Night Terrors (Sarah Beauhall Book 4) Read online

  I placed my hand on the old woman’s shoulder and righted her, pushing her back against the wall of the lodge. She weighed next to nothing, her frame stick thin. Her face was contorted as if in great pain, and in her hands she clutched a glowing book. It looked so familiar, like something I’d seen in the past. A noise rose in my head—a great rushing of wind and the distant howling of wolves.

  Something yet lived, whether friend or foe, I had no idea. But wolves rarely meant safety. I was tired, exhausted from days of what? Fighting? My clothes were whole and I had no wounds. But my arms felt like I’d been working the forge, or swinging Gram for far too long a time. The book called to me, the pulsing of the light echoing my own heartbeat. Was it the key? Would it lead me to my goal? I glanced around the room one final time, making sure nothing moved, then wrenched the book from the old woman’s dead hands. The world exploded.

  Thirty-four

  Mrs. Gottschalk woke with a shout as a spike of pain pierced her head. A pride of cats scattered screeching and yowling into the furthest reaches of the house. A platter of sandwiches and tea set crashed to the floor at her feet.

  “Attend to me,” she bellowed, grasping her head in both hands.

  Two young women scampered in from an adjoining room, and one of the cats returned, slinking around the edge of the doorway.

  “Clean this mess,” the old woman croaked, her head throbbing like an overripe melon.

  “You,” she pointed to the closest woman who knelt, gathering sandwiches and broken crockery. “My medicine, bring it to me.”

  The girl ducked a quick bow and scampered across the room, dumping the collected detritus onto a side table.

  “Get a broom, stupid girl,” Gottschalt spat, as the second girl knelt to finish picking up large broken pieces of pottery. “Is there no one here with an ounce of sense?”

  “What is it, Madame?” came a male reply.

  Gottschalk looked up, saw the boy, Hague, with a cup in one hand and a napkin in the other. “What is it that ails you, Madame?”

  “Bring me my tarot deck,” she barked, regretting the volume. “And kick that slug who is fetching my medicine. My head is like to split open.”

  Hague turned, set his cup and napkin to the side and stepped past the girl who was digging through a cupboard and handed down a large bottle that sloshed nicely. The girl carried it over to Madame Gottschalk and handed her the bottle, pulling her hand back quickly, looking as if she may catch whatever was afflicting Madame.

  The old woman pulled the cork from the mouth of the bottle and bent it to her lips, drinking down three quick sips. The vile cat and the boy stayed in the room as she sat back and closed her eye, letting the poppy solution dull the pain.

  “Something has happened,” she said, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. “Similar to the last time. Bring my cards, boy, and lay them before me. Let us see what has shattered the peace of the day.”

  He pulled a folding tray from the corner by the large television and set it up before her. The cards whisked pleasantly as he shuffled them.

  “Careful not to bend the edges,” she whispered, feeling the poppy trickle through her mind like icy fingers soothing a burn.

  “Lay them out for me,” she continued, her breathing beginning to settle.

  “Show me what the cards have to say.”

  Let it not be our doom, she thought as the boy placed the first card down on the tray.

  The smith. She grimaced and closed her eyes, not daring to see the next turn.

  Thirty-five

  I ran through an alley, my Docs echoing off the damp cobblestones. Gunfire blossomed behind me, far enough to not be a worry, yet. Somewhere in the distance an air raid siren wailed. Smoke choked the air as buildings on both sides of the street burned. Back the way I’d come the screams of the dying overwhelmed the sounds of gunfire and filled my head with the flavors of their pain.

  Here the battle had passed already, a previous wave of carnage and loss. Uniformed men with guns lay sprawled in the streets, their bodies broken and slashed. Other men, civilians, lay shattered, their bodies riddled with bullet holes. These men bore axes, broken masonry, and lengths of broken pipes. These were those who were defending their homes. These dead outnumbered the men with guns ten to one.

