Waylon's Crossing - 32. Chapter 32: Not so Scary

Waylon's Crossing
Chapter 32: Not so Scary

Fear seized Kynan and he bolted from his cover, dashing back to the house. Gone was any thought for his own safety or any of the other considerations drummed into his head during training. Karadur and Azil were his family. He ran as fast as he could, his heart yards ahead in the house where the two people he loved as fathers dimmed and grew faint.

Two darts shot from the sky and landed with a poof, bringing Kynan to a skidding halt. His wings flopped against his back and he staggered. In front of him, the two creatures flung back their cloaks, but they weren’t cloaks at all; they were wings! They reached for Kynan’s arms, but he yanked back out of their reach, overcompensating and falling over backward.

“Get away from me!” he growled, shoving at them with all the desperation he felt. He had to get back to the house! The two figures, their faces still covered, looked at each other, but they didn’t move. “Get out of my way!”

The wings on his back were heavy, flapping without coordination as Kynan scrabbled in the dirt. He couldn’t get to his feet and his attackers, or whatever they were, just stood there! Frustration and humiliation bubbled into anger, and the two people blocking his way were the perfect targets.

How dare they -- and the others -- attack him! Did they not know who he was? He was the Prince of Darkness! And that was his family down there! He would teach them to mess with him. If dreamscape powers could be used in the real world, then he’d show them!

But it was like hitting a wall, and more. Kynan flung up his arms, but the ricochet still served to bowl him over backward and sideways in an ungainly sprawl. When he looked up, the two figures were closer. Their wings resembled those of a bat’s, long and narrow and covered in a fine layer of hair that looked like felt. At the end of each joint was a claw-like digit. The shoulder joint swiveled in all directions. Their wings were lifted now, above their heads to resemble skinny umbrellas.

Their eyes glowed a single color beneath their cowls. They had no pupils. The one to Kynan’s left revealed two long, skinny arms from under its sleeves. The fingers were also long and slender, but they more closely resembled claws than human hands. He reached up to remove the cowl, revealing a long, flat face, with slits for nostrils. He had humanoid features, enough to recognize him as male, anyway, but the features were different, like a human face but pulled until the eyes, nose, mouth, and chin were stretched completely out of proportion.

The voice when it spoke was gravelly and rough, “What are you?” It lowered its head to peer at Kynan, revealing a mouth devoid of teeth as it smiled nastily, and its nostrils worked. “Your fear is delicious. So strong. Why is that?”

Kynan crawled backward, shoving at his wings as they got in his way and wincing as he trod on the new feathers.

“We heard you calling and have come. To investigate.” The smooth face turned to the other one who nodded gravely.

“Calling?” Kynan found his voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“So very old to be born.” The creature reached out but Kynan ducked the clawed hand.

“Leave me alone!” This burst of emotion simply dissipated when it reached the creatures. They looked at each other again.

“You see us?”

“What?” Kynan managed to get back a few feet, pushing up on one knee and throwing back his wings so he could stand. “Of course I can see you! Now, get out of my way! I have to --“

“How can a human have our gifts?” asked the one who still wore its hood. It glided closer and Kynan flinched back, spinning his arms to keep his balance.

“I’m not human!” he told them fiercely, feeling the familiar burn of shame. He sucked in a breath, clutching at his shoulder as pain sent him to his knees. “Alan!” he screamed. With a sob, he sprinted back into the hay field, tears of echoing pain threatening each step. The hay stalks whipped at his body, face, and wings. In his need to reach Alan’s side, he caught glimpses of the world from Alan’s eyes.

Alan crouched in the dirt surrounded by screeching, female forms. They cawed at him and he snarled back, but the fear was building, taking over what little control he had of his werewolf form. Kynan could feel the imminent change, and he knew that the harpies could sense his weakness as well. When Alan turned back into his human form, he’d be ripped to shreds.

