On her way back, Seteal found herself thinking about Parrowun and his adorable face. She wanted him to become a strong man--fearless. He would be a leader. He would command respect and find the love of his life. He’d have countless children and never feel a stick of pain. Seteal would make sure of that. He’d be the admiration of everyone in Elmsville.
Happy thoughts faded as she turned toward the south and saw black clouds boiling in the middle distance. The whisps of Old World were getting closer and Seteal knew why. She’d denied it out of fear, but felt it when a part of the great cloud had latched onto her soul months earlier. A portion so enormous had entered into her that the remainder of the great cloud had been made aware of her presence. It was coming for her.
‘You’re being paranoid.’ Seteal shook herself and made her way back along Mistress Daorey’s street.
Several doors away, Seteal heard Parrowun screaming. She ran. Briel was absent from the yard and the door was wide open. ‘Parrowun!’ Seteal shouted, dropping her bags and racing across the lawn. She stepped inside, but immediately recoiled at the scent of blood. Seteal carried on a few strides before she was alarmed by a piercing scream. She came around the corner into the living room. Ieane was staring in horror. Seteal followed her gaze and felt her heart sink.
Fes was lying in a pool of blood. Her face was covered in it and she was panting fitfully on her back. Briel gripped her hand, tears in his eyes, begging that she tell him what’d happened. Mistress Daorey had lost all colour from her face. El-i-miir watched on with a shaking hand over her mouth. The look in her eyes told Seteal that she already knew of Fes’s fate. Parrowun continued crying from his place atop a blanket a stride away from her. His face was red and he screamed fitfully.
‘Oh, Fes!’ Seteal cried, hurrying to the woman’s side.
‘Seteal.’ Briel turned to her with red eyes. ‘It be the sickness ye had when ye were pregnant. It must be catchin’.’
‘It must have been,’ Seteal choked out, her eyes wandering to Parrowun. She scooped him up and held him tight. ‘It’s okay.’ She rocked him while struggling to open her dress to nurse him. The child stopped screaming and Fes coughed one last time, a fountain of blood sprayed out of her mouth.
‘I love ye,’ Fes said very clearly, her eyes locked on Briel.
‘I love ye, too.’ Briel’s whole body shook as tears flooded down his cheeks and he watched the life disappear from his wife’s eyes. ‘Nah, Fes,’ he bawled. ‘Ye nah can leave me.’ But it was too late. The immense pool of blood surrounding the Merry Islander was testament to that.
‘Fes,’ Seteal whispered after realising that she too had been crying for some time. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she sobbed.
‘It nah be ye fault,’ Briel gripped Seteal’s hand. ‘It be the sickness.’
‘I’m so, so sorry,’ Seteal cried over Fes’s body, because she knew better than Briel. She knew it was her fault. She’d birthed a monster. And he was a monster that she would protect with her life.
*
The room El-i-miir shared with Ieane was not large and it’d clearly been used as a library before their arrival. One entire wall was covered with bookshelves that were filled beyond their intended usage. El-i-miir looked over the books, her eyes foggy with tears as she tried to comprehend what’d happened just hours earlier.
Briel’s deep voice rumbled on through the wall as he spoke unceasingly to his deceased wife. It was a Merry Islander tradition to speak to the dead about everything they’d have done had they continued to live. It was supposed to mean that in some small way, they wouldn’t miss out. In El-i-miir’s opinion, it only served to further upset the family of the deceased, but who was she to judge the traditions of another? After all, the Elglair had some rather unusual customs of their own.
After staring at the books for some time, El-i-miir realised with a jolt that her eyes had been locked on the spine of one particular book. It’s simplistic title read, The Real Silt. El-i-miir made her way over on shaky legs and removed the item before returning to sit on the bed. She rested the tattered leather-bound book in her lap and read the subtitle out loud. ‘A Study of the Silt in its Natural Habitat.’ The book had been written and published by an anonymous author living in Kintor over a hundred years ago.
Flicking through the pages, El-i-miir was shocked to see incredibly accurate sketches of real silts. Such a book would never have been found farther north, where silts were depicted as drooling monsters with horns, hooves and pointed tails. One of the pictures showed a male silt standing proudly with a scythe in one hand, his wings folded elegantly behind him. His eyes pierced through the paper, dark and brooding. It could have almost been Ilgrin.
