The waiting is the worst part, Aya thought.
Knowing that there was no escape, that they were penned in the churchlands, with that fog growing closer, and the icy cold closing on the heart. It was a surreal feeling, but she did actually want the creatures to charge already. To be done with the sense of being caught in a trap that was not yet sprung.
She hugged her knees tight to her chest in an attempt to stop trembling. It did little, but it did at least keep her a little warmer in the oncoming chill. The children grouped behind her had grown silent, their complaints frozen in their mouths as they glanced out towards the fog.
The defenders on the wall were unsure, glancing back and forth, gulping and breathing harshly. Years of discipline and experience seemed to steel the paladins, though there was a cold keenness in their eyes. Across from them, Efrain, the cat who she really needed to get the name of, and Claralelle stood by the battlements.
She wondered what they must be feeling now. Were they just as scared as she was, merely hiding it better? Or had long years proofed them against the onslaught of terror? Perhaps they’d met these things before in the field, and this was a routine. The thought of a whole world of the shambling horrors was too much to bear so Aya quickly shut it out of her mind.
Before long, the fog had swept up the hill and the terrible shrieks and moans began to come into hearing. As they grew louder, the defenders grew paler in the torchlight, and the paladins may’ve well been hewn of stone. Efrain raised a hand, and beyond them, silvery lights formed into life, casting light to help the soldiers, presumably.
Sorore was next to her, eyeing everyone with the same examinary air as Aya. Frare was sitting still with eyes closed, as if deep in thought, or asleep. She shuffled over to sit closer to the girl, whispering under her breath.
“Why was Lillian so upset with you? Was it because you stepped out?”
Sorore nodded glumly, and relayed her the tales of the catacombs, and the sealed door beneath the church. Aya sat and digested the information, but quickly struck up the conversation, wanting anything to distract her from the threat.
“I saw something strange too,” she said, pointing just to the left of Efrain’s trio, into empty air.
“What was it?”
“A ghost, that’s what the cat called it,” she said, “it was nothing at first. Just a little ripple in the air, then I came closer, and it looked like a little girl.”
Sorore seemed to cringe at the word ‘ghost’ - maybe she’d thought back to scary stories in her youth.
“It wasn’t bad, it didn’t even speak,” Aya said hurriedly, “but it was… hurt. Grief. Confusion. I got these… feelings from it.”
“I understand,” said Sorore, with a knowing nod, and told her, after a notable glance at the paladins, about feeling the whispers from the stone.
“You did magic,” Aya said, more awe in her voice than she thought appropriate. After all, she had done so, hadn’t she? In the green road, when she’d righted herself against that ‘current’.
“Yes, I did, I think I did anyways,” said Sorore glumly.
“Why are you upset about it?” asked Aya, genuinely baffled.
“Because… Because I’m not supposed to do magic. You’re not supposed to do magic. None of us are. It’s forbidden. For good reason too.”
“Why?”
Sorore seemed genuinely at a loss, trying to recall some past lesson, or history, if Aya had to guess.
“There was- Mages burned down Angorrah long ago. There’s still a courtyard where the burnt trees are kept. Even the Exile on the Mount wasn’t spared. Magic is dangerous, ‘volatile’ they said. Too difficult to control, and the mages that practices were, and still are, faithless.”
Aya sensed a weakness in the conviction, but decided not to press it. ‘What about him?’ she could’ve said, pointing to Efrain. ‘A bit strange, to be sure, but he seems nice enough’ - the argument was already taking shape in her head.
It was interrupted by yells from down below - orders shouted, men responding, and a flurry of activity. Aya couldn’t see all too much, but she saw torches below shifting on the wall, as men rushed to the top and to the barricaded opening. Somewhere already drawing bows and firing into the road, as the things swarmed up the hill.
They were close now, so close, almost ready to crash into the wall in a tide of teeth and claws. Their cries were far more terrible now that she could see the pale flesh in the light of the torches, and now that the fog was beginning to seep into the church yard.
