(8) Broken Vow
As he rode into the trees, Mycroft felt a shadow swoop over them. Looking back, he saw large cornsilk coloured wings folding up. They disappeared a moment later as Micah looked around at the bloodbath. Mycroft turned his eyes ahead to see the other three already far away in the distance. Staying among the trees, he watched Micah go inside before quickly making the horse walk back & forth over the hoof prints to cover the direction the others were going. He slowly moved around to the side to make more tracks in all directions down other trails. He wished he could do them all but there was little time & soon enough, Micah had reappeared in the doorway. Spreading his wings, Micah took off for the sky & headed towards one of the villages. Fortunately, he was going away from the three riders trotting through the forest. Mycroft watched the direction the flying monster had gone for a long time before turning his horse towards Sherrinford, Sherlock & Eurus. He galloped forward until he had the three of them in his sight again before slowing down to keep some distance between them.
Despite the red horse's constant attempt to catch up to the others, Mycroft held it back nearly half a mile. He knew Sherrinford, Sherlock & Eurus couldn't even stand the sight of him at the moment & after the vicious assault by Sherrinford that he had endured for almost half a day, Mycroft wasn't too keen on being near him, either. If it weren't for this healing power he had, Mycroft knew he would have died from the beating half way through. If one looked at him now, there would be little evidence of the attack for his body was whole once more. They would have to go to the hunting house to see what had happened. It looked like a war zone back there. Sherrinford had been relentless.
On top of it all, the two younger ones had simply stood aside & watched. That surprised Mycroft. He had expected them to intervene much sooner than the pitiful plea from Eurus that came much later. But they had not only let it happen but also watched the entire thing. Trust had been broken on both sides & it was unlikely to be repaired any time soon.
Apart from the sounds of six horses clomping through the snow & occasional whinnies, it was a rather silent ride to the snow-filled Waldheri valley. Mycroft rode alone, not expecting the other three to talk to him, but they weren't even talking to each other. All four of them had gone through too much in just over two days & the shock of it all was finally wearing everyone down.
Mycroft kept checking the sky but so far, it seemed that they were not being tracked. The ride towards the valley was mostly under the cover of forest. There were also six horses in the group as well which would help to throw off anyone looking for them at the moment.
By the time they crested the hill & looked down into the valley, it was evening & a few flakes started falling again. The horses eased down the slippery trail until they were able to trot out onto flat land. There was no avoiding it now. Mycroft had to catch up to them to get into the valley alongside them. He stayed behind them, keeping several horses between him & the others, but especially Sherrinford. Once the entire group had gathered on the level land, they simply stopped, as if unsure what to do next. Unable to look directly at Sherrinford, Mycroft kept his eye on the cat still clinging to his brother's shoulders. He wasn't about to let his brother beat him up again any time soon & was rather apprehensive of him now.
Sherrinford finally slipped off his horse, followed by Sherlock & Eurus. Mycroft remained mounted, planning to leave once the others were safe, if any of them could ever be safe again. Sherrinford sent the cat up into a tree before tying the lead rope of the horse he had been leading onto one of the tree branches. He was just finishing securing the horse when the door opened.
Johaiñe came out onto the front steps. "We've been expecting you," he began. "Come inside."
Mycroft backed his horse away. "I will continue on."
"No, you are to come in as well."
Mycroft wanted to protest but the way Johaiñe was glaring at him was somewhat familiar. There was a hint of red in the eye & Mycroft couldn't help but think of Micah's daughter he had destroyed. He realized suddenly that Johaiñe was an undead creature! He had no intention of leaving the others with the likes of that, so he got off his horse & followed everyone inside this strange home built right into the hills.
There was another man sitting in the corner of the dimly lit place. A fire burned in the hearth nearby. Sherrinford moved forward a little. "I'm not sure how to start," he tried. "Something ... someone ... we were told to come here, because—"
"I know very well what happened," the man said. "You four are to stay here until we figure out what to do with you."
"I do not advise having us here," Sherrinford said. "We are ... not ourselves."
"You've all become the vrykólakas now," the man said.
Sherrinford sighed heavily. "Yes."
"Your parents took charge over me," the man said. "It is time I returned the kindness of your house. I bare a curse as well, not the same as you have. May we watch over one another."
"I thank you," Sherrinford said. "If any more wrongdoings befell my house, I know not what I shall do."
"It is quite a mess," the man said as he got up & stepped into the light. It was Tobias.
"You!" Sherrinford gasped, stepping back a few paces as he saw the golden gleam of eyes. "What do you mean about our parents?"
"I was found & cared for after one of my lunar shifts," Tobias reminded him.
"Lunar ... shifts?" Sherrinford asked.
"Yes," Tobias nodded. "I'm a wolf. My whole pack are wolves."
"Packs," Sherlock muttered to himself under breath. So that explained the use of the word. But how on earth could Tobias be a wolf?
"Of course," Tobias went on. "my inner wolf only comes out once a month, every full moon." He looked at Sherlock. "It is the only time you will see the large wolves for it lasts but one night, the fullest part of the moon. Unless we are killed on that night. Then our bodies revert back to our human selves. As I said, you will NEVER get our pelts. Oh & by the way, that was my sister & her two children you were trying to kill." Lost for words, Sherlock stared at him, trying to process this new information. Wolves appeared as humans? Eurus was also staring at Tobias, unblinking, trying to imagine him in a dog form.
"I've heard of this," Sherrinford finally spoke. "When I used to go to the ports with my father." He paused for a moment, trying not to think of flames & blood. "Some people were afraid of being out on the night of a full moon. They claimed certain kinds of wolves came out to attack them. There are various names for them: wolfmen or werewolf. Lycans. It depended who you talked to, but anyone who mentioned these seemed to be afraid of them."
"We have no control of ourselves on that night," Tobias said. "If we meet a human, we will kill instinctively. It can't be helped. That's why we try to stay in the wilderness to avoid that. Not all werewolves try avoid villages on that night, unfortunately. It gives the rest of us a bad reputation."
"Are you saying that if I had met your sister that night, she would have killed me?" Sherlock asked.
"At the time, yes," Tobias said. "Now, none of us will care about you. We don't go after your kind. You are forever safe from wolf attacks."
"Wolf," Eurus repeated. "Like dogs. Same sort of thing. You're the reason our father was constantly having problems whenever you were around."