El-i-miir rested her hand on the page and touched the silt’s face. She’d so grown to love those strange, angular features. Those oddly shaped purple eyes and his inhuman physique--elongated and slender--had become a comfort to El-i-miir. Even the wings that’d once struck fear into her heart had become a thing of beauty. She wiped a tear from her eye as she continued to try and ignore Briel’s constant droning.
Fes was dead, but at least she and Briel had lived a long and happy life together. Ilgrin wouldn’t allow that for El-i-miir and him. He was the Devil now and didn’t care about some silly human woman he’d once known. El-i-miir threw the book across the room so that it hit the wall with a thud. When it bounced across the floor it landed open at an illustration depicting silts in battle, swooping over human soldiers on the ground. The title read, A Formidable Foe.
El-i-miir went to stand up so that she could put the book away, but as she did the room became heavy and her eyes locked on the page. She lifted the book slowly, gazing into the battle depicted on the paper. The floorboard creaked beneath her feet and she felt them coming. El-i-miir threw the book aside, raced through the house and out the front door. Silence.
The nights had become colder lately and were often accompanied by chilly westerly winds. El-i-miir’s hair blew about her face. They were coming. Crickets chirped noisily in the long grass. The Ways churned excitedly, twisting and pulling toward a mass of souls that approached at speeds that far outpaced a horse. El-i-miir turned her face to the south. The wind tossed her hair about fitfully. The crickets grew louder. El-i-miir pulled her coat about herself for warmth. Someone was cooking chicken in one of the houses nearby. The streets were peaceful.
‘What are you doing out there, dear?’ Mistress Daorey asked from the front door. ‘You’ll let out all the warmth.’
El-i-miir looked at the woman for a moment. She seemed so far away, her face a tiny spot of wrinkles in the distant recess of her home. El-i-miir took a step out onto the dewy grass, her slipper wetting through. The crickets grew louder. A bell started ringing in the south. The crickets grew louder. No they didn’t. The crickets were drowned out by a new buzzing din. The Ways flicked out one tendril of light, which El-i-miir snatched onto. She felt the approach of a soul she’d so missed.
‘Ilgrin,’ she whispered before hurrying back inside. ‘Get dressed,’ she ordered Mistress Daorey.
‘I am dressed,’ the old woman replied, following El-i-miir into her room. ‘Whatever is the matter, child?’
‘Silts,’ El-i-miir wriggled into a more suitable dress and threw a cloak around her shoulders. ‘They’re coming.’
‘What in the world are you on about?’ Mistress Daorey laughed disbelievingly.
‘Seteal!’ El-i-miir rushed into her friend’s room, a lantern gripped in hand. ‘Get up. They’re coming.’
‘What time is it?’ Seteal grumbled, wiping at her eyes.
‘They’re about to attack,’ El-i-miir barked. ‘Get dressed.’
‘All right, all right.’ Seteal rolled onto her feet and wrapped Parrowun in a blanket.
‘It’s Ilgrin.’ El-i-miir choked on his name. Without wasting another moment she sought out Ieane and repeated her instructions. Finally, she hurried over to Briel’s door and tapped on it out of respect. ‘Briel,’ she whispered apologeti
cally.
‘I’m busy,’ Briel said, his voice cold.
‘I’m really sorry.’ El-i-miir pushed open the door to find Briel sitting on the bed in which Fes was lying. Aside from looking a little paler than usual, the woman could’ve almost been sleeping. But she wasn’t. She was dead, just like Briel would be if he didn’t pull himself together.
‘Get out, El-i-miir,’ Briel sobbed.
‘Briel,’ El-i-miir began. ‘You need to listen to me very carefully. We’re about to be attacked by a legion of . . .’ She trailed off at the sound of a distant explosion. ‘We’re presently under attack by a legion of silts. We have to escape the city before it’s too late.’
‘Just go,’ Briel sobbed. ‘Leave me here ta die.’
‘I’m not leaving you here,’ El-i-miir insisted. ‘Fes is gone. I’m very sorry for that, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to give up. She wouldn’t have wanted that.’
