Syth and Axe (Part 10) : The Dark Watchers and the Dogmen

 

Syth and Axe vol. 10 - The Watchers in the Dark

1937 - Southern California mountains, somewhere near the coast.

Bill stepped out in the warm darkness of of the plains and looked off into the mountains. “Santa Lucia, eh? Oh, Paul, you would’ve loved this place.”

He hadn’t been to this part of California since… well, since he came over and stole the rain to make the Rio Grande - at least if the legends were to be believed. It may have been a little more supernatural than physical, but he may have been responsible for a few of the droughts that had plagued the region since then.

Most days, he didn’t dare show his face. Several tribes had a bounty on whoever has stolen that particular… artifact… and he didn’t intend to sacrifice his beautiful blonde curls to some… mythology.

The sunlight shimmered through the sky. And there, as if on cue, was a dark-clad figure, silhouetted and backlit by the setting sun. “So you are real…”

He watched the figure for a while longer, his hand absently petting the head of a medium sized doglike creature at his side. It was covered in spines, with a strange body and two fangs probing out from its top lip. He called this one “Goat.”

According to his last correspondence with his wife, who was apparently still roaming the Russian wilderness with some strange witch-like lady - the rest of the stories Bill didn’t believe for a moment - there were reports of something called a “Grayman,” a large figure appearing in the fog and vanishing before any could approach. It reminded him of Paul’s description of those lights off in the Eastern Mountains. Well, anything to get him out of the crowded desert - and a mountain trip seemed so lovely this time of year.

Anyway, his ol’ love had described the weird gigantic forms, so Bill decided to do some digging, and he found these rumors of some ol’ mountain ghost appearing out here. So, with a quick hop through the fairy realm with his army of chupacabras at his side, he came to take a look. And what would you know - and this he had totally, definitely planned for - there was a fairy ring right here, overlooking the spot where mountain met sea - well, sort of - close enough.

He gazed up at the shadowy figure.

If what Sue said was true, the beings on her side of the ocean were nearly ten feet tall, thin, with the tendency to appear where children tended to go missin’. If that wasn’t some sort of corrolationary-related red flag, he didn’t know what was. He drew a pistol and looked at Goat. “Ready for some huntin’ ol’ boy?”

The mountains absorbed him.

He heard the huff of something behind him. He turned.

“I didn’t leave ya behind, Lightnin’. You didn’t want t’ come. Remember?”

He horse glared at him.

“Well, you’re here now. Gonna stand there’n pout or we gonna find these Watcher things. If they be takin’ children, then there gonna be a problem.”

He gazed around the peaks. It had been decades since he’d been here. He wondered if those tunnels and caves still existed. The Newcomer had warned him not to look into the hills. Now he was staring off into them.

Something stood silhouetted against the horizon.

Bill looked closer, squinting his eyes and pulling down the brim of his hat. “Lightnin’, ya see that?”

The horse whinnied.

They began up the trail, Goat in tow. The silhouette materialized - a tree. Bill chuckled.

“Well, guess that’s t’ be expected.” He drew Sue’s letter from his bag. She’d been traveling… a lot. How she got all around the countries so fast, she never said, though some reference to chicken feet and some sort of moving house, a flying… pot… She was never the sanest, but this was crazy even for her. He flipped through her note, tryin’ to find the page she had talked about these things…

“To my dearest of dears, Say ‘hi’ to Lightning for me. Tell him no hard feelings for the bustle incident. I know I’ve said all this before, but in case any of these letters get lost in the mail, I want every one to be sealed with a kiss and a spritz of my perfume…” 

He took a drag of the scent wafting off the letter. It had almost all expired, but there were still lingering notes, like a guitar string plucked and left to hum its way out.

He skimmed the rest of the page - all overtures of love and how much she missed him, how she wished she could return, but how she was prevented for some unknown reason. Then he found it. 

“As I traveled my way through the regions along the sea, I found a burial chamber, with strange beings inside. They seemed trapped, aimless, tethered by something invisible. I was able to slip past them and find the point of their ‘imprisonment,’ if that makes sense, but there was nothing there. I talked to grandmother about it, and she mentioned the dark powers at work in this area. She pointed to the spot I’d found and mentioned the nail - the nail I didn’t see. Apparently there was some sort of anchor wedged in the ground, holding all these strange ghouls imprisoned by invisible chains.”

Lighting bucked a bit, and a paper flew out of his hand. “You jealous oaf!” He cried, vaulting easily off the back of his horse and sliding back down the hill a little ways. He reached up and snatched the page from a nearby tree. “I should tan yer hide.” Bill shouted, walking away from the horse, rummaging through the plants and other growth trying to find the lost page.

He turned to berate the horse some more and stopped.

Lightning stood on the trail, completely frozen in place. Before him, hunched over and sniffing the ground, was something - large, hairy. It hunched over like some sort of beast, with jet hair running over its back and down its arms and legs. A doglike snout sat on a wolf-like head, its ear pinned back, dark eyes glinting in the setting sun.

The beast rose to full height, standing nearly level with the top of Lightning’s head. Large, muscular arms stretched out to each side, in a strange, morbid approximation of a hug.

Cream-white teeth, stained with years of blood, bared. A deep, almost imperceptible growl rumbled across the hillside. Then another growl echoed from a nearby hill, and then another. Soon, the strange, demonic choir reverberated around the canyons and peaks of the range. Lightning lowered his head, as if ready to challenge the beast.

Bill’s finger itched at his revolver, waiting to see what his beast would do.

Goat slunk back behind Bill’s ankle.

Bill had never seen the chupa act like this. “What’s going on?” He asked. His gaze turned back to the wolf-like beast.

It growled, clawed hands opening and closing as it glared down at him.

He smiled up at it. “I’ve taken down bigger than you,” He replied.

A whirl of activity. Lightning reared. Bill’s pistol rose, hand racking back the hammer in a smooth motion. He followed the motion, and was just about to squeeze the trigger when Lightning pivoted, blocking his view of the activity. As the horse shifted out of the way, trying to find purchase on the narrow trail, the flurry of blows and fur screeched its way off the trail.

Bill rushed toward the site, Goat at his knees. Lightning reared, then took two very-unhorselike steps forward and planted his front hooves back on the trail.

Bill rushed to the scene, pistol sighted down where the blur of activity had gone from trail to forest. Several branches hung shattered, and a large swath of deadfall had been thrown aside - blood stained here and there, patches of fur and skin dangled from where body had struck branch.

The man crouched and ran a finger through the fresh blood. He raised it to his mouth then held out a finger to Goat, who voraciously lapped at it, then pounced on a nearby puddle. “Human?”

Lightning, having settled his footing, stood at the entrance to the battle-trail, staring down at them. Bill held up a finger. “You’ll have to stay there, boy. This trail ain’t conducive to travelin by horse. I’d be pulled off as soon as I’d sit.”

Seemingly dejected, and glaring at the chupacabra at Bill’s knee, Lightning grudgingly agreed, wandering off toward better footing.

Bill followed the path of chaos through the branches. Downed trees, fallen brush, small bits of wood here and there from long-dead fallen trees - and the encompassing growth of moss, ferns, and other plantlike - littered the area - a stunning contrast to the sparse beauty of the Mojave.

He pushed aside a larger-than-normal bank of ferns and stepped out onto another trail.

He knelt. Another line of blood - another ribbon of torn flesh with fur still attached.

This had been brutal.

He liked these things - they knew how to fight.

He nodded at Goat, who was busy lapping up all the blood in sight. Bill frowned slightly, but shrugged it off. Little chupacabras were gonna chupacabra.

The roaring and shuffling began again.

“Ah, crap…” Bill whispered to himself. He’d broken one of his chief rules - don’t follow a wounded animal into its den. There, in front of him, stood the original creature, except far bloodier and far angrier. Thick scars ran down its flesh, shreds of skin and fur hung loose. Its doglike features seemed more… feral… now. Something had changed in that short time.

The beast growled at him and began to stalk forward.

Goat stared up in alarm. Bill raised his pistol and fired one round straight between the eyes. With speed almost imperceptible, the monster shifted to the side, the bullet ripping through a chunk of ear instead. Another round was already on its way. The beast seemed to materialize further, and a small channel formed in its cheek.

It was all so fast - it seemed surreal.

A clawed hand shot forward toward Bill’s face, and a round burst from the barrel of his pistol, piercing through the flesh of the palm and burying itself somewhere in the creature’s forearm.

This seemed to produce the desired effect. The creature recoiled, pulling its hand back. It roared once. twice. It leapt back as another round split the air near its face.

Bill counted off the shots. Two more.

A round struck the fur along the nape of the creature’s neck as it ducked. 

One more.

It dropped into a crouch.

Bill drew back the hammer, standing poised and ready.

A howl rent the darkness from somewhere off in the forest - its direction completely lost in these hills. The beast looked up, just long enough for Bill to launch a final shot. It struck the creature on the side of the jaw, entering through the cheek.

A spray of blood, a collection of broken teeth.

The creature turned toward him, seemingly knowing he was out, and was just about to pounce when another roar split the darkness. It seemed torn. It gazed up at the howl, then back at the man. Then, in a humanlike motion of covering its hurt cheek, it bounded off into the darkness, leaving large streaks of blood in its violent wake.

Bill popped open the cylinder and ejected the hot shells. A speedloader appeared with practiced ease, and the pistol was primed once again. He raised it, following the crashing of the beast as it fled its way up through the brush and forest to some distant command.

His heart pounding, Bill smiled. “Whoooo boy! I’m gonna like this’n.”

He took a deep breath and turned to Goat. The chupacabra crept forward, sampling the blood. It took one lick, then seemingly in a motion belying disgust, backed off, shaking.

“What’s wrong, boy?”

The creature looked up at him as if it had been betrayed, shaking its head again, the small spines running along its back quivering with some sort of dismay. 

“Bad blood, eh?” Bill chuckled. “Let’s get out of here.”

He gazed up the path - it had been well-traveled - but was this a human footpath or did those creatures use it to move back and forth through the forests? He stepped up to a nearby tree. Long claw marks raked the bark.

“They’ve been here at least.” He looked down at Goat.

The creature was quivering, its spines vibrating in a way he’d never seen.

“More of them up at way?”

The creature seemed to nod - vibrate - the affirmative. He turned and pointed down the trail.

“There?”

No vibration.

He nodded. “All right, so whatever these things are - they went that away.” He looked back up the broken path he’d come down in the first place. “Welp, let’s go see how Lightning’s doing.”

The horse was “doing,” just fine. He’s stormed his way back down the path, cleared out a small copse of trees by absolutely pummeling them with his hooves, and had then settled down in a huff. When they found him, his hooves were tucked underneath his chin, gazing up at them with disdain.

“You ol’ grump!” Bill muttered. “Git over yourself. Ya didn’t want ta head down and battle some ol’ werewolf or whatever anyway. Woulda stolen all my thunder.”

The horse whinnied.

“Don’t be like that.”

He whinnied again.

Bill folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow. “You watch your tongue, or I’ll put a bit in it. Goat held his own.”

Whinny

“... sorta.”

Goat exchanged a look, unsure of what was being said about him.

