The Great Hunt (20 page)

“You should stay here.”

“No,” Tiern ground out, standing taller. He’d always been lean, which gave him no protection against the cold. Paxton quietly sighed.

Harrison stepped up and clasped both brothers on the shoulders. “I’m going.”

None of the Ascomannians volunteered to remain. They seemed immune to the cold and would do anything to impress Lord Alvi. So be it.

Just a few hours until the sun is up and warmth returns, Paxton told himself as they set off into the cold night.

Rozaria clutched her cloak tightly against the bitter wind, cursing the Lochlanach climate. She missed the constant heat of Kalor, but her mission was too important to let personal comfort hinder her. She dug a pair of leather gloves from her deep pockets and slid her frozen hands inside—all the better to hide her nails. Gloves were frowned upon throughout Eurona for that very reason, but few would question it in this weather.

She knew the hunters had come this way. Hundreds of townspeople lined the Eurona River with bonfires, celebrating how they’d helped the hunters give chase. Fools. The beast could not be so easily killed.

Into the trees she went, with her silent company of one.
For an hour they trudged as cold rain began to fall and the grounds began to slope upward. Rozaria was not prepared to enter the mountains of Toresta. She was about to turn and go back when she heard murmured voices ahead in the darkness. She stilled, and her companion followed suit.

Slowly, the two women crept forward until they spotted seven men huddled together for warmth. She recognized the head wraps of the drylands, and she held back a chuckle. These men knew even less about how to handle themselves in the freezing rain than she did. At least she could start a fire with her hands if needed. What pathetic excuses for hunters.

“Stay hidden for now,” Rozaria said to the girl at her side, “unless I need you.”

The girl nodded from the depths of her dripping hood.

Rozaria made her way around a thick tree and pulled back her hood just enough to show her face to the men. They stood when they saw her, several grabbing their weapons. Rozaria smiled.

“Hunters?” she asked in Zorfinan. This made them glance around at one another. Finally, one stepped forward.

“
Jes
. It is not safe here, miss. The beast could return down the mountain.”

“The beast went into the mountains? Why have you stayed down here?” She cocked her head, as if asking out of innocent inquisitiveness.

The men exchanged guilty glances. “We stay in case the beast comes back.”

“Ah. Good. But what a shame that the other hunters have a better chance at tonight’s glory. At least you are safe.”

Now the men dropped their eyes completely. Hiding her glee at their shame, Rozaria forced a fearful look. “Is it as awful as they say? This creature?”

The leader’s head snapped up. He wiped rain from his face. “It is more terrible than the tales.”

“Where do you think it came from?” she asked.

The men began to murmur, “Curse of the Lashed,” gesticulating with their ridiculous signs to ward off evils.

“I see.” Rozaria’s heart began to race, a slice of satisfaction spreading through her. “I will leave you to hunt your cursed foe. I was traveling through when I heard there were brave hunters in this area. I have brought oat cakes. I’m sorry I do not have more to offer.” She pulled a sack of small cakes from her pocket. The man took them, nodding his appreciation. They reached in, snatching the bag from one another and shoving the pastries into their mouths.

Rozaria could not hold back the smile that fought to show. The cakes were made with a special Kalorian ingredient: deadly jungle seeds.

The first man to sputter and cough fell to his knees. Then a second. Now a third. The final man who’d taken a cake looked at Rozaria with dread in his eyes, having figured out the truth. He went for his dagger, rushing at her, but suddenly gasped and looked down at a small hand around his ankle. Rozaria’s hooded companion had moved from her hidden
spot behind a tree to grasp him. The man tipped like a stiff tree and landed, dead.

A few of the men still shuddered, convulsing, as the hooded girl stood and moved to Rozaria’s side.

“I will write their final words. Grab one of their daggers and stab each of them through. Hurry, while their blood is still warm.”

The girl obeyed. Rozaria took parchment and a piece of chalk from her cloak pocket, crouching over to block the rain. Her plan was working even better than she could have imagined. Soon, it would be time.

At the moment, Tiern couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t more like Paxton. They had the same parents, the same bloodline, the same job and pastimes. So why was Paxton broad with muscle and tough as steel, while he was thin, chattering his teeth against the cold like a child?