"Mm," Tobias laughed. "I might be. Or one from a pack."
Eurus looked away mouthing "unbelievable" under breath.
"What happens if you do bite one of us on that full moon night?" Sherrinford asked.
"Same as any other time," Tobias bared his slightly pointed teeth for a moment making the four of them step back. "You'll explode." Sherrinford stared at him as Tobias added. "Like you, I have venom in my own fangs at all times. It is one of two things that can destroy your kind. The opposite also is true. Your venom will infect us & eventually kill us. There is no cure either way. So by instinct, neither kind attempts to attack the other. That is why it is safe to be out with us during our lunar shifts. Your kind tend to us during those nights. Make sure we don't wander off. You are like shepherds to us. We have private places to go to when we shift between our two forms. Mine used to be that cave the three of you used to spy on my pack." He glared gold as Mycroft, Sherrinford & Sherlock all exchanged rather guilty looks. "I had to have it filled up & find another place. My inner wolf did not appreciate that!"
"That explains why you were hiding in the bushes that morning," Mycroft said.
"Yes, I was still searching for a new nest to shift in," Tobias replied somewhat coldly. "It took a few tries but my wolf is settled once more. I hope it remains that way." Unable to say anything, Mycroft looked away, only to end up locking eyes with Johaiñe.
The creature was still glaring red at them as he moved to stand near Tobias. "The four of you will have to stay here for the night," Johaiñe began. "Some people from the villages are looking for you. What happened in Wycoller upset a lot of people."
"Not as much as it upset us," Sherrinford snarled.
Johaiñe looked at him. "We know what happened to your parents."
"The villages aren't the only ones looking for us," Mycroft put in hurriedly in an attempt to move away from the topic of their parents. "I waited a bit as you three rode ahead." He ignored the small scoffs & the way the other three pointedly turned away from him as he spoke. "Míka showed up. He's the one who turned me."
"As I understand it," Johaiñe began. "You destroyed his family. How did you manage that? They are very old."
"The daughter was running for me," Mycroft explained. "I kept the sword hidden on the other side of the horse until she got close, then I let her run right into it. Her mother was upset about that, naturally. She was more concerned with the pile of ash than with me & I used her distress to my advantage. It all happened rather fast."
"Surprising them is one way to get at their hearts before they have time to react," Johaiñe said. "You were fortunate."
"Was I?" Mycroft snapped, baring fangs. "That sword I used apparently belonged to Míka. It did not work on him & he killed me."
"We have been after them for a while," said Johaiñe. "It is a shame the women were killed. It was not their fault. Our plan was to recapture Drákoulas as well as take Míka. He was trying to keep his family safe from Drákoulas but chose to follow Drákoulas & would often offer whole villages for blood in exchange for his family's safety. It was his hope that he could prevent the destruction of his family. Something you did, instead. Míka will not take kindly to that. You have made an eternal enemy."
"Why not just destroy them all?" Mycroft snapped. "It's no less than what they deserve!"
"Fine, you can start with yourself!" Sherrinford shot at him. "After what you just did to all of us!"
"I thought I was giving you protection!" Mycroft defended.
"I prefer a true death to the pain you put me through!" Sherlock snapped back. "Put all of us through!"
"Enough!" Johaiñe put up a hand to silence them. "Mistakes were made. We need to deal with them. You do not want to end up like Drákoulas, believe me."
"Who is he, anyway?" Mycroft asked.
"He is one who thrives on killing," Johaiñe said. "Even before he became what he is now. He loves the sport of the hunt. He has always been a killer."
"Before he became ... ?" Sherrinford echoed.
"We were all alive & human first," said Johaiñe. "This curse is an error in judgment that was made a long time ago. Things were messed with that ought not to have been touched. It is a similar story with the kind of mark Tobias & his kind bare."
"When did this curse start?" asked Sherrinford.
"Few know today," answered Johaiñe. "It began in ages past." He shrugged his shoulders a little, as if trying to shake something off. "It is getting late," he went on. "Someone has already tended to your horses." He went to the door & opened it as someone had started knocking. After a short exchange, he came back to the main room, carrying something.
There was a loud bark from Tobias. "Hey now! What is that thing doing in my house?"
"That thing is my cat!" Sherrinford glanced between the werewolf & his pet before taking the cat into his arms.
"Cat!" Tobias growled. "I'm a wolf, remember?"
"Sorry. I'm not a dog person," Sherrinford replied, walking away carrying the cat.
Tobias barked again as others laughed. "Your kind are almost as bad as cats," he said as Sherrinford settled into a chair. All five undead creatures looked at him. "Well, you are. You hiss & complain like cats. You all have attitudes, like cats. You even clean like cats. All the time."
"Oh really?" Johaiñe all but purred.
"Don't you DARE open your wings in my house!" Tobias growled under breath.
"What will you do to stop me?"
"I'll bite you," Tobias threatened. "You're too big. Get out if you're going to preen them, fool of a Tolk!" Johaiñe rolled his eyes as he started for the door.
"Tolk?" Sherlock asked.
"His father's name was Tolk," Tobias said. "I know that he exists just to tease me. That's why I call him a fool." Though Tobias would not live to see it, several millennia later, his words would be forever immortalized. Johaiñe smugly smiled at him before opening the door to go outside.
"I'll go with him," Sherrinford got up, putting the cat over one shoulder. Shooting a dark glare at Mycroft, he added, "I shall not stay under the same roof as you!"
"I'll leave," Mycroft sighed. "You three stay together."
"There is someone who wishes to speak with you," Johaiñe said through the open doorway. "You should come with me."
"I don't suppose I will ever see Elizabet again," Sherlock said, watching Mycroft move towards the door.
"We are unable to find her," Tobias said.
"That's the plan," Sherlock said. "She moved the children without telling anyone. Only I know where she went."
"Then you should go to her tomorrow," Tobias said.
"Why am I being allowed any where near her?" Sherlock asked. "I am a daimōn, now."
"Says you," Tobias replied. "It is upto you to decide how you should live your own life. We have no intention of separating family without cause. Do not behave like Drákoulas & we will have no reason to prevent you from returning to your home. Our concern right now, is guarding you all from villages & those like Drákoulas. Elizabet was wise to move in secret."
