Six:
Unnatural Laws
The voyage back to the Keep was relatively peaceful in the sense that they weren't attacked by anything and no one tried to start a fight. In an odd turn of events, Jericho had taken to keeping watch over Faraday, both to converse with him and also to make sure he remained alright. Milton was in a funny mood. He claimed it was only concern for what Godwin and Turner were doing, but Victoria didn't think so. It was almost like he was waiting for her to change her mind about Faraday. The thought that concerned her was why? Why did he think she would change her mind? She wanted to ask but knew it wouldn't get her an answer. Perhaps the truth of the matter was that Milton trusted her as little as she trusted him. And then there was Reaver. He'd gone out of his way to try to speak with her a few times, but she'd always made up an excuse to not talk. Victoria was perfectly aware she couldn't avoid him forever—they would have to talk sooner or later; hadn't she avoided him for long enough?—but she wasn't up to dealing with him right now. Not when the Crawler was writhing and twisting within her, trying to force its way to the surface. Not when she desperately needed to maintain control. And if anyone knew how to make her lose control, it was Reaver.
Besides, she needed to think of a way to explain this to the court. She'd gone to find who had sent an assassin after her and now here she was setting free a man capable of producing machines that functioned much like humans. It was revolutionary…and dangerous. And she already knew he would not be the last she pardoned. Ravenscar Keep's record room was full of the names of prisoners who had been placed there without reasoning. They had to be allowed to go free. They had to be given a chance.
It was night when they arrived back at the Keep and the prison had taken on a menacing quality like a dragon laying wait in the dark. Victoria and Jericho immediately parted from Reaver and Milton, bidding them to join Hobson in the records room. The women helped Faraday find an empty bed in the infirmary and had one of the nurses fetch him something to eat.
Victoria was just about to leave and find Hobson and the others when Jericho caught her arm. "What is it?"
"I do not believe it's wise to leave Mr. Faraday alone," Jericho replied. "Someone opened the door to his cell; someone helped him escape to Clockwork Island; someone who most likely works for General Turner. Turner must have need of Mr. Faraday for something, and I am not willing to let a phantom come and murder Mr. Faraday just to tie up loose ends."
"Are you volunteering to stay here as Mr. Faraday's body guard?"
"Yes. Until General Turner is found and questioned, I would prefer to not allow any opportunities to present themselves to his favour."
Victoria paused, mulling it over, before nodding. "Very well. Thank you, Jer. I don't want anything to happen to him, either." She carefully retrieved the worn box of letters from her bag. "Would you mind giving this to him when he's had some rest? I found it on the island."
Jericho answered her with a small, barely visible smile, and, after accepting the box, returned to Faraday's side. Warier than before, Victoria left the room.
The prison seemed eerily quiet now. Gone were the sounds of fighting and the stench of smoke. Everyone was asleep. She walked slowly, her footsteps echoing through the halls. Her stomach was beginning to ache—claws sunken deep into her gut. It was the Crawler, she knew it was. And she didn't know what she was going to do if it made a genuine effort to take control.
At the thought, agony tore through her mind, sparking along every nerve in her body. She stumbled, leaning against a wall for support. Her skin felt like it was trying to peel away from her body. Muscles contracted with pain. She wanted to scream, but couldn't. Couldn't risk calling someone to her. Her Will seared channels under her flesh, like burning claws. Claws of something trying to scratch its way out of her.
"Your Majesty? Are you well?"
All at once, the pain stopped. Her vision cleared and her head stopped spinning. Breathing heavily, she looked up to find a young soldier looking up at her with concern. Victoria gave a terse nod. "I am, thank you. Just tired."
Trying to regain her composure, she straightened up and kept walking. The Crawler's laughter echoed through her mind; malicious whispers following her until she entered the maximum security wing.
Milton, Hobson, and Reaver were deep in conversation when she entered the records room—their words tapering off abruptly as they turned towards her. Reaver's smirk faltered at the look on her face, but she ignored him, attempting to look as though nothing was wrong.
"Do we have a location for Turner or Ms. Godwin?" she enquired. She was immensely pleased when her voice neither broke nor wavered as she spoke. She could see her reflection in a goblet atop the nearby desk, pale and drawn as though she'd just been suffering from a terrible illness. But at least shadows weren't pooling on her skin, rising in wisps and—stop thinking about that, she snapped to herself.
