Sharp Claws
Sharp scrambling across the hard bedroom floor awoke Elisa. Roused from a deep sleep, she clutched the thick woollen blanket tight against her chin. Again, she heard a series of scrapes, like knives sliding out of a sheath. Darkness enveloped the room, with only a faint grey light framing the curtained window. The sound, made more alarming by the intruder's lack of concern of detection, came from beneath the windowsill. Bunching the blanket about her tight fists Elisa thought of calling her father. Only if she did, the intruder would try to quieten her; the fear of which stifled the cry. With the scream dying in her throat like burnt logs collapsing in a fire she tracked the prowler. It now occupied the darkness beneath the window. Slowly her night adjusted eyes picked out a low form. Too large for a rat, and too small for a man, she immediately thought about her younger brother. Huckney knew better than to steal into her room, especially at night, unless he had a nightmare. Sometimes, if scared, he came to her room - every lightning storm without fail. Elisa whispered his name, hoping to hear his apology. No answer. Reluctantly she lowered her blanket, wanting to see more of what lay outside her bed. When the curtain twitched, she gave a startled cry and fell back against her pillow. Whatever shared her room had leapt for the drapes. She saw it. It had a long tail, and pointed ears.
When the creature next jumped and caught hold of the heavy curtain, tearing it from the thick pole, Elisa scooted out her bed. Halfway to the door she looked back into the room filled with moonbeams. In the ghostly glow, the cat sitting on her crumpled blanket appeared silver, though she knew burnished bronze covered its body.
'Gesma,' she cried, at once angry at the feline. 'What're you doing in her? Look at the curtain. Father is going to melt you down and make horseshoes out of you.'
Snatching a lamp Elisa lit the oil. The cat hissed at the flame as its brass eyes reflected the light. 'I knew you'd be trouble as soon as my brother made you.' As soon as she uttered the words, she felt guilty. Huckney had used his Talent of bringing life to metal to make her happy.
Stomping across the room, she meant to retrieve the torn curtain when a glow from her father's forge caught her attention. Leaving the curtain alone she peered out into the night.
'That's strange,' she told Gesma, as the cat joined her at the sill. Inspecting the bedside clock, Igneous Fowlt had sold her only the morning before, she saw it was almost three in the morning. What was her father doing working so late?
Gesma's tail clinked against the lamp. Alarmed at the unexpected sound, Elisa regarded the cat. 'What's wrong?' Again, the cat used its tail to hit the lamp, cracking the glass. Taking the hint, Elisa doused the flame. At once, the forge became clearer. He is not alone; there is more than one shadow inside.
'A traveller on his way to Crik Village,' she surmised. Though the explanation held no weight, she clung to the idea. Why her father wanted to have the only house outside the village, when there were plenty of empty homes right by the school, infuriated her, but until this moment, it had never scared her. 'Broken wheel,' she continued. 'Merchants go to Crik all the time, if he damaged his wagon on the way he would seek out my father.'
Pressing her face to the glass Gesma gave a low hiss. Her ears swivelled alert for any noise, while her tail thrashed back and forth between her legs. Picking up the cat's agitation, Elisa felt her skin prickle.
Sensing her father was in danger Elisa snatched her night robe from its hook, and after slipping on her sandals, exited the room.
Cloistered darkness draped her when she entered the corridor. Knowing her house, she proceeded confidently, with the cat a step behind. Pausing at her brother's door, she contemplated waking him. If there is danger, he will have a chance to run away, she told herself. Only if a merchant were with their father she would worry Huckney for nothing. Worst, her brother would have nightmares for weeks, making him want to sleep in her bed with her. No, better to be sure, I can always come back and wake him if I need to. Decided, she tiptoed along the corridor and down the stairs. Avoiding the creaking step, she flitted through kitchen and opened the backdoor. Cold night air caressed her like a careless lover. Crossing her arms, she ran across the garden, the knee-high grass whipping at her legs. Stacks of metal filled the yard before the forge. Father never leaves metal outside; it will rust. Gesma kept close like a shadow, but when Elisa made for the forge door, the cat gave a low hiss. Firelight spilled from the aperture, flooding the packed earth in a sea of red. Cursing herself for a fool Elisa veered away from the illumination. If her father were in danger, she would not help him by stumbling in on them. Allowing the metal feline to take the lead she tried to hear any sound from within the workshop. A metal clang awarded her diligence. Father's hammer, she knew the sound of the heavy tool beating metal before she could walk. Relaxing her stride, she allowed herself to breathe easier. No one would mess with her father when he had his hammer, whoever the late caller was he only wanted a smith. Wet cloth stuck to her calves. Feeling stupid, she followed her brother's dumb cat to the small window.