Bill placed one hand on his hip and waggled a finger at the horse. “Now you listen here… you’ve driven away mah wife an’ my snake an’ my catamount… still call ya Widowmaker cuz o’ that ordeal with Sue, and yer not gonna be drivin’ away mah Goat.”

The horse whinnied.

“That all you got to say fer yourself? Fine!” 

Bill paused and looked around.

“Well, I’ll give ya this: at least ya found a good spot for camp.”

Then he paused. “Where’s your saddle?”

Lightning peered around at his back.

Bill’s fingers rose to the bridge of his nose. He pinched it and let out a frustrated sigh. “It fell down the mountain, didn’t it. You didn’t tie it on.”

Whinny.

“I don’t care that you don’t have thumbs - you never had a problem getting the saddle on before, you ol’ flea-bitten varmint!”

Whinny.

“That was unfair… to flea-bitten varmints!”

The horse swung his head away, clearly done with this conversation. He’d made a good thing in this clearing, and whether Bill had a place to lay his head or not wasn’t a problem for him to solve in the least.

Bill nodded to Goat, but he shook his quills and neared Lightning. 

“You too, Goat?”

Quiver.

Bill sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. You two guard the camp and I’ll go find the saddle the horse lost!”

No response from the others.

Bill traipsed off up the mountain, muttering about his boots not being hiking boots or something. He came to the spot where the dogman thing had been. A trail lead off to the left where the two had fought and crashed down the hillside. On the right, for just about ten yards or so, was a steep decline down to a lower path. Then, on either side of this gap, the hillside rose up into mountain forests.

Bill grumbled and looped his rope around a nearby tree. He grasped the rough cord and slowly began to lower himself down - hand over hand - the rope looped around his leg as he went. He felt his boots slide, and dropped a few feet with a shout. He fought the urge to tighten his grip, rather using the crook of his leg and the angle of the rope to slow himself.

He dropped to the ground, the gravel crumbling beneath his feet, the soil soft with the dampness of the ocean air. He saw a sign where the saddle had hit the ground, a few uprooted plants from it toppling. It went off another ledge at that point.

Bill looked up. His good rope was still hanging - fastened to that tree up there. He frowned. No getting it down now, and he’d need it to climb back out, so he’d better leave it here. He turned, following the damage Lightning’s saddle had caused, and peered below. It was steep, but not anything he hadn’t fallen down before.

He stretched his arms and shoulder, then gave a practice swing of his arms, ready to leap from the ledge into that nearby tree. It would hurt somethin’ fierce, but if he could land it, he could slide his wa down and get to those supplies, maybe even rustle up some that wind to push it up and out.

As he slid down the rocky ridge and toward the saddle, something snagged in a bush nearby caught his eye. He looked over, distracted for a moment. A paper - weathered from untold readings - hung from a branch.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, reaching up and retrieving it. He pulled it down. It smelled like Sue. Folding it carefully, he tucked it away in his pocket for safekeeping. He already had it memorized, but he wouldn’t let any of them get away.”

Then something ticked in his brain, and he found himself drawing it back out of his pocket.

“Invisible chains,” he muttered, running his finger down the page. “Beasts that were tethered…” He scanned again, unable to find what he was looking for. Then he found it. “Grandmother returned with a small token for me in thanks for my good work. She said it would help me travel faster and be stronger. I don’t believe her, but I am seeing things. Remember those creatures I wrote about a few weeks ago? The ones I had seen in that cave? I’m seeing them again. I’m seeing them wandering… as if following us.

“Of course, I asked Grandmother what they were and she simply said they were some ancient beings that had been imprisoned for too long for the misdeeds they had committed, so she had seen fit to free them. The invisible nail holding them bound was apparently that item she gave me.”

Bill felt a chill run through his body. He looked around. He was being watched, he just knew it…

His gaze fell below him, where the saddle had gone, then up toward the ridge. Nothing. He turned back toward where he had just come.

There.

Something was up there - something tall, even from this distance, something cloaked in darkness with a broad hat.

And then, it was gone. Vanished in a wink.

He gazed at the ridge… his rope was still there, the cliff face he’d rappelled down was clear as day, but the form that had appeared atop it was just… gone. He hadn’t moved or turned or fallen. One moment he was there, and the moment Bill’s eyes locked on him, the figure seemed to dematerialize.

“Them Watchers are real…” he muttered. He sighed. That encounter had made him lose his train of thought - it just plumb derailed! “Ah, yes. That saddle.” he cast one more gaze up at the ridge, hoping to find some sign of the beings… but it was too late. Whatever it was, it was gone.

The saddle had rolled farther than was convenient, to say the least. Ferns and brambles covered it. He pulled them off and hefted it back out of the ditch. “This is stupid,” he muttered, heaving with all his strength. The saddle was thoroughly wedged on something - something heavy.

Bill knelt, looking down into the crevice. “Ah, crap…”

There, tangled up in the girth, was a scarred creature - one of those dog-man monsters. It lay on its back, its throat torn open and a huge claw-mark running down its front. How it had gotten here, what had killed it, and how all of this had somehow involved the horse, was anyone’s guess. But something had torn this thing’s throat out and launched it down into this ravine. Had this been one of the wolves calling from the mountains?

He reached to unfasten the girth strap and realized it had already come unsnapped - no, that was wrong - it had shredded and torn free. Something must have taken a swipe at Lightning and barely missed, getting the strap on the saddle instead. He gazed up at where his horse was. He’d have to apologize later.

He conjured up some wind and shoved underneath. It rose a few feet, spun awkwardly out of control and smashed into the cliffside. “Well, this saddle’s ruined.” He griped. The underside had been torn a bit as well, and he’d never be able to muscle it back up the ledge.

He sighed and heaved at the saddlebags. They were bashed and torn, so was his tent, his canteen… his food.

He slumped to the ground in frustration, then reached around the other part of the saddle. “At least you’re still with us.” And drew out his rifle. He salvaged whatever food he could, tucked the bag over his shoulder, and began to clamber his way back up the tree, leaving the dead wolfman, saddle, and ruined supplies beyond.

When he’d gotten about height with the cliff, he used a small burst of wind to launch his remaining supplies to the ledge. When they’d safely arrived, he poised for the leap himself.

He crouched, muscles tensing, gave a bit of a practice preparation, then began to jump. Just as his feet left the branch, something roared far below. He pivoted midair to stare down below and saw one of the dog-beasts arriving at the base of the tree and, as his trajectory shifted into the flat wall of the ledge, the beast began scrabbling at at rapid pace up the bark.

He barely had time to curse as his body struck the rock face and began to plummet back down the ledge. Disoriented, he barely had the mental wherewithal to arrest his fall with a quick burst of wind. And though he had never been credibly accused of being quickwitted, he was just fast enough to burst himself a small puff of wind that bounced him softly off of a bit of nothing and unceremoniously deposited him onto the corpse of the gored wolfman.

He now found himself upside down, staring as the wolf man crawled up the tree toward him. No, that was wrong. He reoriented himself. The wolf creature man thing - dogman - was now crawling back down toward him! He yelped and drew his pistol.

Two shots rang out before the beast had left the tree.

“Don’t sleep on this cowboy!” he cried, popping off two more shots.

Three of them split cleanly through the dogman, a fourth ripping through an ear. The dogman dropped to all fours with a low growl that Bill felt more than heart. Something quivered in his gut - not fear - it was like the sound was resonating inside him.

Okay, maybe it was just a little fear.

His brain seemed to scramble for a moment, and the beast lunged.

“Crap!” He dodged sideways at the last moment, sending a burst of air straight up. It caught the beast just under its ribs and launched it straight up - with far more force and speed than he’d realized. The beast seemed confused for a moment as it sailed high into the air, flipping slightly before crashing to the ground far away and somewhat below him in the forest.

“Yeah, that’s probably dead.” He stated. He reloaded the pistol, then stood waiting a little longer, just in case. Nothing stirred. “Yeah, it’s definitely dead.”

Eyes glowed in the darkness below.

“But that one’s not.”

Something shifted in the darkness, and the red eyes vanished with a yelp.

“Now he is.”

The yelps and roars continued, as if a pitched battle were raging in the darkness.

“Welp,” he began, “that’s my cue!” and he scrambled out and up the ledge, landing the jump this time. In a short time, he’d left the chaos of the battle behind, regaining his purchase high on the ledge. As he pulled the rope back up, he gazed down into the narrow valley. The sun was almost completely set by now, and the entire region was buried in an eerie blanket of gloom and fog.

Something howled off in the darkness again.

“Well, you all have a good night,” Bill whistled off into the darkness before plucking up his bag of supplies and trotting back down to where Lightning and Goat were probably sleeping.

Well, Lightning was sleeping. Goat was pacing anxiously.

Bill absently rubbed the spines atop the creature’s head. It reared its snout up into his hand, purring - or whatever that strange vibration was - it seemed like a purr. The creature seemed a little more energetic than before - its spines seemed darker for some reason. 

He looked at Lightning. The horse was dead asleep.

“Glad to see you’re relaxing.”

The horse roused slightly, looked up at him through a bored, almost irritated gaze, and huffed.

“Well, I didn’t know.” Bill replied.

The horse seemed to exude a shrug and settled his broad head back down.

“I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t know - it all happened so fast.” A slight whinny-snort. “Yes, yes…” Bill replied. “My eyes aren’t as quick as yours.” He replied. “And I didn’t realize you kicked it off a cliff. You just startled me, that’s all.”

The horse huffed and looked across the trail.

Bill followed his gaze. Another of the dogmen lay there, crunched up against a tree, head snapped, arms flopped at his side. He seemed extra emaciated.

Goat rubbed against Paul’s leg.

“Oh…” he replied. He stepped over to the corpse and examined. Two small puncture wounds near the gut. “I see you fed well.”

The howls rang out, then slowly faded.

Lightning looked up, relatively bored. Goat chirruped and bounced a little bit. Paul’s hand lowered to its head and gave a playful rub, avoiding Lightning’s glare. “How many attacked you?”

Lightning nodded at the one across the trail.

“Just one?”

Another across the way.

Another body lay strewn down the path a little way, his head caved in. Lightning had apparently kicked it - hard - in the face. This one hadn’t been so much as touched otherwise. The horse then seemed to point farther down the trail, where a third lay dead. His arm sat severed, apparently clawed off by something. It seems Goat hadn’t tried to drink this one either.

Were they really fighting each other? And how did Goat seem to know which to eat and which not to.

Bill dipped his finger in the blood of one of the creatures and took a slight taste. It was blood - nothing more, nothing less. He wandered to the one Goat had drained dry and found the slightest remnant oozing from the wound. Blood. Just plain blood.

He looked at the chupacabra. “What is it, boy? Why this one? What are you tasting?”

No noticeable response.

He walked back to Lightning and eased up against his horse, dropping the saddle bags and leaning his rifle up against the tree. “Sorry for blamin’ ya, ol’ boy. You know you normally deserve it.”

The horse knickered.

He chuckled. “True,” then leaned back against the steed’s flank and fell asleep, Goat curling up beside them.

Morning came as a shadow, flickering through the trees overhead. Clouds rolled through the sky, threatening rain.