These were Tiern’s musings as he followed Paxton, trying to think about anything but the cold, and not able to keep up with the findings of their trackings. He should have listened to Pax when he told him to stay. They’d only been hiking uphill a couple hours and it was obvious Tiern was a worthless tagalong. He did his best to keep up and stay out of the way, silently.

Every so often they detoured when someone spotted tracks or broken debris. Tiern kept to the side. A hearty gust of frozen wind broke through the trees, sending pine needles shooting down at the men. Tiern stumbled and felt his boot sink into something soft. He immediately recognized the squelch of scat underfoot. He shook off his foot and peered down in the dark. It was the largest pile of animal excrement he’d ever seen, and he had to cover his nose against the vile smell.

“Pax . . .”

His brother and Harrison turned. The three of them squatted over the spot and the Ascomannians stopped to watch.

Paxton’s palm hovered over the pile. “Still warm on the inside.” He then poked it with a stick and raised it to his nose. “Has the smell and texture of a carnivore. Too large to be a bear’s.”

Harrison clapped Tiern on the back, nearly toppling him. “Well done!”

Yes, well done stepping in shite,
Tiern thought to himself.

Paxton stood and looked to the men from the coldlands. “We’re on the right track.”

Lief grinned. At that precise moment the sky gave an ominous rumble and another gust of wind ripped through the trees.

“Sky’s about to blow,” muttered Harrison.

Lief cursed. “Let’s hope not. It’ll cover the beast’s tracks.”

It got darker and colder. Tiny thunks began from afar,
moving closer through the woods, and something pelletlike hit Tiern on top of his head. One landed on his shoulder and he plucked it off—a ball of ice.

“High seas, it’s hailing,” Tiern said. They got hail very rarely, maybe once a year during the winter in his seaside town. To see it in the fall was strange. But then again, he was many miles from home and at a higher elevation.

“We keep moving,” Lief told his men.

Paxton leveled Tiern with a questioning look, not moving.

“I’m fine. Let’s go.” Indeed, Tiern felt renewed after discovering the beast’s scat, and was almost numb to the elements now.

They marched on for ten minutes, faces lowered. The stinging pellets began to let up, becoming something worse. Something wetter. Freezing rain.

Within minutes it was pouring, a mix of ice and rain that soaked them through.

“Curse it all,” Paxton muttered. He glanced at Tiern, brown hair stuck to his face. “Do you need to stop?”

“No!” Tiern shouted. He was sick of Paxton assuming he needed babying. Tiern hated that his brother could so easily sense his weakness. Tiern surged past, hitting Pax with his numb shoulder. The Ascomannians were already a fair distance ahead. Tiern picked up his pace, thankful for the burst of angry energy.

They moved briskly through the mud, keeping their heads
down. At this point, no signs of the beast could be found on the ground. Every ten feet or so, Tiern raised his head to peer around at the foliage and trees for broken limbs or trampled bushes. The incline gradually steepened, becoming rockier. To their left, through a cluster of trees, Tiern could see the rise of cliffs.

A cry sounded from behind him. Tiern spun, his heart in his throat, expecting to see the beast. But it was Harrison, slumped over.

Paxton knelt beside him. “Is it your ankle?”

Harrison nodded, sucking air through his teeth. “Twisted it. Slipped on a cursed rock.” Harrison tried to stand and winced as he put weight on the leg.

Paxton stared longingly up the hill where the Ascomannians were disappearing into the dark, freezing rain.

“Leave me,” Harrison said. “I’ll be fine. They won’t wait.”

“No.” Paxton’s face was tight with resignation. “It’s useless to track in this weather.” He got under one of Harrison’s arms and Tiern automatically moved to support his other side. “We’ll find some semblance of shelter until daylight.” They’d been hiking half the night, but were still barely into the ridgelands.

Tiern pointed toward the rockier area. “Perhaps through there.”

Paxton nodded, and off they went. Walking with an invalid in the freezing cold was neither quick nor simple. They maneuvered clumsily through the trees and over debris
and rocks. A thin layer of ice had accumulated over everything, and Tiern found himself shivering once again. His teeth chattered against his will, and Harrison’s joined his. After an agonizing hour they found a high rock that jutted out with an overhanging tree, providing a few feet of meager shelter.