Sherlock glanced at Mycroft. "Yes, it was. Now you can't find them."
"If I do find them," Mycroft began. "I will not touch them."
"If you do find them," Sherlock glared. "You will not get the chance. I will make sure of that!"
Mycroft closed his eyes & turned away. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, knowing the three of them were glaring at him, before stepping outside into the night, lit up by the white of the snow & occasionally, the moon when the clouds drifted away from it. The door closed behind him & he wondered if he would ever speak to them again. He glanced to his right before hissing in surprise. Johaiñe was stretched out on a pile of dried grass stacked under an open shed, wings out & curled around himself. He was working on one of them as if he was preening. The wing colour matched the same shade as the mithril rope. Mycroft could only stare in surprise as the winged man slid down the pile to stand beside it, wings folded over to his side, as he stepped out into the snow towards Mycroft.
"Agápi wishes to see you," Johaiñe began as he pointed with both his finger & his wing on his right side down the length of the valley. "Head down the hill a bit. You'll come to a small wood. There is a house at the center of it. She's waiting for you."
Mycroft took a few steps away from this creature. Johaiñe seemed to lose interest in him & had gone back to minding his wings. Looking down to the shadowy snow, Mycroft could see a few dark spots forming as if the wings were leaking. He turned away & followed the path towards a small grove of snow-covered trees. He didn't have to ask, knowing exactly who the old man was talking about: the Lady of the Waldheri; or perhaps at the moment, the Lady of the small wood. Finally, he knew her name.
There was a large log cabin at the center of it. Mycroft slowly made his way towards the door, wondering what she was going to do with him now. He was constantly expecting someone to destroy him. It was an instinctive feeling of being wary of everyone now. At the same time, he somehow knew she wasn't the one who was going to do it. By the time he went up the steps to the door, she had opened it, as if she knew he was coming.
Mycroft looked her up & down before saying, "Johaiñe told me to come here."
"I asked him to send you," the Lady said. A moment went by before she added, "I thought perhaps you might want a drink." Mycroft stared at her, earning a soft laugh as Agápi added, "It does not have to be of the red river at the moment. You will need more of that soon enough." She stood aside to let him enter.
Mycroft slowly moved inside, cautiously glancing around. She went to the table & began pouring out two drinks that had a distinct scent of apples. He looked away, checking over the shelves. By scent, he knew there was some honey in the earthen pots on the higher shelves & blood was being held in some of the vases on the lower ones. He turned back to the table. "I have brought the others here," he said at last.
"That is good," the Lady pushed one stone mug over. "They will be safe here."
Mycroft looked into the mug filled with apple cider. "I do not think they will ever speak to me again." He raised the cup to his lips but didn't drink. "I thought ..." He sighed before downing the drink in one shot.
"You were trying to protect them," she said.
"I ended up making things worse." Mycroft put the mug back onto the table & rubbed his brow with one hand. When he raised his eyes again, he noticed that she had moved rather close to him.
"These things take time, Choráfi," she said.
"Why am I here?" Mycroft finally asked after a moment of silence went by.
"Why do you want to be here?" She asked as she moved past him.
He could feel her moving behind him. There were a few reasons he wanted to be here. Answers. The red drink soon. Something else. But he knew he had no right to ask anything of her now. He was rather amazed she wasn't afraid of him even though she knew what he had become.
She came back around to stand in front of him & for the tiniest of moments, all Mycroft could do was stare at her, standing naked in the firelight, letting him look her over. He had never seen a naked woman outside his family before & had thought over such a moment countless times & now suddenly, here it was. She was clearly thinking of that something else that he had been thinking about for a while but in an instant, that whole moment was wiped from his mind as his eyes snapped sideways to her rather long, dark slate grey wings.
Oh, help! She had wings! Nearly as dark as his. He looked into her eyes at last, glaring at her for a long moment before turning away & marching towards the door. But when he got there, he found he couldn't bring himself to open it. He glanced towards the covered window, his side-vision catching sight of the outer point of her right wing slightly flexing as she waited for him.
Mycroft turned to face her. Another long gaze passed between them before he went back to stand in front of her. "Agápi ..." he gasped in a low whisper before putting his hands on her face, pulling her in to kiss her at long last. What did it matter? They both had wings, both cursed. Who among the living would want him now, anyway? She was all he had left now.
He pulled away from her lips to move down to her breasts. Eventually, he ended up on his knees before her as she lay back against the wall, letting him lick at her for a few moments before he moved back up to kiss her mouth once more.
It took a few moments to get him undressed as their kiss deepened to a frantic passion before she dragged him down to the floor, ending up partially on top. Her wings flapped a little, scrapping the wall on one side & narrowly missing the fire blazing in the hearth on the far end. She rubbed her hands up his chest before placing them on the floor on either side of his head.
"Let them out," she whispered.
"What?"
Her wings twitched above her, adding strange jagged shadows that cast across the place in the firelight. "Trust me. Let them out." She pushed herself up & stepped away from him to clear the way for his wings.
Mycroft arched his back & cut his wings as quickly as possible. "Ohh!" He groaned from the pain. "Why?"
She took a stone vase off the shelf & placed it on the floor near his head before lying down on top of him. Her wings came down to rub against his own. "This is why," she whispered, dipping her fingers into the stone vase before touching them to his lips.
He felt a tremor through his body & along his wings as they rubbed against hers, blurring the line between pain & pleasure. He licked the blood off her fingertips as he slipped his hands between their bodies to grab her breasts. He felt himself slide into her.
Agápi sat over Mycroft's hips & dipped her fingers into the blood once more. She rubbed it over both her hands & then pulled her fingertips up his arms, leaving a line of blood smeared into the hairs until her hands found his still holding onto her breasts. She pressed his hands harder into her cleavage as she rocked against his thrusts.
Mycroft put his hands down to her hips to hold her in place as he pushed up into her. It was hard trying to stay with her when he was underneath & had his wings spread out on either side, still moving against hers. He hissed in desperation, exposing his fangs. Agápi took up the vase of blood in one hand & tipped it over between them onto his chest. She threw it aside before lying down on him, bathing herself in the blood.