The fear beating in Alan’s breast spurred Kynan to a faster pace. Guilt ate at him for forgetting his pairling and for leaving him alone. Additional pain tore at him: he was leaving Karadur and Azil and the others who had saved him. His family or his pairling? He no longer had a choice.

Fear. He pulled at it, intensified it as he’d learned to do on the dreamscape. He knew he’d done this in real life as well, back in his cell after the failed rescue attempt. He could do it again; he had to! He had to!

He grabbed for his beast, the monster he’d always sought to control and deny; he grabbed the thick, dark feeling at the back of his skull and threw it with himself toward where Alan lay. He screamed at the harpies, hearing their resulting screams with satisfaction. The harpies nearest fell from the sky into dust even as Alan’s werewolf muzzle turned into Kynan’s chest. As the surviving, fear-ridden harpies took off into the sky, Kynan held his injured pairling close. They both shivered in the twilight.

The half-wolf creature melted away to leave behind only a naked, teenage boy. The change in mass disturbed the delicate balance and Kynan dropped to his knees, his wings falling forward as the illusion vanished in a crash of sparks behind Kynan’s eyelids. He grunted with pain, shielding his eyes with an arm.

“Kynan, Kynan,” he could hear Alan calling, tugging at him but he couldn’t answer right away, too busy fighting the soup his stomach had turned into. “Kynan!”

His pairling’s fear drove another spike of pain into his temples and Kynan fell forward, emptying his gut into the dirt. His arms trembled trying to keep him from joining the mess. He did hear Alan’s indrawn breath as the two hooded creatures swooped down to join them.

“You must come with us,” said the second one. From the voice, Kynan guessed she was female. The dim light of the Borderlands hurt his eyes even with them closed.

“Hell no!” Alan exclaimed, clinging to Kynan’s arm. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“None of your concern, werewolf.”

Kynan felt the mental attack and his wings reacted without thought, shielding them from the unknown menace and if the avalanche of emotion was not entirely blocked, that was okay, because Kynan’s mental parry kept them safe.

“Stop.” That was the male again. Alan tensed in his arms and Kynan squinted to see the figure kneeling in the dirt beside them. His strange eyes peered at Kynan intensely, but the only emotion Kynan felt was curiosity. He lowered his wings.

“You might be The One,” said the bat-winged man.

“The what?” Kynan asked, licking his lips.

“Our ancestor,” said the female, “made a pact with the queen of the demons, a pact she then broke!”

Kynan’s arms tightened around his pairling as Alan flinched back. Fighting back a manic laugh, Kynan shook his head. “This is unreal.”

“But, Kynan,” whispered Alan, for he knew Kynan’s hidden heart, his wish for a family, his very own family. “Your father …”

“Could be our ancestor.”

“Are you an incubus?” asked Alan eagerly. He tilted his head as the two creatures looked at each other, fighting smiles. Evidently, they found the werewolf’s eagerness as difficult for them to refuse as Kynan did.

“Yes, he is,” said the female. She pushed back her hood. “And I am a succubus.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty.”

They laughed at Alan’s skepticism.

“You see us as we are,” said the female.

“That is only possible with powerful love, love that lets you see beyond the illusion,” added the male.

“Oh, that’s really cool! Kynan, can you do that?”

“Uh --“

The succubus drew back making a moue of distaste. “Kynan? That is your name? That is dreadful! No prince of our people should be cursed so! That --“

The incubus caught her arm and gave her a look that ended the tirade. He turned back to Kynan. “Do you know of no other name?”

“What about the illusion thing?” asked Alan, leaning forward.

“It doesn’t matter!” cried Kynan. “We can’t just stand here talking! I don’t care what you are, just leave me alone or help me!” He pointed back at the town of Asphodel Fields.

“What’s happened?” Alan begged, twisting in Kynan’s arms to look up at him. He gasped as the memory of a burning house slammed into his mind. “No!” Erupting to his feet, Alan crumbled again from his injuries, whimpering.

