Hounded [Wild Hunt Series: 2]

16: Crash

The feeding mechanism of the spider-tick was beautifully terrible, a pulsing proboscis wedged into a numb section of wrist that methodically pumped blood in pink ripples. Its forelegs, dark rust ticked with grey, gently palpitated the area. It almost, almost reminded me of a cat kneading a blanket. Almost gentle, almost beautiful. . .

 That is, if you were the sort to admire the dynamics of how nightmares are fueled. The trunk gleamed with a wet translucency through which thin threads of blood traveled into its mouth...Mouth? Was that the right word? Orifice? It may have been correct but it sounded like a word that belonged more to nostrils or butts.

And not just blood. My blood, I realized with gradual awareness, watching it suction my gashed wrist into an unhappy pink seam, and then self-preservation drop-kicked the thought from my skull.

My other hand swung around in a mad panic, backhanded the thing square across a half-dozen eyes. Blood sprayed across my face as I sprang to my feet, grabbed the nearest tree and nearly blacked out. Through the grey stars and brown  fuzzies of my vision I could see the glittering, gossamer strands of its hairy legs, sticking up straight like how kids drew dead animals. 

Unsteadily I staggered over to it, kicked it with my barefoot. It tipped to the side. Stiff. Frozen.

Not only that, the place where I'd fallen was frozen. The spots where my feet touched the mottled leaves and undergrowth: all shiny with newborn frost. 

Newborn. 

My head spun. I threw up. 

My stomach contents, thankfully, weren't frozen. 

As I stood there, holding my forearm, shouldered against a tree trunk, awareness came to my ears, and my eyes, and the senses still remaining. The sun was low on the horizon, and the forest was awash in all the rich hues of shadow. The King was probably on his way, more prepped for my outburst this time no doubt. 

There was a soft rumble in the forest, broken now and then by a stony grunt or high scream. It was distant, a thrash of branch and bough what felt like several lifetimes away from me. It was probably more like half a mile in the dense forest. 

It sounded, and I wasn't quite sure, holding my breath, pushing back the panic, as if it were getting nearer. 

A long shadow curled over the sky. I looked up instead of hiding; there wouldn't have been time anyway and I was difficult to spot in the undergrowth if you weren't looking. Claws scraped against the stone tile, and as I watched, the King's serpentine body curled around the greyed tower, his feathers teal in the setting sun. His rotten wings folded neatly at his back, and then his head rose around the side of the window. 

I stopped staring. I stopped thinking. 

I ran. 

I ran, and I ran and ran harder at the terrible roar of outrage. Blue fire seared the starlight overhead. 

A hand- white, pale, clawed, grabbed my ankle. I went down on one knee, wrenched myself free with a crackle of cold energy and kept running. 

Mistress! The creature in my icy wake cried. I told myself not to look back, not to stop, but I did. 

The creature had been thrashed and smashed by the heavyweight Cairn. It lay in animate pieces, including the now-frozen hand. A finger was still glued onto my leg, like a fleshy tongue on a subzero pole. I flung it off with a soft exclamation. 

I'll get new parts! hissed the head, upside down from a tree branch. Faster legs. Losers of the Hunt, so perhaps not too much faster.  Its beaky orifice could have passed for a hungry kraken's. The ground you walk on is my flesh. The roots you climb over have grown strong on my bones. The Marrow Witch has made it so. The Marrow Witch will make you so. 

I'd never taken the time to appreciate how stealth a gargoyle could be until  the moment Cairn's tail caught my across the stomach. The air left my lungs in a great whoomph! and I was on the ground in time to watch the King take flight, screeching for his loyal pet.