“I thought I stole all the rain,” Bill chuckled, sitting up as the sunlight struck his eye. He blinked several times and slowly rose to his feet. The saddle bags still lay where they had been plopped last night, and Goat was already up and bouncing around, happily waiting for him.

He instinctively checked himself for drink marks - but Goat had apparently been satisfied the previous night and hadn’t tried to sneak a drink off of him. He eyed the chupacabra, its eyes glinting and its dark spines nearly humming.

“You ready to hit the road, ol’ Widowmaker?”

The horse looked up at his old name and huffed, slowly rising to his feet.

“Getting old, aint ya.”

The horse glared.

Bill chuckled and rubbed the horse’s mane. “I’m just jestin’.

The three began their ascent, moving along the trail, past the destroyed trees, broken branches and few lingering bodies. Whatever war they’d stumbled into up here, hopefully the creatures would take care of their own before any normal humans found out.

A few days after they’d, they crested up onto a rocky outcropping. Bill gawked. 

“Well, I know why the Watchers come here. The view’s great!”

The sun was a glowing ball of wax in the distant sky, hovering above the distant waters. Lightning gazed nonchalantly at the sea. Goat bounded about at the horse’s legs.

“Let’s make camp here for the night,” Bill groaned as he slid off the back of the horse. He stretched and popped his back. “Ugh! Wish that thing hadn’t ruined your saddle. My carbunkle’s are killin’ me!” He walked bowlegged for a few feet before plopping down on a nearby rock, rubbing the fabric of his chaps as if that would alleviate the pain.

The distant ocean shimmered in the setting sun.

“There,” he shouted to the horse. Another Watcher, dark cloak billowing, some sort of dark hat covering its true form. Then, just as he locked eyes on it fully, something caught his eye from the ocean. He looked up for a split second, and the figure was gone.

He cursed and tossed a rock at the ground. “Blasted thing!”

The Watcher was gone, replaced by a shimmering halo of light from the distant setting sun. He blinked his eyes against the vibrant golden glow.

“We’d best get ready for more of those beasts to appear.” He stated, drawing his rifle off the saddlebag he’d jury-rigged across Lightning’s hips, where the cantle would have been - had the saddle not fallen off a cliff!

His mountain-top view commanded quite the view of the hills and valleys beyond. Turning his back to the distant ocean and facing the foothills he’d just ridden through, he pulled up a series of rocks, forming a sort-of barricade where he could rest his rifle.

Something shifted in the darkness down the mountain. Lightning whinnied. “I see it.”

Goat shuffled around, moving behind the rocks.

The form shifted along the rocks, clearly pursuing them while trying to avoid detection. Rock-to-rock, shadow-to-shadow. Had it been hunting anyone else, it may have sneaked up on them. But this thing was hunting Bill! He’d stared down mountain lions and used them to ride across the country. Some strange werewolf would scare him or sneak up on him for that matter!

The form finally crested the last section of trail. Bill left the rifle pointing off into the darkness, using the bags to distract and present a sort of shape of him looking off into the night, then slipped away. The form rounded the top of the ridge, eyes glinting slightly in the dim light of the remaining sunset, and began to creep toward the rifle.

Bill sat just on the other side of a small outcropping, invisible to the encroaching creature. Lightning, as always, sat still, his head resting in a way that implied utter ambivalence to all that was going on - which was probably not an act.

Bill slowly raised the pistol, sighting it down toward the spot where his fake was. The creature crept into view…

Bill slowly slid back the hammer on the pistol, waiting for a just a moment before clicking it into position.

The beast rounded the edge of the rock, fully in view, his side to Bill, his front toward the decoy.

Bill clicked the hammer into place and fired in one smooth motion.

The beast vanished and a claw appeared at Bill’s neck.

He chuckled. “You’re quick.”

“So are you…” came the growled response. “There’s something… familiar…” he heard, and felt, the sniffing behind him. “You broke the seal. You released the chains unseen.”

Bill stayed perfectly still. His finger still twitched at the trigger on the revolved.

“I could have ripped out your throat, but I waited. I withheld death, unlike you…” the words came slow and methodical, rocks grinding against gravel, as if the mechanisms themselves were unused to being used for human words.

“I defended myself from attacks.”

“You intruded in a sacred war… you killed our warriors and drained them of their blood. You fought to defend our enemies from us, and hunted us. You drew the eyes toward our battle.”

“I did no such thing!” Spat Bill, his thumb slowly sliding to the action of his revolver. How he regretted not getting a double-action model when he had the chance!

Click. He spun, and before he could get a shot off, a claw raked toward his chest.

In a swift flash, Lightning appeared, hooves shining in the dimness. The beast vanished under a flurry of blows. A flash of gunpowder lit the peak as a mighty hoof split the face of the creature. It crumpled, and a bullet tore through the monster’s cheek. It dropped, dead.

Self-satisfied, Lightning eyed the corpse for a moment before returning to his perch.

Goat waddled up and began feeding instantly.

A howl pierced the night from somewhere far below.

Bill froze. Even Goat gave it the most brief moment of hesitation before continuing to gorge on the corpse. 

The howl came again.

No response.

The howl seemed to shift its direction, and a response echoed down from a nearby ridge. Cry and return. The howl repeated, and another ridge responded. 

“They’re checking in.”

The pattern continued. Then the howl, one seemingly directed at him, rumbled up from the valley.

He groaned. They’d know something happened up here. He mustered up all his strength and released a howling bellow at the valley below.

There was a pause.

Another howl, tentative this time.

He responded, mimicking their sound.

Seemingly satisfied, the howl returned to its normal pitch, and peak after peak answered. Then the sounds of battle began again. Vicious snarls and growls - pitched violence rolling through peak after peak as each of the creatures was assaulted.

Then realization met him.

Whatever those attackers were, no doubt a pack would soon arrive here… or reinforcements.

“Curse my stupid brain.” He said.

Whinny.

“Shut up, Lightning!”

Shadowy forms began to shift through the darkness below. Claws on rock, the heaving of breath. Soldiers moving into position - and this position was deemed safe… it had been verified by a message delivered by howl.

Bill slid his pistol into a holster and drew his rifle to his shoulder, sighting down at the heaving shadows roaring up the valley toward him. He cursed under his breath. Adventure was one thing… but this was an entirely different thing indeed. He’d miss and Lightning wouldn’t let him live it down. That was what was at stake here! He growled and shoved at the rocky outcropping he’d built.

It slid slightly.

An idea slowly sauntered into his mind and introduced itself - “Avalanche.”

He chuckled and began to heave on the rock. Nothing. It wouldn’t budge.

He turned to Goat. The chupacabra was still feasting on the body, growing larger by the moment it seemed. He’d be no use.

Begrudgingly, he turned to Lightning. The horse was eyeing him from his resting spot, a smug look on that broad face. 

“Yeah, whatever… if you want to be part of the solution, come over here and help push.”

Whinny.

Bill glared. “We don’t have time to talk about ‘taking credit.’ We need to reign rock on the heads of those doggies.”

The horse seemed to shrug - if that was possible.

“You’re a piece of crap, you know that.”

The broad head settled down on the stones.

“Fine. I need you to do it.”

The horse stood and sauntered over. He lowered his head, broad eye watching Bill with smug satisfaction.

“Today, please.”

The nose shifted the rock easily.

The landslide thundered down the ledge cascading huge boulders and clearing broad swathes of trees and growth, leaving a yawning, ever-expanding scar down the ridge. Yelps of confusion and rage rang out below.

Goat looked up.

Bill held out a hand. “Easy. Finish this meal first.”

Then it was quiet.

“I wanted to give you something to do - that way you didn’t feel left out.” Bill said with a shrug. He gazed down at the rocks below, and almost lost his balance. He turned to see Lightning nosing him off the ledge.

“Hey!” He said, slapping Lightning’s snout. “That why they call you Widowmaker? Git!”

Whinny.

Satisfied, the horse strolled back and plopped himself down where he had been. Goat chirruped and half-danced, half-waddled back over to Lightning’s side, settling down along his broad flank.

Bill shook his head.

Across the valley, echoing from peak to peak, came the roars and cries and howls as violence erupted all around them.

Then Bill saw it again. A dark silhouette, darker than the surroundings, stood between them and the next ridge. It was barely illuminated in the dim moonlight filtering from overhead. It was watching the valley, unmoving. Several others dotted nearby, each staring off in different directions. Bill fought the urge to stare directly at them. His gaze turned slightly away, watching them through the side of his vision - the peripheral - rather than directly.

And they stood there, staring down into the valley, or off across the peaks. But the moment his gaze shifted too close, something would distract him ever-so-slightly, and they would vanish from the hillside.

The battle raged the better part of the evening, clearly moving this way and that through the range. No other incursions came their way - either their peak was lost in the chaos or it was deemed to dangerous to approach with the landslide - either way, they were safe for the moment.

Lightning snoozed peacefully. Goat chirruped and chirped whenever a new battle broke out.

Bill, meanwhile, sat on his cliffside perch, listening to the raging chaos around them.

“It’s like they don’ even care’f they’re found out.” He marveled.

Snarls rent the night.

He winced at a shredding sound somewhere in the forest below him.

“What on earth?” He muttered.

Then he saw a shadowy form staggering its way up the hill. It paused at the rockfall, then carefully crept its way down the new ravine the avalanche had formed. It paused momentarily at the sound of howling on a distant rise - one that was soon echoed back and forth across the valley. One side had apparently just won the battle and was regrouping… somewhere.

The form slid down the rockfall, then up the other side, deftly moving with speed and precision, though its movements were erratic, halting at times.

Bill wondered if it were injured or somethin’. Maybe it was fleeing the fight - trying to sneak behind enemy lines or something? He watched it crest the avalanche trail, move along another spur off rock, then vanish behind a few scrubby trees. It reappeared a bit further on, looping around the trail and making its way toward them.

The creature slipped into their little camp, sniffing out more of its kind. Its eyes fell to Bill, sitting against his rock wall, rifle leveled at the creature’s chest.

“I know you beasties are aware of we humans, an’ I’m pretty sure ya can speak the language. So, if ya like all yer organs where they situated, get t’ talkin or end up like yer friend over there.”

The beast’s eye passed to the drained corpse, then to Goat. A look of understanding passed over its features - a despair, a frustration, a look of anger.

The howling continued off in the distance, and the dogman before them winced. It growled, and then slowly raised its hands.

“I… surrender.”

“I got nothin’ to waste tying you up,” Bill muttered. “But know if you pull any shenanigans, that horse over there won’t hesitate to crush your sorry hide into powder and feed you to our resident goat-sucker. You understand?”

The dogman nodded.

“Now putcher arms down, the breeze is blowin’ from your direction and I’ve had enough of you things’ scents for a lifetime. I’m goin’ t’ sleep, and if you value your life, you’ll wake me if’n any of your kin start making the rounds.”

With the beast cowed, Bill lowered his rifle and drifted off into sleep, waking every now and again to check on his prisoner, once more to shoo Goat from trying to drink it.

When morning broke - altogether way to early on the mountain’s peak, the cascading shadows traced the valley below, hiding the carnage and bloodshed of the night before. It was serene, peaceful. And most surprisingly - quiet.

Bill’s eyes opened slowly, his gaze passing over the spot where the beastman had been.