Hobson hesitated, clearly perturbed by her appearance, and stepped forward. "Ah, yes, Your Majesty, I have made an extraordinary discovery!"
"Just tell her what my men found," Milton grumbled, too tired for Hobson's posturing.
"It was a wholly collaborative effort!" Hobson snapped at the soldier before turning back to Victoria as pseudo-cheerful as ever. "As you know, the second prisoner is the alchemist and alleged 'witch', Mary Godwin; a rather malevolent woman by all accounts. We have discovered files on her experiments that are so grotesque, I—"
"Hobson, did you or did you not find a location she may currently be residing in?" Victoria said, cutting off his diatribe. Her patience was quickly draining. In its absence, she could feel anger swiftly rising to the surface.
"Well…I…yes, Your Majesty."
"Excellent, you can tell us on the way down to the docks."
"To the docks, Ma'am?" Milton asked, hurrying to keep up with her as she turned and left the room.
"Yes. You said it yourself; we need to find them as soon as possible." She only hoped it would be that simple.
It was an oddly balmy morning only thirty-six hours later that they found themselves mooring at the docks of the Godwin Estate. According to Hobson's information, before Ms. Godwin had started making a name for herself in alchemy she had lived here with her parents. Magnificent, Hobson had called the grounds—Victoria thought that was putting it mildly, considering the estate took up an entire island of a small archipelago in Albion's southern-most sea. Even from a distance the manor house cut an impressive silhouette.
The grounds seemed almost idyllic compared to the chaos of Clockwork Island as they stepped onto the simple wooden dock. However, something about the land felt…muted. Not quite anchored in reality. Victoria had to force herself to not wrap her arms around her body.
"The estate's been abandoned for years, but there definitely seems to be signs of life here," Milton observed, pointing out the various crates stacked neatly beside the boathouse. Like Victoria, he seemed to be affected by the atmosphere, keeping his voice slightly lower than was necessary.
"Yes, but all those signs mean nothing if she's not actually here and the new tenants are merely a group of ruffians, hmm?" In contrast, Reaver didn't seem bothered. Slouching a bit, he looked as comfortable as if they were touring the grounds of his own estate. A flicker of disbelief flashed through her mind and she wondered how he could truly not feel how wrong this place felt. Against her will, her thoughts travelled back to the day, several years ago now, that she had followed him through Wraithmarsh. The tomb and the devils within. Glancing away, she decided it wasn't so odd after all. Unsettling feelings, it appeared, were something he was quite familiar with.
Milton bristled at Reaver's statement. "This place represents everything General Turner despises; old money, aristocracy, nepotism. If Godwin is hiding anywhere, it'll be here."
"How very astute of you to inform us, however—"
"This isn't the time," Victoria interrupted. "You two can spat this out later, I'm more worried about finding Ms. Godwin and quickly." With a scowl, she stepped off the dock and onto the sandy shore.
Milton followed and, after a beat, added, "I wonder if you and General Turner would find common ground; you're both revolutionaries."
"Then why does he want me dead?"
"Perhaps because you stopped being a rebel," Milton supplied very, very quietly. He seemed to almost doubt the answer and so Victoria didn't respond. It was a thought for another time.
Sand shifted to gravel under her feet as they began their trek up to the estate and Victoria tried in vain to peer through the trees lining the path ahead. If Milton's previous thoughts were right, Ms. Godwin wasn't going to be any more receptive to seeing her than Mr. Faraday had originally been. If there was going to be trouble, she wanted to be ready for it.
"Doesn't it seem a bit obvious, though?" Victoria enquired, oblivious to Milton's struggles at keeping pace with her. "Coming back home, I mean. If she wanted to make certain no one would find her, then why come home?"
"Perhaps she assumed it would be too obvious?" Milton supplied, panting.
"Or," Reaver cut in, "she was well aware this would be the first place you looked. If Ernest was willing to pervert his creations in the hopes of killing you, there's no reason to expect Godwin won't do the same."
"Does anyone know what, exactly, Mary Godwin was working on before Logan had her imprisoned?" Victoria paused, met with blank looks, and tried to ignore the trepidation building in her stomach. Very well, then. "Hopefully it was something…friendly…and not murderous."
She purposefully ignored Reaver's answering snort of disbelief in favour of continuing on.