“Let Tiern be in the middle,” Harrison said. The brothers lowered him to the edge of the dry patch and Tiern practically fell beside him. The three of them huddled together, not moving for the first time in hours, and soon Tiern’s body completely overtook his mind. Next to him, Harrison’s head slumped in immediate sleep. Together they shivered, but Tiern’s body quaked violently after having run and hiked for hours in the cold. He looked down at his hands and was somewhat amused to find that he couldn’t bend his fingers. His toes wouldn’t move inside his boots either. He laughed aloud, or maybe it was in his mind. Tiern vaguely noticed Paxton staring at him. Such a worrier, that one.

The world went in and out of focus.

“. . . need a bloody fire,” he heard Paxton muttering to himself, turning out his pockets and cursing once again. He wanted to laugh at the sight of Paxton on his knees, gathering a pile of soaking, icy twigs. Paxton glanced up at Tiern, who could feel his own head tilt to the side, leaning against Harrison’s. He couldn’t read Paxton’s expression at first, but when it hit him, it fractured something inside him.

His brother was afraid. But . . . Paxton wasn’t afraid of anything.

Tiern’s body quaked, and his eyes fluttered. He stared at Paxton, who watched him fight to stay awake. Tiern failed, his eyes shutting, but he struggled against the complete overtaking of sleep, too shaken by the look in his brother’s eyes. He heard an ongoing hiss, then a crackle. Tiern’s eyes cracked open and he slowly understood how dire his situation was.

He was hallucinating. He blinked, but the strange sight was still there, Paxton hunkered down, his fists tight around a handful of twigs, and smoke seeping from the ends. Each angle of his brother’s face was stern with concentration. It looked as if Paxton were drying the sticks. And then, one by one, he lit them aflame.

With his hands.

Sudden warmth hit Tiern’s skin, causing his body to jolt in reaction. So this is what it feels like to go mad. . . . His eyes rolled back as he passed out.

“
Please!” The woman’s shaking hands were splayed across her swollen belly as she begged Paxton’s grandmother. “I know you’re Lashed! My own mother told me. I know you can feel for its heart and . . . and . . .” The woman began crying. “This is my sixth pregnancy. None have lasted this long. Please . . .”

His grandmother’s face was fearsome. “If I help you, I will be killed when they do the census. I have grandsons to care for. I cannot risk it. Please . . . you must go.”

The women hadn’t noticed young Paxton sidling closer, watching their interaction and soaking in their shared desperation. The answer seemed simple in his mind. This woman needed help. Who could fault someone for helping?

Paxton had never seen a pregnant stomach before. He found
himself face-to-face with the intriguing bulge, and without thought, he gently placed both his hands on it. Immediately he felt a natural heat flow through his body, pounding inside his hands, emanating from him. The woman gave a giant gasp, which was followed by his grandmother’s own intake of air.

“Pax!”

“Don’t touch him!” The woman screamed, covering Paxton’s small hands with her own. His grandmother covered her mouth, her eyes watering. Paxton closed his eyes, lost to the sensation. It was as if he were searching for something through a dark maze, using only this internal sense, seeking around inside this mass in front of him, and when he found it, like a star of waning energy, his hands heated again, infusing something into this woman, into the small body that lay curled in her womb. Her stomach jumped under his fingers, and his hands cooled. A rush of energy buzzed inside him. He lowered his arms and watched as the woman ran her hands across her rounded belly. The laugh she let out, and the beaming smile she gave him was like a gift.

“Thank you.” The woman bent and took Paxton’s head, kissing him repeatedly on his brown mop of hair. “Thank you, boy, seas bless thee.”

But before she could even stand again, Paxton’s grandmother took the woman by the throat, pushing her against the table, putting her face close. The woman grabbed his grandmother’s wrist, her eyes bulging.

“Grandmother!”

She ignored Paxton, staring hard at the woman. “If you speak a word of this to another living soul, even your husband, I shall take the
life of you and your babe just as easily as my grandson has given it. Do you understand?”

“Yes! I swear it! I will take this to the grave. Please. You’ve no idea how grateful I am. I would never endanger either of you.” She began to cry in earnest. “I swear it.”

Paxton’s grandmother released the woman, who clutched her stomach and sobbed.

His grandmother spoke again, but with much more gentleness this time. “Pull yourself together and go live your life. Never come here again.”

The woman wiped her eyes and nodded, touching her throat. Then she clutched the door handle and left them.