‘Please.’ Briel turned with tears in his eyes. ‘Please just be on ye way. I can nah leave her like this.’
‘If you don’t get up,’ El-i-miir said threateningly, ‘I’m going to make you get up.’
‘What?’ Briel asked in confusion.
Already fearing that she’d wasted too much time El-i-miir threw a translucent cord from within her aura and tightened it around Briel’s. The man stood up and El-i-miir wriggled him into his winter coat. ‘Right, let’s go,’ El-i-miir said through his mouth.
‘Seteal,’ Briel shouted as he thudded along the corridor. ‘Are you ready yet? Because I’m afraid that we’re running out of time.’
‘Briel,’ Seteal gaped. ‘Your accent . . . it’s gone.’
‘Sorry,’ El-i-miir shook her head. ‘I forgot who’s mouth I was speaking out of.’
‘You affiliated him?’ Seteal said in disbelief. ‘I wonder about you sometimes, El-i-miir. I really do,’ she grumbled before tightening the sling she’d made hastily out of Parrowun’s blanket and put it over her shoulder.
El-i-miir made Briel run down the hallway. When she found Ieane through his eyes she ordered her to meet them at the front door as soon as possible. Then she made him hurry over to the meeting point and remain fixed in place.
‘Mistress Daorey,’ El-i-miir turned to the old woman. ‘You’re still not dressed.’
‘Of course not,’ Mistress Daorey murmured. ‘I’m not going anywhere at this time of night.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘And don’t you dare use any of those Elglair tricks on me either, young lady,’ the woman snapped. ‘This is my home. I’ve lived here for fifty years. I raised my children here and nursed my husband on his death bed. Racing across the world is a young woman’s game.’ Mistress Daorey made her way over to the kitchen sink, from beneath which she procured a large double-barrelled gun. ‘If those monsters are coming,’ she hefted the weapon, ‘I’ll give them one torrid of a fight!’
‘Fine,’ El-i-miir replied, unable to help but feel admiration for the woman’s spirit. ‘Thank you for taking us in.’ She kissed Mistress Daorey on the cheek. ‘All the best,’ she stated, before rushing to the front room where the others were waiting.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT
Seeol stood on top of Mistress Daorey’s house. He was bitterly upset about Fes’s death and couldn’t stand to be inside--or anywhere near Parrowun, for that matter. He knew the truth. Seteal knew it, too, however much she tried to ignore it. Seeol wasn’t a fool. He knew it wasn’t a sickness. Every time Parrowun started crying, people started bleeding. He was a mean baby.
There was a moth half squished beneath Seeol’s toes. He’d caught it earlier, but it’d long ago stopped wriggling. He’d lost his appetite. He looked down at the creature and plucked out its wings. He’d never liked the taste of them for some reason. Giving into his emotions, Seeol snatched the moth up in his beak and beat it repeatedly against the roof of the house. Why did Fes have to die? She was such a merry island, whatever that meant.
Seeol’s head snapped toward the south when he heard a bell chiming. He cocked his head sideways, curious as to what had caused the sound. He fluttered down to the eaves and peered over the edge to find El-i-miir standing outside staring blankly into the distance, her beautiful hair being tossed about in the wind. He wanted to talk to her, but didn’t dare. She’d made her feelings clear. El-i-miir leapt back into the house and started shouting. Perhaps she’d felt him watching her. Now he’d made her cranky.
Moments later the front door flew open and El-i-miir ran outside along with Briel, Ieane and Seteal with Parrowun. ‘Quickly,’ El-i-miir urged the others. ‘We don’t have much time.’
Shouting rang out in the south as the bell continued to chime. A distant popping sound told Seeol that someone was firing a pistol. ‘El-i-miir,’ Seteal urged her friend nervously as she eyed the flickering shapes flitting about the night sky.
‘Just let me concentrate,’ El-i-miir replied, her head moving back and forth as though she were watching something only she could see. Of course, she probably was watching something that only she could see, when Seeol really thought about it. ‘This way.’ She pointed and started moving along the street, but having concentrated so much on one thing, she’d clearly forgotten another.
