Beatrice didn’t know what she was going to do. She had no idea how she was going to find him. Her entire life had been spent within the safe confines of the town. She’d never gone further than the creek that snaked along the far side. She’d never volunteered for mushroom-gathering missions or expeditions for firewood.
So, it was natural that she paused at the edge of the Guardian Woods. It always seemed strange to Beatrice that something meant to be feared was called ‘guardian’. She lifted the lamp high, but the light did not spill far.
“Emmerich!” she shouted.
Cold wind blew, tossing the fringe of her shawl and skimming over the mouth of the lamp’s glass chimney. The flame danced wildly as the chimney made a low, mournful sound. Something slithered through the underbrush away from her.
Doubt whispered in the back of her mind: what if the Council has the right of it? What if Emmerich is a horrible monster? What if I’m running after a murderer?
But a monster wouldn’t risk his life for her.
She swallowed hard and entered the woods.
The pines and fir trees loomed. Bushes and briars choked the spaces between trunks. Beatrice navigated them, feeling grateful that she had thought, earlier, to double back for her boots by the kitchen door before she got too far.
“Emmerich!” Beatrice shouted again. Her heart pounded so loud, she worried she wouldn’t hear.
Branches crackled and dead leaves rustled. Beatrice turned toward the noise.
“Hello?”
No reply. She continued walking, aimless.
Eventually, the ground dipped into a dry creek bed. Beatrice followed it.
Something jumped the creek bed, moving in a blur. She stopped.
“Emmerich? Emmerich, where are you?” She turned in a tight circle.
From nearby, a voice called, “Emmerich? Emmerich, where are you?”
She shivered hard. Was that her own voice, thrown back at her?
Beatrice moved the lamp from one hand to another and continued walking. Dead leaves crackled and rustled as something kept pace with her to her right. She stopped. Lifted the lamp.
A black shape crouched above her. A long, ragged, black cloak covered it. Its eyes shined yellow in the light. There was no face to be seen.
The Haunted One cocked its head. “Emmerich? Emmerich, where are you?”
A scream strangled Beatrice’s throat. She ran, kicking up leaves.
The thing leapt, landing in front of her. She skidded to a halt. Slowly, the Haunted One straightened to its full height.
It was tall. Taller even than Emmerich. It stepped forward.
The warm light fell upon it. A scream ripped from Beatrice’s chest. The face was a rat’s face, contorted into human semblance.
“Emmerich?” it whispered. “Emmerich, where are you?”
Beatrice threw the lamp at it. The glass broke on a rock at its feet, splashing flame and oil. Fire raced up the length of the creature’s body. Bright light and heat, and the reek of burning flesh, filled the night. It screamed, windmilling its arms.
She scrambled out of the creek bed and ran, blind, into the dark.
The forest floor rose up and tripped her. She went head over heel down a hill, rolling to a stop at the bottom.
Groaning, Beatrice staggered to her feet. Somehow, she still had her shawl. She re-wrapped it around her shoulders. One shoulder ached, as did her left hand and forearm. Her right ankle throbbed.
The moon shone above, sending silver light onto her. She realized she stood on the edge of a clearing.
About twenty Haunted Ones knelt around a tall rock spire, around which something was twined. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed as many, if not more, bodies flung about the clearing like crumbled dolls. Dark, glossy wetness smeared and pooled on parts of the grass. Fear and horror gripped Beatrice’s chest, climbing to her throat, as her gaze swept across the scene, landing on the spire.
At the base of the spire laid a bulky shadow. The shadow moved and moonlight fell onto his face. It was Emmerich.
The Haunted Ones shifted, like tree limbs caught in a sudden wind, shuffling aside to create an aisle leading from her to Emmerich. She hesitated. Nothing made a move toward her. Summoning courage, she ran up the gap. She dropped down beside Emmerich.
Ivy bound him to the spire’s base. The black fur of his face was matted with blood. His white linen shirt was torn and bloody. He opened a single eye to look at her. She cupped his face with her hands. The world blurred. She blinked away the tears.
Emmerich muttered, “Go home, dear Beatrice.”
“Not without you.” She yanked on the ivy binding him, but it was as strong as rope.
A wild, low growling rippled through the air.
“Go,” Emmerich whispered. “It’s coming.”
She stood and turned.
From where she had come from, something massive and mottled grey-black slid from the trees. Cloth rippled around it, covering it from head to toe. The cloth opened slightly, as it moved, and there was more darkness underneath. Glimpses of that darkness sent splinters of fear through Beatrice. It was infinite and full of hatred.
The thing drifted toward her, stopping a few feet away. Behind her, Emmerich growled.
Terrified that he was going to do something stupid like attack the Living Darkness, Beatrice snatched up a little stone at her feet. She threw it as hard as she could at the thing.
The stone bounced off its chest and fell to the ground.
“Go away!” she shouted. “You’re not wanted.”
The thing exhaled words: “He came for death.”
“He’s a good man. I won’t let you hurt him.”
Behind her, claws scraped stone. She looked over her shoulder to watch Emmerich unsteadily rise to his feet, pulling against the ivy vines. Their eyes locked. He straightened his shoulders and yanked hard. The plant broke apart, letting him step forward.
Emmerich took her arm and drew her behind him. She tried to resist but his strength was inexorable. She stumbled back.
“You,” Emmerich said, “have been the bane of the town for too long.”
The thing whispered, “You’re not here for the town.”
Emmerich flexed his hands. “No.”
He howled, a ferocious sound that pierced the air. He launched himself at the Darkness.
A thunderclap of pressure exploded. Beatrice fell hard against the spire. Wind tore at her clothes. She clutched the shawl at her shoulders. A scream ripped from her throat. A low boom shuddered the air.