Kynan stared into the odd, curious stares of the incubus and succubus. “Help us,” he said, “and I’ll do whatever you want, just, please, my fathers are back there and I must help them!”

“Tell us who you are,” said the incubus after a moment.

“My name is Kynan. My mother is,” he paused to look at Alan. Then he took a deep breath. “My mother is the Queen of Darkness, but she did not raise me. Please, I lived a long time amongst humans, and then those demons down there, Karadur and Azil; they saved my life and raised me to be such as I am.” He blinked away tears. “I cannot let them die for me.”

“The demon queen has never had offspring,” said the succubus.

The incubus replied, “He could be The One.”

“We will go to your family, but a babe such as yourself should stay here.”

“I’m not a…” Kynan exclaimed, but they were already gone.

“They’re not so scary,” said Alan, squirming free. Limping, he staggered to the edge of the field.

Kynan followed. He could sort of agree with Alan, but did they really know what incubi and succubae were capable of?

*              *              *

“Azil! AZIL!”

Azil coughed and raised his head. The heavy smoke combined with the heat made his eyes water uncontrollably. What had happened? Where were the demons? They’d been so close -- over … where? Heat -- so hot -- licked at his fingers and slithered up one leg. Azil coughed on more inhaled dust and smoke.

“Help,” he croaked, but the hot air scorched his throat bringing more tears to his dry eyes. He knew he needed to move, but there was only the impression of a body that was stiff and lethargic. Karadur? Karadur! The secondary presence in his head was completely silent. That had never happened before. A chill filled him.

Tiny, cool fingers slipped along his cheek, just a quick caress before they were gone. Maybe he dreamed them. The only person nearby had been the human wizard. Duncan had a quick wit that Azil found engrossing. They had been sitting quietly looking through all the old books for a spell that would take them back to Waylon’s Crossing. Where was he now?

Azil heard his name again, but couldn’t make out who it was through the pounding in his skull. Opening his mouth, he only inhaled more smoke and coughed. Sharp pain in his forearm made him gasp which led to another coughing fit. The heat was too close; Azil recognized those tongues of flame from the many centuries he’d spent surviving his pairling’s tempers.

Help! Karadur! Always, always he’d been able to contact his pairling with a mere thought. Panic made Azil want to pant, but that only made him dizzy. Deep breaths to calm down made him cough. Above everything was a hard, unyielding weight that filled Azil with terror: the ceiling, and likely the roof as well, had fallen on him.

The demon world was a harsh place. From time beyond reckoning, they’d lived underneath the earth. All that was left on the surface was darkness and winds to scour the skin from your bones. Cave-ins were infrequent in the more lived-in areas, but not unheard of, especially as the maze of tunnels looped back upon each other. While their bones were tough, a cave-in could extinguish the very air needed to breathe, leading to a slow, unpleasant death. With fire licking at his skin, Azil knew he had worse things to worry about than air. The house’s outer walls were stone, but the inside was wood, crackling cheerily as the fire consumed all.

Sweat ran into his eyes as Azil tried again to stretch out with his arm. There was space beyond his fingers, if he could just reach! He touched cloth that slipped away. A second try and he felt something soft beneath.

Duncan! Azil couldn’t detect any movement and could only pray the human wasn’t dead.

He kicked; able to move his leg a little way from the heat, but the respite was brief. Karadur, Karadur! Help me, Karadur! Panting again, Azil coughed shallowly and closed his eyes against the smoke and dust’s sting. Where was Karadur? Why wasn’t he answering? Why couldn’t he feel him?

“Karadur!” The coughs were worse following that scratchy whimper. Azil felt something against his back shift, the sharp edge cutting into his skin. That was his maimed wing anyway, so no big loss, but it hurt! Daylight, but it hurt!