Figures, the things escaped in the night. 

He stood, stretching. “Oh, well. Saves me the trouble of deciding what to do with it.”

“I’m a ‘she,’ I’ll have you know.”

He spun, pistol drawn, hand hovering over the action. “What in tarnation…”

A female … something … stood before him. She stood in an obvious huff, her arms folded protectively across her obviously-female chest, her hips - slightly wider than a man’s - seemed cocked in a way Bill remembered a librarian using when he’d chosen to use an old book as toilet paper. Her snout - a little less elongated and harsh - bared at him - a sort-of sneer. And the tail behind her was bristled.

She was upset - understandably.

“So, taking me to the circus or the zoo? I see you’ve collected quite the menagerie for yourself.”

Bill’s eyes gazed across Lightning, where he still lounged, eyes slightly open, watching the proceedings with a mix of smug satisfaction and the slightest traces of envy in how his ears were turned. Goat was completely oblivious as it pattered its way around the newcomer, sniffing happily around her ankles. She spared a glance at the doglike creature. Bill could see her claw-like hand opening and closing slightly.

“Goat, don’t try to eat her.” He commanded, and the creature backed away, still eyeing her eagerly. “Are you injured?”

Goat sniffed at her ankle. She pulled slightly away, still maintaining her crossed-arm stance.

“Goat, stand down.”

The chupacabra backed away, still sniffing at her leg and thigh.

“Looks like he finds you tasty,” Bill commented. “Why team you playin’ for?”

She glared at him.

“This war - which side you on?” He repeated. “His?” He pointed to the corpse nearby.

She turned and would have blanched, had it been possible. Her fur bristled, and a momentary flicker shown in her eyes. Her ears flattened against her skull, and she rounded on him. “You dare! You –!” she lunged.

The pistol was in her face before he could so much as swipe, hammer clicked back.

“I spared ya cuz I find ya interestin’,” Bill commented coolly. “Let’s not get too comfortable with each other.” He brandished the weapon and pointed back to where she’d been standing, where an irritated chupacabra was now clicking and hissing.

She stepped back, claws raised, glaring.

“Now,” Bill began. “Let’s try this again. My name’s Bill. What’s yours.”

She half-muttered, half-growled something in her language.

“I missed that,” he replied. “Wanna try again in the King’s English.”

“Raven.”

“Ah, like the bird. Why not?” Bill laughed. “Now that introductions are done - the grumpy horse is Lightning, call him Widowmaker on account of how many he’s killed, and the dog-thing’s name is Goat, on account of its favorite food. Though, I might be calling it ‘Werewolf’ soon.”

Raven glowered. “I’m not a werewolf.”

“I know. They don’t exist. Don’t know what else t’ call ya, on account that ‘dogman’ implies yer male which, if I may be so bold as to point out, missy - you ain’t.”

She seemed to feel the need to cover slightly, if only because he had observed her, but she seemed to be fighting the urge. Her claws clenched, and she eyed Goat, who had returned and was currently sniffing at her leg again.

“So what are ya then.”

She rumbled out a word in her growled speech.

Bill nodded, pretending he understood. “So, I’ll just keep callin’ ya dogmen then, since calling you a wolfman would mean ya’s a werewolf, and we know they don’t exist. Though I’d imagine if they did, a bullet to the face’d solve that.” He drew his pistol. “Now, le’s try this again. Whatcha doin’ in these mountains.”

“We’re hunting.”

“Yes,” Bill replied. “That much is obvious. Hunting what, an’ why?”

Her hands slowly began to drop.

“Ah!” he cautioned, “Don’t try nothin’.”

Her look of disdain seemed to waver slightly.

Goat sniffed at her calf again.

“Goat, I toldja, back off!”

Raven dropped to a kneed, her hands still held in the air.

“Oh,” Bill muttered in sudden realization as she collapsed.

Bill stepped up, pistol still held at the ready. She groaned, trying to hold herself upright. He stepped up to her side.

“Try anything, and I’ll unchamber this round through your pretty little skull.”

She gave no resistance.

“All right. Let’s see.”

He knelt at her side and pushed aside a bush of tail. She glared at him.

“You want help or nah? I can leave ya here on the top to die. Don’ really care either way. Gonna glare or threaten me an’ I’ll do it. Might even just putcha down for good measure.” He waited for her to turn away. “A’ight… let’s see.”

He turned the leg and finally saw it - a deep laceration that ran down the back of her leg - from about mid thigh down to her calf. Ragged flesh hung from the edges, like she’d been caught by a series of claws, one catching deeper than the rest - which given the war raging out there seemed entirely expected. The fur clumped in bloody heaps on the edges.

“Well, little miss, this is gonna hurt.”

He reached into his supplies and pulled out his last flask of moonshine, gave a silent nod to Uncle Sam in thanks for repealing Prohibition a few years earlier, and poured it across her injury.

She immediately tensed in pain, claws racking at the stones, teeth bared.

“Calm yerself, girl.” He warned. “It only get’s better from here.” He handed her the bottle. “Better drink this. Dunno if it’ll help with someone of your constitution, but can’ hurt.”

She turned her nose at it.

“Yer loss. I’ll leave it here for now. Gonna have t’ stitch this us.”

He began, drawing out the hair and grime from the wound, watching Raven wince at each poke and prod. “Yer blood aint gonna turn me into some sorta hairy beast, ‘s it?”

“That’s not how this works,” she growled through the pain. “We can’t pass this on.”

He nodded. “Gotcha.” He drew out his razor and began to shave away the loose fur around the ragged edge of the wound. “Ya c’n drink that moonshine at any time. Got some whiskey in a jar if you’d prefer that. It takes the pain away.” She refused again. “All right, yer funeral.”

“Small fire, sterilized needle, a suture made of catgut.” He said, talking himself through the steps. “Wound clean, start here and poke through the flesh.”

She winced as the needle entered the raw flesh, teeth baring again as she bit back any response to his ministrations. The needle passed through and reappeared on the other side. He continued this pattern, working his way down her leg. “Never was good at linin’ up the edges, gonna have a bit o’ puckered scar here, but better than yer people woulda done it.” He narrated, half to keep his mind on the task and half to inform.

She growled something.

“Lost a good bit o’ blood here, much to Goat’s excitement I’m sure.” Yer people’ll no doubt be able t’ find ya soon.

“Don’t travel at day.” She managed.

“Figures, on account o’ being werewolf and all.”

“We’re not werewolves!” she protested.

“And… done!”

He drew out a long strip of cloth and a few pads.

“Ain’t the most sterile I own - but ain’t the worst.” He applied the pads to the wound and used a long linen bandage to wrap the leg, knotting off the edge the best he could. “Lost most of my good supplies when one of you dogmen took out my saddle and died for his trouble. Stuff I found was pretty much this. Yer lucky I didn’t lose my alcohol or I woulda declare war on ya’ll.”

She growled.

He reached out and took the moonshine, gave himself a swig, then slid it back into his bag of supplies. He then rifled through and found a bit of jerky. “Here. Eat this.”

“I’m not some dog to be handed treats.”

“‘Course not,” he replied. “You’re worse - yah haven’t even earned the treat. But I won’t hold it against ya. Take the food an’ recover your strength.”

Raven grudgingly plucked the jerky from the ground.

“Ya should be more appreciative.”

“If you hadn’t come to this place, none of this would have happened.”

“So I’ve been told.” He replied. He used water from the canteen to wash the blood from his fingers. He handed her a can. “Here, dunno if ya eat fish. They’re sardines.”

She wolfed them down, for lack of a better term. He examined her leg. “Yer gonna want to stay off that for a few days.”

“Just gonna leave me up here?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll take ya back to your people. Then yer gonna tell me why I’m being accused of all this.”

“My people lost.” She growled, her eyes flaring.

“Sad,” he replied without the slightest tinge of pity, and stood. He gazed out at the ocean. “I dunno who you are or why you’re fighting, an’ honestly, I don’t give a fart in the wind’s worth of gas about it. I do care why yer huntin’ me when I’m jus’ tryin’ to mind my own business.”

“We held these lands for decades until you came along.”

“I don’t know what whatcher talkin’ abou.”

“Marcellus drove the feral into prisons nearly a century ago and we lived peacefully ever since. Then you came and freed them.”

“But I didn’t.” Bill replied. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

“And then you came back. Why? To finish us off? We protected this place. What did you have against us?”

Bill shrugged. “I can see this conversation is goin’ places. Lightnin’, you good to have her ride on yer back for a while.”

The horse whinnied and wandered over.

“You know how to ride a horse?” he asked.

“Yes.” He spat, glaring.

“Di’n’t know what dogmen were capable of,” he replied, “‘pologies for askin’. Goat, stop licking at the dirt and let’s go.”

Goat looked up, quills thrumming. His eyes glanced up at Raven, then toward the ground.

Lightning stood, waiting for Raven to climb up onto his back.

Something shifted in Bill’s peripheral vision. He froze.

A Watcher. It was hard to see through the cloak - but the dark-robed figure seemed to be staring straight at them. He continued working, trying to fight the urge to stare straight at the entity. He crouched, picking up his bags as he tried to keep the edge of his vision trained on the strange entity.

Raven cursed - or at least in whatever guttural tongue she used it should have been a curse - and lay flat against the Lightning’s broad back.

“What?” Bill asked.

“The eyes are upon us.” She hissed.

He turned, his gaze fully training on the Watcher. He knew something would distract him at any moment, and the moment he turned his gaze away, this thing would use the opportunity to vanish.

He forced his eyes open and forced his senses to ignore anything else.

“Over there!” Came a cry behind him. His head tensed, as if wanting to move on its own - to look in that direction. But he locked his gaze on the Watcher.

Just like the other times, a long, dark cloak hung from its narrow shoulders, dangling to below its feet. Its arms seemed crossed in front of it, folds concealing any sort of skin. To him, it could be a wire frame holding up an empty cloak. It was motionless and any square inch of skin was completely concealed beneath the robe and the hat. But something about it chilled his gut. It was staring straight at them, as it had been since he first noticed.

He felt a quiver inside him - indigestion, nerves, anxiety. These were foreign feelings, yet why now?

Raven groaned. “Look away! Make it leave!”

“What are you?” Bill cried out.

Something clattered beside him.

“I ain’t fallin’ for yer tricks,” he challenged.

“Behind you!” came Raven’s voice, desperate and clearer than she’d ever spoken. This seemed urgent. He turned, only to see she was still hiding her face, plastered down on Lightning’s back.

“Blasted…” Bill turned and the being was gone. He smiled. “You’ve got some good tricks there, wizard.”

Raven slowly raised her head, looking up at the hillside, then snarled. “Are you mad!”

“I am quite angry,” Bill responded. “Thanks fer askin’.”

“The Watchers  guard this valley.”

“Ah,” Bill replied, “I thought you said that was your job.”

She glared. “We must leave.”

Bill shook his head. “We don’ have to do anything. Tell me what I wanna know an’ we’ll move on.”

“They watch the valleys and peaks.”

“Hence ‘Dark Watchers.’ Yep, makes sense.”

“You don’t fear them because you don’t know them.”

“Cloaked figures staring at you until ya look away. Don’t seem too scary. Startlin’ at first glance. They seem more scared o’ us than we are o’ them.”