It was like a moment frozen. Emmerich, claws extended, was in mid-leap at the cloaked thing that had become a winged-and-taloned thing with a beak and red eyes. The Haunted Ones were on their feet, heads thrown back as if in howls.
She sucked in a breath.
The moment shattered.
Emmerich and the Darkness collided.
Part of Beatrice hoped the Darkness would just scatter but Emmerich grappled with it like a living thing. The Haunted Ones hooted and snarled, jumping aside if the tangle of fighters rolled too close.
Emmerich wrenched away, bloody. The Darkness, now in the shape of a wolf-man as well, lunged at him. The pair traded clawed blows. One landed on Emmerich’s face, and he stumbled, nearly crumbling to the ground.
“No!” shouted Beatrice. She moved forward, as if there was something she could do.
“Don’t.”
The command cut through the air. She looked to the side. A woman stood there, shining slightly in the dark.
She wore a pale pink dress, her braided hair encircling her head like a crown. Ivy wrapped around her waist like a belt.
“Let them fight,” the woman said. Her upper lip curled in a sneer. “Let him die.”
“Abigail Firestone?” Beatrice said. She winced as she heard a heavy crunch, followed by a yowl. She looked back at Emmerich, who was limping, but still up and fighting.
“He let Henry die,” Abigail said. “He should die.”
“But--” Beatrice’s mind raced. If she could find some way to convince Abigail to lift the curse, then Emmerich wouldn’t die.
The Darkness sunk its claws into Emmerich’s sides. He screamed in pain. Beatrice gasped a sob.
“Abigail, stop this,” she pleaded. “You’ve made your point. Emmerich should have gone with Henry. He knows that now.”
“All Emmerich ever cared about was himself!” shouted Abigail.
At the sound of her voice, the Haunted Ones scattered. It reminded Beatrice of what Emmerich said, that the Haunted Ones were created because of Abigail’s deal with the Darkness. Had she controlled them, all along? Was she the reason why they were on the move? Was she why Billy died? Beatrice felt sick.
The Darkness drifted backward, leaving a crumpled Emmerich on the grass.
“But he’s not like that anymore,” insisted Beatrice. “He feels so much guilt.” Tears dripped down her face. “He came out here for me. He didn’t want me to be exiled.”
“It’s too late,” whispered Abigail, but uncertainty creased her brow.
Emmerich coughed, blood misting the grass. “I know!” He leveraged up onto his elbow and looked at Abigail. “I know. I should have gone into the woods that day. And I am so sorry, Abbey.”
Beatrice ran to him, kneeling next to him. He leaned into her. The Darkness had reverted to its cloaked form. It hovered nearby, as if it enjoyed watching the show of pain and confrontation.
Abigail stared at Emmerich, looking stricken. “Abbey…” Her voice came softly. “You used to call me that.”
“Yes,” whispered Emmerich. “I did.” He took a breath and it rasped. “Abbey, the curse… The Haunted Ones—they’ve killed a child. A child like our Henry.”
Beatrice said, “He wasn’t there then, but he’s here now.”
He coughed and when he spoke again, his voice was weak and soft. “And let this end with me.”
Emmerich suddenly relaxed against Beatrice, his eyes closing.
“Emmerich!” She shook him but he didn’t respond. She pressed a hand to his face and looked up at Abbey. “You can save him, can’t you?”
Abbey stood frozen, as if torn between rage and peace, blood lust and love.
“Please,” Beatrice cried. “He’s dying!”
The Darkness hissed. It lunged toward her and Emmerich. Abigail shouted, throwing her arms out. Light extended out from her, growing brighter and brighter until unconsciousness swept over Beatrice.
Lamplight danced over Beatrice’s closed eyes. She opened them. Arthur smiled down at her.
“She’s awake!” he said, looking over his shoulder. “She’s awake.”
Slowly, she pushed herself up. “Where’s Emmerich?”
“Is that his name? We pulled him off you.”
She looked past him. A squad of Rangers, each man holding lamps from handles, stood beyond Arthur. A few were clustered around a motionless form.
Beatrice staggered to her feet, nearly losing balance. Her shawl slipped from her shoulders to fall to the ground.
“Bea,” Arthur said, one hand out to steady her, “what are you doing here?”
She pushed past him, not caring that eight men were seeing her in nothing but a nightgown. Her eyes were only for Emmerich.
At first, she didn’t recognize him. The clothes were torn and still bloody, but she saw no wounds on him. Gone were the wolfen ears and the thick fur. He was still bulky and large, but he was a man. It was a man’s face she touched with shaking fingers.
His eyes slowly opened. They were grey-green.
She laughed.
“What’s funny?” he whispered.
“The artist got your eye color wrong.”
A smile cracked his face. “Yes. He did.” With a grunt, he pushed himself into a seated position.
Arthur said, “Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on? Bea, I last saw you at the House—”
Another Ranger said, “They made him come on patrol to keep him from playing hero.”
“Shut up, Johnson. Then, there’s this commotion in the Woods. Screams and bright lights. We got here as soon as we could. What—”
“Young man,” Emmerich said, “I am not entirely certain what has transpired here, either.”
“Who are you?”
Emmerich stood, moving gingerly. Beatrice stood with him, holding his arm as if she could do anything if he were to fall.
“My name is Emmerich Firestone.” He gave a short bow. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
I love it!! What a tense chapter!
My favorite image was Abigail stopping the Darkness after her eleventh hour change of heart. Well done!
As always, you rock. This part was well-written, well-thought-out, and meaningful.
Having the beast consider self-sacrifice shows that he has regained his humanity and realizes the mistakes he made. Having him save Bea shows honor and courage.