Their path wound its way up, twisting through gnarled tree trunks and around the edge of a cliff. She wanted to pretend they were just on a hike, going to check in on someone she'd never met, but she knew better. Even if she hadn't, there was just something…off about this island. When they'd gone to find Mr. Faraday, it had been easy to almost assume they were in some off-shoot of Bowerstone. But here? Not quite. An eerie silence had settled over the estate and not even birds seemed interested in breaking it. Walking under the trees, the shadows felt too deep. Too full of threats. Victoria felt the Crawler twitch in response to her thoughts, and forced back a shudder. No, now was not the time. Focus on the quest.
When they broke through the trees, they found themselves on what appeared to be a human-sized chessboard, but the pieces were…all wrong. Life-sized statues of balverines and hollow men occupied the back of the board while hobbes claimed the spaces for pawns. The opposite side of the board was empty.
Momentarily forgetting herself, Victoria crept closer to the pieces. The detail was astounding, and a little too realistic. The balverine in the King's place bore ragged scars and a torn ear while the one beside it had matted fur. Their gaze seemed to follow her as she drew closer.
"Oh, Victoria?" Reaver called out, startling her from her studies.
Heart thudding in her ears, she turned to him just long enough to wave him off before turning back to the creatures. Was it her imagination or did that hobbe just blink?
"They're only chess pieces, Your Majesty," he remarked; his patience apparently dwindling. "I assumed you wanted to find Godwin before sunset?"
"I don't think these are chess pieces," Victoria retorted.
"Whatever does it matter?"
"I'm afraid he's right, Ma'am," Milton supplied, seeming to regret the words even as he said them. "Whatever they are, isn't Mary a bigger priority?"
Milton got through were Reaver hadn't, and Victoria pulled herself away with a frown. Fine. But when they try to eat us, I'm holding it against you both.
Together, they stepped off the board and onto a grassy path. Tall, immaculately-trimmed hedgerows lined the route and Victoria felt it was just another thing that didn't make sense. The estate was abandoned, so who was doing the gardening? Who had kept the dock in order? Who was tending the path? Exactly how long had Mary Godwin been back home? If anything, the fact that Mr. Faraday and Ms. Godwin had re-established themselves so firmly at their previous places of residence made her doubt Milton's version of events more than she already had.
Not for the first time, she wished Walter hadn't been left in Bowerstone. It would have been nice to have someone trustworthy with her.
"Why on earth are all these pens empty?" Reaver enquired, seemingly disappointed.
The trail had led them past a series of winding, iron-fenced enclosures and Victoria was ashamed to say she hadn't been paying the least bit of attention to them. Milton had wandered over to the one opposite them, futilely attempting to peer through the bars at creatures that just weren't there. Victoria glanced at a tiny plaque as she passed it and, head tilted, asked of no one in particular, "What exactly is a calmer chameleon? I didn't realise chameleons were anything but calm."
"Whatever it is, it doesn't appear to have survived Godwin's absence," Reaver remarked.
"Maybe they're not dead. Maybe they just come and go as they please."
"And perhaps the topiary swan ate them."
There's a topiary swan? She attempted to rouse herself with the reminder that they were in the middle of something, but neither of the men seemed all that interested in hurrying now, either. At this rate Ms Godwin will have seen us coming and will have gotten away…all because we're staring at nothing. "Right, time to leave. Don't pout at me, Reaver; we have a job to do, don't we?"
Reaver huffed, but, for once, didn't argue as she led the way onwards.
The shrubbery twisted and turned until the path spontaneously opened up, spitting them out into a small garden.
"There's the main house," Milton remarked, rushing forward. He barely touched the gate barring their path when he abruptly jumped backwards.
"What's wrong?" Victoria called, hurrying over to him. "Electricity?"
"And something else. I…don't know what. I've never felt anything like that before."
Victoria frowned and tried to relax her mind, stretching her Will out like fingers. There was something there. Something almost physical, but it bent slightly at her probing. Not enough for it to collapse, but enough to know it existed.
"Someone's warded it somehow," Victoria murmured. "But it's strange…." She stopped herself before she could say anything more, but that didn't stop her from being both perplexed and fascinated. Wards were rare…to a degree. A weak ward wasn't all that hard to have a Will-user or alchemist create, but a strong one like this? She hadn't felt a ward so strong since the last Old Kingdom ruin she'd come across. Strange, though…it almost felt static-y. "I think she's tied it into whatever's generating a charge for the gate. We shut that down, we can get through."
"Wonderful, more mindless bumbling," Reaver said, absently cocking a hip. Victoria resisted the urge to flip him off.
