Oswald nodded. “Grab a pike.”
Tobias fumed. He wouldn’t be able to beat the hellhound if he couldn’t develop his fighting skills. Especially since his fire powers would be useless. He’d have to rely on skill and technique, like an ordinary human.
He watched as Thomas assumed a fighting stance across from Oswald, who gripped his pike. His old friend guided the scholar through swings and thrusts. Oswald was clearly no longer the mouthy boy of their youth. He was a soldier now, seasoned on the battlefield of Tuckomock Forest, while Tobias had been stuck in a boarding school, unable to hone his skills.
Thomas swung, blocking an attack. His experience was obvious, and before long they were whirling and ducking, weapons clashing through the quiet forest. Oswald blocked one of Thomas’s swings, and their pikes locked.
“Well done,” Oswald grunted. “Now we’ve got to add a bit of magic.”
Tobias crossed his arms. “I’ll call out the attack spells. Thomas can repeat after me. Celia, Alan, why don’t you grab pikes, too. Line up in a row facing the trees, so you don’t burn each other’s faces off.”
After his friends got into place, he intoned the spell fragments and the others repeated, charging their pikes with the aura. As he chanted, he could feel the aura rippling over his own skin, and the magical energy roiled thrillingly in his chest. He closed his eyes. His aura burned brighter than it once had, charging him with euphoric power. He wasn’t just Tobias anymore. He was a demon, imbued with the fires of Etna and Vesuvius.
“Tobias?”
His eyes snapped open at Alan’s voice, and he surveyed his friends. Emerazel had heightened the spell, and the aura crackled sharply around them. But something else hung in the air—something that smelled of sweat and pear blossoms, of blood and ferns and primordial swamps. An ancient, feral scent.
Celia lowered her pike. “Tobias? Why are you stopping? I was just getting into it.”
“Hang on.” Sniffing the air, the hair rose on the back of his neck. Alan had been right. There was something nightmarish in the woods tonight. Something, that was, besides himself.
“What is it?” asked Thomas.
“The aura has drawn something to us,” he whispered.
Alan sucked in a breath. “I refuse to believe in ogres.”
“Good thing we got some practice in.” Oswald lifted his weapon. “Pikes ready.”
“I don’t even know how to use this thing yet,” said Celia.
The leaves rustled, and around them, the ash trees seemed to close in. From the shadows near Oswald, a long, spindly finger protruded into the moonlight.
24
Tobias
Oswald whirled, readying his pike as the creature stepped from the shadows. Not an ogre. It was a man—or something like a man. He was tall and rangy, his body covered in thick blond hair and hemlock sprigs, and he held a gnarled walking stick. Round, pale eyes peered from under mossy eyebrows. Nostrils flaring, he emitted a low growl.
Gripping his pike, Oswald prowled closer to the beast. “What dost thou ’ere?” Startled, he’d reverted to Tatter-speak.
Tobias crept over, snatching the last pike from the ash’s trunk. The wild man curled his lip, exposing long, sharp teeth, uttering a few garbled sounds in a low voice. Though the speech was unintelligible, it somehow resonated as words in Tobias’s head: Did you forget what you really are? You’re a beast of the earth, like me.
As the words rang in his skull, wild energy coursed through his veins. Something in him wanted to tear through the woods slaughtering everything in his path, to fly out to the ship and rouse Fiona from her slumber, or to find Estelle and dance with the wolves under the moonlight.
Oswald swung his pike, but the wild man slipped away, appearing again by Celia. He grabbed her hair, licking her cheek. She screamed, striking at him with her weapon, but he slipped away again.
Tobias seethed with rage, desperate to rip this monster to shreds.
His head swam. Where did the thing go? All around him was darkness, leaves, murky air. Alan shouted, his pike whirling in a blur. Red dripped from his cheek, and the metallic scent of human blood filled the air. Oswald lunged, missing again. This thing would claw them to death. But how could they fight something as elusive as the wind?
Sharp fingernails scratched at Tobias’s own cheek, and he spun around. He wanted to tear through its veins and run, blood-soaked, through the woods.
But it wasn’t the woodwose behind him. It was Oswald, eyes blazing with ferocity, blond curls wild around his head. Why did Oswald look so crazed, so bestial? He isn’t human anymore.
The thought sent white-hot rage coursing through Tobias’s blood. He gripped the pike, circling his old friend, who snarled at him. Tobias couldn’t remember what he was so angry about, only that he wanted to bathe the world in flames. And Oswald looked just as angry.
“What are you looking at?” Tobias spat.