After moving together to spread the red drink, they separated & began licking it off each other. She worked her way down his body, lapping up every bit along the way before taking him into her mouth for a few moments. Mycroft half-sat up, using his wing ridges for support as she deep-throated him before moving up again to kiss him. They lay down once more with her sitting on his hips to let him inside again.
She tipped her head back to hiss softly at the ceiling, fangs slightly showing, as she went over at last a moment before he did. They lay together in front of the fire for a while.
Mycroft toyed with a strand of Agápi's hair, coiling it around his finger, before suddenly asking, "How old are you?"
"That's rude," she said, but with a hint of a laugh. "I died when I was sixty-nine. That was about a thousand years ago."
"A thousand ...!" He whispered in shock, dropping the bit of hair he had been playing with.
"Yes, we are immortal, remember?"
Mycroft looked into the fire for a long moment. "So why were you out there destroying your own kind?"
"Not all of us are good," Agápi replied.
"That night we destroyed a nest of ... of them," Mycroft avoided including himself among the undead. "I heard dogs barking but couldn't see any. Was that the Waldheri?"
"Yes & a few others," Agápi said.
"Tobias told us what he was," Mycroft went on. "It wasn't a full moon that night, though."
Agápi laughed as she said, "Wolves bark all the time." She moved her face down to lick the left side of his breast bone, finding a few drops of blood there.
Mycroft rubbed his fingertips over his nose as he tried to think. In his side-vision, he could see the longest point of her right wing stretched out along the floor. Wings. Why did she have wings? A thousand years? The whole time he had known her, she had been one of the undead? The whole damn time? He slowly put a hand back onto her hair. "You say you died when you were sixty-nine?" He asked, staring one slate grey wing lying on the floor, half-covering his onyx black one on the same side.
"Yes, Johaiñe bit me."
"Johaiñe?"
"It was an accident," she said. "I had startled him & he bit me in defence. He is two thousand years old."
"He looks like an old man."
"He was eighty-one years old when he died."
"Eighty-one?"
"That's right," she said. "Drákoulas turned him."
"Two thousand years," Mycroft said. "Who is the oldest one around that you know?"
"Merlin."
"The witch doctor?" Mycroft gasped. "How ...?"
"How old? No one knows but he told me once that he is older than Drákoulas."
Mycroft's lips could barely form the feeling used to say 'older than Drákoulas'. He wondered just how old Merlin could be. When he found his voice again, he said, "So you have known each other for a very long time. That explains why you're all working together to bring Drákoulas down." His hand stroked down her hair to her shoulder & then outwards towards the leathery wing stretched out away from the fire.
"Do you like them?" She asked, twitching the wing he was petting.
"Like them?" Mycroft rhetorically asked. "You have wings. We both do. I never had wings until recently but for you, it has been a thousand years."
"You'll get used to them," said Agápi before she kissed him. She pulled her wings in at the same time. She looked down into his eyes until he put away his own wings.
"You say you died when you were sixty-nine," Mycroft began. "Johaiñe is even older when it happened. It is unusual to live so long."
"It depends on the era," said Agápi with a slight shrug. "Lately, it seems the mortals are dying younger & younger. But such things matter not to ones like us." She put a hand through his hair before standing up.
Mycroft watched her get dressed. "So what does matter to us?"
"Most of us just want to be left alone," Agápi said. "We try to contain those who are threats to the mortal world, but apart from that, we live similar lives. We have friends, some of us are lucky to have family. I actually had a daughter but she disappeared long before I was turned. I had bitten the man I thought I would stay with forever, but the loss of our daughter & the fact we could not have any more children eventually drove him away. I've seen him a few times but I do not consider myself attached to him any more."
"You never found out what happened to her?" Mycroft asked, standing up to get dressed himself.
"No," Agápi sighed. "I do not believe she became immortal. I used to hope that she did & I would see her again, but that never happened."
"What's left of my own family probably wish I would disappear," said Mycroft. Agápi merely looked at him as he added, "I do not know what to do, now."
"You should come with me tomorrow to see Merlin," said Agápi. "Those of us in that village have been trying to come up with some form of council for our kind. Perhaps you would like to join us?"
"I'll go," Mycroft agreed. "It will get me away from the others."
"Maybe or maybe not," said Agápi. "They are welcome to join as well."
Mycroft glared indignantly at her. He wanted to get away from Sherlock & Eurus, but especially Sherrinford. Nevertheless, he stayed the night with her. The next morning, both of them headed up the hill to find horses. Mycroft stopped in his tracks as he saw Sherlock already riding down the path on his mare. Mycroft tried to look Sherlock in the eyes but Sherlock didn't allow him as he rode past.
"He shouldn't be left alone," said Mycroft.
"He isn't," said Agápi as she pointed at someone else riding out after Sherlock. "Someone of the Waldheri will follow him & keep an eye on him."
Mycroft watched the mare Sherlock was riding pick up the pace & disappear into the forest, with the other horse following from a distance.
Sherlock turned his face away as he past Mycroft, no longer able to even look at him. He kicked his mare into a faster gait to get out of the valley & away from Mycroft. It was nearly midday by the time he arrived in the hillfort town where Elizabet was with the children. He pulled his mare to a stop as his eyes took in the sight.
Piles of greyed snow lay everywhere, having been pushed aside to make room for a strangely long rectangular fire pit. Along the sides of many houses were long boxes of various heights. Simple wooden coffins, Sherlock realized. The strange length of the pit told him that it was used to burn the bodies inside the plain coffins. He stared at them, an odd feeling of shocked disbelief taking over as he slowly understood that he would never need something like that. He was forever beyond such things. He turned the mare towards Elizabet's childhood home. Fortunately, he did not find any such wooden boxes against its walls.
Elizabet came out to him as he got off the mare. "Xanthá," she gasped as she fell into his arms. "I did not expect to see you again!"
"I said I would come back in a few days," Sherlock said, slightly confused by her reaction. "What has happened here?"
Elizabet kissed him before answering. "Mother & Father are dead. Almost everyone here has died. I heard Wycoller was destroyed with no survivors. I thought you were dead, too!" She buried her face into his shoulder & burst into tears.
Sherlock held her close. Ishtar appeared in the door way & they looked at each other in silence for a moment before Ishtar suddenly gasped as if startled before running off to the barn. Sherlock rolled his eyes. He'll deal with the strange child later. For now, he slowly pushed Elizabet off him. "Wycoller is no more," he said. "The vrykólakas attacked it. But we managed to destroy a few." He looked into her eyes as he waited for her to stop crying. "They do burst into ash. I've seen it. Pierce their heart & they will turn as still as stone & then shatter into ash. It is very quick."
