Witches of the Deep (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 3) (11 page)

F
aint moonlight shone
through oak leaves as Tobias plodded through the woods behind his coven, shoes and trousers soaked by the icy Atlantic. He closed his eyes, warming his body with Emerazel’s flames. They’d spent hours hurling fireballs in the shallow ocean waves, and the aura had called forth a few shimmering nippexies. Under the cloak of invisibility, the water had seemed the safest place for fire magic, and Tobias had wandered off on his own to a secluded part of the rocky beach, reveling in the fire that rushed through his hands.

Now as they approached Dogtown, they walked in silence, listening only to the rustling of leaves. Alan took a drag off a hand-rolled cigarette, his arm looped through Celia’s.

“Do you really trust the werewolves to fight with us?” Celia turned to Tobias. “What did she tell you about the hell thing? You never told us.”

Tobias sighed. “The good news is that there might be a way out. I think. I’m only committed if I sign a contract when I turn eighteen in a few days. The bad news is that the only way out of the contract is to beat a powerful hellhound.”

“In single combat?” asked Thomas.

Tobias shook his head. “More like the hellhound will hunt me to the ends of the earth until I die.”

“I think we need to work on your plan,” said Alan.

Gods below. How had he gotten himself into this mess? “Oswald, do you remember when we used to actually have fun, and drink ale on the beach all night? Do you think that will ever happen again?”

“Who knows?” Oswald scanned the shrubs, absentmindedly tracing his fingers over the scars on his abdomen. “I don’t think we’re done training yet. I’m taking us the crooked way home. We must keep working.”

“Tonight?” asked Celia. “Why not in the morning?”

He stared at her. “Because the Throcknell army doesn’t care about our slumber, and they’ll come usward at any time. They’ll hack you in twain, sleep or none. You must learn to defend yourself with proper attack spells. I bought us some pikes from Dogtown’s forge.”

“Let me guess,” said Thomas. “They’re plated with copper, Borgerith’s metal. I’ve got those metals down.”

“Thomas knows more of our gods than you do, Tobias,” said Oswald.

Emerazel’s fire blazed through Tobias’s veins, red hot—a sharp burn of pleasure.
I destroyed Rome and London,
she whispered to him. His head rolled back, and he inhaled a faint scent of sulfur. “Funny. I’ve grown quite close to one of the gods recently.”

For once, Oswald had no reply, and they trudged on through the thick undergrowth. He didn’t feel like arguing with Oswald, but he didn’t much feel like training out here. There was a feeling of menace in the woods around them tonight, as though the trees watched them.

“You know when Estelle mentioned ogres…” Celia ventured. “Was she joking?”

“I don’t think she jokes,” said Tobias. “But I always thought ogres were a legend.”

“She mentioned woodwose, too,” said Thomas. “Wild men of the forest. Hairy bastards. I’m gonna guess they’ve got something to do with Druloch.”

“Estelle’s out patrolling tonight,” said Celia. “And honestly, she might be the creepiest thing out here.”

“Ogres can’t be real,” said Alan. “I know we’ve encountered a lot of weird shit, but ogres sound ridiculous. Or maybe that’s just the spliff Cadonia gave me.”

Oswald cut him a dirty look.

Alan held up a hand. “I thought we were done training. Not that I’m complaining. Normally about now I’m deep into my tenth nightmare about being shot to death by burning arrows. Fighting in the woods sounds
slightly
more fun.”

Celia ran a finger along her throat. “My nightmares are usually about having my head cut off.”

“You lot are cheerful company,” said Thomas.

Alan glanced around the thick shrubs. “Something feels nightmarish out here, though. I’m getting bad vibes from the trees.” He shivered. “There was a time when that would’ve been a really weird sentence.”

“Still weird,” said Celia.

“We’re here,” said Oswald as they approached a clearing of ash trees. Moonlight shone on a collection of pikes that rested against a trunk, and Oswald grabbed one.

Tobias reached for another. “Shall we show them how it’s done?”

