The gashes along Ciaran’s arms and legs burned almost as much as his rage.
He sat with his arms resting on his propped up knees, skin warmed by the morning sun filtered through marshland tree branches. His hands gripped his knees to prevent him from absentmindedly reaching for Bane’s fur. His only comfort now was the low hum of insects and croaking frogs. It reminded him of hunting trips through the marsh with friends he hadn’t spoken with since the kennel fire took everything from him.
Vincent had always been a jealous man—jealous of Ciaran’s status, jealous of how much time Ciaran spent with his dogs, jealous of how quickly Ciaran rebounded after their breakups—but this was beyond anything Ciaran thought he was capable of. Even through all of their fights, he had never felt unsafe around Vincent. He wasn’t sure what could have possibly driven him to murder.
He sipped the canteen of moonshine Asra had taken from his suite the night before, grateful that she apparently hadn’t detected the alcohol. He needed something to take the edge off of his anger, and he had no interest in a lecture from her.
He shifted his weight and a shard of glass sent a sharp stab of pain through his arm. He clamped his lips shut to keep from losing what little bit of food he had left in his stomach. That wasn’t the only piece of glass that lingered under his skin, and there was no way he’d be able to get them all out on his own. He would need to ask Asra for help. After their argument the previous night, he had no interest in asking her for anything.
Branches rustled behind him, and he turned to see Asra in her human form, the same ratty shawl she’d tried to get him to wear yesterday thrown over her naked body. She hauled a large stone over to a boulder half buried in the damp ground. She put the foot she’d injured last night on the boulder, then raised the stone high above her head.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ciaran asked, but Asra was too absorbed in her task to acknowledge him.
Ciaran watched, horrified, as she threw the stone onto her foot with a sickening thud. Without even flinching, she pushed the stone aside and ran her hands up and down her foot. Bones snapped back together and cuts mended themselves. She slipped her foot off the boulder and tested her weight on it.
A slosh of water caught Ciaran’s attention. He turned towards the sound, and his eyes widened as a massive alligator lumbered out from the water to bask in a patch of morning sun a few yards away from him. He whipped his head back to Asra, who had already discarded her shawl and was stalking towards the reptile in her gazehound form.
As she approached the beast, it let out a warning hiss, then tried to scurry back into the water. But it was sluggish from its slumber, and Asra was dazzlingly fast. She sprung on it like a fox pouncing on a mouse in the snow and landed with her front paws on the gator’s back, pinning it to the ground. She grabbed its skull with her jaws and wrenched her head straight up to snap the alligator’s neck in one clean move. Its limbs twitched, then stilled.
She dragged the reptile with her mouth and plopped it down beside Ciaran. She tore into the carcass, eating her fill of muscle meat and organs alike, then tore off a hind leg and dropped it next to Ciaran.
Ciaran turned his head away as Asra changed back into her human shape. He heard her dress, then heard the crackling of fire.
When he turned back to her, there was a small torrent of flame coming from her hands onto the dismembered limb. After a few moments she seemed to be satisfied with her work, and she lobbed it at Ciaran. He murmured a thank you, then tried to figure out the best way to eat this mass of meat.
“What were you doing to your foot?” he said. He decided the best way to eat this thing was to just take a big bite.
“Bones didn’t heal right last night.” Her face was smeared with blood. She headed over to the pond to splash water onto it. She sputtered, shook her head, then said, “I had to reset them.”
“Why didn’t you heal it yourself last night?” He swallowed the first bite. It was unseasoned and overcooked, but he had the sense not to complain.
“Couldn’t. I can’t use magic in my fur.” She splashed her face again, then wiped the water off with her hands. “Some of us can, very rarely. But I’m definitely not good enough with my magic.”
“Why not just shift back last night, then?”
“I told you yesterday, I can’t change when I’m injured. It makes it way worse. It could kill me if it’s bad enough.” She eyed him as he swallowed another bite. “We’re wasting time. Where do we go next?”
“We?” Ciaran said. “I’m surprised you haven’t just run off and left me here.”
“I wanted to,” Asra said, stretching her arms out above her head. “But I don’t know how the hell to get to Nolan, and I don’t know anything about the badlands out here. I need someone to get me through all that. And you need someone to help you get revenge for Bane.”
Ciaran frowned. He hadn’t expected her to care about his dog.
“I see,” he said. “‘You rub my belly, I rub yours,’ eh?”
“Don’t get cute. We’re not friends. Where do we go next?”
