the western wood / year 1004
prompt: "books"
word count: 2,028
xXx
Edmund crashed to the ground with a grunt as the breath rushed from his lungs and his horse gave a bone-chilling scream, towering over him like a distorted giant for a split second, hooves beating the air, before thundering down around him like a deafening earthquake and bolting off into the thick of the forest.
He couldn't have rolled to miss her if he tried, luck itself preserving his body as his head throbbed from the impact and his lungs squeaked, struggling desperately to suck the missing air back in.
Peter shouted from some distance away, but Edmund couldn't quite make out the words, every sound bouncing off the inside of his skull like a painful echo.
Then something shifted in the underbrush, and all his survival instincts kicked in at once, fingers plunging into the undergrowth and dragging the rest of his body onto its side with every ounce of willpower he could muster as the crumbling, cracking noises blundered closer.
He coughed and gulped down a pocket of air, blood rushing with a burst of adrenaline as he stumbled to his knees and threw himself at the nearest tree without so much as glancing over his shoulder, fingers scraping jagged bark as the white splotch of Peter's horse wheeled in the corner of his vision and charged back in his direction, crashing through bushes and bracken and drowning out the noise of his pursuer.
He grabbed the lowest branch and hauled himself into the tree, scrambling up another two sturdy branches before at last he stopped to gasp for breath, chest aching as he gripped the trunk for dear life.
Four yards beneath the soles of his boots, a heap of dirt and leaves burst against the shadowy base of the tree where he'd been standing seconds ago.
He stared, transfixed, as the underbrush swayed and slowly reformed, a figure of crumbling earth and twigs stumbling to its feet just below him—unsteady, staggering into the hunched, misshapen form of a human, though undoubtedly it bore no relation to any child of Adam's blood—the creature which had flung itself into the path of his mare the moment before she threw him.
Susan might still have called him a child at fourteen, but Edmund had killed his fair share of monsters in these woods, and even he had never crossed one like this before. At least, not in the flesh.
Or, perhaps more accurately, outside of its flesh.
"So that's what you are," he panted, wincing at a twinge in his side as he shifted to lean back against the rough bark and cradled his own ribcage.
The creature straightened jerkily and bent slowly backward, gazing up into the tree with a blank, faceless stare that sent an involuntary shiver down Edmund's spine.
For a moment he could only think how lucky it was that the girls weren't with them this time.
The next moment, Peter thundered past on his white stallion and a flash of silver swept through the staggering heap of underbrush, sending a flurry of leaves scattering into the breeze as earth showered to the forest floor, the creature's form spilling out where the King's sword had cloven it.
Anyone else might have thought he'd swept its head clean off, but Edmund knew better.
"Don't!" he shouted pointlessly into the storm of heavy hoof-falls.
The stallion slowed unheeding, vanishing beyond his range of vision, obscured by the thick forest canopy as the hoofbeats skidded to a halt and the distinct sound of boots dropped down into the bed of leaves, striding back in his direction.
"Don't," he called again, "Pete, not with your sword, it's not going to—"
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," snapped Edmund as his brother's golden hair and scarlet cloak flickered into view between gaps in the branches below him, the glint of telltale silver flashing at his side. "Now stay back, you fool, and put that thing away before you—"
"What are you talking about?" Peter hesitated at the edge of the tree's canopy, eyes fixed squarely on the shifting mass still quivering at its base, a forked dead branch sticking up through what could loosely have been considered its neck, feeble head re-forming atop it as earth and leaves shifted and lolled to one side.
"You can't kill it with weapons, it's a ghoul, it'll absorb anything unliving until it gets a body of its own, it's only luring you in!"
The creature dragged long twigs like fingers over the ground, horrifically disproportional in the eerie, scattered shadows and pinpricks of saturated afternoon light.
Peter faltered. "Then what do you suggest I—"
It lurched before he could finish and he just barely stepped back before the twisted amalgamation of earth and leaves shot past him, stumbling with the overstep and wheeling on the golden-headed King.
"No, wait—"
But Peter's instincts kicked in before the warning could escape Edmund's throat, sword flashing for one terrible instant in the dappled sunlight before plunging deep into the creature's concave chest.
The shifting figure doubled in on itself and yanked the sword clean out Peter's grasp.
Branching fingers lashed wildly at his exposed wrist.
"Hey!" cried Edmund as his brother just barely ducked under a swing from his own sword, flashing out like an unbalanced forearm of the staggering beast's rapidly shifting form. "I told you not to—"
"Shut up!" Peter bolted for the tree and leaped up to the lowest branch just in time to miss another lethal swing from his own sword, hurriedly clambering up beside Edmund as his blue eyes flashed down to the monstrous mass writhing beneath his perch.
"Idiot," snapped Edmund, "are you hurt?"
"Barely," said Peter, steadying himself against an overhead branch and glancing up at his wrist which seemed only to have sustained superficial scratches. "You?"
"Might have bruised a few ribs." Edmund grabbed his brother by the shoulder, the two nearly the same height now. "What were you thinking?"