"Ash," Elizabet sighed. Several years ago, she had once asked him to tell her how the monsters died. That moment seemed like another lifetime ago. "I'm glad you destroyed them."
"There are others," Sherlock said. "But we got a few that night." He put one hand on the mare's reins to stop her from trotting off. "Are the children alright?"
Elizabet nodded. "I was going to move them away from here, but when I heard about Wycoller, I did not know if it was safe to leave. I thought everyone was dead."
Sherlock was dead. He wondered how to tell her. "Go inside. I have to attend to the horse. I will join you shortly & perhaps we can discuss it." Elizabet nodded & went back into the house. Sherlock pulled the mare towards the barn, wondering exactly how much Elizabet knew. Did the murder of his parents reach her ears? Did worse news come to her?
Ishtar was waiting for him in the barn. She stood up from the pile of dried grass she had been sitting on as Sherlock put the mare into the stall & began pulling things off. He caught sight of the child as he put the saddle aside. They stared at each other, each silently daring the other to make the first move. Sherlock didn't know how, but he knew that somehow, Ishtar had figured out what he had become! Ishtar lifted her arms & began waving them back & forth as if pretending she had wings. This sign was bigger than the fluttering fingers she did for the witch doctor. Now, she was using a full wingspread sign for her father.
Sherlock hissed at her, feeling the fangs come out as his vision turned red. Ishtar merely crossed her arms, unafraid. Sherlock glared at her. "My dear sweet child. I am so glad you don't speak!" They continued to glare at each other. "How do you know?" Sherlock demanded. "Did someone tell you? Does your mother know?" Ishtar shrugged. Sherlock closed his eyes & looked away, putting one hand on his forehead. He waited until he calmed down a little, pulling in the fangs & allowed the red vision to clear up. "Mikró did this to me!" He snarled. "He did it to us all. He was looking for you too but could not find you." He felt a hand on his left hip & looked down into his daughter's eyes. He shoved the child away. "I am cursed, Ishtar. I am no longer your father."
Ishtar came back to him & put her arms around him for a moment before grabbing his hand & pulling him outside. She pointed upwards. Sherlock glanced up but saw nothing. Looking back at her, she pointed again before trying to climb up into his arms.
Sherlock pushed her down & made her stand in front of him. "You want me to fly you up there?" Ishtar nodded. "I ca—bu ... Ishtar." They gazed at each other until Sherlock gave up. "Not now when anyone can see us. Ishtar, you must not do your sign of my wings in front of anyone. Understand?" Ishtar turned away & ran into the house. Sherlock groaned before entering the barn again to finish taking care of the mare.
He took his time with the mare, putting off the moment he had to face Elizabet in the house. He wondered again how much she knew. When he finally trudged upto the door & went inside, Sherlock paused to look around at all the charms that were supposed to keep the likes of him out. Useless. Every single one of them. He put his right hand over his left wrist, feeling the charm of horse hair & tiny seashells beaded into it. The thing hadn't protected him from his own brother & now it wasn't doing anything to stop him from going after Elizabet or the children. He put his right hand up to his neck & felt the soft rabbit skin as he pulled it off. Putting it aside, he went to the table to sit down.
Elizabet handed him a stone mug of water to drink. "How far have you travelled?" She asked.
Sherlock had a sip of the water before putting the mug on the table in front of him. He stared into it as he found that he didn't care for the water. "From the hunting cabin," he said. It was sort of true. He didn't mention the stop over at the valley just yet. "How much do you know of Wycoller?"
Elizabet sat down across from him. "That it is nothing but ruins now. I heard it was attacked & everyone died."
"Almost everyone," said Sherlock. "A few of us who were hunting the vrykólakas managed to get out. Trefor is dead."
Elizabet gasped. "He is? I didn't know for sure. There aren't too many people here anymore to tell me anything."
"One of those vrykólakas killed him right in front of me," Sherlock said. "It was destroyed a moment later."
"Oh they are such dreadful beings!" Elizabet exclaimed. Sherlock closed his eyes as she added, "We don't seem to get them up here, though."
"Small town," Sherlock said. "Out of the way. Not many to feed on. It was a good decision to bring the children here."
"I suppose so," Elizabet said. "But recently, everyone here seems to be dying one after another."
"From what?" Sherlock asked, finishing the water in one shot before Elizabet would question why he wasn't drinking it.
"That strange pox that seems to be everywhere," said Elizabet. "Some have survived it but they are quite scarred. It must be some sort of curse. It's a good thing I have all these charms."
It was all Sherlock could do to hold back a scoff. The charms didn't work & Elizabet didn't know that her home was now invaded by a blood-sucking monster. He watched as she got up to attend to one of the boys who had been fussing. When she returned to sit at the table again, Sherlock noticed she looked rather pale.
"Are you alright?" He asked.
Elizabet looked at him. "I'm fine," she sighed. "Just tired. I've not slept much since Father died yesterday."
Sherlock glanced at Ishtar who was now trying to climb into his lap. As she settled against his chest, he wondered why she wasn't afraid of him. He petted Ishtar's hair as he asked Elizabet, "Where did you want to go?"
"I was thinking, maybe the witch doctor's village," Elizabet began. "We might be safe there from those night stalkers & perhaps he might have some cure for whatever is killing everyone here."
That village was the last place Sherlock wanted to go to. He knew everything that had happened would come out. Elizabet would learn about what he had become, the killings, everything. He had no idea how to tell her any of this, though he knew he should be the one to let her know. But he remained silent on the subject, knowing all would be revealed once they arrived at that village.
On top of it all, he would be stuck having to be near Mycroft once more & Sherlock would rather not see his brother ever again; although, he knew that last bit was impossible.
At the same time, that village was the safest place to be right now. Elizabet didn't know that Sherlock & the others were main targets at the moment. If he brought her & the children there, they would be safe, but he knew he would lose them. Staying here was selfish. It shouldn't even have to be a decision of bringing her there or not, but it hurt worse than everything he had been put through the last few days.