Briel stumbled away from the group and soon fell behind as they made their way down the road. His eyes were red and filled with tears. He moaned deep and low, before turning to run south.
‘Briel, shtop!’ Seeol cried, swooping after the Merry Islander. ‘You ish going the wrong ways.’
‘Briel!’ Seteal called from farther up the road, the others having noticed his absence. ‘This way.’
A silt slid around a dimly lit corner glancing about suspiciously as she went. Briel set off at a surprising pace for a man of his build. He grunted and put his full strength into approaching the demon. Seeol dove for his back, dug his talons into Briel’s coat and beat his wings as hard as he could in a useless effort to slow the man.
‘Briel,’ Seeol begged. ‘Please stopping.’
The silt across the street turned in surprise when she heard shoes slapping the pavement. She took a nervous step back when she saw the sheer bulk of her attacker and put a hand on her scythe. Realising the futility of his efforts, Seeol released Briel’s coat and landed on the road. Stumbling on alone, the Merry Islander gasped out exhausted words that probably made little sense to the silt he was approaching.
‘Please,’ Briel choked out. ‘Ye can save her. It nah take long. There still be time. I beg ye,’ Briel leapt forward and fell to his knees. The silt’s eyes bulged as she clearly thought she was about to be struck. She swung her scythe as Briel fell and the blade hacked hallway through his neck.
Seeol leapt into the night, retreating from the horrifying scene. Female screams told Seeol that the others had witnessed what’d taken place. They didn’t wait for him. Fearing for their lives, they hurried for the safety of the north along with increasing numbers of locals that spewed out onto the street. Seeol flew south as fast as he could, but by the time he got to where most of the action had taken place, the violence had all but simmered to an end.
Ilgrin stood at the top of a tree in the centre of a park dressed in finer clothing than Seeol had ever seen. The demon military gathered about the tree, countless soldiers gazing at him adoringly. Other demons loomed over fearful-faced humans that’d been forced to give up their weapons and sit in the dirt.
‘We have not killed you!’ Ilgrin shouted across the park so that anyone in the vicinity would hear. ‘You see, we are capable of showing mercy.’ Seeol glanced around the park and saw plenty of bloodied human remains, leading him to believe that Ilgrin meant to say that they hadn’t killed all of them. ‘Not another life needs to be lost,’ he continued with conviction, ‘but you must all be made aware that this city now belongs to Old World. I am your leader and you will become Sa’Tanists.’
Seeol gaped at the arrogance Ilgrin exuded and could hardly be
lieve he was staring at the very same silt he’d once considered a friend. He watched as the tall figure spread his wings and leapt effortlessly to the ground. He turned to one of the silts standing close by and ordered him to impose a ban on weapons for any human. Seeol gazed in astonishment at the large double-horned crown hanging from Ilgrin’s belt and wondered at its significance.
‘This transition needn’t be troublesome,’ Ilgrin announced. ‘We wish only to live in peace.’ He turned to stride across the park. Seeol took it as his opportunity, flying down from the rooftops and landing directly in front of him. ‘Seeol!’ Ilgrin froze in his tracks, a look of surprise on his face.
‘Briel be dead,’ Seeol stated. ‘Is you army killed him.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’ Ilgrin sheathed his scythe after a long moment of silence. ‘He was a good man.’
‘A good . . .’ Seeol snapped, losing control of his temper. ‘A good man? That is it? That is all that you is able to say?’ The wind picked up, tossing Ilgrin’s hair about and lightning struck somewhere close by. ‘Briel was the bestest man.’
A pack of dogs charged into the park barking and snapping their jaws, running straight for Ilgrin. The silt easily evaded the animals by leaping back into the tree he’d recently come down from, but the branch he landed on broke and the silt toppled to the ground. One of the dogs leapt at him, but they immediately fell away howling in agony. White mist swam away from their bodies and the dogs ran away in fear as an angel stepped out of the dark.
‘Thank you, Teah.’ Ilgrin dusted off his shirt. ‘I want every last house searched,’ he stated, turning to one of his followers. ‘Work quickly but thoroughly. There must be no weapons left unaccounted for.’
Seeol landed on Ilgrin’s shoulder and bit his cheek. ‘El-i-miish was here.’