"We should split up, then," Milton said, unslinging his rifle. At the looks of disbelief he earned from both of them, he added defensively, "This is a huge estate. If we stay together, we might be at this for the rest of the day. If we split up, we can cover all the more ground."
Victoria wanted to rebuke him, to point out all the ways this was a terrible idea. But…it wasn't. He was right. She sighed. "Fine. Split up, but don't take risks. We do this carefully and without putting ourselves in unnecessary danger. If you find something, or don't, come back to this spot and we go in together. Do you both understand?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Milton bid. "I'll head back to the docks, check around the beach."
"Good, I'll see if there's a way out of this garden…something that might be useful," Victoria replied.
Reaver didn't respond, just tilted his head slightly.
Milton turned and began walking back the way they'd come. In turn, Victoria made her way over to a gap in the hedges she'd only barely noticed. Her boots crunched against the gravel, masking the skittering of leaves against the ground. Unfortunately, it also masked the sound of other people's footsteps and she was halfway down the path before she realised she was being followed.
With a heavy, exasperated sigh, Victoria turned around and crossed her arms. "We're supposed to be splitting up; that means you shouldn't be following me."
"Oh?" Reaver didn't even try to look guilty. "But, ma chere, who then will protect you? It's not prudent to allow a queen to wander blindly into danger on her own…for the good of the kingdom and all that nonsense."
"How many times—in how many ways or languages—do I need to tell you to fuck off before you do so?" Fuming, she whirled around with the intention of storming off and leaving him to rot. The nerve of him. The insufferable nerve. It was getting exhausting to be angry with him all the time, but she couldn't just…let it go? Could she?
"Victoria," he began harshly, losing the flirtatious edge to his tone. "Victoria, it's been a year. It's done. Why are you insisting on continuing this argument?"
She didn't recall moving, just that she was abruptly before him, jabbing a finger at him. "I'm continuing it because I'm angry! Because you hurt me and someone I care about and you have to live with that now. That doesn't just go away because you want it to!" Her breath hissed in sharply before adding: "You know what? I don't care. Do whatever you want. You always have. I will work with you for now, but do not assume I will continue to do so once Ms. Godwin and General Turner are no longer at large. And I am done discussing this right now. We have much more important things to worry about than you."
Victoria turned away from him once more and resumed her trek down the path. Reaver didn't respond. However, a few seconds later, she became aware of the soft tread of his steps following hers. She was still angry—emotions simmering just beneath the surface—but she felt oddly calm. Resigned but pleasant. She could survive a couple hours in his presence. She could handle it.
The path finally reached its end and they came out into a small cemetery. Fitting, Victoria thought dryly. They picked their way through overgrown weeds and cracked headstones, but the only way either of them could discern led forward was through a wrought iron gate and into what looked like a built on addition of the graveyard. They didn't even need to discuss it. Instead, they both made for the gate. It swung open easily at Victoria's touch. Perhaps Ms. Godwin has whatever's blocking the way hidden back here?
They'd barely taken two steps into this section of the graveyard, however, before wisps formed, diving into the ground in a shower of rubble. Victoria jolted backwards, reaching instinctively for the handles of her knives. A bony hand clawed its way out of the ground, flesh clinging to the limb in haggard scraps. The rest of the corpse slowly followed, more rising to join it.
"Do try not to get grave muck on your clothes, will you? It's unbecoming," Reaver called, teasingly light in tone as he raised and cocked the Dragonstomper.
Victoria rolled her eyes. "Oh dear, is that a wrinkle I spy on your forehead?"
Reaver's indignant gasp of horror was drowned out by the groaning of old bones and angry spirits. Victoria turned her focus to the hollow men, both alarmed and confused as to why they were here. Did the island have some sort of secret history that hadn't made it into Hobson's report? No time to worry about it now. A giant monstrosity of bone and mouldering flesh stumbled towards her, dragging an equally large double-headed axe behind it. It slowly raised the axe, creaking violently. Victoria darted out of the way as the axe reached the top of its arc, far out of reach as it thudded into the ground. Daggers drawn, she drove one into the hollow man's knee, slamming the pommel of the other into the flesh just below her previous strike. The crunch of breaking bone was a satisfying rapport and—
and she ducked, barely avoiding the hollow man's next strike as it bellowed in rage. The cobwebs covering its ribcage flapped pitifully with the movement. The repetitive bang of gunshots was almost soothing in its familiarity and helped her focus more than it probably should have. A smaller hollow man had shambled up to her and she twisted behind it, kicking it toward the larger creature. The giant hollow man crushed its fellow without hesitation.