Paxton was so confused. He felt as if he’d done something good. He’d never felt more alive . . . nothing had ever been so right. So why were tears streaming down his grandmother’s face?

“What have I done wrong, Grandmother? I didn’t mean to upset you. I . . . I couldn’t help myself.”

“I know, dear. I know all too well. That urge to mend what’s broken.” She sat on her wooden stool and pulled him to her knees, taking his face in her wizened hands. “Oh, Paxton. I had so hoped the lineage would die with me.”

Tiern rushed in at that moment, covered in sand with salt water in his hair. “Come see my best sand castle ever, Grandmama!”

“I’ll be right there, sweet boy. Run along.”

Tiern rushed out and she turned to Paxton again. She raised his small hands and looked at his fingertips. Paxton stared, confused. Strange purple lines ran along the bottom of his nails. “What is that?”
He pulled his hands away and rubbed his thumbnail. “Why won’t it come off?” A sickening sensation filled his gut as his grandmother stared at him with pity.

“The mark will move up and disappear as your nails grow out. You shall stay with me until those lines go away. I have much to tell you and it must remain our secret. Not even your mum, your papa, or little Tiern can know. I’m sorry you must bear this curse, precious boy. So terribly sorry . . .”

As dawn finally broke, a fat squirrel poked its face out of the crevasse of a nearby tree, nose twitching at the silent morning. Paxton moved with slow patience, drawing his bow, watching the animal creep its way onto the slippery branch. Before it could retreat back into its warm hole, Paxton shot. The squirrel let out a small bark and fell to the ground.

Paxton leaped to his feet and retrieved their breakfast. Back at their makeshift shelter, he skinned the small creature, all the while silently thanking it for giving its life to sustain them, by choice or not. He made a crisscross of larger, slower burning sticks on top of the fire to cook their breakfast. At the sizzle of meat, Tiern gave a cough and Harrison moaned beside him. They’d both been restless the past couple hours, but never opened their eyes.

Tiern rubbed his face and looked down at his hands, slowly closing them and stretching them open again. He cracked his neck, then twisted side to side to crack his back.

“By the seas, Pax.” Tiern’s voice was brittle. “Did we
truly wander into the ridgelands last night?”

“Aye.” He gave the squirrel a quarter turn over the flames with a stick.

“You made a fire?” Harrison asked, coming to life at the end of their row. He leaned down to poke at his ankle, grimacing.

Paxton cleared his throat, hoping his brother couldn’t read his lies. “I had flint. Found some dry wood sheltered by a fallen log that way.” He jerked his head to the side, ignoring Tiern’s questioning eyes narrowed on him.

Paxton glanced down at his dirty hands, at the fingertips he’d muddied hours ago after building the fire. He crossed his arms, shoving his hands into hiding.

“I had the strangest imaginings. . . .” Tiern stared down at the fire.

“I’m sure you did,” Paxton said. “Only dreams. You were laughing to yourself like a nutter, completely frozen, and then you fell fast asleep.”

Harrison chuckled, giving his ankle a gingerly turn.

“How’s it feel now?” Tiern asked him.

“Better. Still tender, but I think the cold was actually good for it.” He stood carefully, and nodded. “I’ll make it back today, perhaps at the speed of a turtle.”

Slow suited Paxton. He was ill of mind that morning. First, it felt as though he’d let the beast slip through his fingers, simply handing it to the Ascomannians, and then . . . then he’d done the unthinkable—the thing he’d promised his
grandmother he’d never do—the thing that could get him killed. But he’d kept his brother and the lieutenant alive. That was what mattered. The only thing he regretted was the fact that he lived in an age with ridiculous laws and prejudices.

Paxton stood, suddenly angry all over again. He could feel Tiern watching him as he paced over frosted leaves and icy twigs. He squatted to turn the squirrel on the fire, and looked out at the forest around them, dipping downward at a slope. As the sun rose, it made the ice glitter on the trees, and slowly the sounds of droplets hitting the forest floor began as a melting temperature set in.

He didn’t want to return to Lochlanach. He didn’t want to face the people who’d rather see his brother freeze to death than to be kept warm by the use of magic. He didn’t want to hear the land’s uproar of hysteria if they found out one of the hunters was Lashed, and they were bound to find out if he didn’t stay in hiding for as long as it would take his nails to grow out. Lochlans, even the fishermen and farmers, prided themselves on keeping clean hands in the off hours for that very reason.