Ciaran sighed. “Well, you get your wish. Vincent probably has spies at all of the major checkpoints, so we’ll have to avoid the main roads and head through the badlands. The closest territory is Ringmell. That should only be a few hours east of here. We can stop and get supplies there. After that, we’ll need to cross the Bellefail River.”
“And after that?”
Ciaran shook his head. “I think I’ll keep that to myself, in case you think about leaving me behind again.”
Asra cocked her head sideways in a distinctly canine way. “Is it safe for us to be in a royal territory? Will Vincent be able to find us?”
Ciaran reached up to scratch the back of his head in frustration, then froze, hissing in pain as a shard of glass pinched a wound.
Asra sniffed the air between them, then said, “Do all humans take as long as you to heal?”
Ciaran took a deep breath, mulling over his next words. He didn’t want to seem too desperate for her assistance.
“I would appreciate it if you would help,” he said. “With my injuries.”
“I’m sure you would.”
He took another deep breath. “Would you please help me with my injuries?”
Asra wrinkled her nose, and for a second he thought she would refuse. But after a moment, she nodded and grabbed her bag. He sighed in relief.
“Where are you hurt?”
“My arms mostly,” he said. “A couple on my chest. There’s still glass in some of them.”
“You didn’t think to get those out?” Asra asked, dropping her bag on the log next to him and digging out a pair of tweezers.
“I didn’t have the stomach for it.”
“You’re kind of a baby,” she said, her words muffled by the tweezers she held between her teeth.
“Well I’m sorry I don’t spend my free time crushing my bones with rocks. I’m not as used to pain as you are.”
Her brow scrunched up in confusion, then she removed the tweezers from her mouth. “You know I numbed my foot before I did that, right? With my magic?”
“Oh.”
She laughed. “You really thought I just crushed my foot like that with nothing for the pain?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know you’re terrifying enough for that to be believable.”
There was a smug smile on her face as she ran her hand down his arm, letting it linger over each gash for a moment before moving down to the next. When she found one with glass still inside, she fished the shard out with the tweezers. She then moved back to the top of his arm and worked her way back down, healing each wound as she moved.
The warmth of the magic was soothing, and the relief was immediate. Ciaran was surprised at how soft and gentle her hands were. He had expected her palms to be as calloused as her temperament.
When she finished with his arms, she lifted his shirt over his head to examine his back. The brush of the rough fabric of her shawl on his bare skin sent shivers up his spine.
She moved in front of him to examine his chest, and he looked away from her. He didn’t want to give her any reason to get angry and stop healing him.
“Any other magic tricks up your sleeve?” Ciaran asked, mostly to distract himself from Asra touching a particularly nasty gash across his collarbone.
“Not really,” Asra said. “I’m not very good with magic. I can make fire, but not much, and not for long.” She was silent as she healed another cut, then said, “What about you? Can you actually use that lodestone you think you’re hiding from me?”
Ciaran tensed. “How did you know?”
“I can smell it. And I can feel the magic.”
He shrugged. “I picked up a few things from Vincent.” He watched her for a moment, then continued, “I’m surprised you agreed to heal me.”
“I don’t want you slowing us down. Or whining.”
He winced as she pulled out a large shard of glass from the wound, then exhaled through tight lips as it healed under Asra’s touch.
Yesterday’s events ran through his mind. The woman was insufferable, but he couldn’t remember if he’d allowed his anger to get the better of him or not. His behavior yesterday was unbecoming, especially of someone of his status, and shame tugged at his heart.
“Thank you for helping me.”
Asra looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. She stared for a moment, as if trying to determine if he was being sincere or not.
“You’re welcome,” she said finally, then: “You’re all done. Let’s get moving.”
----------------------------------------
As they headed towards Ringmell, they made a list of supplies they’d need. Ciaran would need clothes, first and foremost. A tent. Dry food to supplement what they could hunt, and a water purifier and container for drinking water.
After that, they fell into a stony silence, and reached the outskirts of Ringmell several hours later. As they approached the edge of the trees, Asra grasped Ciaran’s chest and stopped him from going further.
“You need a disguise,” Asra said, pulling her shawl out of her bag and tossing it to him.
“Fine,” Ciaran said.
“We’ll need money, too.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I don’t have money,” she said. “And I don’t have anything to sell. You’ll have to pony up.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She pointed to her ear, and Ciaran reflexively reached up to touch his own ear. His fingers landed on the earrings dangling from his lobe.
“Damn,” he said, removing the three that contained emeralds. “Some of these are heirlooms. Nolan is going to kill me.”
