Chương 12

Sometimes… sometimes a choice makes itself. Do I stop them? Harker ran through a cascade of possibilities, all of them foggy and uncertain. Jeren was dangerous to him specifically, but the kids would offer a buffer for a short time. The real question was whether Harker could convince Jeren of the danger. Unfortunately, he knew the answer. Jeren was too arrogant and no doubt too angry at Harker to trust his word. He could try anyway. Maybe get some of the kids to listen, take them with him. He grimaced.

That would lead to unnecessary conflict, if it even worked. No. Harker had no intention of getting into another fight with Jeren. Not in close quarters anyway. Never start a fight you can't finish. Harker chewed at his lip, thinking. What if we could, though? With Jeren fighting at his side, they'd stand a chance. We might even win. At the low cost of a few children. What a bargain. He peeked around the corner. The last of the children filed past his side street, and Harker's window to convince anyone vanished.

Prevention was beyond his reach; defense was the only way forward. Harker checked his pack. He was fresh out of flour, but he still had a few useful items. Did he save them for himself? Or spend them here—to save Jeren of all people?

"Damn the man," he muttered.

"Those kids don't deserve to die." Harker put his hands on the building and started climbing. Cecilia trailed behind her older brother, knuckles white around his belt, as if his steady gait would somehow carry him away further than she could follow.

"Don't worry," he said, not for the first time.

"It's gonna be okay." She didn't believe that. The monsters were everywhere. Only one had broken into their home, shattering the windows as they'd slept. Her cousins on the lower floors had tried to fight it, but their Talents were too weak. Their voices went silent before Cecilia was out of her bed. Her brother had dragged her out of their window, ignoring her cries that she wanted to see their parents first. Mama and papa were still in the house, but Patrin wouldn't let her go.

He'd hauled her across the rooftops, nearly slipping three times on the slick tiles before they'd been forced to climb down. The streets had been just as chaotic, but there were people out there. The two of them had clung to the largest group, moving toward the Lower Fountain. There, they'd found their salvation. Or so she thought. The hunters in white were deadly with their weapons and Talents, cutting down beast after beast that rushed the square.

But they couldn't stop them all, and anyone that got bitten or scratched were left on the ground, ignored by the hunters as if they were already dead.

"Ignore them," Jeren said. He carried one of the smaller boys in his arms, but he was talking to the trio of girls following on his heels.

"We can't help." Cecilia passed by the same alcove, where a pair of older men were laying against the brickwork. They wouldn't meet her eyes, but they were breathing as heavily as they bled…and their skin was stained black around their wounds.

"Don't look," Patrin whispered. Cecilia stopped looking at the old men. She didn't recognize them, and that hurt her heart for some reason.

"Jeren's the strongest," her brother said, squeezing her hand tight.

"He'll keep us safe, Cece." She trusted her brother, but Jeren was sweaty. He kept turning in little jerking circles, his free hand on the axe at his waist. He doesn't look strong. He looks scared. The ground tipped upward, a swift incline that lead uptown toward the market. They'd traveled across the town from the battle at the Lower Fountain, crossing the river to avoid the spreading fires. Did they really have to go so far? She considered asking her brother, but he'd give the same answer as before.

"Follow Jeren." She didn't know all the parts of the Vale, but it wasn't a big town. Cecilia recognized a few of the homes now, and was tempted to try any of them, hoping to find anyone that had survived. Many of them were probably hiding inside their homes. Couldn't they just bang on the doors and go in? They were sturdy things, and only a few had windows. Without windows, the beasts couldn't get in, right? I don't care if Garon has a strongroom big enough to hold the town!

The climb up the hill was too long and she was so very tired.

"Patrin, I—" She froze.

"Cece? What is it?" Just ahead, beyond the rustle of the others, she could hear it. A sound like cloth rubbing against itself. Snuffling? She looked about. No one else seemed to have noticed it, not even Patrin.

"Don't you hear that?"

"What?" Her brother looked about.

"I don't hear anything."

"We're almost to Garon's now, just a bit further." Jeren had set down the boy he'd been holding. His voice sounded cheery, but Cecilia knew when someone was faking it. Something was wrong. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. A great crash broke the night, and everyone jumped. Even Jeren. He pulled the axes from his hip.

"Depths! What is this?" A planter the size of a man had crashed onto the alleyway, spilling broken shards, mounts of dirt, and the tight root ball of a Winter-dead plant. Cece looked up. She caught a glimpse of something on the roof. A shadow. Her eyes widened when the figure put a finger to his mouth, then pointed up the road. She followed it as if it were a lodestone, and she spied the uphill curve of the alleyway… and another shadow.

This one stalked between the piles of refuse and stacked crates, nearly lost amid the darkness between houses. It had wrong legs and patchwork fur… and red eyes.

"Illwrought!" she cried, but it only came out as a squeak. No one heard her through Jeren's curses.

"Monster," she tried again.

"What?" Her brother leaned closer.

"What did you say?" She pointed, just as the Illwrought leapt out of the shadows. Its body caught the light, its fangs glistening, eyes burning embers. Something hit it in the chest with the sound of shattering glass…and the blazing light of the rising sun itself. Everyone cried out, falling back. Cecilia blinked away crawling afterimages, tears streaming down her face while her brother clutched at her, screaming.