She turned to gaze at Lillian and Niche, both of whom had their heavy swords out, resting lightly in their hands. How could they remain so calm, she wondered, was this also routine to them? The two girls fell silent as they watched the clamour at the gate, bows being drawn and redrawn, men jabbing with spears past gaps in the barricade, the screaming and hissing of the things. One man fell from the wall, perhaps having been hit by a thrown stone, or attacked with a viscous tendril. Aya couldn’t tell, but both Lillian and Niche stood forward and peered out, squinting at the battle.
“Hm,” said Lillian, her voice not hopeful, “if that’s the strength they have, the men at the wall can hold out for a very long time.”
“At least until they stack enough bodies for the horrors to climb their way over,” said Niche without so much as a hint of humour.
“Do you think that they’ll stop during the day?”
“Possibly,” he said, “who knows?”
“It’s impossible to say,” called Efrain from the far end, “better assume they’ll keep going. Either way, it’s not the main force of their strength.”
He waved at the rolling bank of fog sweeping up behind the creatures, beginning to billow up over them, rearing like a wave or a tall cloud.
“Once that hits us, then the real numbers will start pouring in,” he said, “and our visibility will be worse.”
The paladins nodded grimly as they regarded the rising fog.
They lapsed back into silence as the fighting continued below. Some time passed, the edge of evening deepening into night proper as more and more of the battlefield began to be obscured, and the wall of fog drew ever closer. It was almost peaceful up and away from the ground, Aya thought, save for the fear and tension. Like being a whole mountain away, looking down at a war in some distant valley.
The fighting raged on, almost to the point of being boring. Even Lillian and Niche seemed to relax just slightly as they tried to see what they could. Efrain and his group did not speak, even among themselves. Perhaps lighting the field was taxing in the cold, demanding all the focus he could muster. Aya put her hand out and took Sorore’s in hers, and squeezed.
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Just as she was about to open her mouth, to start some conversation again, she frowned. There was a sound, a faint… rustling? No, it was smoother, something gliding through the air, like a bird. A big bird, she thought, her eyes widening as they fell across Frare, alarm bells clanging in her mind.
Then she remembered - she’d not heard a single bird in the town since they’d arrived.
Several things happened in short succession. Frare stiffed, his eyes opened and his head snapped around to look somewhere beyond and above them. Faster than her own realisation, he was upon them, pressing them to the roof as he screamed.
“Above!”
Aya could not see, could not even breath, as the wind was knocked out of her. She was sent skidding down the slates, rolling into the wall as something crashed into the stone. Whether it was past her or around her, she couldn’t tell. There was screaming, and she felt a sharp pain and a warm wetness on her head - she must’ve scraped it against the stone.
She sucked in the air, and pushed herself up, turned and…
It took half a moment to recognize, or even believe what she was seeing.
One of the village defenders was pinned to the ground, between the angle of the slope and the rise of the battlements. A huge pale thing was spread over him like some ravenous bird of prey, pressing what might have been its head to his. It was human, in a vague sense - the same round head, a torso, legs and the beginning of shoulders could be glimpsed.
The thing was naked, skin pallid except where it was discoloured by dark blues and reds, the flesh at times assuming the texture of bark or rock, or folds of fabric. Its arms just above the elbow had branched and spread into large wings that folded and piled around the man. From various points in its body, something hard and glimmering protruded.
The thing pressed its bald head down onto the man, small white filaments dangling and sticking. The pinned defender’s screams amplified as they spread over the flesh like mould. He managed to half twist his body away from the thing, even as it shuddered and pressed itself onto him. His eyes managed to focus on Aya, and she could see the terror, the pleading, the pain.
Oh lost, why wouldn’t anyone do anything?
Then with a roar, Niche sword fell upon its back, sinking in with a sickening sound. The thing screamed its rage at the interruption, and tore away from the drowned man. Its smooth head twitched and coiled as Niche withdrew its stroke, then it snapped to Aya.
That moment of distraction proved fatal for it, as Niche drew back the sword and sent its head sailing over the wall and into the dark below. Aya pulled herself up and looked around, heart hammering. There were more of the flying things, swooping and crashing into the roof. The silver lights had gone out, and torch light was the only thing that illuminated them.
Arrows were flying, children were screaming, swords were being drawn and men were yelling. Niche stood in front of Aya, bearing his sword as he backed to her.