He frowned, digesting the words he’d just used. Perhaps that was a poor choice of phrase.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Take them all out,” Asra said. “You’ll stick out like a sore thumb with all of those things.”
He did as he was told, trying not to think about how many of his newer piercings would close up and need to be redone. Asra took the earrings from him and put them in a pocket of her backpack. She then put on her glasses and hat.
“Let’s get this over with,” Asra said.
They moved quickly through the small city, spurred on by Asra’s paranoia they might be caught. Ringmell had sprung up in the center of a farming community, and it showed. Its inhabitants wore simple clothing, and despite the city’s moderate size, there weren’t many buildings taller than two stories. The streets smelled lightly of livestock and horse urine. Cats roamed freely, mainly on balconies and fences, out of reach of the small terriers that darted through the citizens’ legs.
The pawnbroker was located in a small building near the edge of the city proper. The walls were lined with farming equipment, bows, and firearms. Commoners generally weren’t allowed to own guns, but exceptions were made for farmers who needed to protect their livestock from any of the numerous monsters and predators in the area.
As Asra fished Ciaran’s earrings out of her bag, he wandered down the aisles, examining the bows. A weapon would be useful if they were going to have to brave the badlands. He didn’t want to have to rely on his single lodestone for the rest of the trip.
His eye was drawn to a recurve bow made of hazel wood. He picked it up and called the shopkeeper for a string.
“Put that down before you break it,” Asra whispered.
“Why would I break it?” Ciaran said, taking the bowstring from the gruff shopkeeper. “I’ve been training with these since I was a child.”
He lifted the bow and pulled back on the string. It had a draw weight that was comfortable but would pack a decent punch, even against the more formidable creatures in the badlands. He felt Asra’s sharp stare as he unstrung the bow and placed it on the counter.
“What?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t a gun be more useful?”
“Not necessarily,” Ciaran said. “And I have no interest in using a gun.”
The shopkeep offered far less for Ciaran’s earrings than they were worth, even factoring in the cost of the bow, quiver, and arrows, but Asra refused to allow Ciaran to argue with the man. She put the rest of the earrings back in her bag, and Ciaran hoped he wouldn’t have to part with all of them before the end of their journey.
Ciaran was at least able to convince her to stay the night in an inn, though she would only agree to the cheapest one they could find, a decrepit building on the edge of town. He had been looking forward to a hot bath more than anything, but he wasn’t sure if he actually got any cleaner in the cramped, yellowing bathtub.
At dawn the next morning, nausea woke him from restless sleep on the cheapest mattress he’d ever laid on. Asra was still asleep on the bed next to his. He dressed in a fog of exhaustion, hands shaking and head pounding, and took his new bag outside with him.
Ciaran slouched against the rough-hewn wood exterior of the inn, and his hand reached for Bane’s head—a silly thing to do. He slumped down to the ground, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
He reached inside his bag and grabbed one of the bottles of gin disguised as a bottle of water. Originally he had done it to fool Vincent, but was grateful it seemed to fool Asra as well, at least for the time being. It wouldn’t be long before her nose sniffed it out. He took a deep swig and sighed as the warmth spread through him.
Ciaran felt hollow without Bane. He knew it was foolish to get his hopes up, but he still hoped his dog somehow managed to get away. The sound of his final yelp played in his head again. He took a deep drink from the metal canteen, hoping to erase the sound from his mind.
He’d fought so hard to keep Bane alive, from his battle with distemper as a puppy to the kennel fire, and in return, Bane had put his life on the line multiple times to protect Ciaran. He owed his life to his dog.
And yet, despite everything Ciaran had done, he couldn’t help but feel like he should have done more. After all, he’d brought Vincent into their lives, and it was because of Vincent that Bane had been hurt.
Ciaran thought of Bane’s dam Trigger, which brought his thoughts to his mother. He remembered how she looked when they tended to the kennels together—her honey blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, wisps escaping to hang over her ears and forehead, the simple trousers and blouse she always wore for kennel work. No matter how plain her clothing, she always looked like a queen.
He remembered the pride in her eyes as she handed a newborn Trigger to Ciaran. Nolan had never shown much interest in the dogs, and she had been relieved when Ciaran had shown the same aptitude for dogmanship that she had in her youth.
But she was gone. And so was Trigger. And now, so was Bane.
Ciaran and Nolan were the only ones left, and Ciaran was on a mission to kill his brother. How would his mother feel about what he was doing? If he did make it to Paradise, would he ever be able to look her in the eye, knowing that he had killed her only other child?
