One-Armed Beasthunter, page 9
The Beast recovered quickly, wrenching its head to the side and dragging Fer closer. His braced heels left furrows in the earth as he slid forward, slowly inching within range of those deadly claws. Feathers mantled as the monster tried to shake itself free. The sound of them clattering together reminded Fer of a rattlesnake’s warning, promising violence.
With a thin, metallic hiss, the Beast launched a wave of feathers at Fer, and he had to retract his [Whip Tongue] to duck into a flat dive. The feather blades skimmed over his back, close enough that Fer could feel the sharp wind of their passage across his shoulders before they thudded into the soil.
Grit and coarse leaves scraped against the side of his face as Ferren hit the dirt. He scrambled to his feet just in time to duck the second wave of feathers flung at him.
The Beast clacked its heavy beak at him, the dull hollow thunk of it echoing for leagues. Its beady black eyes fixed on him while huge claws dug into the dirt.
Fer realized it was going to charge only a heartbeat before it threw itself forward, beak opened wide, the razor edge glinting under the sun.
He held his ground, knees bent, weight forward. Time seemed to slow, the drop of sweat rolling down the side of his face turned to a crawl. He felt the chill of its path against heated skin. Grit from his fall stuck to his lips, salty and iron rich.
A thought and a flex of his fingers had his arm responding. Black nails stretched into the shining dark points of his [Slashing Claws].
At the last moment, when the Beast was almost on top of him, barreling forward in an avalanche of crushing maw and knife feathers. The dull hollow thunk of its beak snapping closed where his torso had been only a breath before echoed through his chest. Bronze feathers rattled along the creature’s outstretched throat as it reached.
Ferren swung his right arm forward, and dark claws sparked as they skipped over a heavy bronze beak before slipping between bristled feathers and sinking into the flesh of the Beast’s face. He felt the wet give and pop as his talons sank into an eye, and the Beast shrieked.
Ferren winced, jerking back, his arms half raised to shield his head, anything to block out that hellish whistling scream. Luckily, the creature was too busy whipping its head around in agony to take advantage of his lapse. It screamed, flinging its head back as heavy drops of blood shone like rubies on the ash brown dirt.
His ears throbbed with the creature’s screaming, until his head felt like a hollowed gourd. Something wet trickled from his nose, and a quick swipe with his forearm revealed a smear of dark blood.
Its massive beak parted again, either to shriek or attack Ferren didn’t care. His hand shot forward more on instinct than design, and he grabbed for the Beast’s throat. Blade-sharp feathers scraped over his knuckles, but he didn’t care if his skin was cut to ribbons so long as he reached his prize. Because under the brilliant bronze was flesh, warmer than blood and extremely fragile.
In a messy strike, Ferren gripped a handful of the meat at the side of the bird-creature’s throat, [Slashing Claws] biting deep, and yanked.
A glob of flesh hit the dirt, and the Beast went wild. It lashed out blindly, scarlet blood steaming as it poured over feathers to drip onto the dirt. Heavy claws raked the dirt as it snapped at the air like a maddened thing.
Ferren skipped backwards out of range, keeping a wary eye on the creature until it finally ran three steps and collapsed.
His chest still heaving like a blacksmith’s bellows, Fer stayed back and waited while hot blood pumped onto the ground. Finally, the creature’s heart stuttered to a stop and a heavy gush became a trickle. The wind blew sweat damp hair back off of his face, the breeze making bronze feathers chime together almost sweetly.
The teeth in Fer’s palm chattered together before retreating to reveal the mouth hidden there.
“Hush.” He lowered his right arm back to his side. “Just a moment.”
He got the odd impression of a sullen pout, but he shook it off. The threat was gone, and it wasn’t like the corpse was going anywhere. He needed to find the boy, and make sure he was alright.
Fer scanned their surroundings, but there weren’t a lot of good hiding places for a small boy to curl up. Just a few rocks, some ground-hugging bushes, and a small cluster of cacti. The area was deserted, save for a pair of opportunistic vultures circling overhead.