  I stood at the mouth of an alley, listening. I glanced to the left, past the group of dead men, toward an empty town square. To the right, the road angled back in roughly the direction I’d come from. Nothing that way but horror. I glanced back to the town square. There was no sign of movement within sight. I sheathed Gram, slung the shield over my right shoulder, and stepped out into the street. I paused at the closest gunman, his face smashed in by an axe handle, and knelt to check his gun.

  The metal was old and the clip was empty. Other clips littered the ground. Others had looted here before me. I couldn’t stand around. I barely had my shit together as it was. There were things coming after me. I didn’t waste my time checking the other guns.

  I dropped the machine gun onto the dead body of the soldier and drew sword and shield once again. If I ran into trouble, I’d be handling it the old fashion way. The row of shops that lined the street had been gutted by fire. I darted across to a smoldering bakery that was only identifiable by the sign hanging over the sidewalk.

  I glanced inside but turned my head quickly away. There were more bodies inside, burned and barely recognizable as being human. I ran along the shop fronts in a crouch, keeping my profile low and pausing at the next alley. I took three deep breathes to calm my nerves and glanced around into the pitch-blackness between the two buildings.

  I could see about three feet into the gloom, and the rest was lost. I had no desire to walk into a place I couldn’t be sure was free from the enemy, so I darted past the mouth and continued on toward the central square.

  A fountain lay shattered in the middle of a large cobblestone commons. There were fewer bodies here, but these were mainly women. Buckets and jars lay scattered among the dead. They’d been trying to get water from the fountain when some sort of explosion had wrecked the square.

  There were three main roads out of the square not counting the one I’d just come down. Of the three new paths, two were blocked by overturned wagons and dozens of fallen defenders. That left a final road clear of rubble or overturned wagons, and it ran straight toward the rising moon, like a pathway into the heavens. Of course, it only ran up hill toward the outskirts of town. If I could make it up that road and beyond the burning buildings, I would be home free. The woods outside of town would give me better shelter than this village of the dead.

  But there was something I needed to find. My head hurt. There was a buzzing that seemed to overwhelm thought. I had to remember, it was critical. There was something important … No. Not something—someone I needed to find. She had been here, I was sure of it. I could feel it.

  I looked back the way I’d come, making sure I didn’t see pursuers. They were back there, the unknown enemy, and they were getting closer. If only I could remember who they were, who I was looking for, and how I’d gotten here.

  I scampered across the open ground and squatted beside the rubble of the fountain. Water still burbled from the shattered statue of a rider on a winged horse. The wings lay across an old woman, pinning her broken body to the cobblestones, while the head of the horse lay out in the courtyard, gouged and forlorn.

  The water was cold and clean. I drank until my teeth chattered and my head hurt from cold, but the buzzing seemed to taper off if only briefly. I was definitely looking for someone. A woman and something about a book.

  None of the dead around me were Katie.

  That’s who I was looking for. Katie whom I loved above all else. Why was that so hard to remember? I drank once more before I crossed toward the only open avenue out of town.

  If I left without finding the book, would I lose Katie again? Did she have the book? I remembered finding it in another lost village, a place of great death a
nd destruction from another era. I remember taking the diary from the old woman’s dead hands, then nothing.

  Gunfire brought me around. Closer this time. Soldiers were coming, and I had no chance against so many. The buildings directly in front of me were more intact. There had been no fire here. The windows were shattered, probably from the explosion that destroyed the fountain, but the buildings themselves looked solid.

  I couldn’t leave without a sign of Katie, and I sure as hell didn’t want to get caught out in the open. I ran from doorway to doorway crouching in the shadows, glancing into the ruined interiors looking for a sign.

  The third shop was a dress shop. There was a woman standing in the back, frozen in fear. I wanted to call to her, but couldn’t risk it, just in case someone heard. Instead I threw caution to the wind and stepped over the broken windowsill, the glass crunching beneath my boots. I was careful not to grab a hold of the window frame. I had no desire to slash open my palms.

