger could lose its master—a situation I considered to be
infinitely worse. I strung it twice, because it was really two bows
mounted to the same stock, giving me the added advantage of an
extra shot. Its master began to relax, but only a
little.

I gently squeezed my legs against
Smoke, giving him the signal that it was time to go. Slowly, we
crossed the remainder of the clearing. A strong, nauseating scent
of something rotting drifted across my nostrils.

Smoke felt uneasy, too, and he started
to whinny a little. His ears swiveled in all directions, trying to
detect some minuscule sound. I could sense his muscles tense and
his movements become jerky. I wished he were more quiet, but
realized there was nothing he could do about his breathing, or the
occasional swishing sound that his legs made as they moved through
the grass.

I felt like I needed to hear
something—something I was missing…even something, perhaps, out of
place. Straining my ears, I looked around, trying to detect what it
was. I pulled the crossbow closer. Despite the cold, my palms were
sweating.
Ridiculous
, I thought.
I’m just scaring
myself.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was
out there. It felt like having all the pieces to a puzzle, but
unable to put them together.
Why do I think
that?

It all clicked in my head at once: the
dead silence of the night, nothing moving—as if all the animals and
birds were holding their breath, waiting for a predator to make its
move. With a start, the puzzle pieces fell into place. I realized
that the swishing sound wasn’t only coming from Smoke—there
was
something else. Moreover, I could hear breathing: a
very quiet, occasional rasp that had also been masked by
Smoke.

Before I could finish kicking him in
the flanks, Smoke was off like a ball shot out of a cannon, as if
he were saying, “What took you so long?”

We flew across the remainder of the
clearing. Straining my eyes, I looked back, trying to see what it
could be. Bear? No, bears usually don’t stalk humans. A mountain
lion? Probably not, we were too big for one of those. Possibly
wolves, but that didn’t feel right, either. Whatever it was, it
seemed like it was just waiting there. A clearing would be a good
place to wait for prey, at least from a human standpoint; you could
see farther than you could through the trees.

Just before we sailed back into the
dark forest, I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of
my eye, not too far from where we had stood. A gigantic, black
figure rose out of the mist. It appeared to be almost as tall as me
sitting on top of Smoke, just standing there motionless, watching
us flee. The moon reflected off its eyes, making them appear
ghostly silver in the light. The silvery shine of an animal’s eye
at night was a sight that always disturbed me a little, no matter
the animal. However, this was completely different—the beast looked
like that of a demon rising from the smokes of Hell. However, what
I feared more than the eerie scene before me was the void I saw in
that brief glimpse into its eyes. Whatever the monster was, it had
no soul.

A
shiver ran
down my spine that extended through my arms and legs. Tearing my
eyes from the creature, I urged Smoke to go faster, hoping that
whatever it was, it could be outrun.

Almost immediately, upon leaving the
clearing, it began to warm. I couldn’t tell if it was really
getting warmer or just the jubilant feeling of escaping the
wretched beast.

Poor Smoke
, I thought. He had
already been pushed beyond what he should. Still, I felt sure he
preferred this to facing whatever it was in the cold
mist.

We traveled on, not daring to stop for
some time. Eventually, the faint sound of a bubbling stream reached
my ears, and I decided I shouldn’t push my luck, or Smoke’s, any
further. We slowed to a walk. Reaching the stream, I dismounted and
took out some dried apples to eat, while making Smoke cool down
before I let him drink.

Though we both needed a break, stopping
here for long could be perilous. It would be too easy for someone
(or something) to mask their approach in the sound of the stream.
What’s more, I still didn’t feel far enough away from the clearing.
Whatever was back there terrified me. It would be getting light
soon, and I promised Smoke we’d stop then.

After a short rest, I took Smoke by the
reins and led him away. I wouldn’t make him carry me any farther
without a longer respite if possible. In the meantime, I kept the
crossbow gripped tightly in my free hand.