She had no idea how many other hollow men there were. There could have been five, there could have been fifty. However, if she didn't stop this one soon, she probably would never find out. Dodging another blow, she darted forward, attempting to crush the bones in its arms. The attempt was fruitless. She cursed under her breath, realising she needed help.
"Reaver!" she shouted, panting. Her limbs felt strained and almost tingly as she rolled out of the way once more. Oblivious to the leaves and twigs clinging to her hair and clothes, she hopped to her feet. "Shoot it!"
He obliged, firing off a volley into the hollow man's knees. The bone shattered, held together now with naught but splinters of bone and threads of Will. Grunting in exertion, Victoria threw herself at the hollow man. It teetered violently before falling backwards. Shattering into empty bones on impact with the ground. Victoria forced a deep breath. Pulling herself to her feet, she looked up just in time to see Reaver, almost negligently, blast the last hollow man's head into dust. Turning away from him, she carefully sheathed her blades and tried to calm her breathing.
Victoria stared down at the splintered bones scattering the ground, half-covering a carved sigil she hadn't noticed before. The silence after a battle always seemed painfully loud, but this time she didn't notice. Her thoughts were too chaotic. Hollow men were a staple of most tombs, ancient ruins, and old battlefields. Something about places where tragedy had struck made the veil between worlds too thin and the spirits, lost and angry, were able to cross with ease. So why were they here? She looked up at Reaver, temporarily put aside her anger, and said, "Where did they come from? How did she get hollow men here?"
"Perhaps Godwin wasn't just working on strengthening her ability in alchemy."
"…you suspect necromancy? Avo, Reaver, if she's a Will-user—"
"That is highly unlikely," he replied. But from the way his brow creased at the thought, it was clearly something that concerned him.
"But if she is…it's not going to be possible to contain her easily." No, there would be battle and bloodshed and she was well aware that the odds would be against her. She shook her head. "How the hell did Logan get her taken into custody in the first place?"
"With luck we can ask her…before she attempts to take our heads off."
They turned away from the sigil on the ground and the breath-taking view of the nearby islands—and the ruins they contained—and descended deeper into the graveyard. The path sloped dramatically and the stones beneath their feet were weather-worn to a dangerous smoothness. Mushrooms and grass were fighting for dominance at the edges of the path. The roots of oak trees had run out of room to spread in the ground and had broken free of the soil, spreading across the stone like a kraken's tentacles. There was a musty, damp smell to the air that wasn't entirely unpleasant as they walked.
Helping Victoria over a particularly large moss-covered root, Reaver added, "Say she is a Will-user…you can…negate that or something can't you?"
"That's not really how Will works, Reaver."
"Oh?"
"I—you can't really want a lesson on magical theory," Victoria said, frowning at him in disbelief.
"Humour me, Your Majesty."
"…fine." The path slowly began to open up, ferns growing along the edges reaching out to brush against them as they passed. "Will is…energy, I suppose. There's theories about where it comes from—that it comes from the Void, that living things generate it, that it's created by souls, that something out there is making it—but none of those theories really matter. It's energy. However, it can't…fuel itself? See, when I do this—" she summoned a small fireball into her palm— "I'm pushing my energy into it; since I don't want the spell to take on more power, I'm also taking back what I've put in. If I wanted it to be more powerful, I would keep adding to it. Here's the problem; say you have a powerful spell. If you're the creator, you have two options for how to get rid of it: either direct it to a target and let it loose or slowly take back the energy you've put into it…which can be painful. If you're the recipient of the spell, you can either attempt to shield yourself—which will only direct the Will around you but won't stop it—or you can get out of the way. Will cannot be destroyed, disrupted, blocked, or negated…except by someone with immense talent."
The trail abruptly opened to their left, a steep cliff residing where trees once had. They were bathed in late morning sunlight. A cluster of headstones sat at the base of a gnarled, twisted tree that looked as though it would topple into the sea in a strong wind. Standing there, with the breeze caressing her skin and the crash of waves in her ears, Victoria was struck by the thought that the sea was actually very beautiful. She could almost understand the appeal of it. The desire to spend ages living near the water or sailing over its depths. Careful, you don't want to risk siren-hood, do you? She nearly laughed.
"You are, though."