He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear Asra approach him.
“What’s wrong with you?” she said.
Ciaran jumped, sloshing moonshine all over his shirt. Damn. Asra would surely smell it now. Her eyes flicked from Ciaran’s bottle to the wet spot on his shirt, then narrowed.
“Nothing,” he said, shoving his bottle back in his bag.
He stood, feeling much dizzier than he anticipated. He swayed and grabbed the wooden wall behind him to balance himself. Asra was deathly silent.
“Next town’s not too far off,” Ciaran said.
“We need to cross the Bellefail River today, right?” Asra said.
Ciaran’s brow furrowed. “Who told you that?”
“You did.”
“When?”
“Yesterday! What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I remember now.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I’m just not completely awake yet. It’s this way.”
The words felt thick in his mouth, but he definitely said them all clearly, and he set off in what was definitely a straight line.
----------------------------------------
Asra smelled the pluff mud about thirty minutes before Ciaran did, but the distinct sulfur smell apparently did nothing to prevent her walking straight into a deep patch of it.
“Damn it,” Asra growled, trying to wrench her feet free.
“Stop trying to pull out of it,” Ciaran said. “Wiggle your legs back and forth to make a hole in the mud, then you can pull out of it.
Asra worked her way out, the mud clinging to her skin.
“Why does this shit smell so bad?” she grumbled as she wiped it off. “I’ve eaten garbage that smelled better than this.”
Ciaran chose not to comment on this as he extended a hand to help her out of the mud patch. She brushed him aside and cleared the patch with one long stride.
They arrived at the river a couple hours later. The sky was a vibrant orange now with the sun at its most potent. The dense cover of tree branches draped in hanging moss had shielded them from most of the rays as they walked, though the humidity still left them sweaty.
The river was around sixty feet wide, the tree line running right up to its edges. In front of them was a rustic wood log bridge, short logs parallel to the river tied on top of a layer of long split trunks running perpendicular to the water. The water itself was flowing lazy and undisturbed. That was a good sign.
“Is there a way to go around this thing?” Asra asked.
“Not unless you want to add another week to our travel time.”
“Well is there at least somewhere more shallow or narrow to cross?” She craned her neck to look into the middle of the river, presumably wondering how far down the bottom was. Ciaran decided not to tell her just how deep it was.
“Are you afraid of water, Asra?”
“No,” she said, but the defensiveness in her tone said otherwise. “Just not a strong swimmer. Not a whole lot of water in the desert.”
“Well, you’re in luck because you can’t touch it, anyway. There’s a herd of water horses that live in the river.”
Her head snapped to him. “A herd of what?”
“Water horses. You know, half horse, half fish? They don’t let people in the water. But we’ll be fine as long as we stay on the bridge.”
“What happens if we fall off the bridge?”
“Best not to find out.”
Asra approached the bridge and tested her footing on the first log. It was slick with river water and humidity, and her shoe slid right off.
“You couldn’t have at least built a better bridge?” she said.
“We’ve tried. The water horses destroy it every time. They’re tough, and they’re magic. They control the water. They drown construction crews before they can even finish. We’ve tried killing them but nothing works. Guns don’t do any good because they can use the water to slow the bullets. We tried poisoning the water but—”
“I got it, thanks.”
Ciaran rubbed the back of his head. “Right, sorry. I tend to ramble when I’ve been …
ah …”
Asra’s eyes narrowed at him.
“Yes, let’s get going,” he said, heading towards the bridge, but Asra put a hand on his chest to stop him.
“Ciaran, you can barely walk in a straight line. There’s no way you’ll make it across.”
“Relax, Asra. I’ve crossed this bridge a million times before. It’s not as dangerous as it looks.”
He tried to take a step forward again, but Asra’s arm was rigid as a board.
“You’re drunk. You’ll get us both killed.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Ciaran said, shoving Asra’s arm away from him. “I’m not drunk. All you’ve done since we met is bitch about how we can’t afford to wait around.”
“We can’t afford to die, either!”
Ciaran groaned and pushed past her. She lost her balance on the log and stepped back to solid ground to regain her footing. By the time she had, Ciaran was already well onto the bridge.
After a moment, he heard claws scrabbling for purchase on the logs behind him. A giant muzzle with bared teeth appeared next to him and said, “If we make it to the other side, I’ll kill you.”
“Good luck making it back home without me.”
They were halfway across the bridge when Asra said, “Is that one of them?”
