The Witch's Eye (23 page)

Ronan watched her, and
now and again he looked to the tree line.  His face shifted between sadness and anger.

H
er spirit roamed.  He was gone only moments before he raced back to warn them of an intruder.  Another spirit was nearby, and whoever it was tied to didn’t bother concealing his presence.  Ronan and Reza took up weapons and watched the trees. 

Three people approached. 
Their shadows moved slow and deliberate, and they held their hands up as they slowly came into view.

“Son of a bitch,” Ronan said
happily.  He seemed to know them, or at least one of them.

A black man with graying hair and a stubbly beard allowed himself the smallest of smiles as he emerged from the forest, shotgun and machete in hand.  He was accompanied by a pair of women, clearly mother and daughter, both dark-haired and covered
with tattoos.  Ronan and the warlock shook hands.

“I
t’s good to see you, Creasy,” he said.  Creasy nodded. 

“We
’re all that’s left,” he said.  He indicated the women who accompanied him.  “Tanya.  Her mother, Katya.”  He paused again.  Sadness blanched his face.  “Everyone else is dead.” 

“I
’m sorry,” Ronan said.  An awkward moment passed.  They heard trees crack deeper in the forest, and the call of a distant bird.  The river flowed to the south and west.  “We’re headed to the Loch,” Ronan said.  He looked at Dragon for confirmation, since she hadn’t actually told him where the Witch’s Eye was, and she nodded.  “We’ll pass near Ath, if you want to come with us.”

“Shouldn
’t we try to reconnect with Crylos?” Reza asked.

“We
’ll try to intercept them,” Ronan said.  “We should find them easily enough if we stay close to the river.”  He looked at Creasy.  “We were with a company of soldiers.  We can get you and your ladies safe.”

Creasy considered him
.  He looked at Dragon warily.  He knew her, as Ronan did, and she got the sense Creasy knew something
else
about her…maybe more than she did herself.

H
e reluctantly nodded.  The warlock seemed afraid to be in her presence.

They
gathered what little belongings they had and followed the river.

FOURTEEN

NOMADS

The Bone March was endless.

Black clouds crushed the horizon, and stale winds blasted the three refugees as they walked.  The slave caravan had stopped a day’s ride outside of Dirge.  Cross, Flint and Shiv, unfortunately, had to travel on foot, and they were dangerously low on food and water, and there was little to be found in that cold desert.  The land was stark, like the surface of the moon.

Cross
’s feet were sore within his crumbling leather boots.  He wore a dead man’s coat over his tattered clothes, but it did little to shield him from the cold.  Flint wore a thick white cloak that flapped in the scratching breeze, and they kept Shiv wrapped in a blanket, making it appear like she’d just stumbled out of bed.

Th
ey’d been walking for nearly a day.  It felt like ten. 

The world was utterly without moisture
, and Cross felt sand in his teeth.  His back and legs ached down to the muscles.  Sweat glazed his skin, frozen there by the numbing cold.

They crossed open plains of ice
and sharp rocks and passed twisted vegetation bent like writhing snakes.  There was nothing on the horizon but drifts of cobalt dust and trees that resembled sharpened stakes of bone.

The
y’d managed to find a few weapons in the ruins of the slave caravan – the shotgun, a rifle with a damaged scope, and the ancient Colt .45 Cross had acquired back in the Carrion Rift – but they had very little ammo, and none of the mercenary’s armor had been salvageable.  They’d found some hardtack and dehydrated soup mix, a couple of pots and pans, a spare blanket, and a half-full canteen. Everything else had been eviscerated by the malign crystalline entity. 

“I hate this place,” Flint said.  “It
’s too dry, and too cold.  I’ll take life on a ship any day.”

“I n
ever took you for a sailor,” Cross said.

“Dad
loves
his boats,” Shiv said.  She didn’t bother to suppress the moan beneath her words.

They
’d been amiable enough companions.  Cross was happy to have them with him, even if their presence made him more paranoid than ever.  Shiv was barely twelve, and Flint was close to fifty.  They were capable survivors – besides Flint’s experience as a Marine, both he and his daughter had spent plenty of time prospecting near Rhaine and working odd jobs ever since Julei, Flint’s wife, had passed away from a staph infection after a lengthy battle with cancer.  Flint didn’t like to talk about it, and Cross respected that.  Some things didn’t need to be discussed. 

He was surprise
d by how talkative Shiv was.  She’d been almost silent in captivity, but now that they traveled across the wastelands she talked…and she talked a
lot
.  She challenged her father’s often exaggerated statements of things he’d done, offered her opinions on any observations he made, asked detailed questions about how far they’d come or still had to go, and politely demanded every last shred of information from Cross regarding his experiences as both a soldier and a mercenary, most of which he really wanted to keep to himself.

Cross was thankful both
Flint and Shiv were in decent physical condition, all things considered.  Because of their dangerously scant water supply the three of them still traveled at a fairly conservative pace, even though Shiv pointed out that the longer it took them to get wherever it was they were going, the longer they’d have to wait to get fresh water.

“That
’s a good point,” Cross said.  The sun reappeared from behind a broken formation of cobalt clouds.  Blades of blood light sliced across the fields of stone and sand.

“I know,”
Shiv answered with a thin smile on her lips.  Cross looked at Flint, who just shrugged.

“
The brains she gets from me,” he said.  “The tongue she gets from her mother.”

Cross laughed.  He looked
at the sky and the land ahead.  It had been some years since he’d been in that part of the Bone March, but he recognized it all the same.

