Annev ignored him, taking the pipe. He tore the feurog’s other hand from her throat and held it to one side. ‘Hold this other wrist down!’ Annev demanded. Crag muttered something dark under his breath but did as he was told, stepping on the creature’s other hand. Beneath him, the feurog thrashed and tried to free herself, eyes bulging, teeth gnashing.
Annev reclaimed the broken sword blade then placed the pipe between the feurog’s metal-sheathed breasts. Holding the dull spine in his hands, he pressed the blade’s edge against the pipe stem and sawed downward, hacking the pipe stem from its bowl. The feurog jerked as the edge of the sword pressed into her chest, but when the blade was lifted, only a thin scratch could be seen on her metallic skin. Annev straddled the woman’s misshapen chest, uncertain what he was doing. Sodar had explained it to him once – had said he should never attempt it unless it was the difference between life and death; this was such a moment, and he knew he had to try, even if his failure ensured the woman’s death.
Pinching the broken end of his cutlass, Annev made a quick puncture into the feurog’s windpipe. He flinched as a spurt of air burst from her throat, then, before blood could seep into the wound, he jammed the severed pipe into the incision.
The feurog stopped thrashing as air returned to her lungs. Her lips regained their colour and her eyes looked a little less wild, though no less frightened.
Annev stood, still holding his rusty blade by its spine. Crag whistled.
‘Where’d you learn that bit of magic?’
‘Sodar,’ Annev said, still watching the feurog. ‘He said if I was going to be a priest, I needed to know how to help people.’
‘That’s a skill, me boy. Healin’ is a true art.’ He frowned. ‘Though I wish you hadn’t broken me favourite pipe.’ He nodded at the creature on the ground. ‘What’re we to do with this one? She’s still dangerous.’
Annev looked between the feurog and the broken cutlass, suddenly realising the weapon couldn’t defend him. He scooped up the broken hilt from where he had dropped it and stepped back, his fingers working to untie the mismatched cloth strips. ‘Do you think she’ll try and harm us?’ he asked, rewinding the cloth around the base of the naked blade.
Crag shrugged. ‘These things seem feral. No tellin’ what she’ll do. Still not sure why they attacked us just now, seein’ as the witch is dead and can’t drive them on. I’m even less certain why you’re tryin’ to save her.’
Annev stopped winding and studied the female. She had closed her mouth to better concentrate on breathing through the pipe in her neck. With her thin lips pursed shut, Annev could no longer see the long rows of sharp teeth. She looked less like an animal and more like a frightened woman – and it was clear she was terrified of them. The feurog’s eyes bounced between Annev and Crag, but there was something else there. A spark of intelligence? A plea for mercy?
‘Let her go,’ Annev said.
Crag looked down at the feurog with the pipe sticking out of her neck. ‘She’ll kill you, given half a chance.’
‘Maybe,’ Annev conceded. ‘All the same, I’d rather we let her go. She’s less dangerous than she was, and I’m curious what she’ll do.’
Crag sighed and lifted his staff off the feurog’s head. ‘So be it.’ He stepped off her arms and retreated a few steps, watching. Annev also retreated, circling back to stand beside Crag as he continued wrapping the cutlass blade.
With her arms free, the feurog carefully brought both hands to her throat. The skin of the feurog’s right hand was soft flesh – not granite like the left hand or metal like her back and chest. She used her human fingers to gingerly prod at the pipe stem in her throat. She grasped it between her fingers.
‘No!’ Annev shouted. The creature stopped, dropping both hands to her sides. All the while, Crag said nothing.
The female rolled to her hands and knees then stood. With her eyes on Crag and Annev, she slunk back to the two dead males lying on the forest floor. When she reached the bearded one with the crushed face, she grabbed his arm and dragged his body into the darkness.
Chapter Forty-One
‘Such strange things we’ve seen this night,’ Crag said, clutching his staff to his chest. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’d wandered into the Vosgar.’
Annev shook his head, his eyes falling to the metal-faced creature the female had left behind. ‘We can’t be, as we’ve not crossed the Brake Road.’ He looked around at the black woods. ‘We’re close, though. The trees look and feel different the nearer you get to the Vosgar. Darker. More wild. I’ve never known anything like tonight, though. No witches. No creatures made of metal.’ He walked over to the dead feurog, examining its face. His eyes went wide.
Its ears … they aren’t covered by the iron.
Annev swallowed hard, barely able to believe his luck: he could still choose his own path – he could side with Sodar and be a man of character while still fulfilling Tosan’s insane task. He could take the creature’s ears, and with them he could purchase his salvation. His whole future at the Academy, everything he had ever hoped for and dreamed about, could still be a reality.
With trembling hands, Annev discarded the hilt of the broken cutlass and tied off the cloth strips covering the base of the steel blade, then he knelt on the soil and lifted the makeshift sword to the side of the feurog’s face.
‘What’re you doin’ there, lad?’
Annev paused. ‘You remember those complications I mentioned?’
‘Aye.’ Crag brought the lantern over.
‘This is one of them.’ Without explaining further, Annev sliced off the creature’s ear.
‘Gods, boy! A minute ago you wouldn’t kill one of these things, and now you’re takin’ trophies?’
Annev rolled the feurog’s head over and grasped its second ear. Part of the lobe was fused to the iron covering the feurog’s skull, but Annev was able to slice off enough that he felt Tosan would be satisfied. He stood, collected some fern leaves, and used them to wrap the chunks of flesh.
‘I take back sayin’ your village was a good place. Any folk that insist you take someone’s ears as a test …’ Crag shook his head. ‘That ain’t the sort of place you want to call home.’
Annev used another leaf to secure the bloody package then tucked it into his tunic. ‘Maybe,’ he conceded, though in truth he felt giddy. He might still earn his avatar title – without having to murder a lost pedlar.
‘Strange order, though,’ Crag said, eyeing the sword in Annev’s hand. ‘How do they expect you to find a pair of ears when they’ve deliberately hidden their village out of the way of other folk?’ He scratched his own ear and shook his head.
‘I said it was complicated,’ Annev said, avoiding the merchant’s unspoken question. He turned and gathered his bearings. ‘The edge of the forest should be about a mile south.’
Crag grunted, still watching Annev. ‘Best we move on then.’ He handed Annev the lantern and together they walked back to the cart. Once there, Crag pulled the silver flask out of his pocket, took a sip, and splashed some of its contents on the cut on his forearm.
‘How is it?’ Annev asked, studying the wound.
‘It’ll heal.’