To prove they weren’t like him.

“You all right?” Harrison asked. Paxton realized his hands were in his hair, grasping at the long strands that had fallen out of the tie.

“Fine,” he said, dropping his hands. He nodded at the squirrel, which was browned now. “It’s ready to eat.”

Tiern set to work on their breakfast, dividing the small
amount of meat and innards. He tried to hand some to Paxton, who shook his head.

“You’ve got to eat,” Tiern told him.

“I’m fine for now.” He couldn’t explain to his brother the buzz of clean energy that surged through him since he’d worked magic—as if years had been added to his life. He felt like a much younger lad, and it made him realize that he, too, would age quickly, just as his grandmother and other Lashed did when they didn’t use their powers.

Paxton set to pacing again, breathing fast, trying to control his raging emotions.

When they finished eating, they began the slow trek back down the mountainside. It would take a good part of the day, which was fine, because Paxton had a lot to think about. He needed to decide what to do. He wished they hadn’t had to sell his grandmother’s seaside cottage when she passed. It was the perfect home, away from others, where one could live out their life in solitude. Because that’s what Paxton needed to seek now. Solitude.

He would have to decide whether or not to tell his family, or to let them believe he was abandoning them. Tiern should probably know, given the chance that his own children could be burdened with this curse someday.

A pang of hunger hit Paxton around high noon and he kept his eyes peeled for prey. After half a mile, when the grade in the ground’s tilt began to lessen, Paxton thought he spied a nut tree with a small clearing under its canopy. He cut a path
through the brush until they reached it.

Large green orbs hung limply from branches, and the ground was littered with them.

“Walnuts!” Harrison exclaimed.

The men set to crushing the tough green outer shells underfoot and peeling them off. The inner shells had to be pried open with their knives. When Paxton finally got his first one open and poured its broken contents into his mouth, his stomach gave a loud growl.

“Pax, your hands are filthy,” Tiern pointed out.

Paxton dropped his hands to his sides too quickly. “I’m not going to waste valuable water cleaning my hands.”

He turned to pick another nut, putting his back to them.

“River’s probably less than a mile east,” Harrison said. “We can detour there to wash up if you’d like.”

Paxton responded without turning. “No. I’d prefer to get back sooner if it’s all the same to you.”

“Yeah,” Tiern said, kicking a rotted nut. “I want to find out if the Ascomannians found the beast. Seas alive, I’ll die if that Volgan barbarian killed it.”

Harrison let out a dry laugh. “Can you imagine the princess married to the likes of him? Sad day for our kingdom.”

The bitter nut on Paxton’s tongue became so dry, he nearly choked. He took a glug of water, the hunger pains suddenly turning to a burning sensation of rising bile.

“Can I ask you something?” Tiern said to Harrison. The lieutenant raised his chin. “You and Princess Aerity . . .
you’re . . .” Tiern shook his head and looked away. “Never mind. It’s not my business. Sorry.”

Paxton’s heart kicked, and he eyed Harrison, who had gone still.

“No, it’s all right,” Harrison said. “We’ve known each other since we were young. I care for her a great deal.”

The three of them were quiet a few moments as they cracked into the next round of nuts. Paxton felt hyperaware of the lieutenant as curiosity burned through him.

“So,” Tiern went on, casually prying at a shell. “You have a past with her, then?”

Harrison stopped and faced him, a meek grin on his face. “Is there something you’d like to ask me directly, Tiern?”

Tiern cleared his throat. “I suppose I just wonder . . . if the two of you . . .”

Paxton felt as if he should intervene to make his brother stop, but he was shamefully interested in what else Harrison might reveal. Jealousy prickled his skin.

The naval officer moved toward Tiern, his smile disappearing. “The princess is an honorable girl, and I am an honorable man.”

“Of course,” said Tiern, faltering. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant, are you in love?”

This gave Harrison pause. He stared down at the walnut in his hand for a long while. “Like I said, we care for each other.” At that, he turned away, reaching up to pluck another nut with his free hand.

A sense of mild relief washed through Paxton, and Tiern finally shut up. The fate of the princess was not Paxton’s concern, and he’d do well to put her from his mind altogether.

He crushed the next walnut under the heel of his boot so hard the entire thing went to bits, insides and all.