Realizing she'd stopped walking, Victoria turned to find Reaver staring at her and tried to pull her thoughts back together.
Apparently taking her silence for confusion, he added, "A Will-user with immense talent, that is. I would think—"
"As I said, it's not that simple," she said, pulling herself away from the cliff and back onto the path. "Even if, by some miracle, I was more powerful than her, I would still have to figure out a way to attune myself to her Will and turn it against her. I've never done that before—never had an opportunity or need to do so. I just hope she's not a Will-user."
The path was fairly straightforward. No elaborate twists and turns, just a gentle arc that followed the edge of the island. The biggest hindrance to their travel was the occasional boulder or fallen branch that they had to side step before carrying on. Time slipped away faster than Victoria had anticipated and, carefully stepping down a hill, she realised abruptly that it was after noon. The sun was already beginning to lazily make its way to the horizon. Time feels strange here. Like it doesn't exist properly. But there was nothing she could do about it either way.
A stream trickled in front of them, running off the cliff with abandon; a foot bridge had been built over it, but it wasn't doing much good. Rivulets of water had separated from the stream, turning the soil around it into a mushy, muddy mess. There was a gate just beyond the bridge, though, and it felt as strongly warded as the first they'd encountered.
"We must be getting close," Victoria decided, her muddy footsteps smacking almost annoyingly against the bridge's stone.
"Unfortunately, the closer we get, the worse I'm sure things will become," Reaver added, sounding far too excited at the prospect for his words to be taken seriously.
The bridge deposited them into a small clearing. A dilapidated shed and some heavy-duty industrial equipment sat at the far end. If almost felt like a trap, but they made their way through with care—or…Victoria made her way through with care whilst Reaver strolled along as though they were in a park.
Looking around at the various crates and machinery bits, Victoria said, "You like to prod things incessantly, do you think you can work that machine? It might be what's locking the gates."
"I could be convinced to make an attempt." When she did nothing more than scowl at him, he huffed, rolled his eyes, and began fiddling with the various knobs and levers.
She stood over him, waiting. When it became apparent that this wasn't going to be a five minute job, she took to wandering the clearing. There wasn't much to find; the crates were either bolted shut or empty. She carefully worked the door of the shed open and stepped inside. Light barely filtered through the grimy windows and the air was thick with dust. It smelled like mould and old paint, but Victoria could safely say she'd smelled worse in her lifetime. Cobwebs collected in the corners like old fabric. There wasn't much to look at. A couple crates and a rickety table…and a thin journal sitting atop the table.
Intrigued, she picked up the journal and took a seat atop the nearest crate, ignoring the protests of angry gobbits calling the space behind the crates home. She flipped through the pages carefully, but quickly discovered it was going to be difficult to read no matter how carefully she perused the tome. There were no words within, just page after page of alchemical equations. Victoria had never practiced alchemy—the extent of her cooking ability was tea and things that didn't require heat and she'd never had the desire to test that ability by adding chemicals and poisonous herbs to the mix; it seemed like a really poor decision. Still, she found the equations fascinating…even if she barely understood them. Was this one of Ms. Godwin's journals? Something she was working on? If so, perhaps it would be of use.
The sky was bleeding orange and scarlet when she finally heard Reaver let out a sound of triumph. She slipped the journal into her pocket and left the shed. He'd…gone a bit far, in her opinion. Stripped away bits of the machine's exterior to expose a mess of wires and rusting components. But it had stopped running, so she couldn't condemn his effectiveness.
"I don't feel the ward any longer," Victoria informed him as he pulled himself to his feet. "I suppose that means we can get through the gate now."
"It will have been for nothing if Godwin isn't actually here."
"Doesn't matter. We won't know unless we check."
The grounds felt more sinister now, like something was waiting for them. As they passed through the gate and onto a cramped, tree-lined trail, Victoria was certain she felt eyes on her. That she could hear something moving in the trees. There was never anything there. Against her better judgment, she kept slightly closer to Reaver, though she knew that it would mean nothing if they were attacked. It would just mean she needed to move away from him again before either of them could fight, but that didn't change that the action was…comforting.
Under the trees' canopy it was difficult to see. Night could have fallen and Victoria would have been none the wiser. As a precaution, she took to resting her hands on the handles of her knives. That was what saved her.
Something large and heavy dropped down from the tree beside her with a fwhump, and, acting on instinct, she lashed out with her blades. Blood spurted forth, hot and wet on her hands, and the beast fell to the ground. Dead. She looked up to find dozens of yellow-orange eyes glittering from all around them. Balverines….