“We only move at night - only strike in the valleys - so they can’t track us.”

“So yer afraid.”

“Any smart person would be afraid.”

Bill shrugged. “Guess I’ve never been credibly accused o’ that.” He stared out across the rocky hilltop. “Let’s move down to that ridge there, then we can make our way back into the valley. I want you to tell me everythin’ you know.”

The trail was a rocky slog. Lightning barely made it through, especially with the new landslide having taken out part of the switchback.

Raven winced at the path, the bob of the horse, the general discomfort of fresh wounds and stitches. Also didn’t seem like she’d spent much time on a horse, though her ability to stay upright was impressive enough, despite everything.

“Yah should be honored,” Bill said. “Lightning doesn’t typically let anyone but me ride ‘im. Once kicked my wife across a continent fer trying to get on. Her bustle mighta had something to do with it, too.” He observed, suddenly lost in thought.

“The Dark Watchers are the wardens of the hills.”

“So ya said,” Bill muttered. He took a drag of his flask. “Wanna explain what that means?”

“They’re keeping things contained here.”

“That weird twirling feeling in the gut?”

She nodded.

“Interestin’.” Bill observed. “Some sort of mind control?”

She didn’t reply.

After cresting another few peaks, Bill groaned and plopped down on a boulder. He stared out across the ocean.

“All right everyone, time fer a break.”

Goat curled up in a ball and began to snooze. Lightning shifted enough for Raven to climb down off her perch on his back, then settled in beside Goat. Bill offered a hand to help Raven. She ignored it, limping over to a nearby stump. Gingerly, she settled down on it with a wince.

“You have no idea what you did here, do you?” She asked, sniffing at the air. “You have no smell of deception.”

“Well, little miss, I got all sorts a smells, but lyin’ aint one I typically indulge in.”

“You released the Feral.”

“I sense there’s more t’ that word than I typically mean. What d’ya mean, ‘Feral’?”

“They’re the unbound - the ones who use their abilities uncontrolled.”

“Ya see, little miss, ya keep usin’ normal words with a strong implication I know yer secret meanin’s. So tell it t’ me plain. Wha’s happening in this valley.”

“A war.”

“That, I know.”

She stretched her wounded leg. “There’s been a silent war between the Feral and the Bounded for a generation.”

“Okay, an’ what are those?”

“I am a Bounded.”

Bill nodded. “Okay, an’ what’s that mean?”

“Our curse it controlled. We don’t indulge in the baser aspects.”

“Okay.” He felt like he was saying that a lot lately, as if confusion and ignorance were ruling, and the only thing that could come out of his mouth was an “I hear you but I have no idea what you’re saying,” only that took too long to say, so… “okay.”

Bill rubbed his forehead and ran a hand through his shaggy locks.

“Ah know how this is gonna sound,” he began. “But I have no idea what yer talkin’ about. Why don’tcha start at the beginning.”

“My people have lived in this land as long as we can remember.”

“I don’t need a lesson in evolution, miss.”

She glared at him.

“What? Sounded like ye were gonna start tellin’ me how ye evolved from mutant dogs’re something.”

“I know why most of my kind want to kill you.”

He shrugged. “They have a pretty hard time of it, according to my experience.”

Whinny.

“Yes, Lightning, you’ve been of great help keeping my hide on my body.”

Raven continued, flexing the toes of her hurt leg. She winced.

“Ye’ve got t’ change that dressin’. Let me.” He moved to her torn calf and began to check the wound. “Ye can continue that story, just hop a little farther in the timeline. I don’ really care ‘bout yer origins.”

“The Feral are a band that chose to break our agreements.”

“With who?”

“That’s too far back for you to care,” she spat. “So we were obligated to imprison them.”

“Imprison?”

She nodded. “We bound them in chains elemental.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“They were. Those with the taint of the Feral were bound forever with chains. Some with fire, some with wind, some with water, some with air. We dotted the landscape with their prisons.”

Bill nodded. “An’ apparently they escaped.”

“They were freed.”

He leaned back. “Lemme guess, this is where I enter the picture.”

She nodded.

He removed the old bandages and examined the discharge. “Ya’ve got a bit of an infection threatenin’.” He soaked a rag in moonshine and pressed it against the wound. “Best I got. So, tell me what and when I did what I don’t know I did.”

She blinked momentarily, taken aback. He could see her processing what he’d just said.

He translated. “How do ya know it was me? And when did I do it? Oh, and include what I did in that explanation, please. Pretend I’m a moron.”

She stared for a long moment.

“I said, ‘pretend.’”

She didn’t seem to have words, as if genuinely stumped by him.

“Okay, I’ll help ya out,” he said. “Where are these prisons - bunch in these hills or just one?”

“Only one left in these hills. The others have been destroyed.”

“Good. See, yer comin’ round. Now, what happens when these ‘unseen chains’ are let go.”

“Then the doors open, and whatever’s inside gets to go free.”

“And in this situation, that’d be…”

“The Feral.”

“And I’m gettin’ that you don’t just mean a wild animal - Feral describes…”

“My kind who give themselves over and are uncontrollable.”

“Ah, okay. Good. We’re makin’ progress. So these Feral have gotten loose and are rampagin’ - as a pack or something?”

She nodded.

“Good dog-like behavior.” His hand idly settled on Goat’s head, scritching at a loose scale-like piece of skin. The chupacabra’s eyes blinked slightly as it rested its head on his lap. “Now, how do I come into this picture?”

“I still can’t believe you don’t know.”

“An’ I can’t believe you don’t believe me when I say I don’t know.”

“You removed the bolt and opened the door.”

“But I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“Didn’t.”

She winced as the new bandage wrapped around her thigh. Bill continued gently binding it down her knee to her calf. “But you did,” she insisted. “Your scent was all over that chamber.”

“Well, miss, my scent’s been everywhere from Ohio to the Mojave. That ain’t the biggest news.” He replied.

“You entered that room. You removed the bolt. You freed the Feral from their prison.”

“Well, I insist I didn’t. I’ve only been in these hills once, and I didn’t enter any prison, or any big cavern complex for that matter.”

Raven shrugged. “All I know is what I know.”

“Ain’t that all any of us know,” Bill retorted. “So, if yer not one of those Feral, what’re you?”

“The Pact.”

“Creative.” He replied with a smirk. “So what’s that?”

“We’ve bound ourselves with an oath to contain each other’s power.”

He laughed. “Looks like they went too far with you, missy. Now, that other one. He was fast! If Lightnin’ hadn’t showed up when ‘e did…”

Her fur bristled, and a low growl rumbled in her chest.

Bill released her leg and stood, his hand resting on his hip. “We gonna have a problem?”

“Ask yourself,” she spat.

“I don’t abide things that threaten my existence. Sure would be a shame to waste all the effort I took patchin’ up yer leg just to shoot yer brains in. So, ya best be watchin’ that dog tongue of yers. We clear?”

“As the sky…” she replied.

A moment passed between them. Her glare trained on his face, his smug confidence mirrored in the way his hand sat on the grip of his pistol.

Something whinnied nearby.

“Fine,” he sighed, slightly deflating, “who was that beast I killed.”

“He was one of the Nightbound, one of our best warriors. We’d sent him to that hill to scout out the movements of the Feral.”

“Bad idea with that call and answer thing you got goin’.”

We hadn’t seen any Feral for days. We hadn’t even engaged them.”

“So, an ambush?”

She nodded. “Appears so. Our scouts reported to the peaks, daring the eyes to see them, and began to howl out, hoping we’d be able to draw out the Feral and learn of their dens.”

“Any luck?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Because of me?”

“Partly,” she responded. “Our center den got ransacked - I alone escaped and fled toward the only place I could think would be safe - your hill. I thought he was still there, holding off the Feral. If anyone could have, it was him. But you’d gotten to him first.”

She fell silent. She flexed her toes, the claws scratching at the ground as she stretched the injury.

“Ya wanna be careful movin’ too much,” he warned. “Ya might rip those stitches.”

Her claws dug into the wood, cracking chunks of bark free. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why have you brought this destruction on us? Why did you come back here? What did we do to you?”

“Lady,” Bill began, “I still have no idea whatcher talking about. I didn’t release any Feral. I didn’t open any prison doors. This… ain’t… on… me.”

She sniffed.

“What? Gotcher emotions up?”

“No,” she growled. “Something’s coming.”

“A Watcher?”

“No. One of my kind.”

“Well, of all the dumb times.” He drew his pistol. “Where?”

She seemed to ignore the question. She slid off the stump, gingerly placing her bad paw on the ground as she limped to Lightning. He looked up as she clambered on his back. Goat sprung up and began pacing.

“What d’ya smell?”

“We need to go - now!” She growled. She held out a hand. “You won’t be able to outrun this pack.”

Bill took her hand and vaulted up on the horse behind her. “Yah best be holdin’ on t’ whatever ye can. Lightnin’ lives up to his name.”

A howl rent the air.

“Thought they were night hunters?”

“We’re in the shadows of the trees. The eyes can’t see us here. We need to get to open ground.”

Lightning whinnied.

“Go, boy! Do yer thing!”

And Lightning shot off down the trail like… lightning, Goat in tow. The howls were all around them now, yips and snarls the denser undergrowth that spanned this section of the forest. Gray branches reached out like corpse-hands, trying to snag them and pull them off their steed’s back.

Bill yelped as a branch nearly took him in the face when Raven ducked. He cursed. “Warn me next time!”

“Do you know how to ride a horse or not?” She spat back.

He dodged to the side as a branch swept over head, then nearly got launched off the horse’s back as Lightning vaulted over a fallen log.

Howls followed them, heavy scrabbling and crashing through the brush on both sides as several large beasts bore down on them. Bill tried to get a gauge of just how many were pursuing, but given the echoing howls ranging all around, it was nearly impossible to just distance and direction, much less numbers.

By the panicked breaths racking Raven’s slender form, he could only imagine the danger they faced.

Lightning slid around the corner of the trail, nearly launching them free. Bill’s legs clenched tightly around the horse’s flanks, and he reached out, grasping Raven by an arm before she could be thrown free. She cried out in pain as her leg began to slide up against the ribs of the horse. Goat let out a little yip, barrelling into a small opening in the trees and vanishing from sight with a crash.

Lightning gained purchase and trotted his way up a steep embankment, the two riders leaning low over his neck as he gained elevation. Then they were out in the open, galloping as fast as possible across a sparsely wooded plain. 

Bill could feel the eyes of the Watcher - somewhere on a ridge no doubt - gazing down on them.

The howls fell back into the tree cover. Raven dropped down, covering her neck and head. He held one arm around her to keep her on Lightning’s back, one hand on a drawn pistol, waiting for something - anything - to appear from the trees.

The yips and barks continued along the forest’s edge.

“Lightning - that way!” Bill cried, and the horse bolted off across the open ground, leaving that particular clump of forest as far behind as possible. Bill holstered his pistol and wrapped both arms around Raven’s midsection. “Stay down!” He did he best to cover her with his body, sparing a glance here and there to find the Dark Watcher he knew was looking down on them.

There. On that ridge. He stared at it long enough to feel that anxious nervousness in his gut, then avoided his gaze. It was gone. Another, on that ridge over there. Same.