Ciaran looked down into the water where Asra had her eyes fixed. There, just beneath the surface, an equine face watched them, bright green sigils emblazoned across the silver scales that covered its body. Its snout lacked the large nostrils of a regular horse and a large fin replaced its mane. Its front legs—if they could be called that—were held curled tightly to its chest, like a praying mantis. The legs ended in two smooth, bony clubs. Ciaran had seen those bust a hole into the side of a boat with ease.
The movement of the water over the creature’s face made Ciaran dizzy, and he swayed on his feet. Just as he began to lose his balance, Asra grabbed the straps of his rucksack with her teeth to steady him. She said nothing; the low, rumbling growl she gave him was warning enough.
He focused his attention forward again, concentrating on nothing but placing one foot firmly in front of the other. He hadn’t remembered the bridge being this uneven last time he crossed it … Right foot, left foot … right foot, left—
He miscalculated the next step. The next log was thinner, lower down. His foot came down too hard, slipped, and he fell backwards, arms flailing, towards the water.
He heard Asra shout his name, felt her grab the strap of his rucksack again, felt it snap and pull free …
Then he was fully submerged in the water, and eye-to-eye with the water horse. He tried to swim to the surface, but a force pulled him back under. The horse was again over him, its strange legs held up above him, poised and ready to strike down the solid clubs at the ends of its legs with freakish speed. Ciaran closed his eyes and prepared himself.
But the blow never came, and when he opened his eyes, scarlet blood filled the water. Asra was on top of the animal, her jaws clamped on the back of its neck at the base of its skull. Its tail flailed, but after a moment it went limp. Asra paddled over to Ciaran, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and kicked her way to the surface. They both gasped for air, and Ciaran felt the spray from Asra’s nose on the back of his head. She swam towards the edge and had almost made it when the current pulled them back under.
Two more horses were closing in on them at an impossible speed. Asra kicked with her long back feet and caught one in the face, scratching its eye and polluting the water with fresh blood. The second horse raised its raptorial limbs above Asra’s ribcage and brought them down so fast that Ciaran didn’t see them move. There was a loud crack, and Asra yelped. The attack left the horse’s throat exposed and close to Asra’s jaws, and she didn’t miss the opportunity. She reached out and chomped, and the animal’s struggle only quickened its death.
Asra let go and grabbed Ciaran, once again striking out for the shore. He watched the third horse, apparently too wary to get any closer. It reared its head back, and Ciaran knew what it was about to do.
As their heads broke the surface, Ciaran tried to warn Asra between gulps of air, but it was too late. A sudden current swept them back under the water and down the river at extreme speed, sending them careening down the waterway. The final horse was going to drown them with its magic.
Each time Asra managed to bring them above water, they only managed a few breaths before being dragged back under. They must have traveled for miles like this, the river becoming more and more shallow. Ciaran saw a flash of black mud on the edges of the riverbank.
“Asra!” he gasped. “The mud!”
Asra growled in response, apparently catching Ciaran’s meaning.
She waited until they came to a sharp turn, then kicked into the bank. Her paws sank into the thick deposit of pluff mud. The suction held her in place, and she slowly ripped her feet out of the mud one after the other, until they reached the surface.
But there was no time to rest when she set foot on land. A wave of water rose up behind them, and Asra raced into the woods. The wave rose higher and higher, and Asra ran faster and faster. The wave crashed down just behind Asra’s hocks as she ran a few dozen feet more, then collapsed into a heap on the ground.
They both trembled. Ciaran was battered from rocks and debris on every inch of his body. They sucked as much air into their lungs as they could, but it was several minutes until their breathing started to normalize.
Ciaran pushed himself upright. There was blood on Asra’s side, and the three visible ribs there were clearly broken. Her ear twitched at the sound of his movement, and a huge amber eye swiveled to lock onto him. Ciaran pushed himself back a few inches.
Snarling, Asra dragged herself to her feet. She whimpered as she jostled her ribcage, but the sight of Ciaran brought on another snarl. She pinned him down with a huge paw.
“What did I fucking tell you?” Her nose was inches from his face. “I told you you were too drunk! Did you think I was too stupid to know you were hiding booze? You smell like a distillery. I could sniff you out in the middle of a landfill. If I find you drunk in the middle of the day again—” Her loud yelp cut her off. “Well, you better hope I don’t!”
She dragged herself off to a clearing a few dozen feet away from Ciaran and lay on her uninjured side, panting.
Ciaran sat up again, shaking in rage just as much as he was from nerves. He wasn’t going to let her boss him around. She couldn’t control him. He was just going to need to be more careful from now on.