"I wasn't thinking! How do you know so much about this thing, anyway? I've never even seen one before!"
"Books."
"What?"
"In the royal library. You might find the tomes on dark creatures enlightening, if you ever bothered to look. And besides, you must have fought ghouls at Beruna, the Witch sent them in droves! Granted, they were possessing goblins at the time, but everyone knows goblins are useless on their own."
Peter rolled his eyes with a sigh. "She didn't exactly line up a balanced experience, I got stuck with mostly ogres."
"Well, this isn't an ogre."
"Thank you, I can see that." Peter glanced down again, then sharply around on every side, shifting his feet to look over his shoulder. "Actually, I can't see it, the rum thing's vanished."
Edmund scanned the ground, still steadying himself on Peter's arm as his mind raced. "You go down first. Draw it out, just under this spot if you can. Leave the rest to me."
Peter pinned him with flaming eyes. "Are you mad?"
"I'm sorry, which of us just handed it our best weapon?"
Peter opened his mouth to argue but Edmund interrupted.
"Just stay out of the way, will you? You're a distraction, not a punching bag. Now go."
Peter scoffed, but looked down again, calculating his descent as tiny rivulets of blood dripped down from his steadying forearm.
The silence of the forest crept in around them, not even the faintest rustle betraying their little friend's whereabouts, and somewhere far above the treetops out of sight, a cloud passed over the sun.
"Trust me," breathed Edmund.
Peter dropped.
He caught himself on one branch and then the next, and at last fell into a crouching position on the leaf-strewn earth below, bouncing up to his feet as he glanced around.
Whatever he saw, Edmund couldn't be sure, but the younger King lowered himself to the next branch and bit his lip hard to suppress a groan as his ribs protested.
Perhaps this wasn't the best idea after all.
An explosion of noise burst below him and the churning mass of living undergrowth threw itself with a silver flash into the place Peter had occupied an instant before, the golden King ducking around the broad trunk just in time.
It wheeled and staggered just below Edmund's feet.
He took a deep breath.
And jumped.
His boots connected hard with loose shoulders, breaking his fall and crushing the monster into a heap beneath his feet as the force of the impact sent a shock of pain like lightning through his side.
His vision blurred, scattered leaves and twigs slowly gathering themselves up around him and casting a tall shadow from behind.
Edmund slammed himself into the ground with a breathless cry just as the shiver of steel swept inches overhead and sent a tingle down the back of his neck, and then with the sum of all his strength he lurched up and threw his arms around the highest point of the mass that he could reach, leaves fluttering around his fingers as they clamped down around the writhing mass of amalgamated nature.
His own living flesh trapped it there, straining to crumble under his touch, straining to absorb him the way it had pulled in Peter's sword, but it could only buck and squirm under his weight, scratching at life itself like a cord around its neck.
The strength of the evil spirit surged around him, staggering, almost knocking him breathless again, but he only tightened his grasp, feeling his way into a headlock it couldn't disintegrate out of as it lurched to throw him off.
"Ed!" called Peter just as he caught the flicker of silver out of the corner of his eye, steel rising above his head.
He braced himself and pulled.
A sickening crack reverberated through his core as the branch inside the creature's neck broke and a burst like a shockwave threw him back against the ground, debris raining down around him as he curled in to protect his head.
His own breaths echoed in his skull, heartbeat pounding in his ears, half expecting the sword to come plunging down on him.
But nothing happened.
Not until a strong hand clamped down on his arm and hauled him forcibly up into a sitting position with a grunt of pain at the motion, twigs and leaves and earth scattering off into the underbrush.
He gasped and found himself face to face with Peter, loose hair hanging wild over his brother's earnest blue eyes as they looked him up and down. "Are you alright?"
Edmund glanced around, but glimpsed no sign of the ghoul, save for Peter's sword lying motionless amongst a sea of red and orange; abandoned, harmless. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."
Both boys stared at each other for a moment before Peter shook his head and sat back on his heels with a heavy exhale. "You really are mad."
Edmund forced a smirk, ribs still aching along to his pounding heartbeat. "Did you expect anything less?"
Peter scoffed, but a smile of mixed relief and exasperation threatened his stern expression.
Slowly, birdsong filtered back into the branches overhead.
Edmund hadn't even noticed when it disappeared.
Several yards away, Peter's stallion tossed its head with a jingle of the harness, waiting patiently for its master.
"Did you really learn all that from a book?" asked Peter at length, and Edmund cracked a knowing grin.
"I improvised a bit, but yes. It can prove very useful, you know, to look at all those squiggly little lines and absorb the information. It's like magic, but for people who don't want to grow up stupid."
Peter shoved him. "I know what books are."
"Do you, now?"
Peter rolled his eyes.
Edmund laughed, and ignored the stab through his chest, leaning back on his hands and arching his neck to bask in the tranquil forest noises. "I could compile a reading list for you, if you liked."
Peter gave a weak scoff, but Edmund knew without looking that he'd failed to suppress his smirk, attempting to maintain an air of annoyance to no avail. "Or you could just tell me what they say."
Edmund smiled. "No."