"Monster!" It perched atop the broken planter. Its body, all wrong, hunched like a man but stitched together like a wolf. Jeren pushed forward, hand axes hurling from his hands. They gleamed with blue-green Water and slung faster than Cecilia could track. They thunked into the beast's eyes with perfect accuracy. The Illwrought fell back, blind and bloodied, the two hand-axes lodged deep into its skull. It whined, scrabbling through the sharpened pile of ceramic and dirt. Jeren stood between them and the beast.

Proud. Heroic.

"Get back, everyone!"

"Jeren! Watch out!" It wasn't a voice from among them, but Cecelia couldn't question it. The Illwrought lunged, its mouth glowing with brilliant flames. A trail of it poured toward them, flowing across the cobbles and engulfing the remains of the planter and Jeren's cloak. The older boy cursed again, tossing it away.

"Go! Down the other alley!"

"To the Wains!" the other voice said. It sounded like an adult, but Cecilia couldn't place its direction. Some started down the alley, but everyone else froze, unsure what to do. Who were they to listen to? Her eyes were drawn back to the Wains sturdy back door they had passed not a minute before. It bore a heavy lock on a metal banded door. Cecilia's heart thumped in her chest. No windows. She ran over, hand slamming onto the latch, and the door swung inward. Cecilia gasped.

"Everyone! In here!" As if a dam had broken, every boy and girl rushed toward her, hurling themselves into the Wains' empty antechamber without grace or apology. Cecilia, however, lingered at the door. Jeren was out there, fighting against the monster that limped through the flames. It snapped at him, and he danced back. The wolf exhaled another gout of flame, but Jeren threw his last axe. It caught the beast in its through, shattering its jaw in a gush of Water.

The flame cut out, and the beast dropped bonelessly to the ground. Is it dead? Jeren certainly thought so. He stepped closer, hands reaching for his axes—and very nearly got skewered by the antlers of a second Illwrought. Cecilia clutched her chest. The beast tore into the far wall, its antlers carving stone like clay. It swung about, facing Jeren and finding the older boy holding a sword. That's one of the hunter's weapons!

Jeren slashed at the creature, blade trailing blue-green Water that surged at the last moment. The antlered Illwrought twisted, scales glittering as its second charge was turned aside. Jeren forced its head and body to smash into the brickwork of another building. Its skin broke open, scales split and leaking dark ichor.

"Get inside!" Jeren was looking right at her, his sword lifted in both hands.

"Lock the door behind you. I'll take care of the monsters!" The stag retreated, bleeding heavily. Jeren followed a triumphant cry on his lips. Cecilia couldn't believe it. Her brother had been right. Jeren's strong. She almost missed the flames guttering out, and the thick torso that dragged itself through the emper's. Hot breath scorched her, wrapping her in a crooning song that seized her limbs in a rush of Water.

She couldn't move, except to witness the horrid, ax-blind thing that crept closer with every grasp of its claws. Ichor pooled on the cobbles, and a tongue lulled as its fangs opened wide. It lunged—until a massive pot crashed into its skull, driving it to the ground. It didn't get up. Cecilia's breath caught up to her in a rush and her limbs tingled as if she were being stabbed by a thousand needles. She could move… and she immediately looked up—just in time to see that shadow leaning over the eaves.

His eyes brightened, pinpricks of light inside of his silhouette. Gold.

"Cece!" Her brother seized her arm.

"Get inside!" He yanked her in and slammed the door shut. Finally. Harker wiped the sweat from the back of his neck. That was far more stressful than he expected. Everyone's accounted for, I think. Except Jeren. The idiot had gone chasing after that stag beast. Idiot.

"You have been busy." Harker spun, knife leaping into his hand. An awful, scarecrow of a man stood atop the roof, not thirty feet away. Tall and thin, his shape was lost amid a ragged cloak and robes, stained at the hem with rust. Teeth too large for his gaunt face, and hands and feet that were more skeleton than flesh. The Stitcher. He'd almost forgotten how terrifying he looked.

"Killing all of Muir's beautiful creatures. It is quite rude." Wide, owlish eyes flared red as they flicked from Harker's head to heels. He frowned.

"You're hale. Was Muir wrong?" The man sniffed, taking in the air like an animal.

"No. Shallow reservoir but flush with the Sea. Unrefined. Weak." That red intensified behind his pupils.

"You bear it now. The Vestige."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Harker licked his lips, eyes darting around the roof. There were a number of exit points, but that all depended on the Stitcher's Talents. He hadn't a clue what the monstrous man could do—did his Talents only extend to beasts?

"Oh no," the Stitcher clucked his tongue.

"You're paralyzed with indecision.

'Do I run?'

'Do I fight?'" A thin laugh shook his shoulders but never touched his eyes.

"Those are the wrong questions, little rabbit." Harker adjusted his stance. The southern rooftop was closer to him. He'd angle for it first.

"Then what is the right question?"

"How did Muir find you?" A cold thrill raced down Harker's spine. The Stitcher took a deep breath.

"The Sea's untempered Surface. You stink of it."

"You don't smell too good either."

"Oh." The Stitcher rasped a chortle.

"Bravery is a fool's shield." Harker adjusted his grip on his knife.

"Any shield feels good at this point."

"Mmm. You hide it well, but Muir sees your heart, little rabbit. You are nothing but glass to him." Skeletal hands clutched around a long, wavy-bladed dagger.

"The hatred. The terror. Go. Let it rule you." He grinned, baring those awful, too large fangs.

"Run."