“Hello?” He tried anyway. The boy could be hurt, and the thought of someone leaving Bern out in the wilds at the mercy of the elements and the claws of Beasts made something in his chest clench up like a kick to the ribs.
No answer, but the cacti rustled.
Fer winced. It was a good defensive hiding spot, in a pinch. There weren’t many who would be willing to deal with the inch-long white spines that covered the cacti to root out anything hidden among them. It still wasn’t something Ferren would ever do, except at the risk of his life. Those spines could get everywhere.
He approached the little copse slowly, keeping his body angled so that his left side was a little bit forward. No need to scare the boy further. Fer winced. After that fight, the boy must be worried that Ferren himself was just another Beast.
He kept his voice low and as soothing as his sand-roughened voice allowed, like he did when Bern woke from a nightmare. “It’s alright. You can come out now.”
There was a faint scrabble, and the cacti twitched again, followed by a pained little yelp.
“…I don’t know that I can,” said a small voice from behind the thorny plants.
“Are you alright? Are you hurt at all? Other than the cactus spines, I mean.”
“No,” the boy said, his voice shaking like he was trying not to let it. “I’m not hurt. Just kind of… stuck.”
Fer nodded, though he was fairly sure the boy couldn’t see him. “Alright. Give me a moment, and I’ll get you out.”
Fer stepped back over to the Beast corpse lying in the sand. “Be quick,” he whispered to his hand. It ate bone and fur and scale easily enough. Hopefully metal feathers wouldn’t give it any trouble.
It might have just been the knowledge that someone else was present, however removed the boy might be, but the feeding seemed to drag on and on. Fer was extremely aware of every wet tearing sound, of the crunch of bronze feathers folding, of the pop of a joint dislocating. He stood, as turned away as he could be, while the sun blazed overhead. The vultures had been joined by some of their brethren, but they were in for a disappointment because if it followed the pattern, his arm wouldn’t leave as much as a scrap behind.
And sure enough, when the teeth finally clicked together again, hiding the mouth on his hand, there wasn’t anything left but some blood soaked into the sand.
The skin on Fer’s arm prickled, as though he’d laid on it for too long and the blood was only rushing back into his fingers. The sensation grew stronger, and the scales on his arm flaked and began to peel.
A little concerned, Fer scratched at the incredibly itchy white skin with the blunt nails of his left hand, trying not to damage anything. The skin slipped under his touch, and with a grimace, Fer peeled the entire mess back like a glove sewn out of a snake’s shed. The papery thin skin came off clean, and the mouth on his palm opened just wide enough to snatch the shed out of his hand with a long tongue, swallowing it down.
“Right,” Fer said, absently, as he examined his arm. “Waste not, want not, I guess.”
The dull purple-gray scales on his right arm had changed. They were thicker, and denser than the delicate snake-like scales they had been. To Ferren’s mind, they looked more like he would imagine dragon scales to look like, with a gleaming silver edge to each one. As he watched, the scales stiffened, rising up on their edges until Fer’s entire arm bristled up like a cluster of knives, ripping through the already abused fabric of his sleeve.
[New Form Acquired: Razor Scale]
Fer sighed. Ma wasn’t going to care for that.
To his relief, the scales relaxed and lay flat again, though they kept the new luster and toughness. Fer had an inkling that he could change them back with a thought, much as he could with his claws or the strange leathery tongue in his palm. If nothing else, he mused to himself, it would be a good way to deter something from trying to bite his arm off again.
Hastily kicking some sand over the bloodstains to do his best to hide them, Fer hurried back to the cactus cluster and its unwitting prisoner.
“Okay, I’m here,” he said when he got close enough. “Let me see what I can do.”
Fer paced around the bunch of cacti, trying to find a clear path for the boy to wiggle out through, but he’d done his job of getting in a little too well. Panic or the blood pumping through his body had driven him right through the spines without care, leaving no clear path to get back out again. Fer had to admire his determination, but it did leave them at a bit of a sticking point as to how to get him back out again without the poor boy ending up looking like a pin cushion.