“
We’re about three klicks south of Dirge,” he said.

“What
’s a ‘klick’?” Shiv asked.

“
1,000 meters.  Not quite two-thirds of a mile.”

“So that would mean Dirge is...”

“Just under two miles away.” He pointed at a line of dark trees atop a jagged ridge to the south.  “Just past there.”

“
Dirge is an armistice town, right?” she asked.  “They’ve surrendered to the vampires?”

“That
’s right,” Cross said.

“Are there vampires in Dirge?”

“Plenty,” Flint said.  “Is that where we want to be?  I mean, that’s where Tain was taking us, right?”

“It
’s not my first choice,” Cross said.  Even with the extra coats and blankets the wind sliced right through their clothing, and Cross didn’t relish the notion of sleeping out in the open.  Even the trees would provide very little cover with how cold it got at night.  “But we need water and shelter, and we’re not going to find either out here.”

Frost-white mist filled the air
around Dirge like fire smoke.  Cross recognized the steep path of red clay and the crumbling slopes of pyrite and shale.  The trees bent in the lancing wind.  Bones littered their path.

“
How long have you been a mercenary?” Shiv asked.

“A few years,”
Cross said.  They were all tired and sore, but Shiv kept talking like they were out for a casual scroll, and Cross found he actually appreciated that.

“Shiv...”
Flint warned, but Cross smiled.

“It
’s all right,” he said.  “She’s not bothering me at all.”

“Then you must have super powers,” Flint said.

“How many soldiers were on your team?” Shiv asked, nonplussed.

“
Six, at last count.  And I hope they’re all okay.”

“Why did you leave the
military?”

Cross hesitated at that one.

“That’s kind of hard to explain,” he said.  “After the unit I was assigned to was...well, everyone in it was killed, including a few people very close to me...I had a hard time being a Hunter anymore.”

They walked.  The path bled red to black, scorched by powder
stains and fire.  The air smelled scorched.

That can
’t be good.

“But you have a mercenary team,” Shiv said.  “How is that different from being in the army?”

Cross smiled, and pulled his coat tighter around his body. 

“I
t just is.”

W
hite smoke drifts parted before them.  They came within sight of Dirge, and saw it had been burned.  The riveted walls had partially collapsed, and rents in the iron allowed them to view the twisted structures within. 

“What the hell…?
” Flint said, and he covered his nose.

“
Shit,” Cross said quietly.

They drew
their weapons and moved closer.  Flint drew Shiv back.  Charred bodies littered the road. 

“They don
’t look real,” she said.

“No, they don
’t,” Flint echoed.

Cross moved ahead.  The city gates stood wide open.
  He saw corpses piled high, some splattered like greyed meat against the inner city walls.  The air was alive with crackling flames and dense smoke that smelled of skin and blood.  Everything was silent save for the sound of burning and the occasional collapse of timber and stone.  Cross held the sawed-off shotgun ready.

“
We should get out of here,” Flint said.  “Whoever did this might come back.”

“Not
‘who’,” Cross said.  “‘What’.”

“The thing from the caravan,”
Shiv said.  Her voice was afraid, but she spoke with confidence.

Cross turned and looked at her.

“How do you know?”

She met his eyes unflinchingly.

“I just do.”

Flint watched his daughter with a mixture of fear and concern
.  He looked at Cross.

“
What’s she talking about?  Did we just follow it to Dirge?”

Cross
didn’t know what to say.  He turned back to the husk of the city.  Something was in there, he was sure of it, a dismal presence he sensed with or without the aid of magic.

“
Wait here,” he told them.

“You
’re not going in there?” Flint said.

“We need supplies,”
he said.  “More importantly, we need
water
.  We don’t have a lot of other options.” Flint frowned.  “Trust me,” Cross said, “I’m not a huge fan of the idea, either.”

“You don
’t go in alone,” Flint said, and the manner he spoke made it clear he’d broker no argument.  Cross was surprised when Shiv nodded her agreement in spite the fear in her eyes.  He cursed under his breath.

“
Fine,” he said.  “But both of you stay right on my tail.  We don’t get separated, no matter what.”

They stepped carefully through Dirge
’s shattered barbican gates.  Thick smoke drifts obscured everything beyond a few feet away.  Rubble and shattered steel littered the ground.  Even though he hadn’t been a warlock in what felt like ages Cross still recognized the taint of hex the air, the strong meat-scent of dark magic.  Whispers slithered through the chill wind.

Dirge w
as utterly lifeless.  Cross stepped over shattered stone and burned wood.  The barbican walls were scorched black, and many of the warped buildings had folded in on themselves like burning paper.  Everything creaked in the cold wind.  Bits of wood and glass flaked and floated down.  Cross expected the whole city to collapse at any moment.

He aimed
the shotgun at the smoke drifts.  Flint had the rifle, and Shiv moved between them.  Cross looked around the debris-addled road for the barbican gatehouse, and found it behind the crumpled remains of a ruined wagon covered with ash and meat.

Cross nodded
at the structure, then pointed at Flint and motioned for him and Shiv to watch the road. Flint didn’t look thrilled with the idea, but he didn’t argue.  Shiv made to follow Cross, but her father put a hand on her shoulder and drew her back.

Cross stepped over
mounds of corpses that had been immolated from the inside out.  Stomachs had burst and teeth had melted from flames that had poured out of the throat and gut.  Eyes had boiled and exploded, and hair had crisped off at the roots.  His boots slid in charred muck and syrupy remains.  Cross covered his mouth and nose to fight off the stench.