Sherlock looked at her. "Alright. We leave tomorrow, weather permitting." He secretly hoped a blizzard would come in the night, trapping them here, but it would only be temporary & sooner or later, they would go. His fate sealed in death, his vow to her broken by it, there was nothing left to do for her or the children but take them to a safe place & leave them be.
That night, after the children had gone to bed, Sherlock took Elizabet by the hand & led her into their personal chambers. He made love to her for what he felt would be the last time. She soon fell asleep upon him, but Sherlock lay awake most of the night, going over the confrontation again & again in his mind.
Elizabet got up late the next morning. A cold sun shone down in the clear day as she started to get breakfast ready. Sherlock woke the children before going out to take care of the mare. He took his time, dreading the fact that they were about to leave. Exactly how would Elizabet react once she found out?
Sherlock returned to the house just in time to see Elizabet place something on the table. As she turned away, she suddenly fell to her knees, panting. Sherlock went to her side as she slipped down further to lie on the floor. He put a hand on her face.
"You are unusually red," Sherlock remarked, petting back some stray hairs. He could barely feel the hot temperature of her skin, but something certainly felt off.
"I ... I feel cold," Elizabet panted. She was shaking all over despite being hot.
"You seem hot," Sherlock said before sliding his arms under her to lift her up. He carried her into their bedroom.
Once he had laid her on the bed & pulled several fur hides over her, Sherlock added a bit more wood to the fire to keep the room as warm as possible. He returned to her side & sat down next to her. As he petted back her hair from her damp face, he noticed several tiny red lumps running along the side of her neck. He let his hand fall to his side as he looked down at her, sleeping fitfully. In that moment, he realized it was too late for Elizabet. She had the mark of whatever curse had been going around. The only question now was whether or not she would survive it.
Several days went by, with Elizabet getting weaker with each passing moment. On occasion, someone from the Waldheri would show up with a vase filled with blood for him. Sherlock was both annoyed & grateful that he had been followed. Imagine trying to find blood right now while Elizabet was sick. He was also able to send word to Merlin to see if the blind wizard had anything to help her.
Merlin came to examine her before pulling Sherlock aside. "I can ease her pain but this plague is beyond anything any of us have ever seen. It is upto her whether or not she will survive." He put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder before turning to a horse one of the Waldheri was holding for him.
"This is it," Sherlock said. "The sorrow you warned me about."
"I am sorry." Merlin got onto the horse & allowed it to be led away by his helper.
Sherlock watched him go before entering the house again. He returned to Elizabet's side to keep her quiet & comfortable, wiping her face with a hide as Merlin had done. He rarely left the room except to attend to the children or his mare.
To make matters worse, Sherlock noticed that one of the boys was becoming lethargic as well. He did not tell Elizabet so as not to worry her, but as time went on, it was quite clear that the boy was to suffer the same fate as his mother.
One day, Elizabet's scent changed for Sherlock. A slight mix of must & rot. A few hours later towards evening, as Sherlock was once more drying Elizabet's face, he noticed that she did not respond to his touch. Putting the hide aside, he attempted to open one of her eyes. It was an unseeing stare looking back at him. He put his ear down to her chest to better hear over the crackling fire the soft rhythm of what went on inside one's body, but there was nothing. Elizabet was dead.
Kneeling beside where she lay, Sherlock crossed his arms over her chest & buried his face in them. It felt as if his chest was on fire, ripping open a wound his unholy power would never heal. A few silent tears escaped before he blinked the rest back. He lifted his head to look down at her & couldn't help but let his eyes drift to her neck.
As if unbidden, he felt his fangs come out. He leaned down & whispered in her ear, "Woman, I hope you can forgive me some day for this." He bit into her neck, letting his venom flow out. He slightly pulled away & licked clean the wound he had given her before sitting by her side to watch. "Please ..." he whispered softly, petting her hair. "Come back to me." He waited a few moments, but Elizabet remained still & silent forevermore.
Sherlock stumbled into the hallway & lay back against the wall. He slipped down to sit on the floor & stare at nothing for a few minutes. Elizabet was gone. Trefor was gone. He sat there for a while. He knew what had to be done next; put her body into a wooden box, then bring it to the cemetery at the hunting house. But knowing what to do & doing it were two different things.
Feeling a hand on his hair, Sherlock looked up to find Ishtar standing in front of him. He slowly stood up. "Your mother is ..." He looked at the door to the bedroom. "She is dead." There. It was said. Sherlock moved forward & took down the most recent vase of blood that had been left to him the other day. He opened it & drank it in front of Ishtar who simply watched him. After drinking about half, he closed the lid & put it back on the shelf.
Sherlock ran his hands through his hair before looking down at Ishtar. Without another word, he went outside to put a coffin together for Elizabet. It was dark by the time he carried her out of the house to put her into it & then placed it in the barn until morning. There was no point in burning it for he now knew that burning corpses was not the way to destroy the undead fiends & now that she was dead, she was beyond the venomous bite, so he pushed the coffin to the wall, away from the barn door. As he stepped outside, he found Ishtar waiting for him. She ran upto him & wrapped her arms around his hips.
Sherlock put a hand on the girl's hair. "I am sorry, Ishtar. I could not save her."
Both looked up at the stars. Sherlock suddenly grabbed Ishtar into his arms. He pushed his wings out, biting his lip to keep from yelling in Ishtar's face, before flying directly upwards with her in his arms. They looked down over the ocean as Sherlock flew along the coast.
Ishtar pointed ahead to something white rising up from the black water to meet the light of an almost-full moon. Sherlock pulled up in the air & was able to hover while looking at the white cliff. It was the first time he laid eyes on what would eventually be called the White Cliffs Of Dover. His eyes moved down along the shore to see lights of a few ports & large black shapes in the water. Ships, most likely. He moved back to the land & the dying village. The whole flight took mere minutes, but Ishtar had enjoyed every moment of it.
Swooping over the barn, Sherlock dropped Ishtar onto a pile of dried grass before crashing into a snowbank. He still had to learn how to land properly. He dug himself out of the snow & stood up, withdrawing his wings. Ishtar came upto him & took his hand. She quickly smiled up at him before leading him to the house.
Sherlock checked on the boys who were still sleeping & unaware that their mother was gone before putting Ishtar to bed. He stayed up, not wanting to go to an empty room. He never entered that room again.