“My lady, are you-”
Two more shadows crashed into the roof, only to raise themselves on their limbs and stalk toward them. They were of a kind with the previous creature, but uniquely different in their own way - extra limbs, twisted bodies, the wings harder and more leathery. Even the two individuals were different from each other - one’s smooth head opened vertically, folds of flesh turned inside out like a fruit. Instead of seeds, it brought teeth and fangs and several lolling tongues.
The other had two additional, stick-thin arms that whipped around, the glint of claws at their end. Both moved closer and closer, not presenting an opening as saliva began to pour from the tongues, and the stick armed one began to chitter and twitch. Oddly enough, Niche seemed to relax, and began to murmur something under his breath in a tongue Aya didn’t understand.
Still the creatures advanced, and Aya’s terror deepened. Why wouldn’t he do something? They were almost upon them! The mouth gaped wider, the arms slashed wildly, excited with the prospect of prey. Niche’s muttering grew louder and faster as his brow furrowed.
Aya was about to call to him, to ask him, to order him, to beg him to do something, anything, when he shouted.
“Eyes closed! Now!”
She squeezed them shut in the nick of time. An explosion of light lit them from behind as she did so. When she opened them, she found that one had already been decapitated, and Niche was sinking his sword into the second one’s flank. It screamed and flailed, but Niche would not relent. He twisted his sword free and drove it again and again into the thing, before hewing its arms from its shoulders.
When he turned back, he was splattered with dark blood, mixing with his own red. His face had been caught by the clawed arms, long scratches across its length. Fortunately, they had missed his eyes, which snapped back to Aya as he strode over and grabbed her.
She realised that any other time he had handled her was with surpassing gentleness as he threw her up the roof slope. There was immense strength in him, something that could not be explained by his stocky frame. Aya however, was in no position to ponder this mystery as she struggled up the tiles back to the walkway. The group of children was surrounded by the men and women of the village jabbing at surrounding monsters with spears and burning brands.
By the time that Aya managed to clamber over the planks, Lillian had already slain one, and was hacking away at the other. Aya nearly crashed into a paralyzed Sorore, who had hidden behind Frare. A long tendril flashed out from the dark, snaking in between the defenders. One of the children was lifted up, something shining and red protruding from their back, pulling them back toward the ravening monster.
Time slowed to a crawl as Aya watched the event unfold, she could see the shock of the men and women, just starting to realise what had happened. The other children’s shoulders were beginning to rise as they drew in breath to scream. The impaled child’s body was rock stiff, the shock of the injury not yet subsided. Lillian had seen the child, and she had an expression that was even more terrifying than the monsters.
Faster than Aya thought possible, she moved, grabbing the base of the extended limb, and burying her sword with such force that it screamed into the stone bricks below. Then she pulled with such a fury that the limb ripped clean off, a gout of dark blood going with it. The injured child collapsed to the ground, Lillian drew a dagger, and drove it into the head of the thing, over and over.
Aya tore her eyes away from the violence to look back at the front of the church. The defenders and the mage were hemmed in, three of the beasts snapping and chomping as they closed around them. Gouts of flame were being blasted at them from Efrain and the cat, the defenders jabbing at them with spears. But it was not enough to entirely deter the monsters, who drew ever closer, slashing and biting. One of the men was downed and dragged under the folds of the monster. Blood and screams began to fly from underneath its enveloping form as unseen weapons tore him apart.
“Niche!” Aya screamed, pointing at the beleaguered group.
Niche turned, saw, looked at Aya, back at the group, then his mouth set, and he stepped onto the walkway.
“My duty is to protect you,” he said, “they’re on their own.”
Even more of the flying terrors landed on the roof, turning to one group or another. Niche and Lillian plunged down onto the slope, slashing at the creatures. But the mage and his company would soon be overwhelmed. To make matters worse, one swooped down onto the battlements behind them and raised its limbs to strike down.
Aya was moving, why, she could not say. But she was moving, off the platform, onto the ridge, sprinting with all her strength past the paladins who called her name in shocked horror. Closer to the back of the three that penned in Efrain.