A pig's snout stood in profile against the dirty glass. Had her brother created a pig from iron? Rust clung to the face like dried blood. It stood at almost six foot with a broad neck that led to expansive shoulders that wore leather spaulders. Moving with menace the pig indicated to its right. Elisa noted a scruff of white hair peaking through the joints in the armour. Under the pig's arm, she spied a wolf, with a jutting grill of black iron teeth, and a growling bear.
Frightened the strange beasts would see her she dropped to the floor. She could still see the shadow of the pig sprawled across the ground as it moved behind the window. Curling herself against the warm stone of the forge, she tried to think. One thing she knew, her brother had not created those things. Beckoning Gesma to her, she got hold of the cat. 'Stay with me,' she murmured. 'If you move around they will spot you.' Although its unyielding metal dug into her ribs, she did not slacken her grip on the cat. 'I wish I had a worthwhile Talent, all I can do is breathe underwater, not exactly formidable.'
Clang followed clang as her father's hammer continued to beat metal. What are they making him do? Overcome with concern, Elisa, gathering her courage, lifted herself to the edge of the window. Gesma squirmed in her grasp, but she refused to let the feline loose. When she peeked inside the creature with the pig head was again gesturing deeper into the room. Tracking the room in that direction Elisa spotted her father. Sweat covered his body, making the firelight sparkle on his flushed skin. He wore the same leather apron he had worn for a dozen years, spotted with scorch marks and dust. Though broad, the encircling creatures were smaller. She saw another two beasts, a hawk faced brute covered in loose metal plates, and a ram with bronze horns. Realising they wore masks did not lessen her paralysing fear of them. Each held a jagged sword coated in rust. Her father worked a breastplate, beating the armour into recognisable form with well-practised strokes. Piles of armour and newly forged blades clustered around his feet. They are forcing him to make them weapons, thought Elisa with a start. Her father’s skill with metalwork brought many to his forge; obviously his fame had spread as far as this strange cabal. Jabbing with the point of its sword, the wolf growled at her father. Arming sweat from his brow the blacksmith tossed the breastplate off the anvil and with tongs grabbed metal from the hot fire.
Impatient, the other creatures moved around the interior, pushing over barrels of nails and assorted tools. Although the armour her father made was inferior to his normal exacting standards, its quantity was impressive. Elisa wondered how long her father had worked. How did I sleep through it all? Darkness stuck to the corners like bloated leaches. Slight movement within the gloom attracted her attention from her father. Slowly the hunched figure of a badger materialised. Crafted into a snarl the mask took on a cruel slyness. Squatting low, the beast had almost evaded her. A glimmer of reflected firelight ran along the serrated edge of the knife the creature gripped. Aided by the illuminated weapon she noted a smaller shape huddled beneath the crouching monster. Her heart struck her ribs as hard as her father’s hammer pounded the anvil. Dreadful clarity of the situation overcame her. Huckney, her little brother, whimpered under the watchful glare of the beast with the knife. They threatened Huckney to make her father work. This realisation caused bitter tears to fall down her cheek.
Knowing her family's only hope rested with the men of the nearby village broke her paralysis; she pushed away from the forge. Three miles separated her from the village. She ran. Reaching the hard packed track that wound its way through the trees to the village she dropped Gesma. Already a spasm of pain knitted her side. Propelled by fear she carried on, ignoring the pressure in her chest. Her flight through the tree-lined lane was a blur. Huckney, tethered to a support, occupied her entire mind. There were those in the village who had Talents that are more useful than breathing underwater. Willing herself to greater effort, she crested a rise and came upon the Hanging Tree. Craning her neck, she spotted the hangman's noose swaying in time with the keening wind. Mr Hasseltope had tied the noose, and she would make sure the beasts that attacked her family would swing from it. Ancient roots bridged over the lane. Heedless of the spiders that festooned the passage with dirty webs, she moved inside. Old fears of never finding her way out of the tunnel assailed her. Finally, she ran out from under the ancient tree. Before her, the lane dipped down into the long valley, which sheltered the village.
At the base of the hill, she crossed Tristle Bridge. As she ran across the stone arch, she focused on the squat building that loomed out of the night. A sign of a frothing pint creaked in the wind. She stopped, panting hard, and banged on the inn's door. Time did not allow her to carry on running into Crik Village; she may already be too late to help her father and brother. Besides, Crik Inn always sheltered a few hunters. Curses bloomed with the light as Mr Carnagy stamped to answer the racket she raised on his stoop.
'Girl, what you doing here at this time...'
Before the proprietor could continue, Elisa burst into tears. Distressed by her emotion Mr Carnagy made to grab her arm.
Stepping away, Elisa shook her head. 'They have my father, and brother,' she cried.
'You're the blacksmith's daughter, Elizabeth isn't it?'
'Listen to me! Myrms have my father!' She pulled the name from a campfire tale told to warn children from running off into the forest. Beasts so hideous they wore masks to hide their true appearance. As soon as she uttered the name, Elisa knew her intuition was correct.