The next day, he left the children with one of the few remaining women left in the village & placed Elizabet's coffin on a flat cart for his mare to pull easily over the snow. He brought it up to the hunting house away from people who would burn every body. He had enough of burnt bodies & decided to not let that happen to anyone else in what was left of his family.
He went up a small hill nearby & tied the mare to a tree. Looking around, he found that he was alone, so he opened his wings & used them to quickly swipe piles of snow away & slash a hole in the frozen ground. He placed the coffin in it & shoved the dirt back into place.
Sherlock stood over the fresh mound, dark against the white snow. One wing swept aside more snow next to her grave. Soon, another hole was prepared next to hers. He knew at least one of the children would be joining her soon.
Joining her. What a fantastic concept. He stared down into the fresh hole waiting to swallow one of the children soon. It was a luxury that would eternally elude him now.
He returned to the mare as he pulled in the great ice-like wings. Looking down towards the house, one could no longer see the blood on the ground since fresh snow had fallen. All that remained of the torture was the tree trunk with a loose chain hanging on one side. It's links clinked together in the wind.
Clink.
Click.
Clink ... click.
Sherlock turned away from the dismal scene, unable to stop reliving another very hot, very fiery scene with that same chain trapping his father to his fate.
It was deep in the night by the time Sherlock returned home but the darkness no longer mattered to him. How silly they had all been about charms & protections & thinking the light would save them! Once the mare was settled, Sherlock stood outside, looking up at the stars.
After a slight hesitation, he spread his wings & headed straight up before looking down at the hillfort village. Only two fires could be seen. The rest of the village was dark. Dead. Looking over the land, he saw other points of light & eventually located the witch doctor's village. It was mere moments to fly there unlike the long horse ride on land. He headed towards it, attempting to glide down.
Sherlock plopped into a large snowbank, folding his wings as he pushed himself up. He still needed to figure out how to land but flying was slowly becoming easier. He pulled them out of sight as he walked down the center road. He could see small flickers of fire under the doors of several houses as he passed through.
He checked the barns as he came across them until he found Nýchta. The black stallion nickered at him as he approached the stall & put a hand on the fuzzy nose. Sherlock settled into the stall with the horse to wait for morning.
Eurus found them curled up together on the floor with a woven blanket over both of them. The horse got up at her presence, expecting to be fed, making Sherlock tumble to the side. Eurus put a bucket of grain onto the hook for the horse before helping Sherlock to stand. "Xanthá, what are you doing here?"
Sherlock petted the horse. "Looking for you," he said after a moment had gone by.
Eurus looked him over. "Are the children alright?"
"Fine," Sherlock muttered. "They are with Elizabet's friend at the moment." His hand dropped from Nýchta's neck. "I tried flying here. It does not take much time." He looked at Eurus & finally stated, "Elizabet is dead."
Eurus gasped in surprise. "What? How?"
"That plague going around," Sherlock answered. "She was sick for a while. Most of her village is dead from it."
Eurus pulled Sherlock into her arms & leaned the side of her face against his shoulder. "Oh Xanthá! I'm so sorry," she cried softly as Sherlock held her close.
"I should return home," Sherlock said. "I just came to see you. I've not told anyone else."
Eurus looked up into his eyes. "Stay with me a little while. Please? You said flying here is quick. Surely you have a little time to stay? You shouldn't be alone right now."
"Is Mikró here?"
Eurus put a hand through Sherlock's long curled hair. "No. He's down in the Waldheri valley. We're still avoiding him except when Merlin calls a meeting."
"What does Merlin want?"
"Well, we're trying to work on something to make some sort of council for ... for people like us," Eurus said. "They've been working on it for a while. Perhaps you could come to the next one."
"Not if I have to see Mikró," Sherlock snarled in a low voice.
"We don't interact with him," said Eurus. "Besides, he is keeping himself busy with the Lady. We don't really see him outside of meetings & we don't talk to him." They stood in silence for a while before Eurus added, "Uh, I suppose he & Theós ought to know about Elizabet, though."
Sherlock led Eurus by the hand outside into the early morning. "Theós perhaps. I don't care if Mikró knows or not. He is not my brother anymore."
"Theós is around here somewhere," said Eurus. "Come. I'll help you find him."
They found Sherrinford outside in one of the small corrals where his own horse was. He pushed the horse's head aside so that he could climb over the fence as Sherlock & Eurus approached. "Xanthá," Sherrinford glanced over both of them, knowing something was wrong. "What happened now?"
"Elizabet ..." Sherlock choked on the name.
Eurus put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder before saying, "That strange sickness plaguing the land killed her yesterday."
"What?" Sherrinford exclaimed.
"Most of her village is dead," Sherlock managed to say. "There are very few left besides the children."
"Bring them here," Sherrinford said. "Merlin is a witch doctor."
"He already tried to cure Elizabet," Sherlock said. "He does not have a cure for it."
"Bring them here anyway," Sherrinford repeated. "If the village is dying, there is nothing left for them there. Besides, we shouldn't be spread out. You know we're being hunted by the living & the dead alike."
"No one but me knew where Elizabet had moved," Sherlock said. "I thought they were safe there. But this curse appears everywhere. I can only hope they do not succumb to it in the first place, no matter where we are."
"You want to avoid Mikró," Sherrinford said. "We all do. He stays in the valley except when Merlin calls us together. We stay here. We rarely see him."
"Xanthá, this is our home now," Eurus said. "Please come back to us. The three of us should be together again. We can help you with the children."
Sherlock nodded quickly. "I should get back to them." He stepped back & glanced around. Across the way, in another field, he could see Merlin & Johaiñe together, wings out. They seemed to be helping each other take care of the wings. Sherlock raised a brow. "They are exposing themselves."
"What's to expose?" Eurus shrugged. "Everyone here is either beyond the grave or a wolf. The wolves watch the only trail that come in & warn us if any one is coming. Besides, it's winter. No one alive comes here right now, except the wolves."
"You need someone to help with your wings," Sherrinford said. "Agápi says wings need a lot of care & has been showing us how to do it."
"I can help you with them," Eurus said.
"Perhaps later," Sherlock said as he opened his own wings. "The children must be wondering where I am." He took off without another word.