Things were out in force today!

He rode across the grassy expanse, dodging over the loose brambles and dead brush, weaving around trees, but mostly letting Lightning steer the way. The horse’s senses were good, and his self-preservation instinct was second-to-none.

The howls echoed across the valley.

Bill patted Lightning, and those reared to a stop. Bill leapt free, catching Raven before she toppled from her spot. Goat popped into being nearby, seemingly stepping in from another reality. With all the other weird things the beast could do, Bill wasn’t surprised at all that it could enter and exit the fairy realm at will now.

Bill lowered Raven to the ground, and he helped her limp her way over to the shade of a tree.

“They’re gone.”

“They’re not,” she replied. “They’re just over in those trees.”

A broad forest sat just on the other side of this stretch of grassland. Bill looked, and saw several silhouettes moving through the shadows.

His gaze rose - another Dark Watcher on the ridge. It winked out of existence.

“What are those watchers?” he asked.

“Prison guards.” She groaned, pulling herself deeper into the brush. “The Pact failed to protect the prisons, so we are now trapped here as well.”

“You can’t leave at all?”

“Not as long as they can see us.”

“Is there no way around it?”

“No,” she replied. “Any time we move into the open, they will see and prevent us from leaving. Their gaze can stop any of us.”

Bill tore his gaze from the forest and scanned the hillside. No Watchers - at least yet.

“So Watchers in the day and Feral at night.”

Raven nodded, easing to a sitting position, wincing as she did. “We’re hemmed in on all sides.”

“And you say this is all my doing?”

She nodded. “Yes. We were probably always prisoners here… we just never wanted to leave and never saw the need to. Then the Feral broke free and it was fight or flight, and flight wasn’t an option. We’ve already lost so many, and the Nightbound keep falling or dying.”

Bill puzzled at that way of saying it.

“Can we blind them Watchers?”

“No. We call them the eyes, but I don’t know if they have any.”

Lightning let out a whinny.

Bill looked across to the horizon. The sun was beginning to set. “Of course.” They’d have about an hour or so before the distant range would lay out night across this valley. “How far are we from your den?”

“A good ways…” She replied.

Bill gazed across the peaks. No Watchers. No feeling of being watched. No silhouettes or anything amiss. He gazed around. There had to be a way out. There was always a way out if you looked hard enough.

“Well, hate to break up the rest,” He said, watching the sun easing its way toward the distant peaks. “But, we gotta get goin’. Now, preferably.”

The shadows were looming from the forest, and he could imagine that they’d be here at any moment, and those beasts in the forest would begin charging out unhindered. Some were brave enough at the moment to stand in the shadows of the trees, claws brandished, ready to charge through the expanse.

A diffuse mat of light spread through the area.

“Le’s get movin’,” he warned. “As in, now.” He hoisted Raven ont Lightning’s back, strode around the tree - there were fields of rocks, but no Goat. “‘ey, where’d ya go?”

Nothing. 

The chupacabra was gone.

“Well, tha’s a neat trick.”

He hoisted himself up onto Lightning’s back, secured himself best he could, and wrapped an arm around Raven. “H’yah, Lightning!”

And the horse bolted.

Across miles of land, both scrub and plain, forest and ridge, they rode, the sun slowly setting behind them. The wavering disk hovered at the distant peaks, the shadow of the mountain oozing out across the valley. Soon, the glowing orb would vanish behind the mountain, and night would fall in force - along with it, the Feral.

“They can’t control their instincts,” Raven gasped as the jolting of the horse sent flashes of pain through her. “The fear of the eyes, the brightness of the sun, the lust for blood - nothing is kept from them. It brings them immense power, but immense imprisonment.”

Bill listened, trying to gauge how long it would be before the forest erupted. Already, shadows moved along beside them, yips and howls.

“None o’ your people survived last night?”

“Not that I know,” she replied.

A long, low growl rumbled, then, as one, a burst of yipping howls greeted whatever that first one was.

And the forest erupted.

Bill paused long enough on Lightning’s back to see a line of dark shadows, nearly twenty long, flood from the canopy. At its rear, standing on two legs, was a wolf-like man nearly twice the size of the others. He lumbered forward, his white fur shining in the twilight.

Raven peered back and he felt a shiver run down her body.

“Run! Run!” Panic rolled off her body, the fear and agony mixing in a heady concoction of pure pheromone.

The shadows rolled across the grass, moving effortlessly along the ground, shoving branches and brambles aside like they weren’t even there. Rocks became footstools, launching up and over them became an ease, and nothing seemed to stand in the way of the line of beasts.

“The river!” cried Raven.

“What about it?”

“There’s a waterway up here, flows from the higher peaks.”

“Wouldn’t call it a river.”

“We do. It forms a border of our land.”

“Tha’s great. What’s that got t’ do with them?” He cried.

“Can’t bring themselves…” she gasped, breathing short and ragged now “... to cross rivers.”

“Don’t wanna know why. Where’s this ‘river’?”

“Just up the way. We can make it.”

One enterprising Feral launched himself forward, only to be rewarded with a swift kick to the jaw by Lightning before he could land a blow. His head snapped back, and he spiraled back into another. A second lunged before Lightning could send him flying. Sharp claws dug into the horse’s hindquarters, another grappling at the bags.

“Dang it!” cried Bill, reaching for the supplies. They ripped free from their jury-rigged spot and dropped to the field as the dogman fell free.

Bill clamped his legs tightly around the horse and drew a pistol. He waited for the third to lunge before planting a round in the beast’s forehead.

“Right between the eyes!” he shouted as the beast went limp, striking the earth and sliding several feet as another and another joined the fray.

Then a large brown dogman appeared in front of them. Lightning reared in surprise, toppling both of them to the ground. He spun, his feet launching to the beastman’s face, but the large wolf grasped his outstretched leg almost casually before sending it flying.

“Lightning!”

The horse shot along the ground and lay still, a cloud of dirt slowly settling around him.

Raven tried to rise, but her leg collapsed from under her. Abject fear cut across her canine features as she scrabbled to pull herself away.

Bill rose to his feet, pistol at the ready.

He popped a shell instinctively and loaded a round. Six shots. Over twenty dogmen. Tough odds. He’d faced worse. Lightning lay still over on the edge of his vision. Okay, amend that. This was worse.

The large brown dogman loomed over the scene, the others, barely kept at bay, formed a line of barking, yowling beastmen. The Feral.

But something was different about this large one - similar to the white one he’d seen at the other end of the plain - the one commanding the line of Feral.

“Vermillion,” Raven gasped. “Not you, too.”

The brown beastman regarded Raven for a moment, then smiled. “Ah, so you survived.”

“No… no, no, no, no, no…” she cried.

Bill looked from her to the large dogman looming over them. A broad smile split his snout, toothy jaws shining white in the dimming light. “Ah, Raven. I thought you’d bled out by now.”

“That was you?” she gasped. “But why?”

“Marcellus led us wrong. He contented us to lurk in the shadows when we could hunt in the day. He knew we could control these appetites, did it himself, but he never let us try. ‘Dance too close to the fire and you’ll be burned.’ He said. I say ‘wield the torch.’”

The white dogman appeared at the other side. “Draugsins… good for you to finally catch up. I caught your prey for you.”

The wolf man stepped into the circle of Feral, his white snout decked with deep, long-healed scars. One eye socket was empty, and the strange marks and cuts seemed to give his face a permanent rictus grin. “Good,” he growled. “Now, let’s eat.”

“In due time, my friend.” Vermillion rumbled.

“Don’t talk to me about me about ‘due time.’ After what was done to mine, every moment for the last century is ‘due time.’ Let’s bring this war to an end and burn this mountain and those damnable eyes down with it.”

“Counterpoint.”

The two wolves looked down at the man in their presence.

“I shoot ya in the face an’ leave this mountain to whoever wants it.” 

The report of a pistol rang out twice in rapid succession.

Draugsins’s face twitched as a bullet ripped through the edge of his scalp, leaving a raw, bleeding channel. Red spilled down across his pale fur. He growled and ducked his head, clawed hand seizing the blazing scar now inked along his scalp.

Vermillion lay on his back, blood pooling from a direct shot to the middle of his skull. Before Bill could round for a second shot on the white one, Draugsin shot forward, grasping the man by the throat and batting away his pistol with ease.

“You made your last mistake.” Claws closed around Bill’s throat.

A cry at his legs, then Draugsin staggered slightly, his grip loosening enough for Bill to whip his skinning knife from his belt and bury it in the dogman’s outstretched arm. Another fountain splashed up as Bill twisted the blade and wrenched it free.

Draugsin’s claw twitched open, letting Bill have enough room to writhe free and drop to the ground.

“Little pup,” the white wolf growled, kicking at Raven’s gut. She barely dodged, but was close enough for his clawed foot to catch her in the hip and send her spiraling into a nearby bramble. With a crash, she vanished.

Bill raised his knife, setting a hand slightly to the side of his throat. It was covered in blood. Great…

“You’re quick.” He congratulated. “I’m surprised you could dodge the bullet from that close.”

“Years of imprisonment gives you a certain… perspective on those who mean you harm and those too scared to do it. Vermillion didn’t get a chance to learn not to… underestimate his opponent. Pity, he would have made a powerful ally.”

Draugsin’s snout sniffed. “I recognize you, human. And while I’m indebted to you for freeing us, I cannot allow a dangerous weapon to roam free.”

Bill stepped back, dagger raised, poised for a strike. He sized up the large dogman. Blood still pooled down his injured arm, and the gash across his scalp was dumping blood toward his good eye. The other dogmen hung back, respecting the unspoken command of their Alpha.

They circled slightly. Bill could feel the sting of sweat dripping across his neck. He could see a slight twitch of irritation as blood dripped into Draugsin’s eye. A momentary blink. Bill ducked and dove toward the wounded arm, slashing his blade up the length of the beast’s forearm before he could recover. He dove out of the way as the monster roared, sweeping around into his blindspot with his good arm.

Bill bounded into the beast’s blindspot, trying to stay near the creature’s blind eye and scarred snout’s vantage.

“Another thing you learn being blinded…” the beast man growled, pausing momentarily in his pivot.

Bill rushed in, dagger at the ready.

A large claw closed over his outstretched, dagger-wielding hand and wrenched him upward, holding the man about muzzle height by his trapped hands.

“... is to compensate for weakness with other senses. You smell, human.” His teeth bared as he moved to dig his fangs into Bill’s exposed chest.

Bill swung his feet up, pressing his boots against Draugsin’s fangs and running up his snout before planting a well-timed kick on the sensitive nose at the end of the dogman’s scarred face.

The beast yelped and dropped him.

Bill plucked the dagger from the ground, rubbing his wrists. “I’ve learned a few things in my time as well.”

 The white wolf dove forward, claws outstretched. Bill vaulted backwards, landing awkwardly among the loose rocks, but far enough that the large dogman had to scrabble forward to get to him. Blood trailed down the beast’s face, and it was clear something was happening. He was moving swifter, gaining traction and a rage he hadn’t possessed.

Claws raking forward, the creature lunged for Bill.