Azil clawed again at Duncan, setting his nails into the cloth but unsure what benefit it might have. He had to try! Karadur! he called again, Karadur, Karadur, Karadur! Wake up! Please help me!

Karadur was the Queen’s best Hunter. He’d said they were safe. No one knew they were in Asphodel Fields. The townsfolk let them be, content, it seemed, to ignore their presence. Bryce had even voiced frustration at the lack of reaction.

“This place is so boring!” he’d complained.

Karadur liked the peace and quiet, as did Azil. They rarely had the opportunity to spend so much time together free from danger. Even at court under the Queen’s protection, they had to be careful, because no one could know about them. At the time of their bond, they had been enemies, and so the court still believed. Maybe Azil was growing old, but all he truly wanted anymore was his family. For a few blessed days, he’d had his wish.

Fire caressed his leg again and Azil moaned. The sound rumbled in his chest, aching but whole. Long ago, Azil had learned he could be quite persuasive when he sang or played. He’d honed that magic over the years, and now he directed it at Duncan, thinking as hard as he could for the mage to awaken. In time, he passed into a trance-like state that blocked out everything but the music.

*              *              *

Smoke was everywhere. Jacen didn’t dare open the door glowing hot to his eyes. He kept his back to the cool stone at the corner of the closet, left hand in a fist and his right hand curled around the ring. The dark was frightening and he no longer had the magical pull to keep him company. He’d screamed when the whole house shook. Even the stone at his back trembled with the force of the magic his wizard had called. He’d thought he’d shortly be plummeting to his death, but aside from the closet floor tilting, nothing further had happened. Now there was fire.

He had time, crouched there, to consider his life. Jacen wasn’t sure he was quite satisfied. All his life he’d wanted to be cherished and to be a part of something special. He’d had that for a time as a child, and then again when he’d started his business, but that was a pale second to the magic so near at hand.

“Duncan,” he murmured, curling around his hands.

He screamed as the stone he lay upon collapsed downward and he fell. Smoke and light instantly assaulted him, but the expected hard landing was instead soft and his fall evolved into a roll.

“Hm, what have we here?” asked a surprisingly feminine voice.

Jacen opened his eyes. Two of the most gorgeous beings he’d ever seen stood there in the ruined house. Twilight shone where walls and ceiling should have been, cut in places by jagged beams and piles of broken shingles. They seemed entirely at ease, as if they saved people from burning houses all the time. Their eyes were like the night sky above Jacen’s old Elven home, dark but twinkling with lights.

That was all he could see of them, Jacen realized as the nearer one scooped him into her arms and rose up into the sky. Dark, concealing cloaks hid all but their eyes. Jacen was still staring as the female set him down and flew off.

Growling and snarling abruptly made Jacen hyper-aware of his surroundings. That was not a good sound.

The healer’s house was definitely on fire. One side had collapsed and Jacen could see a couple of people moving around, but mostly what he saw were dead people. And how they’d died! Given the choice, Jacen would choose the fire to the sight of a vampire crouching upon its victim.

He must have made a sound, because the vampire turned to look at him. Madness stared out of those eyes such that the familiar braided hair was an afterthought. Inhaling sharply, Jacen took a step backward. He stared fixated at the brilliantly white teeth amid all the garish red.

“B-Bryce?” he gasped.

Too fast for him to really be aware of movement, the vampire was an arm’s length away, crouching poised to pounce. Jacen gasped, flinching back again, mind frozen. How was he still alive? The eyes were feral as the vampire circled him. The spitting-hissing sound he made caused Jacen’s breaths to come out as halting pants.

The vampire launched and Jacen let out a high-pitched shriek, throwing out his arm. If he’d thought about it, he’d have laughed for the ridiculousness of the gesture; but no sharp claws gouged out his eyeball and no teeth scored his skin. Trembling, Jacen dared lift his head from between his shoulders to stare. The ring on his hand blazed a cool, greenish light and the baby elemental clung to his wrist.