Eurus turned to let Sherrinford hold her. "Fear not, dear sister," Sherrinford said. "The Waldheri wolves keep an eye on him."
When Sherlock landed a short time later in front of Elizabet's home, he did not notice one of the Walderheri watching him from their horse by the edge of the trees. Sherlock went down the road to where he had left the children the day before to bring them home. As he left the woman's home behind the children, he caught a familiar scent: faint must & rot.
That woman died in the night as did a few others. Over the next few days, Sherlock found out he was the only one with any strength against the frozen ground to dig the graves, using a slashing scythe-like power with his wings during the night so no one would see him. He didn't bother with burning the bodies. The ones still alive were too sick in their homes to bother.
To make things easier, Sherlock made simple large burial mounds that would remain for several millennia to come, along with remnants of a once-lively village. Cup & ring rock carvings would be one of few signs left for a later era to see. Eventually, Sherlock & the three children were all that remained of that place.
But by now, all three of the children were showing signs of the pox. About a week after the death of Elizabet, tou Daskálou joined his mother & then two days later, Ishtar didn't wake up again. Within an hour, Aléxandros succumbed as well.
Sherlock put the three tiny caskets side by side on the flat cart & brought them to the old hunting house. It was night when he left the ghost town for the last time with them. He arrived on the hill where Elizabet was just before dawn. Knowing one grave was already waiting, he pulled the first box off & gently placed it down into the hole. The sun came up as he finished lowering it, only to shine down on upturned snow & dirt as Sherlock used his wings to cut into the top layer, widening the hole to make room for the other two.
Once all three were down, Sherlock sat at the edge, staring across the area to where the mare was tied, but without seeing her. He sat there for a while, not noticing the time going by. He jumped suddenly as a hand landed on his shoulder around midday. Startled, he glanced around, hissing softly.
Sherrinford stepped back a few paces, holding his hands up. As Sherlock took a moment to calm down, Sherrinford glanced at the three wooden boxes in the wide hole next to an even longer mound of frozen dirt mixed with old snow. "What just happened?" He gasped in a shocked whisper.
Sherlock looked past his oldest brother to see Eurus standing wide-eyed in front of Nýchta & Mycroft was by her side. He wanted to hiss at Mycroft, a feeling of hate stirring within for a short moment before Sherlock tiredly turned away. "They're ... that plague." He stared down into the hole.
"We went to find you," Eurus said, slowly stepping forward. "One of the Waldheri wolves said he had gone to bring you more of the red drink but found no one in the village at all."
"They're dead," Sherlock muttered. "Everyone. I am the only survivor."
"Oh Xan—" Mycroft started.
"How DARE you speak to me?" Sherlock rounded on him, hissing madly.
Mycroft stared at him. "You think I wanted Elizabet & the children dead? Xanthá please! I did not want anything to happen to them."
"I don't care!" Sherlock turned away. "Go in the house."
"Xanthá," Sherrinford tried.
"Leave me be!" Sherlock snapped. "He has no right grieving for them. He is not part of this family."
"The Waldheri are grieving for them," Sherrinford pointed out. "They aren't family either. No one wanted them dead!"
"Doesn't matter," Sherlock shook his head. "They are dead. Gone & no thanks to HIM!" He pointed at Mycroft. "I will never be able to join them! Now, please go away!" He turned his back on all of them, staring down into the abyss he knew he must close soon.
Eurus stayed behind, holding Nýchta's bridle, as she watched Sherlock sweep his wings forward, filling the large hole with dirt & snow. She hung her head as she tugged on the horse's head to bring him around & began to follow Sherrinford & Mycroft down the hill.
"Wait!" Sherlock called out, making all three stop & the beautiful black stallion stumble behind Eurus before coming to a stop on the slope. Sherlock moved towards the horse & circled him, as if looking for something. He put out a hand. "Give me his lead."
Eurus handed it over. "Why?"
"He has an unnatural scent," Sherlock said.
"I noticed it earlier today," Eurus said. "It's probably the old saddle or something like that. I will have a new harness set for him back at the witch doctor's village."
"You will not need it," Sherlock led the stallion towards the graves. He dropped the rope & went to the trees to quickly cut a few down. He made a bed of tree trunks & branches before leading Nýchta onto it.
"What are you doing?" Eurus & Mycroft asked at the same time as both stepped forward along with Sherrinford.
Sherlock pulled back some of the hides covering the horse's back from under the saddle & pointed to the under belly. "He is sick as well," Sherlock said as Eurus, Mycroft & Sherrinford looked underneath to find a row of red sores marring the black fur. Sherlock opened his wings & herded the three of them back. Looking at Eurus, he said, "You know what has to be done, right?" Without waiting for an answer, Sherlock slashed his right wing forward, cutting the glossy throat. Nýchta screamed & went to his front knees.
"XANTHÁ MALLIÁ! STOP!" Eurus screamed as the great stallion crashed down, blood spilling from his throat. "NO!"
"He is suffering," Sherlock said. "He will be dead by the night anyway so we might as well get it over with."
Sherrinford held onto Eurus as she slowly sunk to the reddening snow. sobbing. Mycroft glared at Sherlock. "A little warning would have been nice!" He snapped.
Sherlock merely turned away & headed for the mare who was now rather skittish as the murderer of her son approached her. Sherlock took no notice & began digging around in the bag until he found what he was looking for. He came back to Nýchta who was now curled up on his side as the last of his life drained out. Within a few moments, the prized horse was dead. Sherlock set fire to the corpse. "We have to keep the wild animals from getting at his body or else they might be tempted to dig them up as well." He nodded to the graves where Elizabet & the children lay.
"Let's take her inside," Mycroft said to Sherrinford.
It was the first time since Mycroft had bitten them all that the two of them worked together as they helped Eurus up & stood at either side of her to lead her away. Sherlock stayed to watch the fire burn the horseflesh off the bones. It was nearly night by the time he joined the others in their parents' hunting house. Sherlock looked at each of them in turn as the setting sun faded before collapsing into a chair & put his head in his hands. Once again, their lives had been shattered brutally in a short time.
The winter of 947 B.C. was the most cruel season they had ever gone through.
(AN: Alright, it should be pretty obvious who the Lady is by now. She IS in the Sherlock BBC series & is once mentioned by her wing colour in the end of Death Series 4, as well.)