Ferren chewed on his lip for a moment as he thought. Then, with a shrug and a glance at his newly scaled arm, he lashed out with his claws and tore through one of the plants in a wash of sticky sap and fluid.
The spines scratched against his arm, unable to pierce through the heavy silver-edged scales there, but it still took long minutes to hack and slash his way through the tough greenery until he could reach into the center of the cluster to find the scratched-up boy curled up like an armadillo there.
“Hi,” Fer said with a smile, shaking his tattered sleeve down to cover his right arm as much as possible. “I’m Ferren Tael. How about we get you out of there?”
The boy stared up at Fer with wide eyes as blue as the sky overhead. His little face was dirty, and anywhere there was exposed skin was all over scratches, but he hadn’t fallen completely apart. He swallowed before managing a tremulous little, “Is it gone?”
Fer resisted the urge to glance back over his shoulder, and nodded. “Yeah, it’s gone.”
The boy chewed on his lip, thinking it over, but finally nodded. “Okay.”
Fer reached in with his left hand and waited patiently for the boy to uncurl his arms from hugging his knees to his chest. Little fingers clutched his own, and Fer braced his feet so he could lift the boy straight up and over the remains of the cactus barrier before depositing him safely back on the ground.
He wished he’d thought to bring some water or supplies with him, but he hadn’t planned to be out there for long. He couldn’t even help the boy clean his scratches since the only thing he had close enough to a rag was part of his ruined sleeve, and that would just expose more of it to an already terrified child.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do to hide it, other than angle that shoulder back. The boy wasn’t stupid tough, and as soon as his feet touched down, he was already pointing. “What happened to your arm?”
Fer reluctantly brought his scaled arm out from behind his back and tried to think of an answer that didn’t involve limbs being ripped off or eating corpses. “Um…”
The boy’s face lit up. “Are you Powered?”
It was a lie, but it was a kind one, so Fer nodded after only a brief hesitation. “Yep. Yes, I am.”
All traces of fear melted in the face of the boy’s awe. “That’s so neat. Can I touch it?”
That seemed harmless enough, and if it helped the poor boy feel better, then why not? Fer shrugged. “Sure, go ahead.”
He did think very firmly at his arm to keep its sharp edges to itself as the boy hesitantly poked at dull purple scales before moving on to examine his onyx black nails with great interest.
When the boy moved on to tapping against the toothy scales on Fer’s palm, he cleared his throat.
“So, do you live around here?” He kept his voice quiet, his tone casual.
“Uh huh,” the boy said, not looking up from his observations. He pointed his arm vaguely to the south-east. “My family lives over there.”
Fer wracked his brain, trying to remember all of the farms in the area. It took him a little while to place where they were on the map in his head. “So that would be… the Cresin farm?”
The boy finally looked up and smiled, flashing a gap where he’d lost a tooth. “Yeah! I’m Sullian. Everyone calls me Sully.”
“Sully Cresin. Alright, then. How about we get you home? I bet someone is worried about you.”
Sully winced. “They’re going to be mad. I’m not supposed to leave the farm.”
“Maybe,” Fer conceded. “But I bet they’re going to be happier that you’re safe. And we need to get some of your scratches cleaned up. They look like they hurt.”
Sully looked down at the ground. “I guess,” he mumbled. But he took Fer’s hand and allowed himself to be tugged along.
It was only after a few steps that Sully’s head snapped up and he looked around wildly.
Ferren was instantly on alert, though he kept his right arm relaxed. “What is it? What do you see?”
Sully stared back in the direction they’d come from, his gaze flicking from the horizon to the churned-up sand where Fer had inexpertly tried to hide the evidence of carnage.
Sully tilted his chin just enough to peek up through a thatch of unruly blonde hair. “It’s really gone?” he asked in a small voice.
Ferren gave his hand a little squeeze, tugging him into movement again. “Promise.”
He waited until they were well away from the scene of the fight before he asked, “What were you doing out in the wilds, anyway?”
Sully ducked his head and scuffed his feet, kicking up little puffs of dirt. “You won’t believe me,” he mumbled.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Ferren hummed, keeping his eyes on the horizon just in case. He couldn’t risk an ambush with Sully there, and he definitely didn’t want to lead anything back to the boy’s family. “You might be surprised.”