Oswald shook his head. “Not looking for a brawl with a fire demon. Anyone else? Thomas, I’ve seen you land a punch.”

Thomas stepped forward. “As it happens, I’ve trained a bit with a staff.”

Oswald nodded. “Grab a pike.”

Tobias fumed. He wouldn’t be able to beat the hellhound if he couldn’t develop his fighting skills. Especially since his fire powers would be useless. He’d have to rely on skill and technique, like an ordinary human.

He watched as Thomas assumed a fighting stance across from Oswald, who gripped his pike. His old friend guided the scholar through swings and thrusts. Oswald was clearly no longer the mouthy boy of their youth. He was a soldier now, seasoned on the battlefield of Tuckomock Forest, while Tobias had been stuck in a boarding school, unable to hone his skills.

Thomas swung, blocking an attack. His experience was obvious, and before long they were whirling and ducking, weapons clashing through the quiet forest. Oswald blocked one of Thomas’s swings, and their pikes locked.

“Well done,” Oswald grunted. “Now we’ve got to add a bit of magic.”

Tobias crossed his arms. “I’ll call out the attack spells. Thomas can repeat after me. Celia, Alan, why don’t you grab pikes, too. Line up in a row facing the trees, so you don’t burn each other’s faces off.”

After his friends got into place, he intoned the spell fragments and the others repeated, charging their pikes with the aura. As he chanted, he could feel the aura rippling over his own skin, and the magical energy roiled thrillingly in his chest. He closed his eyes. His aura burned brighter than it once had, charging him with euphoric power. He wasn’t just Tobias anymore. He was a demon, imbued with the fires of Etna and Vesuvius.

“Tobias?”

His eyes snapped open at Alan’s voice, and he surveyed his friends. Emerazel had heightened the spell, and the aura crackled sharply around them. But something else hung in the air—something that smelled of sweat and pear blossoms, of blood and ferns and primordial swamps. An ancient, feral scent.

Celia lowered her pike. “Tobias? Why are you stopping? I was just getting into it.”

“Hang on.” Sniffing the air, the hair rose on the back of his neck. Alan had been right. There
was
something nightmarish in the woods tonight. Something, that was, besides himself.

“What is it?” asked Thomas.

“The aura has drawn something to us,” he whispered.

Alan sucked in a breath. “I refuse to believe in ogres.”

“Good thing we got some practice in.” Oswald lifted his weapon. “Pikes ready.”

“I don’t even know how to use this thing yet,” said Celia.

The leaves rustled, and around them, the ash trees seemed to close in. From the shadows near Oswald, a long, spindly finger protruded into the moonlight.

O
swald whirled
, readying his pike as the creature stepped from the shadows. Not an ogre. It was a man—or something like a man. He was tall and rangy, his body covered in thick blond hair and hemlock sprigs, and he held a gnarled walking stick. Round, pale eyes peered from under mossy eyebrows. Nostrils flaring, he emitted a low growl.

Gripping his pike, Oswald prowled closer to the beast. “What dost thou ’ere?” Startled, he’d reverted to Tatter-speak.

Tobias crept over, snatching the last pike from the ash’s trunk. The wild man curled his lip, exposing long, sharp teeth, uttering a few garbled sounds in a low voice. Though the speech was unintelligible, it somehow resonated as words in Tobias’s head:
Did you forget what you really are? You’re a beast of the earth, like me.

As the words rang in his skull, wild energy coursed through his veins. Something in him wanted to tear through the woods slaughtering everything in his path, to fly out to the ship and rouse Fiona from her slumber, or to find Estelle and dance with the wolves under the moonlight.

Oswald swung his pike, but the wild man slipped away, appearing again by Celia. He grabbed her hair, licking her cheek. She screamed, striking at him with her weapon, but he slipped away again.

Tobias seethed with rage, desperate to rip this monster to shreds.

His head swam.
Where did the thing go?
All around him was darkness, leaves, murky air. Alan shouted, his pike whirling in a blur. Red dripped from his cheek, and the metallic scent of human blood filled the air. Oswald lunged, missing again. This thing would claw them to death. But how could they fight something as elusive as the wind?

