‘I well understand your caution, my good man, but do you see that? That is the Ninth Rain, a sword forged for a future battle, a sword forged in winnowfire!’ When they didn’t react, she cleared her throat. ‘Steel forged in winnowfire is the only thing known to injure a parasite spirit.’ When still they said nothing, she leaned forward in her saddle. ‘You must know this?’
The woman stepped forward. She had a squarish, stern face, her black hair pulled back tightly into a bun. ‘I know our swords have had no effect on it, and if you think you have a way of killing it, then I am very willing to listen. My name is Willa Evenhouse, and these are my cousins Dennen and Fera. This is a poor place, as I’m sure you can see, and I’m not sure what we’ll be able to give you in return.’ The woman took a breath, and abruptly Vintage could see how tired she was. It had been a long time since anyone had slept properly here. ‘But we will gladly offer you what we can, if you can make this . . . this thing go away.’
‘I want it dead,’ said the man she’d named as Dennen, the one who’d spoken first. ‘It killed Morin’s boy, and Mother Sren. It must die.’
Tor sheathed his sword. ‘Then let us talk of our fee—’
‘Of which, there is none,’ said Vintage hurriedly. ‘Save for food, drink, a place to shelter our horses.’
Willa nodded. ‘Come with me. Dennen, Fera, keep watch.’
Vintage and Tor dismounted and followed the woman into the village, leading their horses. It was quiet, the light from numerous lamps casting buttery light on the packed dirt ground. They passed a paddock filled with scrubby grass, and Vintage caught the mineral scent of old blood. There was a dark patch, difficult to make out in the colours of the night, but she was willing to bet that was where these people had lost most of their livestock. Likely, they had woken in the night to the sound of cattle screaming as their skins melted away, and then the first villagers had perished also. She had seen it before.
‘Here.’ Willa indicated a low, sturdy building, thick with the smell of horse. A young woman came out, her eyes wide in the gloom. When she caught sight of Tor she took a startled step backwards.
‘Ma?’
‘Take the horses in, Duana, have them made comfortable for the night.’
The girl looked as though she had a thousand questions, but she did as she was told. When she was out of sight, Willa shook her head.
‘We’ve heard of these parasites, of course we have. We might be in the middle of nowhere but we know some history. But never around here. We know what we risk, living out in the Wild, but these things – they shouldn’t be here.’
Vintage reached within her pack and drew out a narrow silver flask. She passed it to the woman, who took it with a brief nod. ‘I couldn’t agree more. Tell us everything you can, my dear,’ she said. ‘Any small detail could help.’
Willa unscrewed the bottle and took three quick gulps of the strong brandy. When she began to speak, not looking at either of them, Vintage slipped the pencil and notebook from her bag and began to make hurried notes.
‘It was four nights ago when it first came. I’d been dreaming. Some bad dream where I was trapped in the dark, and I could feel everything dying all around me. There was something terrible in the sky.’ She looked up, glaring at them both. ‘I know that sounds stupid, but I’ve never had a dream like it. It might be important.’
Vintage nodded. She liked this woman. ‘You are quite right, my dear. Please, continue.’
‘I woke up because Cara’s goat was crying. I lay there listening to it and cursing it because it was still full dark, and I had a good three or four hours before I would have to be up. It was bleating, over and over, and then it was shrieking. Something about that noise . . . I leapt out of bed even as Duana came into my room, and I told her to stay where she was.’ Willa took another gulp of brandy. ‘Outside there was . . . there was a halo around Cara’s place, yellow and blue and shifting. Looking at it, I felt unwell. Like perhaps I was still asleep. I ran down there anyway, and I was just in time to see—’
She stopped, and looked down at the straw-covered floor. Next to her, Vintage could sense Tor becoming impatient, and she willed him not to say anything.
‘I saw the goat. It was a stupid thing – what goats aren’t? But I saw its eyes, and then I saw the thing standing over it. The thing ran its – hand – over the goat’s flank and it just burst open. The skin peeled back and what was inside, what should have been inside . . .’
‘Take a deep breath, Willa.’ Vintage caught her eye and tried to hold her gaze. It was rare to have such a lucid witness, but they didn’t need a description of what had happened to the goat. They had seen the aftermath of that often enough. ‘What did you see standing over Cara’s goat?’
Willa pressed her lips into a thin line. ‘It was tall, taller than Cara’s hut, and it looked like it was made of water.’ She glanced at Tor, as if waiting for him to mock her. ‘I can’t think of another way of saying it. I could see through it, but not properly. Like looking through warped glass. And it was roughly shaped like a person, except that its arms were too long. And there were too many of them. There were lights inside it, blue and yellow pulsing lights. The ends of its arms had lots of fingers but no hands.’ Willa visibly shuddered. ‘It was its fingers it was using to peel back the goat’s skin, and the flesh just seemed to boil away from it, like it couldn’t bear for it to be touching—’
‘Are there any Behemoth remains around this area, my dear?’ Seeing the woman’s blank expression, Vintage spoke again. ‘Anything left behind by the worm people? Twisted pieces of strange metal, perhaps?’
‘No, not that I know of.’
‘Its face?’ asked Tor. ‘Did you see any of that?’
Willa shook her head. ‘It was bent over the poor animal, I couldn’t see it. Shen, Morin’s boy, jumped over the fence and he had his da’s sword with him, the young idiot.’ Willa lifted a hand and pushed her fingers across her forehead. They were trembling slightly. ‘I told him to get away. I told him—’
There was a shout, and Willa stopped. They all turned to where it had come from, and a bare second later, there was another cry. The panic in it was as clear as sunrise.
‘Willa my dear, go inside,’ said Vintage quickly. ‘Keep your daughter with you. We’ll be back.’
Tor had his sword ready as they headed back the way they’d come. Halfway there and they saw it – the creature had come back to them, a beacon of strangeness on the edge of the village. As they watched, it moved through the tree-trunk wall as though it wasn’t there, its translucent body oozing silently through the wood. The spirit was a good fifteen feet tall, and gently glowing fronds ringed it like petals on a deadly flower. The two men were below it now; one was scrambling away while the other, incredibly, was attempting to jab at the creature with his pitchfork.
‘Ha! Well, it is a touch taller than the hut,’ said Tor. ‘Was that an elaborate joke of some sort, do you think?’