  I glanced down. My hands were already bandaged, the blood crusted and old. Okay, I had no desire to slash my hands open again. Funny how they didn’t hurt.

  The woman in the back didn’t move as I approached, and I saw that it was a mannequin in a wedding gown. By the light of the full moon, and the glow from the shield I carried, I could tell the hand beading and delicate stitches made this dress stand out in this shattered town.

  Cries brought me back to myself, and I spun around. Three large creatures slunk near the edge of the square, great many-legged beasts with soldiers riding on their backs.

  My heart stopped for a moment as one of them stepped from the road and into the light of the courtyard. It wasn’t him, the Bowler Hat Man who hunted me. These were just henchmen, deadly in their own right, with guns and the great eaters they rode.

  I crept around the long counter that stood behind the mannequin and squatted down in the shadows. A cash box lay shattered on the ground here, and coins I didn’t recognize lay scattered across the floor.

  The way the scarce light flickered across the coins held me rapt for far too long. I couldn’t stay here. I had to find Katie, had to find the book. And then there were the soldiers.

  If these three had come this far, there had to be others nearby. Maybe the bulk of the great man’s army wouldn’t come into this village, but they might. He was a fickle man, quick to murder and filled with a raging fire.

  I drew a shuddering breath, blurred memories of my most recent escape filled me with anger and fear. I gripped Gram tighter, willing my runes to flare to life, for some insight to come to me. I looked down at my hands, wondering at the old wounds there.

  I pulled the saddlebags over my head and looked around. I had been drawn into this shop for a reason, and I knew things rarely happened in this land of the dead without a reason. The trick was living long enough to understand the puzzle.

  This village was not unique by any means. The method of the killings, the age of the town, and the state of decay the only markers of change. It was the same in all the villages and towns. All dead, all massacred but in each held a sign or marker. Some puzzle piece that drove me to Katie. A clue to where she’d run.

  I scooped a handful of the bright coins into the saddlebag and inched my way toward the doorway into the back of the store. That way was filled with darkness, and where it was very dark, crawling, biting things lived. I pushed myself back into the room, scooting on my bottom and glanced around the end of the counter. One of the soldiers stood in the courtyard between me and the fountain.

  He would be like the others, misshapen and vile—a monstrosity. He had a pistol on his belt and his rifle stood propped against the fallen wings of the horse. He drank from the fountain, removed his helmet, and splashed water over his burned scalp. I crept toward the front of the store, looking for his companions. One I saw moving back down the first road, searching each building. Another was inspecting the furthest blockade. The great, horrid mount, an eater like a giant, mutated tarantula stood at the fountain, a line tethering the great beast to the broken statue.

  It stood a good six feet off the ground, but it was mainly legs. It had two large mandibles that could cut a man in half. I’d seen them in action in other towns, but it was lying down, its head toward the fountain, either resting or asleep.

  My attention went back to the rifle that leaned against the stature. I wanted that rifle. There was no way I was getting it without alerting both its owner and the great beast. I didn’t care to take them both on, if I could arrange better odds. There was no way I was going to get out of this building without making a noise, so maybe I needed to bring that warrior inside.

  I picked up a piece of glass, careful not to cut myself, and backed to where the moon’s dazzling light pooled near the wedding gown. I took cover behind the mannequin and as far behind the counter as I could. Then I used the glass to reflect the moonlight, flashing it across the water.

  The warrior didn’t notice at first. I kept at it, angling the light to strike the water near his head when he bent to drink. For an instant he paused, and I knew I had him. He whirled, snatching up his rifle and sited into the shop. I dropped the glass shard as he fired three shots into the mannequin. I held my breath, gripping Gram in my fist and straining to hear him come in. The shots had echoed loudly in the room, and my hearing was suddenly filled once again with the roaring white noise of the void.

  I took a shallow breath and listened harder. In the distance I heard the warrior’s companions shouting to him, laughing as he called out about the mannequin. I smiled as he stepped over the windowsill, his boots crunching on the broken glass.