"Reaver, run!" Tugging at him with her free hand, she darted forward; struggling to sheath her blade and draw her pistol.
He didn't need to be told twice.
Snarls and heavy breaths followed them down the trail. Occasionally they would get a shot or two off and a balverine would whimper in pain, but it wasn't making any difference. There were too many monsters and not enough room to fight them.
She was thrown to the ground as a balverine dropped onto her. The air vanished from her lungs and she tried to lean away, but there was nowhere to go. Inches from her face, it roared, unleashing spittle and a burst of foul breath. Groaning, Victoria struggled to get free and bring up her pistol. Before she could line up a shot, her side erupted in agony. Her arm dropped involuntarily.
A series of shots rang out and the balverine atop her roared once more before jumping away. Hands grabbed at her shoulders, helping her to her feet. The world immediately blurred and tilted. She stumbled, nearly falling down again. He caught ahold of her, wrapping his free arm around her torso and forced her to keep moving. Pain seared through her side again, burning. A burning that seared through her veins.
"Oh, fuck," she groaned, stumbling along. "Don't let them scratch you."
"What are you blabbering about?"
"Poison…they're poison."
He swore. "We aren't going to get very far like this. Can you run?"
Though wary to forgo his support, she nodded. He released her. She stumbled slightly and then ran, trying to ignore the pain.
They left the path and burst back into the garden, on the opposite side of the gate that had first barred them. The balverines did not appear to follow them. If either of them had been hoping for Milton to be waiting for them, they were to be disappointed. The garden was as empty as ever. But the path to the manor was clear and Reaver tried to pull her toward it.
"The Commander—" she began, words slurring together.
"Sod him! He's a bellend, anyway."
She let him lead her up the hill, stumbling on the loose stones. Weakness flooding her limbs and making her head swim. She lost traction on the slope and fell. This time she couldn't get up. He tried to pull her to her feet, but she couldn't keep her balance. The world was growing fuzzy. From somewhere nearby a piercing howl rang out, shattering the silence.
"Victoria, you need to get up."
She tried to shake her head, but the movement came out minute. Mouth dry, unable to form words. Something in her head was screaming at her, demanding she get up and get out of there. Cursing and raging at her. But the world was spinning like a top—like a dinghy lost in a storm.
Far, far away, she heard Reaver swear. "Damn you, if we die over an Avo-forsaken scratch, I will hold this against you."
The ground fell away as he lifted her, bracing her against him. The balverines were getting closer; she could hear their howls and yips, far too close for her liking. She tried to lift her head from his shoulder. He was shooting still, but there was clearly no way he was going to be able to get rid of the balverines and get them to cover. If only she could light a fire. Use her Will. But she was…so tired. Fading.
A voice from everywhere and nowhere scoffed. I do this not for you, child, it snapped. This is not charity; the children will feast.
She felt a jolt of surprise reverberate through Reaver's chest and forced her eyes open. Shadows were spreading, disentangling from the ground. He faltered. And then they were moving again. Into darkness. The movement hurt her head and she closed her eyes once more. Sleep…all she wanted was to sleep. She couldn't even feel the burning in her side anymore.
A bang crashed through her head, ringing in her ears. Someone was calling her name, laying her down carefully. She couldn't move.
And everything stopped.
AN: The couple that fights monsters together...is probably going to die together, let's just be honest here. As usual, feedback is appreciated. (Someone? Anyone? Am I throwing chapters into the Void here?)
Dev. Notes: I wasn't going to put anything in this section this time, but then I remembered the gobbits! We gotta talk about those. Gobbits showed up in some of Mike McCarthy's Fable concept art (I wanna say FII, but I'm not sure), but either never made it into the game or...just wasn't intended to make it past concept stage. I, however, have loved them from the moment I saw them. They show up in two sketches—one with a gobbit sitting in a woman's apron, the other with a gobbit threatening a lady with a teeny spear. So what is a gobbit? A gobbit is a rat-like fae with dragonfly wings (and they're friggen adorable, I just can't even deal with it). One of the concept sketches is called "hearth gobbit", so I'm guessing they were intended as household pests and quite common in Albion (perhaps even to the extent they're occasionally kept as pets?). Anyway, I had to put these children in because I love them and I want one. And I'm totally not imagining one sitting on the back of one of my cats like knight on a horse; nope, not at all.