Bryce stood transfixed in the green light until suddenly doubling over and vomiting on the blood-spattered street. He fell to his knees and the elemental left to wind itself around Bryce’s neck.

Jacen sat down where he stood, wincing as he dug a rock out from under his backside. He was on his feet a second later as a demon staggered out of the ruined house. He dragged someone with him and Jacen joined them at a run. Both demons were black and covered in soot. One was unconscious. All of them ducked as another piece of the house fell inward in a crash of sparks and smoke.

“Bryce!” Jacen shouted, immediately going into healer mode. “Go get help!” If the house kept burning, the fields would be next. Where were the townsfolk? The streets were empty of all but the dead.

He couldn’t touch either demon and hovered anxiously, uncertain if they were Timolin and Karadur or someone else entirely until one spoke.

“Azil’s still in there,” said Timolin, smearing the soot and sweat on his face as he wiped at his face.

Jacen darted around to block him. “You can’t go back in there! Can’t you see it’s all coming down? I can’t believe you made it out of there.”

“We were attacked.”

Timolin tried to step around him, but Jacen blocked him again, holding up his arms.

“I have to get Azil!” His voice was strained, but Jacen could hear the exhaustion, and the fear.

“Don’t be stupid!”

Timolin swiped at him with his sword, the hot metal sizzling on contact with his skin. “Get out of my way!” He stopped mid-swing and Jacen turned to look behind them.

Two black-robed figures landed carrying two bodies. Jacen bolted for Duncan, tears of relief causing him to trip and land more heavily than he’d intended to as he skidded to a halt where Duncan had been placed. He was awake if singed and smiled. Jacen supported him as Duncan sat up with a groan and looked to one side.

“Azil, he’s hurt.” Duncan’s voice had been reduced to a tight, pained rasp and Jacen instantly shushed him, calling for water. Duncan pushed at him weakly, shaking his head. “Azil, what about Azil?”

“Stay still and let me look at you!” Jacen snapped. He did a quick inspection, feeling for broken bones or other wounds, but aside from some smoking spots on his clothing, Duncan seemed fine. Only then did he turn to Azil.

The house made a grinding, groaning noise as the rest of the roof fell in. Duncan and Jacen hastily scurried out of the way and to where the three demons were. Azil was draped over Karadur, ear pressed to his chest as Timolin stood by.

He glanced up helplessly as Jacen reached them. “He won’t wake up.”

“Azil?” Jacen asked. The red demon didn’t answer but even in the flickering light, he didn’t look so good. One arm was broken and the skin of his right leg was blackened and raw. The hoof looked misshapen as well.

Jacen crouched as close as he dared. “Azil?” he said again.

“He’s breathing.” The demon’s voice was fainter even than Duncan’s was, but he smiled through the wet coughs following his words. “I think he’s just dazed.” His ruby eyes were dull in the reflected firelight. “Why won’t he wake up? Karadur.”

Jacen started to reach for him and stopped. He’d known the two demons were friends, but the anguish on Azil’s face was more like that of a lover. Had he really been that unobservant?

“Here, let me see.” Jacen knelt by Azil’s side and although he couldn’t touch, he had Azil to tell him what he felt beneath the soot and ash. There were a few gashes, obviously sword cuts, but he seemed whole otherwise. They couldn’t see any bruising, but Azil said he thought there was a lump behind Karadur’s ear. Jacen cast an unhappy look at the burning house. His goblin hide gloves were in there; they’d be expensive to replace.

Loud voices preceded Bryce’s return. The townsfolk were reluctant, but they got a bucket brigade organized. The house was lost, but the surrounding fields could still be saved. Bryce stalked amongst them, bloody and ferocious. Timolin commandeered a bucket of water so they could wash some of the worst from their skins.

It wasn’t until Karadur opened his eyes that they realized something was terribly wrong.

“Where’s the Prince?” was the first thing he said.