23: Comes the Bay

Beneath jagged lightning and blistering, distant strikes, the forest came alive as if possessed. Branches swung wildly through the air. The trees groaned and rocked against the wind. The earth was heavy with the scent of mud and, as the path twisted through the serpentine trunks, there came occasionally the drifting scent of blackened wood and smoke. Dakota's voice had gone silent, though there was another sound rocking the quaking forest, or perhaps it was an echo knocking through my mind, disconcerting and familiar but utterly unplacable.

Wary though I was of the gigantic mole creature, if it weren't for that ravished path I might've lost Dakota. Long stretches of torn roots broke beneath the occasional eruption of dark soil and rich deposits, tiny flecks of glittering minerals washed away in the steady deluge. The creature's massive claws left gashes in the soil wherever it had surfaced, and mud filled the deep, dark holes I dared to peer into. While the ground beneath my feet had long ceased to vibrate, I had a feeling it wasn't because the harpy had carried Dakota off far. I tilted my face into the smacking rain. Not in this weather. They had to be close.

What they were, was about a mile down from where the mole had previously surfaced. The terrain here thickened with the stench of a mire and loose footholds, but along the fringe of deadened plants and smoking, storm-blistered trees, rose a winding series of cliffs. The mole must've given up the chase here, because even I had a difficult time slogging through about fifty meters of blackened, heavy muck to reach the rocky base and take a rest on moss-ridden stones. The stout cliffs were made of yellowed stone swirled with deposits of some white substance that flaked away without hardly any effort.

From a distance I'd spotted the cave outlined by leafless branches, high up. I even thought, for just a second, that'd I'd glimpsed the shadow of something pale and human staring out at the dim expanse.

I managed to wedge myself against a small overhang forty feet below the cave's approximate location, drawing my legs to my chest to try and stay- well, soaked. There wasn't much of a point, really, except to keep from having to wipe water off my forehead every other second. I caught my breath here, staring out at the thankless skies as tarnished clouds billowed past the few trees left standing at the swamp's beginning.

The cliffs- not exactly tall they were. As I waited out the weather it became increasingly obviously, the more I stared at that long ascent with the flaking stone, that it might be easier to drop down from above in the night, that I might be able to fix some vines to a boulder of something and repel down ten feet or so to the entrance.

Evening dropped like a sudden curtain, bringing the storm's light show into what I hoped was the grand finale as I finished the ties on my hastily hewn collection of roots and vines. At the top of the cliffs, where shrubs and stones were the only thing to stop the wind from knocking me away, all I had left was to secured it best I could and wait for the right (AKA: the rain to stop pouring in sheets over the slippery edge) moment to climb down. By then I was hungry, exhausted, and not in the mood for a fight, but the faint voices that came through the cave -jumbled words, heard faintly, like that cry on the end of the wind- the faint voices gave me hope.

The storm abandoned the mire somewhere around midnight. Warm fog drifted up from the boggy landscape. The voices had been quiet for a long time now. All I heard was the drip of water from leaves and lonely, whistling gusts. I'd wrapped up my "rope" good and tight around the thickest shrub I could find. Testing the security with several strong tugs, I backed up toward the cliff and took a deep breath.

There was nothing but the night over my shoulder, stars and fog and the burble of an awakening swamp. With my heels pressed into the slick stone, I tested the strength on final time, then leaned back and began the descent. Almost immediately my fingers slid against the hairy vines and knotted roots. The rope creaked and rubbed against the stone as gravity tugged at my weight. I didn't climb so much as slid down in a frightful rush, bouncing hard against the cave's entrance. The rope swung left and I let go, landing hard on my ass.

The cave yawned before me- flickering in the glow of a fire somewhere at its heart. I grabbed my knife immediately and got to my feet. I'd just ducked into the depths when a pale figure-Dakota- moved through the gloom. Finger pressed against her plump lips, she shuffled forward completely nude, guiding three others hand in hand. I backed up to the entrance until my brain sensed the forty foot plunge.

