Chapter Eight
“You’re quiet.” Peter observed, riding close behind Steve.
They were taking the path through the woods, where the many branches allowed them shade and protection from the mercenaries. They were planning to meet some more of shield - strength in numbers, after all.
When Steve didn’t say anything, Peter persisted. “Are you really angry with Lady Y/N?”
He was about to be annoyed, but there was something about the blatant curiosity in his tone, the innocence, that Steve only sighed.
“If you want the honest answer, I’m not.”
“You were a bit callous,” Peter admitted, sidling closer to him, “you called her selfish.”
Steve wasn’t really listening. All he could think about was your face - the hurt had been evident, written in your eyes, before it had turned to stone.
Perhaps you hated him now. But he couldn’t figure out why he cared.
**
You didn’t return to the castle, after they left. With Steve and Peter gone, there were fewer people left to tell you your place.
Fresh snow covered the winding path to Bruce’s cottage, and you gingerly picked your way through it, unsure whether ice lay beneath the white powder. Once you reached the front of his lodgings, you checked for damage, satisfied to find none but a broken window and a few overturned books and blankets. Leaving the cottage, you took the path to the left, staying close to the carefully repaired wall, and the ferns that hung low over your head.
The path was well-trodden, but you were still cautious, having learned to suspect danger at every turn. When the path opened out, the cold, open air shocked your lungs - standing for a moment, you let it fill you in and out. In the silence that smothered the castle, you could barely think. Out here, your thoughts wandered freely, roaming the countryside.
Steve’s words still burned in your ears. I would not think you to be so selfish.
He had called you selfish. He had said that you believed other people existed for your service. Perhaps he was right.
You had lived a sheltered life, and had never really wanted for anything, material-wise. Anything that Hope didn’t want, you could have. The dress and cloak you wore at that moment used to be hers.
And all of a sudden, Steve had appeared, shining with a humble kind of glory that only seemed to be present in him. You didn’t deserve his protection. Your parents had fought for it, and here you were, risking yourself only to feel at ease.
He was right. You were selfish.
But you were going to do something about it.
**
It was early evening when you returned to the castle. It was eerily still, the grounds free of any sign of life. You hummed softly to yourself as you entered the courtyard, feet crunching in the snow. The darkness felt heavy behind you, and you were eager to get inside to the warm. Just before you could step inside the inner courtyard, though, something moved behind you.
You stopped, frozen. Everything was cold all of a sudden - an icy chill spread through the air, reaching out to grip you by the shoulders -
You spun, hands flying to block your face. The creature, big and hulking, skulked towards you at a death-like pace. You were bare without your dagger as you would be in your nightgown on a winter's eve.
Slowly you moved back, knowing that if you ran, you could make it inside the castle, to safety. Turning, you ran forward -
Only to be confronted by another black mass. And suddenly they were everywhere.
Horrified, you whirled around, met with creatures at every turn standing in a circle around you. By the light of the moon and the flickering torches in the distance, you saw their hooded faces, bones calcified over their features.
Grotesque, they loomed, drawing hands spiked with sharp metal. There was nowhere for you to run. That was when the voices started. Your hands flew to your head, as they viciously ripped open your skull, only to whisper their dark promises into the deep chasm they found there.
Give yourself to us.
Tears stung your eyes as you gripped your head, trying to find an escape. They were everywhere, in every thought, every memory-
There is nowhere to hide. You cannot escape us. Sobbing, you cried into the thick blanket of darkness.
You could no longer see; only hear and feel them inching ever closer.
“Why?” You wailed, voice strangled. “Why me?”
One soul. It has to be you.
The words were tearing your head apart. You pulled at your hair, trying to hold onto something, anything, that would make this unbearable pain go away - A sudden, slashing sound of metal on metal -
There was a distinct wrenching sound, and the tension dissipated. One by one, they stopped talking.
When you finally opened your eyes, ears ringing, Lady Natasha was standing over you. The bodies lay motionless around you. Her red hair was loosened slightly from effort, and she was still panting, sword firmly gripped in her hand.
“It pays to be armed.” You remarked, your voice slightly hoarse.
“Certainly.”
She didn’t look at you, but far away into the distance, as if searching for something. Or someone. “They’ll come back, I’m sure.” She turned to you. “Steve and Peter, they’ve already gone, haven’t they?”
All you could do was nod.
In one fluid motion, she replaced her sword back in its sheath. Your head was still shooting with pain, but your bones hummed with a strange sort of energy. You wanted to lie down, to forget about it all, to let heady exhaustion take over your body. But there were still a lot of questions you had, and people you needed to check on. You looked at her, as she seemed frozen in her vigilance.
“Thank you.” Lady Natasha looked at you suddenly, her head turned. She didn’t reply, and for a good few minutes you had a sinking feeling she was going to scold you. For venturing out unarmed, for being weak and not fighting back, for being selfish - you deserved all the criticism she threw at you, you decided.
After a long, outward-drawn breath, she offered you her hand.
You took it, and let her pull you to your feet.
**
The crooked huts and spires rose against the darkening sky as Steve and Peter rode into the town. Faces smudged with age disappeared as the hooves of their horses clattered past, peeking in through rickety windows and doorways.
The market square was packed up, and the vendors had long since gone home. It was empty. Steve drew in a breath. Everywhere was eerily silent - no birds sang, nor swooped over their heads. The taverns were devoid of life, and there was no movement.
As they travelled through the quiet streets, the church clock chimed eight. There was a tense few seconds of stillness before the first scream.
Peter jumped in his saddle. His horse twitched restlessly, and he leaned down to stroke its neck gently.
There was another scream. Steve’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. It was not far away - they were careful as they moved towards the sound. Doors banged and a wind battered against their faces. The trees were not moving.
Peter motioned to his left, and as they turned the corner, they discovered the source of the noise. The blood-curdling sight of a woman, shielding her baby, as two dark creatures advanced towards her.
“Please!” She cried, hugging her child closer. Steve couldn’t bear it. He swung down from his horse, and with a swift maneuver of his sword, he killed the two creatures.
There was a horrible wrenching sound, and they disappeared into thin air.
The woman was still crying, pressed against the doorway of her house. She watched him with frightened eyes as he approached her. Steve held up his hands in peace.
Some of the worry went from the woman’s brow, but she still held her baby protectively close. “They just...appeared,” she sobbed, clearly distressed, “and I heard their voices in my head - they said they wanted a soul- they would kill me if I didn’t tell them where she was…”
Once again she burst into scared tears, and Steve’s brow creased.
“Where who was?” She shook her head, silently crying. Steve sighed, and turned to Peter.
“Peter, see to it that this dear lady is given something to ease the shock. I will go and see what I can find out.”
Peter frowned, stepping down from his horse. “But what-”
Another scream pierced the air. A rushing followed, a gathering of cloaks, footsteps - Steve drew his sword, motioning for the woman to get inside -
Far down the pitch dark street, there was movement. One by one they appeared, and there was a whispering inside his head.
It’s too late.