  His voice was harsh, the language guttural, but for some reason I could understand him. I thought of it as Orcish in my head, but it was probably something less exotic. Once again, Gram translated the language into something my brain would recognize.

  The man stopped, pushed the bullet-riddled mannequin with his rifle and sniggered. “Pretty thing,” he said, his voice almost wistful.

  I saw his hand as he reached down and grabbed the mannequin, righting her and straightening the dress. “There you go, beautiful one. Good as new.”

  He didn’t see me until I’d rolled out and swung Gram up in an arc, bringing the blade down across the arm that held the rifle. He looked at me, his mouth agape as I spun, bringing the blade around and through his neck. Blood sprayed the beaded dress and he fell forward against the counter, his body twitching as his limbs registered there was no longer a brain at the other end.

  I snatched the rifle off the floor on the first bounce and fell back against the side of the counter, the dress blocking me from the window. I checked the clip, seven shots, plus the one in the chamber. Maybe enough.

  The shot from here, across the courtyard was not impossible. I’d managed against worse odds. But I could only take out one of the soldiers. If he fell, his friend would have me pinned down.

  I sat there watching as the man’s blood pooled against the hem of the fallen dress and debated my next moves. In the shadow between the headless torso and the pooling moonlight, I saw that the once-man had worn a necklace. It had fallen off when his head departed from the neck. I reached over, grasping the ruby pendant and suddenly my head flared with clarity. This was my amulet. This was my connection to the forge, to the flame. To Bub.

  And this was how they had been tracking me. This was blood of my blood, tuned to me in a way I didn’t fully comprehend. I couldn’t recall where I’d lost it, but now that I had it, memories strobed through my mind like watching every third frame of a movie. I worked in movies. I was a blacksmith. I was searching for my true love who had been lost into the wild lands.

  I squeezed my eyes closed as the images flashed faster and faster, a quantum filmstrip of my life. When I opened my eyes, the world was clearer, the darkness not so dense. But my danger had not diminished.

  The first soldier—Alpha—had dismounted and was looting several of the fallen soldiers at the closer of the two barriers. The second so
ldier—Bravo—rode his mount toward the fountain, calling to the soldier who lay at my feet.

  I braced myself against the counter and took aim. The first shot went wide, but the eater Bravo rode reared up, nearly throwing him. I worked the bolt, driving another bullet into the chamber and fired again. This time I hit the eater in its head, one pincer exploding. Bravo dropped his rifle, grasping the reins with both hands. The great beast bucked twice then rolled over, smashing the man beneath its great bulk.

  A shot ricocheted into the building as I spun to look for Alpha soldier. The first rider’s mount at the fountain was on its many legs, spooked by the screaming of its fellow monster, the sound of the gunfire, or some other reason I didn’t care to know about. I put two bullets into it, sending it rolling to the extent of its tether, its many legs scrambling across the cobblestones before it collapsed.

  A second shot rang into the shop, blasting through the mannequin, sending it toppling over me again. I kicked it aside, rolled behind the counter, and crawled to the other end, poking the rifle out first to see if a shot would follow. When nothing came, I poked my head around and saw Alpha soldier creeping over the windowsill, his rifle ready, heading toward the mannequin. Like his brother, he appeared to believe he’d shot the villain. I fired twice, killing him in a spray of blood and bone.

  He went down, and I lay there, waiting for the eaters to arrive, or the last soldier to come in and finish me off. I waited as long as I could stand, then crept toward the Alpha soldier, checking that he was indeed dead. There were two large holes in his torso and he’d bled a very lot.

  He’d not be following me again. I checked his rifle and found that he was out of ammunition. That’s why I got the best of him then. They were running low on supplies. Explained why he was looting those who’d fallen at the roadblocks.

  I stepped out of the building, looking toward the square, looking for the last soldier. Two of the eaters were down, and a third stood tethered to the roadblock, straining against the ropes that kept him bound. Him I’d deal with later.