"Sleeping," was all she whispered. The other three girls huddled beside her on the dripping ledge, shivering with each winnowing gust. I squeezed past their naked bodies, took a moment to catch my breath against the damp shadows, and crept toward a narrow bend in the rock. Firelight bounced across the yellowed walls, the warm crackle interrupted by a nasally hiss.

Conscious of every hidden pebble my feet sent rolling, I eased forward on every wheezing exhale, until I glimpsed the waning glimmer of an untended fire cast orange shadows upon its slumbering creator.

This Lord sat crouched on feathered haunches, sharp black talons digging into a nest made of white dresses. Its grey bald head was tucked beneath one gore-smattered wing, and would twitch occasionally as it slept. If it weren't for the pleasant smell of the fire, the cave would've smelled like rank flesh.

For several moments I watched it from across the fire as it breathed in and out and nestled its head further against its unpleasant pinions. And then, as slowly and carefully as I had before, I started to walk.

The knife's shadow reached it first, rising over the dresses, climbing higher and higher along its downy body. Still the wretched half-human slept on, drawing breath a beak tucked away.

I slipped around to its backside, where the wrinkled skin of its throat blurred with rusty feathers.

We'd slaughtered cattle and farm animals back home; living out as we did, a lot of food came from the world around us. I didn't much like it then, even if sometimes it was necessary, like if a fox got a hen or a cow broke her leg in the fields.

This was different.

I knew what this Lord was and what he had done and planned to do: the dresses clutched tight in his talons had me sick with dread about Dakota and the others, but something about a sleeping defenseless creature made that human part of me hesitate. There wasn't any humane way to murder. For a second I considered nudging it with the knife, poking, kicking it: something to make me feel more justified in what I was about to do.

But the harpy would only twitch and breathe and sleep.

My own boots touched the hem of Dakota's dress. I looked between that ugly, barren neck and hunched shoulders, trying to decide the fastest way, the cleanest way: the back or the throat. The fire illuminated our shadows as I brought the knife down.

*

From behind I was safe from the immediate throes and kicks of lashing talons, pushing the harpy beak-first against the earth. It was over in a screeching shudder. The harpy collapsed, thrashing about but unable to stop death's arrival. Fast as I could I dragged the dresses from the blood spray and sharp claws, though not fast enough.

Dakota rounded the corner as I was wiping my chin free of blood. She stepped around the harpy with the satisfied expression I wished I felt. Killing him, all I felt was hollow. "A little late," she observed, gathering the bundle of dresses in her arms. Long slashes brightened her hips. They were healing, but I could only imagine the pain considering this thing had been asleep for some time and she was still on the mend. I looked away from her body the second I realized what had probably happened.

"Sorry," I said, returning my knife to my hip. "I am so so sorry—"

Her hand lifted. "I'd be lying if I told you I've had worse done to me, but I'll live. He's dead," she said, looking down. "We're not."

My head shook. I wanted to hug  her or something, but something in her expression made me keep my distance. "That's not the point, I put you in this situation. I could've come sooner; I was waiting for the right time and I waited too long. First Jessie, now you. I'm pretty terrible at keeping you safe."

"Working out the kinks is all. You didn't kill me the first time," she said, shrugging on her short dress. With her toes she nudged scattered grey feathers. "They brought me here for this. This was happening, whether you were special or not. At least these poor gals got the night off from him. At least we have a chance."

"Dakota," I began,resting a hand on her arm.

"'M'fine," she hissed, pulling away. She rubbed at her eyes and through a choked smile said, "Apparently, he didn't like his ladies 'plucky.'"

"Is it dead?" came the questioning voice of a second young woman, maybe our age, maybe a little older. I wasn't entirely sure. She crept around the corner, hugged around the waist by a smaller girl, who, unlike Dakota and this first woman, seemed rather embarrassed by the situation. Dakota handed out the dresses quick as she could, and as they slipped them on beside the fire they told me everything I was afraid of.