Sharp fingernails scratched at Tobias’s own cheek, and he spun around. He wanted to tear through its veins and run, blood-soaked, through the woods.

But it wasn’t the woodwose behind him. It was Oswald, eyes blazing with ferocity, blond curls wild around his head. Why did Oswald look so crazed, so bestial?
He isn’t human anymore.

The thought sent white-hot rage coursing through Tobias’s blood. He gripped the pike, circling his old friend, who snarled at him. Tobias couldn’t remember what he was so angry about, only that he wanted to bathe the world in flames. And Oswald looked just as angry.

“What are you looking at?” Tobias spat.

“You,” Oswald snarled.

Something about the way Oswald stared at him was infuriating. “And what do you find so fascinating?”

“Always fascinating when a man lies to himself.”

“What are you talking about?”

Oswald stepped closer. “You think the world was golden afore Rawhed arrived.”

“It was a lot better than this hell.”

“Beforetime we were slaves. Do you recollect my mother? You must’ve seen her a few times when you were sating yourself.”

Tobias’s heart galloped in his chest. “What are you blathering about?”

“You’ve got faulty remembrances. Do you at least recall your own mother—how she died?”

An image flashed in his mind: his mother’s lifeless face next to his sister’s, both dead of the plague. His hands trembled with anger, and he clutched the pike tighter, warming it with his inner fire. “I remember. What’s it to do with you?”

“They died because they were Tatters.”

His pulse pounded in his ears, and he could taste blood in his mouth. All he knew was that he wanted to smash Oswald’s smug face into one of the rocks. “So what?” he growled.

“Rawhed wasn’t our curse. We needed someone to arrive and tear our world asunder. The Throcknell empire needed to burn to the ground.”

I’m not hearing this.
“Rawhed killed Eden,” Tobias roared.

Oswald faltered for only a moment. “The token was spreading. She was already dead.”

“There was a cure. We could’ve got the cure!” Tobias’s gut churned. “You’re a monster. You deserve hellfire.”

“I’ve already been in hell. Now it’s your turn.” Oswald swung his pike, chanting an attack spell, but Tobias ducked, swinging his pike low to take out his friend’s feet.

Oswald fell back, his pike clanging against the rocks. The next moment he was up again, without his weapon. He landed a punch on Tobias’s temple, and pain blazed through his skull. Tobias threw his pike to the ground, pulse thumping.
Burn him,
a voice whispered in his head.
Bathe the world in flames.

He punched Oswald hard in the jaw, again and again, knocking him to the ground. Blood spurted from Oswald’s lips, and the vibrant crimson dazzled Tobias’s eyes. Oswald jumped up again and head-butted Tobias.

Trails of light clouded his vision as he turned his head. He couldn’t focus. He stumbled over a rock before feeling a sharp kick in the ribs. At the second kick, he snatched Oswald’s foot, twisting it to bring him down again. Oswald’s head cracked hard against a stone.

Tobias stared up through the trees. The stars were blinding tonight, trailing light everywhere. Was he fighting Oswald, or the woodwose? He couldn’t remember, but hot energy blazed through him and he wanted to crawl into the earth. Around him, the ash boughs burned, and Tobias pulled off his shirt to cool his fiery skin. He rose, reveling in the wild aura that blazed in his chest.

The scent of the forest grew thicker. He was one with the woods, one with the moss and peaty earth. Birch trees and oaks. The birds’ beating hearts, lichen on felled trunks. The ash trees… the ash. It smelled of ashes.

The trees were on fire.

“Tobias!” someone shouted. A cool hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to see Estelle, her brow furrowed. “What’s happening?”

Through the burning smell, her scent was stunning—an exotic mix of berries, tobacco and rum. Her skin glowed in the moonlight.

It wasn’t Estelle. It was a wood nymph, here to seduce him, her brown hair falling over bare shoulders.