He pulled at his feel, losing footing among the stones, and went down on his kiester. He rolled as claws split through the ground where he had been. Another raked out, catching him across the back. He yowled as he felt the skin tear free and a rage of fire rent through his flesh.

His breath halted, but then adrenaline took over.

He dove forward into the rocks, heedless of the danger as Draugsin rounded and leapt over the remaining rocks, fury driving him forward and down like a wolf leaping onto a mouse.

“This mouse has claws.”

Bill whipped his dagger at the plummeting beast, using a bit of wind to thrust it forward a little faster. The blade sped free, burying itself to the hilt in the monster’s chest. The dogman yowled this time and tore the blade free, sending it spinning across the field. A goat of blood sprayed.

Bill stumbled back onto some grass.

A shadow fell across Draugsin’s back as Raven appeared from the branches of a nearby tree. She dropped onto the white beast, her own claws digging thick lines across his flesh. He roared and plucked her off his back, sending her sailing. Her thin body whipped through the air.

“No use hiding the secrets anymore,” Bill muttered, and he fired a burst of air at his feet, launching himself into the air, angling himself to match her trajectory. He sailed up alongside her, using carefully-timed blasts to cyclone his way back to the ground, landing a little more heavily than he’d intended. His ankle cried out in pain, and he went down to one knee.

The line of dogmen watched, obediently heeled by their master’s earlier command.

Bill lowered Raven to the ground. Large gouges bled across her shoulder and sternum from Draugsin’s claws. She teetered on the edge of consciousness.

“This ain’t a fight ah can win.” He observed to whoever could hear. “An’ my trump is blown.”

Lightning lay several yards to his right, Raven at his feet. His pistol was lost somewhere in the stones, his knife the same. His supplies were scattered beyond the pack of dogmen. He was beginning to bleed out. He could fight and die, that was true… or he could run.

He scowled at Draugsin. “Ya put me in an unenviable position, beast, one I won’t fergive ya for.”

The beast turned to where he sat, well outside the range he should have been able to jump. Confusion racked the dogman’s features, at least the parts not coated in a layer of gore. The beastman howled.

Bill bent and plucked Raven’s form from the ground and draped her over his shoulder. “Well, look like we need to get a move on, lady.” He vaulted himself up into the air, landing as gracefully as he could near Lightning. He tapped the horse on the head. “Need to get up now. We gotta get a move on.”

The horse slowly rose. Large scars ran down his flank.

He set Raven onto the back of the horse. “Go! Head toward water - whatever you can sense!”

The horse took off, heading almost straight west - toward the sunset.

“Well, aint that a stunner,” he muttered. They’d been riding feverishly in exactly the wrong direction.

Howls rang as the white wolf turned his full attention to Bill once more, and the pack began raging toward him.

Bill stood in the middle of a rocky outcropping, plains of grass stretching out around him, small shrubby trees popping up here and there. He waited as the pack neared, watching as Lightning and Raven vanished toward the west. Then he shot himself off toward the east, drawing away the pack toward him. He ran and hopped his way across the plains, just barely keeping ahead of the Ferals. The white-furred monstrosity stalked after him, slowly.

“‘Parently ye’ve calmed down, eh? Not so headstrong.”

The wolf stalked after him, seeing him clearly as the greater threat.

“As it should be.”

Bill rushed up a rocky spar. From here, he could just barely see in the gloom the hide of his horse, Raven still atop him, galloping off toward the West - toward water.

“Hope ya ain’t heading toward the ocean, ol’ boy.”

He pulled himself further up the rocky protrusion and waited as the horde of dogmen closed around him. Several roared and barked a ways below him, some started scaling the rocky crag. Others began crawling their way up the more even slope that led to him.

He didn’t have much left in him. His fingers absently traced the small stone hanging against his forearm. He could probably get one good blast - perhaps two. 

He stood on the hill, his heart pounding. His wrists hurt, his ribs ached, his head spun. Adrenaline had done its work and taken its toll. He was going to absolutely hate getting up in the morning - if he got up in the morning.

That would depend a lot on how things went right now.

The creatures were closing on him, the white was a bit farther behind. He couldn’t risk him turning and pursuing - Lightning was good but he wasn’t that good, and Raven was dead weight. Bill was deadweight at this point, too. If they couldn’t get beyond that distant river - wherever it was - they’d be dead… just not dead in the water.

A howl rang out. Bill froze. Draugsin had sent out his command. Bill was hemmed in. It was the white wolf’s turn. The large dogman shoved his way, barking and growling, up the slope. His bleeding head twitched slightly, and his injured arm hung a little lower than the good one. Bill smiled.

“Still feelin’ it?” He asked.

The wolf snarled. “Your end, man.”

Bill backed his way up the small cliff. It hung over the plains about fifteen, maybe twenty feet. A steep ledge fell off on one side. The dogmen had gathered there to make sure he didn’t try to climb down. Several had started to climb, but Draugsin had barked them off. They now ringed the base of the stone as Draugsin himself strode up with all the arrogance and bluster of a champion coming to claim his prize.

Blood still drenched his face as he strode through the crowd.

Bill felt the wind whistling around him, saw the speck of what he thought was Lightning still vanishing off into the distance. Too close.

A howl cut the night.

The white wolf was about to attack.

“I’m not a dog with no teeth,” muttered Bill. He couldn’t run, not yet. He had no weapons, he had no supplies, but he wasn’t a dog with no fight. “And I’ve learned to never corner a wounded animal in its den.”

“What’re you sayin’ to yourself human? Muttering your last prayers.”

“I might be sayin’ em for you.”

“Heh, like a cursed soul can have any hope of rest.”

“Well, then there ain’t no point in lettin’ ya linger,” Bill replied, drawing a stick out from behind his back.

The dogman paused, his eyes flicking to the stick, puzzled. He sniffed the air, uncertain. He bared his teeth and growled. “I’m not falling for it.”

Bill used the slightest burst of wind to send a piece of wood straight into a nearby dogman’s eye, knowing Draugsin would have been expecting something. He’d be too alert. The piece of wood split easily into the dogman, passing clean through the eyeball and burying itself in the beast’s brain, where it sent him into a convulsing fit of spasms.

The white wolf paused, gazing back.

“Lucky shot. Cheap trick.”

Another burst of wood, another fallen dogman. Bill brandished the stick. “You’re next.”

“Go ahead and try.”

Was that a wink of trepidation? Bill couldn’t tell. Something of a hesitation shuddered through the wolf as he glared at Bill.

“Your tricks end here, human.”

“My tricks end when ah say they end, dog.”

The beast howled and charged.

Bill took a step back and then rushed the white wolf. A burst of air shot straight up, catching him in the chest. Bill cycloned the air, drawing a low pressure system just outside the beast’s snout, ripping the air violently out of his lungs.

Blood sprayed as Draugsin choked. His eyes burned as he rounded, wiping the bloody froth from his maw. He choked and tried to get his breath. Bill bounded around, taking advantage. Now, he stood between Draugsin and the pack of dogmen. A dangerous state, no doubt, but it gave him at least a little room to maneuver.

The wolf growled and stalked toward Bill, his movements both erratically violent and subtly cautious.

“Havin’ all the wind ripped outta ya’s pretty painful, eh? Heard tell it’s like all the little gooey bits in yer lungs all exploding at the same time. I imagine,” he said in a mocking tone, “yah’s probably feeling a buncha fluid filling up - kinda feels like yer drowning, eh?”

As if on cue, Draugsin coughed, and a fresh trickle of foamy blood ran down the side of his lip. “I’ll enjoy ripping out your lungs while your still alive.”

“Ah, see,” Bill commented, “years’ve smokin have jus’ absolutely destroyed ‘em - and I done smoked pretty much everything there is t’ smoke. My lung wouldn’t feel a thing.”

The dogman growled and swiped a Bill, but missed.

“Oh yah, see… when the lungs go, ya become light-headed - at least we humans - an’ ya start t’ lose consciousness.” Bill mocked again, dancing just out of reach of the dogmen below.

The white wolf scowled. “And you know what I’ve learned?” He choked.

Bill shook his head. “No. What?”

“I have minions who can rip off your arms and legs so you can’t move - then I’ll eat what’s left.”

Bill cursed on the inside but laughed outwardly. “Fine. Let’s continue this dance.”

A howl broke the stillness, and immediately the dogmen lunged. Bill dodged the first with but a scratch, but a second pinned him down a third latching onto his legs and whipping him beneath the grip of the second. He was tossed bodily from the ledge, and he dropped down onto the ground. Something cracked in his side. He was still alive, and as long as he could use their frenzy and anger against them… maybe, just maybe.

Another howl. This one off in the forest.

More were on their way.

He either had to flee or gather as many as he could. He had to distract long enough for Lightning and Raven to cross the river. Hopefully they’d be safe long enough for the members of her pack to find them.

He felt his reserves… he had just enough for one good blast. That was it. He’d used too much drawing out the attack. But he had to. He had to.

A dogman lunged at him. He used a small burst to launch the dog straight up into another that was climbing down. They collided and toppled in a heap - stunned. He used another to launch one back and then repeated the wood-chip trick to spear yet another through the snout. It didn’t kill, but it knocked it free of the fight for long enough for him to dive through that heap and stand with his back to the field.

There was no running, but at least he could see all his foes at once.

They were rounding the embankment, some climbing down. Others were already in the field and slowly trying to encircle him. He held his hands up, warning them that any that got too close would be in for a world of hurt. Truthfully, he just didn’t have much more in him at all.

Draugsin rose above them on the ledge, bloody face bathed in darkness, his white fur yellowed and matted.

“His… torso… with head attached. Now…”

Bill plucked a handful of gravel from the ground and began counting out the grains as he backed up. He could lead them just a little farther to the east - away from the fleeing horse. He could occupy their attention for just a bit more.

Then a snarl rang out and the first brave dogman lunged.

At just this moment, with a curse, Bill lost his footing, falling back. A handful of dirt left his hand, flying toward his face. With a mental “screw it all!” he thrust up with what little wind he had left, and the small shards of rock took on bullet-like velocity, rocketing upward through the neck and chest of the first dogman.

The sky turned red as droplets of blood sailed high into the air, propelled by the pebbles like balls from a shotgun.

The dog dropped dead onto him.

He felt his leg crack awkwardly, felt the bleeding corpse smothering him, and his head struck rock. A flash of light burst across his vision, and everything went black.

Bill woke a short while later to the smell of blood and fur. His gaze was completely blocked by a damp corpse - damp with dew, damp with blood, damp with sweat. He didn’t dare cough, for there were other sounds - sniffs and growls. Something was looking for something - probably him.

A howl - something right over head

Light broke through the corpse covering him, and two large forms stared down.

Bill saw his vision clear, then wished it hadn’t. Two large dogment bodily hauled him up to his feet. “This the one?” One growled.

“Yah.”

Confused, Bill looked around. Several dogmen lay dead - a few he had killed, a few that seemingly fought to the death before being strategically slaughtered with careful blows to the throat.

“He the one causing trouble on our lines?”

Nod.

Bill looked from one to another, then saw a pack of nearly forty dogment waiting just nearby. A large, black beast of one stood out - head and shoulders above the others. He strode forward, matching the gait and movements of Draugsin.

“You the human causing trouble.”