The harpy had caught them all in the land surrounding the mire and carried them back to this place. Leda, a college senior from Iowa, the one to ask if it was dead, had been in the nest since the very start of the Hunt. She was a long-time distance runner and had graduated a semester early with a degree in animal science when she was killed. The woman had a long, lean frame, with dark hair and an olive complexion that seemed fierce beside the fire's mellow embers.

Val was the one clutching her waist. She was a short little thing, five feet tall, eighteen years old. She had messy red hair that fell only to her ears, and had bent to kick the harpy's body and steal a few feathers.  She'd been run down while on a moonshine run in the hills of Kentucky.

No one knew the name of the last woman. She didn't talk and seemed older than Leda by about ten years. A tiny smile flickered across her lips when Dakota returned her dress, and that was all. She sat closest to the fire, hugging her knees, her arms covered in tattoos and her long black hair covering those. But she didn't speak, not a word, and wouldn't hardly communicate with anyone. She was the harpy's favorite, Leda informed me, laying a hand on her shoulder. In-between his swoops around the mire, he'd return to the nest. Sometimes as a man, sometimes as a harpy, he'd dangle her off the edge and make small incisions in her skin to eat her flesh as if she were fresh kill.

And those weren't even the worst crimes he'd committed against them. We didn't talk much about those things beyond acknowledging they happened. The wounds were fresh and we were strangers.

With Dakota resting and Val tending the fire, Leda helped me drag the harpy's body to the ledge. We pushed him off the edge and turned at the sound of the crunching squelch as he hit the base and the muck consumed the broken pieces.

"I know you aren't all okay," I said to her as she peered over the edge to glimpse the body. The woman tilted her head my direction. "But we have to keep on. Did Dakota tell you about what we're doing?"

Her head inclined slightly. "She did."

"And?"

"I'll help. Val will help, she's been itching to do something since before Dakota arrived, but-" Her expression darkened. She thumbed off toward the cave. "That other poor girl's broken."

"I got a place for her," I said, thinking back to Shail. "She'll be safe enough."

A long low howl stole the shine from the stars. "That doesn't sound good," Leda murmured. Pulling her tangled hair to one side, she stared out across the foggy expanse.

"Quiet," I said, straining to hear over the steady wind. "See if there's more." If there were more voices, it might not be him.

"One's enough." Leda shuddered. Dakota leaned against the damp entrance. We stood listening through the swaying fog, but an answering cry never rose.

"Why's it got you on edge?" Val asked, joining Dakota. She twirled a grey wing feather idly. "We're outta wood, by the way. Should've made him into a down comforter."

"You don't remember wolves from that first hunt?" I asked. The group exchanged glances, I looked from one to the other hopelessly. "Any of you?"

Leda frowned. "Should we?"

"You all heard the hunting horns, right?"

"And hoofbeats and wild screams afore we got chased," Val continued. "Never a wolf."

"Maybe because you're half-demon," Dakota supplied a short time later. We'd reconvened beside the fire to explain my situation; they'd heard about a lady in the Hunt, but hadn't realized what that entailed. "You're a special snowflake and all that, so maybe they brought in the big guns to get you."

I chewed my lip, looking at the dark stain on the floor beside me-all that remained of the harpy- and kicked dirt over the drying blood. "This wolf hunted me down, stalked me for weeks. It took one of my calves."

Leda held her hands over the dying fire. "Another lord?" she asked.

"No," I said. "The Prince's pet."

Dakota rubbed her side and winced. "You wanna go after him?"

"No," I said. "He's crocodile in a dam full of goldfish. I don't know we should."

"But he's on your side," she insisted. "He kept you safe."

"He's still a demon. I know he won't kill me, but I can't say with any confidence what will happen to you." And what had already happened to them was weighing heavy on me now. "Besides, the point is to get you back to the castle to be free women. If we cross paths with him, none of us will be."

"We've done good so far," Dakota said, waving across the embers. "There's three people who wouldn't be free without us."

"I'm telling you, you don't get to rule over these things without packing a punch. If we run into him, we're as good as caught."

The hound's bay echoed through the damp, louder than the last time. Val pressed more closely against Leda.

"Put out the fire," I said softly, possessed by a lightning strike of nervousness. "He's close."