He pulled her close, and she wrapped her arms around him. He pressed his mouth to hers, pushing her up against a tree. Sliding his hand down her back, he grasped at her dress, pulling it higher. She gripped his hair hard, locking him in a deep kiss. White-hot fire spread through his body, and he pressed against her.

“Tobias!” A man’s voice this time. “The trees!”

He pulled away from the nymph, blinking. Not a nymph. Estelle. He’d just been kissing Estelle. The wild burning in his chest began to wane.
What the hells is going on?

She ran a finger over his skin. “We can finish that later.”

Tobias looked around, his vision suddenly clear. The trees roared with flames. Alan and Thomas lay battered and bruised, their clothing torn to shreds. Celia held a dead squirrel in her hands, blood dripping down her chin. Oswald sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head.

Tobias stared. “What happened?”

“Ew!” Celia shrieked, throwing the squirrel carcass to the ground. “Was I eating that?” She spit, wiping a hand across her mouth.

Estelle smirked. “I’d wager you encountered a woodwose, and he brought out some of your baser instincts. And in your enthusiasm, you lit the trees on fire. At least it’s obvious now that you have good taste in women sometimes.”

“Should someone call the fire department?” said Alan. “This seems dangerous.”

“Can’t you smell it?” asked Estelle. “There’s a storm coming. But for the future, we’ll need to get the fire demon an iron collar if we don’t want him lighting the whole village on fire every time he gets excited.”

Thomas eyed Alan warily. “Sorry about the punching.”

Alan held his side. “I think you broke my ribs.”

“You did some damage to my kidneys, mate.”

Tobias glanced at the sky, the stars now darkened by gathering storm clouds. Had he really just kissed Estelle? He hugged himself, waiting for the rain. He didn’t want Fiona finding out about the kiss, but had no idea why he cared. She’d hardly shown any interest in him, and then she’d taken off to join the Picaroons. Sure, saving Thomas had been a noble gesture, but couldn’t she have flown back to see them once or twice? He’d certainly flown over her ship enough to know that she was fine.

Lightning flashed, and the clouds opened up. Tobias lifted his face to the sky and closed his eyes, savoring the cool rain that drenched his skin. Estelle was directing them back to the village, but Tobias wanted to wash away the blood and filth.

When he opened his eyes, only Oswald and Thomas remained, waiting for him.

Tobias glared at his old friend. “Did you really mean what you said, about Maremount needing Rawhed?”

Oswald’s pale gaze rooted him to the spot. “For the first time in centuries, the Throcknells are languishing and the Tatters are actually fighting back. For the first time ever, someone has cut down half the royal family. In the chaos, we got the cure for the token. It’s the most important spell the Ragmen have ever had.”

“We know what the inside of their fortress looks like,” added Thomas. “And we’ve got a good chunk of their economy with the philosopher’s stone we stole.”

Tobias watched smoke rise from the trees as a hard rain doused the flaming boughs. “Are you both forgetting that Rawhed murdered Tatters as well as Throcknells? He tortured people to death.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” snapped Oswald. “But how is it different to beforetimes? I’m not saying I like the beast, but when he lit our world on fire, he burned out some of the pestilence. Someone needs to finish the job.”

Tobias clenched his fists.
It could’ve happened another way.

“Forget about Rawhed.” Thomas wiped the rain off his face. “He’s gone. We’ve got an army of Throcknell soldiers coming for us, and Blodrial’s witch hunters. Maybe we can’t fight the Purgators, but the Throcknells are as weak as they’ll ever be. If you ever have a chance of getting back home, now’s the time. If the werewolves are on our side, we’ve got a small army. And they know more magic than we do.”

It made sense, but Tobias couldn’t bring himself to leave Fiona trapped in this world by herself, with no one but the Picaroons.

“We’ve got another task before we get back to Maremount.” Oswald began walking.

Tobias followed his friend. “What do you mean?”

“We need to find that loophole your friends keep jabbering about. Because after that wretched display I just saw, there’s no way you’re going to beat a hellhound in one fight, let alone hundreds.”