There was a ripple in the air, just before her. Without even thinking, barely even breathing, she reached for it. Lines cracked across the air, the ghostly little girl, now defined, reaching for her fingers. Their hands met, just as the thing upon the battlement swung its arms down in a viscous blow, and-
A rush of sights and sounds ate at her, the pain indescribable, worse than anything she’d ever experienced. A horrible burning, combined with a crushing, suffocating sensation, and something violating every border and boundary she’d ever had. She saw an upraised knife, of a construction she had never imagined, she heard a voice chanting in prayer. A door, the last shaft of light, vanished into the dark as it was sealed, with the sound of screaming, shattering metal.
Then deeper, darker, the sensation came, faster and faster. Fire and heat, the deep places of the world, great forests with giant trees, mountains still young, pouring their guts out onto their slopes. Deeper and deeper, hotter and hotter, until flames of pale yellow and blue became her whole world. They scorched at her, reaching further into her than even the pain of the scars, and for a moment, they almost subsumed her.
Then she was wrenched out of it as she was slammed for a second time down the slope, feeling the roughness of the stone and something heavy on top of her. She was under one of the pale horrors, the light from beyond smothered by its heavy wings. Mouths full of teeth, little grasping limbs and thick drool reached down to her face as she cringed away.
But even more than the physical, she could feel the hatred and terrible pain that this thing excluded. It poured down on her like a waterfall, smashed her body beneath it, and below it, there was a deep sorrow. It screamed into her mind, assaulting it with its unshakable, violent grief.
Then there was an explosion of light.
Lillian. Lillian was there, picking up the thing with her own two hands, sword abandoned in her haste. And there was light, bright light, a roaring trail of yellow and blue swirling around the rooftop, knocking away the monsters, hot air blowing away the fog. Lillian, with a furious cry, slammed the monster into the parapet beyond, pinning it there with her own strength, even as it struck at her.
With a mighty wind up, she buried a golden glowing fist into its guts. The thing exploded into strips of pale flesh and a torrent of black blood. Aya barely noticed it, as she was caught by the sight of Efrain, hands outstretched, almost conducting the flame. Beside him was the cat, grown immense and fiery, reds and yellows mixed with blues.
Exhaustion began to crawl over her as she was picked up by Lillian and tossed to another. Niche, perhaps, she thought, as her vision began to dim, and she was carried away. The rest was vague and blurry to her. The night vanished under a ceiling of stone and she was carried down, and down and round, and she came to somewhere warm. Or at least, warmer than where she was previously.
Things faded in and out of consciousness, faces swam into and out of view. And the world seemed to roll overhead, arches of stone and candles blurring into and out of each other. She heard voices, Lillian and Niche, she thought, and Efrain too, and Sorore. Her hands were being held - she tried to crane her head to look, but her muscles were dead and refused to respond.
Was she dying, she wondered? Had she sustained some grievous wound? But there was no pain, just exhaustion, and a crawling darkness that slowly rolled over the rest of her vision. It was almost time to let go, she thought, almost time to slip back into whatever awaited her in the abyss. She tried to struggle, but it was futile, and she fell deep and fast as consciousness left her.
She wasn’t awake, exactly, but in the same bleary, half-conscious state. She lay, with the sensation of what must’ve been waving grasses, a cool breeze gently wafting it around her. The sun was high, and warm, glittering through her eyelashes, above her was the bows of a beautiful tree, with leaves shimmering greenish gold. Fruits of garish colours and shapes hung down from the branches, and crystal flowers bloomed between them.
And beside her, so close that she must be lying on their lap, was a face, shadowed with a thick mane of hair. The eyes were so brilliant that they almost glowed on in their own right, but beyond that she could not make out their colour. Neither could she discern the features above her save for a mocking yet jovial smile hidden in the shadows.
“What, exhausted again?” half-said, half-sang a deep and handsome woman’s voice, music bubbling in every syllable.
Her eyes fluttered and slowly slipped shut, back into darkness. She could still feel the warm sunlight and the cool breeze as she began to fade back into nothingness. Arms snaked across her shoulder, strong arms with powerful hands that gripped her firmly but gently. She felt lips gently pressed against her forehead as she circled down.
“Rest. I will always be here,” said the voice.
Then there was nothing but deep, dreamless sleep.