“I suppose you would say that.” Bill replied.

Something tickled in the back of his mind. Watchers.

Let them watch.

“Marcellus will want to see this one.” Said one.

“And deal with him for good.” Growled another.

“Are there more Feral? And was that a Liminales?”

“No. Just their Alpha.”

“He’s huge.”

“Centuries imprisoned, gorging on the energies of the prison will do that to you.”

Bill felt his consciousness winking in and out.

“Where did the feral go?”

“Marcellus drove them off - did you hear all that howling?”

“That was Marcellus?”

“Him, Raven…”

“Raven’s alive?”

“She came in riding on the back of an angry horse.”

“Unreal… I thought her dead.”

“Did you hear?”

“What else?”

“Vermillion…”

“They found him?”

“He was killed by the human.”

“He’ll pay. I’ll kill him myself if Marcellus doesn’t…”

“Did you hear about that dog that got loose in the council chamber?”

“That wasn’t a dog.”

“It vanished before anyone could find it - I think the guards are losing their minds again.”

“There have been stranger things around lately.”

“Did you hear about the attempt on the prison?”

“Yeah, another human, got away.”

“We’ll find him… always do.”

Everything else faded. Bill’s arms were dead in their sockets as his nearly-unconscious body was dragged along.

When it was all done, he awoke tied in a corner of a dark cell. Something large loomed outside - jet black against the dimness of the cavern wall.

“Are you the breaker of chains.”

“Bin’ called lotta things,” he replied. “Dunno.”

The beast slid open the door and stepped inside. He nearly grazed the roof of the cavern. He knelt nearly double, then crouched further, so his face was even with Bill’s. A small chain hung from his broad neck, and his fingers were decked with rings of all things. “You freed the Feral from their den and killed some of my best warriors when they tried to avenge themselves.” The beast’s breath was hot, with the tinge of blood. “And they cry out for your skin.”

Bill felt himself being bodily dragged from the cell and off up the tunnel toward some sort of viewing chamber. Reddish dirt lined the entire floor, save for a small circle of rocks in the center.

“The Unscarred has arrived.”

The dark beast tossed Bill into the middle of the room. “Who will come to this human’s defense?” He cried.

Silence.

“He stands accused of the worst crimes. Who will mete out punishment to him?”

A dark form stepped down. Nearly half the size of the large beast that had dragged Bill here, she strode forward with purpose, a slight hitch to her otherwise determined step.

“Raven,” he whispered.

She winked playfully at him, then turned. “What shall we do with this betrayer?”

Roars - howls demanding death - other obscenities tore through the chamber. She raised her hands, clearly relishing in the spectacle.

“And we have yet one more to find - the one who stood bravely against the white wolf and saved my life on more than one occasion.”

Mutters of agreement.

Raven strode over to the Unscarred. The large wolf stood, his dog-like snout in a grin of satisfaction. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, daughter.”

“I have found the one who slew Vermillion,” she cried.

Boos and hisses.

“Yes his last words were those condemning Marcellus, saying we should seize the fire and use it for our own ends.”

Rumbles.

“Unbound?”

She held up a hand. “He had betrayed the Pact. He had unbound himself from our fellowship. He nearly got us delivered into Feral hands.”

A rumble - some seemingly in agreement with Vermillion’s take, other aghast that he would so readily betray them.

Raven held up a hand. “And one man slew Vermillion and fought off the Feral long enough to allow me to escape to safety.”

“But I’ve also found the one who slew Onyx.”

Rumbles of protest.

“... after being threatened by him. It appears he had stumbled into the middle of a conflict where both sides were trying to kill him.”

Silence, then another roar of protest.

Raven continued, working over the crowd, until finally, the Unscarred stepped forward.

“I’m afraid what my dear daughter is trying to protest is simple.” He gazed down at her. “Misguided. She believes we can forgive this human for freeing our ancient enemy and destroying our advantage on the ridge - killing one of our best warriors. And we should forgive all because he patched up her wound.” He turned to Bill. “Don’t think reports haven’t reached me of how often you threatened my daughter’s life. And a simple act of mercy at the end doesn’t negate the fact that it was you who led her into that trouble in the first place.”

Bill felt himself inwardly shrugging. He was utterly powerless at this moment - elemental power exhausted, weapons lost, bones broken, skin damaged. He gazed around the room. If he could find anything to wield as a weapon, he’d go down in such a manner as songs wouldn’t do it justice.

But Raven seemed so calm? Had she already betrayed him to her people? Would she sell him out?

The dogman female strode toward him. “This human has ignorantly committed such atrocities as any of us would be justified in tearing out his throat.” She traced a clawed finger along his neck, the claw raking against the rough, leather-like skin.

“But where would that justice be? He had the option of slaying me and fleeing, yet he, at great personal risk, chose to linger and to save me when it would have been all the wiser to run.”

Some dissent, other nods of agreement.

Raven turned to her father.

“This man has caused no shortage of distress for us, and we all should call for his blood.”

“And be no better than the Feral,” Raven retorted.

Bill slipped slightly toward the ring of stones, hoping to figure a way to steal one if possible.

The arguments raged back and forth until it was clear the Unscarred was growing tired of the debate. He folded his arms, as if condescending to his child’s wishes, letting her get in her final arguments. Then he turned toward the human. “My daughter has spoken wonders about you, but I am unconvinced.” He turned to the audience. “And you, my people. What condemnation shall we carry out?”

An overwhelming roar of death rumbled.

Bill shrugged and found himself absently rummaging with his fingers. Perhaps just enough draw on elements to blow a stone up to his hand.

No luck.

The Unscarred stalked over, claws at the ready.

Raven stepped between them, whispering so that only the three of them could hear. “Then let me take his life.”

The Unscarred paused. “Why? You have been the most determined to free him.”

“I’ll do it as gently as I can.”

“He deserves pain.”

Raven frowned. “I have traveled with him the most, I deserve the right of first blood. Besides, as you say, ‘Justice should be face to face.’ And if I can’t go through with it, then where can he run?”

“Fine,” growled the Unscarred. “Tooth or claw?”

“Tooth.” She replied.

“The floor is yours to bloody,” replied the large wolf, slowly stepping back with an inviting bow toward the human.

Bill’s boot lightly pressed at the stone. Nothing. No looseness. He casually tried another. Same.

Raven strolled, almost calmly, toward him. She paused before him, her arms folded, her snout curled up in an approximation of a sneer.

“I should have shot you when I first laid eyes on you.”

A glint shimmered in her eyes. “I’m saving you from a lot of pain,” she whispered. “At much personal risk, I must add.”

“Then I guess this is a debt paid then for saving your life?”

“Maybe,” she replied. She stood before him, sizing him up. “I haven’t really paused to ‘look’ at you since we began our little adventure, and I don’t think you have quite ‘seen’ me.”

He pursed his brows. What was she implying? He was about to ask when she closed on him. She pressed herself against him, turned his head and bared her fangs. 

“Where did Goat go, I wonder,” she whispered, then sank her teeth into his shoulder.

He screamed and shoved at her, pushing her away and stepping the only direction he could - into the circle, tripping over one of the rocks as he did. It fell free, skittering into the dirt just ahead of his foot, which slipped on the rock and sent him crashing to the ground. Pain blossomed in his ankle, his back, his shoulder.

He clapped a hand over the spot. It wasn’t deep - he’d pulled away before she could get good purchase - and moved to run. She stepped into the circle with him and clenched her fist over his arm.

“No running, brave man,” she said in a tone he couldn’t quite interpret. “No more fleeing. You’ll stay here and accept your fate.”

He shoved off her hand and seized the disturbed rock from the dirt, raising it up.

The Unscarred moved, but Raven held up a hand. “He won’t.”

“You bet I won’t!”

She swept toward him, moving with a grace and speed that he’d never seen. In a flash, she was in front of him, her snarling breath inches from his face. He balked for a moment at the animal ferocity in her features, then brought the rock down with all his strength which, while prodigious, wasn’t quite what he’d have hoped with the shoulder injury being what it was.

She quickly blocked the strike with one hand, twisted his wrist to get him to loosen his grip, and clamped his wrist in her vice-like claw.

She used one foot to loop the rock, dropping it in her free hand. She held up the stone.

“This interloper sought to destroy our sacred circle and use its very building against us! Not only did he defile our sanctuary with the filth of the Feral, he seeks to disturb the very connection we have to the other realms.” She turned to him. “Where’d Goat go?”

He shook his head, the pain in his shoulder and wrist, the exhaustion from so much fighting and running - none of it made sense.

She held the stone in her hand for a second.

“I shall restore the circle to what it was and then he shall be executed here, in our most sacred of places. The gateway long closed shall be blessed with his blood.”

She turned and, with meticulous skill, dropped the rock exactly where it had been.

And everything vanished.

1937, Fairy Realm

Bill stood in an empty chamber, surrounded by a sort of stadium row of seats, only they appeared far more ancient, far more weathered. A tight pressure on his wrist.

Raven!

“What… what?”

She seemed surprised.

He wrenched his arm away and staggered back, falling through the circle and landing in the dirt. She took a step forward and held up a hand. She couldn’t pass through the circle herself.

“So… this is how it feels?” She mused aloud.

“What did you do?” he asked.

She smiled. “Give me your hand, let me out of here, and I’ll tell you everything.”

He shook his head, holding up his blood-stained hand. “You were gonna kill me!”

“No, I wasn’t.” She replied. “I had to put on the show.”

“Wow, some good acting there. Nearly broke my wrist.”

She clenched her fist. “I guess I don’t know my own strength. I ask you again,” she said, “where did Goat go?”

He remembered the chupacabra losing its footing in the woods and vanishing, only to reappear behind the tree where they had been attacked.

“A fairy circle?”

She smiled.

“You planned this from the get-go? You shoved me into the circle?”

She shrugged. “I figured it was worth the risk, and when you tripped over the rock, I knew it had to work or I’d have to kill you to keep up the act. So, I chose to try.”

“So ya woulda killed me?”

“Oh ya, of course.” She replied with a laugh. “You taste delicious.”

He glared at her.

She wiped his blood from her teeth. “Actually, to be honest, you taste like old vinegar and moonshine, mixed with fermented… well, fermented something.”

He chuckled. “I like you,” and reached out his hand.

She grabbed it, and he pulled her through the barrier.

“One other downside.”

“Yeah? What?”

“My people are going to think you kidnapped me, so if they ever do escape this range, they’ll hunt you down and rip you apart.”

It was his turn to shrug. “I’ve dealt with worse,” he turned. “Speaking of which, where is Goat?”

“He’s been bounding in and out of the fairy realm looking for you,” she replied. “He appeared inside the audience chamber - that’s what made me realize what it was. He’s waiting just outside.”

“An’ Lightning?”

“He goes where he wants. I’m sure he’ll show up.”

“So, are you joining me for a while, or heading back?”

“And miss the opportunity to explore the world?” She asked, “I’m coming with you, of course.”

“Gonna have to write Sue about this. She won’ believe it.”

“But what about the Watchers?”

Bill laughed. “I have a friend who might know. Maybe we c’n find ‘im, see if he’s got any ideas. If yer people could get over their hate a me, then maybe they’d be a force fer good in this world.”