He could almost see the boy’s thoughts rolling over his little face, as if he were having an argument with himself. He kept glancing over at Fer, and then away again, and finally Fer realized the boy was looking at his right arm, at the way the silver-tinged scales glinted in the sun with every step.
“My friend Tripp Warret is missing,” he finally blurted out. And then it was like a dam had burst, the words spilling over each other in their rush to get out. “Him and his whole family. And lots of other people, too. Everyone says that I’m wrong, that it was Beasts that got them, but it wasn’t and no one will believe me! Well, Aya does, but she doesn’t know what to do about it, and I just want my friend back!”
Sully’s voice rose to a wail by the end, and then trailed off with a little hiccup. He scrubbed at the tears cutting tracks through the dirt on his cheeks, and Fer’s heart broke a little for the boy who hadn’t cried even when chased by a nightmare determined to eat him.
“Okay,” he soothed, dropping down to one knee to put his head more level with Sully’s. “Okay, I believe you.”
Hope warred with disappointment, and Sully gave a wet sniff. “You do?”
Fer wished, not for the first time, that he’d thought to grab a handkerchief before he’d gone out the door. “I do. You say your friend is missing, and I believe you. How do you know it wasn’t a Beast attack? You must have a reason.”
He made sure to keep the question matter-of-fact, and not implying he thought Sully was wrong.
The boy eyed him, as if weighing the words in his mind. He snuffled again, wiping his nose with his sleeve and Fer fought not to grimace.
“His whole family was gone. All their animals, too.”
Fer waited, trying to think of a way to point out that Beasts weren’t very picky when it came to meat. They’d drag off an ox as readily as a person. But Sully surprised him.
“I know Beasts eat anything. But if it was Beasts looking for food that took them, then why was all the fodder and grain gone, too?”
Sully threw the words forward like an accusation, like he was waiting for Fer to ruffle his hair and tell him with gentle condescension that he’d understand it all one day.
But the words gave Fer pause. His eyes narrowed, considering. “Whoever it was took the animal feed?”
“Yes!” Sully latched onto Fer’s shirt with sudden desperation. “They took it, and Da says that they’d probably just run out, or the Beasts ate it too, but what if Tripp is out there and he’s in trouble and no one’s even looking for him?”
“Okay. Okay.” Fer squeezed the boy’s shoulder, trying to soothe him back down from the edge of panic. “I believe you, Sully. We’ll figure it out. You said Aya believes you, too? Who’s Aya?”
Sully inhaled with a thick, wet sound, blinking back the tears threatening to fall. “My sister. Ayana.”
The name was familiar. Fer had vague recollections from some celebration gathering or other of blonde hair in a braid and serious eyes.
“Let’s get you home, okay?” He straightened up, offering his hand again. “We’ll talk to your sister, and we’ll figure this out, okay?”
Sully looked up at him, hope painting his round face in brilliant shades. “Okay!”
Fer forced a smile and they set off at a pace that hopefully wouldn’t wear out before they could get him back where he belonged. He listened with one ear to the boy’s chatter, answering the questions that were thrown at him, but Fer’s thoughts were uneasy.
Beasts were monsters, no question about that, whether or not some of them could speak and reason. They could devastate a family in a single evening, as evidenced by what had gone on at the Kilian farm. They’d never found any trace of the family other than some blood stains. People, animals, meat was meat to a Beast.
But Beasts weren’t brigands. They hunted for food, not money, or items. And while they’d eat an ox or a horse, bones and all, they didn’t keep herds or stock larders. They ate what they killed, and went on their way. He’d never heard of one killing and not consuming it, or saving it for later. And having experienced a taste of their hunger himself, Fer was well aware of what their capacity of consumption was. Even after letting his hand devour the entire bird-like creature he was only just on the heavy side of full. An entire farm of people and animals wouldn’t strain a Beast’s appetite, so there’d be no reason to take fodder to keep animals alive for later.