The dumbstruck innkeeper only stood in the doorway. Angry, she bulled passed him into the chair cluttered commons room. At this late hour, all the tables were empty, and Mr Carnagy had replaced the glasses back behind the bar.
'How many hunters are staying here?'
'Six, and four merchants.'
Elisa was halfway up the stairs before the innkeeper thought to act. Gesma's claws raked the steps, peeling back splinters as she followed. Beating her fists on every door Elisa woke the occupants.
'You can't do that,' cried Mr Carnagy as he struggled up the stairs. 'They are paying customers. I promised them a good rest.'
A grizzled man, with arms as thick as tree trunks, swung open his door before Elisa had reached his room. Unlike the innkeeper, the huge man listened calmly to her tale. When she finished her account, the man gave a curt nod and disappeared back into his room, closing the door. Awash with emotion, Elisa stared at the closed door not comprehending the man's actions. Furious, she raised her fist to knock the door into splinters if she had to, when the large man returned wearing a coat.
'Dester, Ona, with me,' he cried to the other gathered men in a booming voice that brooked no argument. 'Malcolm, go to the village and tell them that Myrms have come.'
The thin boy tasked with raising the hue and cry, took off at once.
'I'm Lammy,' the big hunter told Elisa. 'Take us to them.'
Propelled through the inn with the men, Elisa allowed herself to hope. Those creatures had better not have hurt my brother or these hunters will use their axes to lop off their heads. Although the grim thought did not settle her stomach, it gave her the impetuous to match the men's strides. Rounding the corner, they entered the stables.
'Ride with me,' said Lammy, hoisting Elisa into the saddle.
The roan horse stamped its hoof in displeasure at the unwelcome weight as Lammy sank down before Elisa. 'Hold on,' said the hunter.
With her direction, the ride back to her home took far less time than she had expected. She noted Gesma kept track with the horses, flitting through the brush with lithe acrobatic flair. Returning to the meadow only increased Elisa's trepidation of what she would find. She had no idea how long it had taken to return with help. Gesma looked anxious, her tail standing erect. A moment later the movement of the horse took the cat from view. Ahead her house stood as indomitable as always, though the stone walls no longer could offer her the protection she needed. Trees and night hid the forge. 'Careful,' warned Lammy, as he brought his horse to a canter. 'Dester, you go around the back. Yell if you see anything. Ona, you're with me and the girl.'
'Where're we going?'
Ona reminded Elisa of a nervous rabbit sticking its head out of its burrow. He kept turning in his saddle. Did he expect an ambush? Now nervous herself she began to twitch at every sound, real or imagined.
'Where do you think,' said Lammy, 'we're going in through the front.'
The front, Elisa gulped down her rising fear. There will be no hiding once we walk into the forge. She couldn't bring herself to ask Lammy his Talent. It must be fearsome, she told herself. You don't become a hunter without a dangerous Talent. Ona' s skittish behaviour did nothing to soothe her nerves.
Sensing her concerns Lammy smiled back at her. 'We've yet to go up against anything that could stand up to my axe.' The axe the big man patted had two crescent shaped heads. Moon gleamed along both blades.
'They wear armour,' she said, unable to recall if she had told them.
'Doesn't matter, Bertha cuts through anything.'
The forge grew out of the dark.
'Where's the fire?' Elisa scanned the now dark windows.
'They must've heard us coming,' said Ona, straightening. 'You two made too much noise.'
Grumbling something unpleasant under his breath, Lammy kicked his horse forward.
Proceeding with caution, the trio, followed by the metal cat, stepped in front of the forge. A dank odour wafted through the open doors. At the centre of the room the fire had burnt down to embers until only a dim glow painted the hearth.
‘Ona, we need to see what’s inside,’ said Lammy, squinting into the interior.
Loosening his sword Ona jumped down from his horse. Walking in a half crouch the hunter stepped into the open doorway. Sudden brilliance flared from his body. Elisa shielded her eyes from unexpected yellow light. When the light refused to die, she peered out from between her fingers. The hunter was inside the forge; when he moved he left an after-image on her retinas.
With Ona’s help, they discovered the forge was empty. The armour her father made for the Myrms had disappeared with her family. Despair rifled through her, making her feel dizzy. Looking away from Ona she noted a deep rent in the earth.
‘Look,’ she cried. Whatever had cut the ground led into the woods.
Her hope at finding her parent and brother disappeared when Lammy hopped down from the horse and inspected the spoiled ground. ‘This came from the woods,’ he said. ‘Probably the iron the Myrms brought for your father to make their weapons.’ His mouth twisted when Dester appeared and reported no sign of the Myrms.
‘You must follow them into the woods,’ said Elisa, angry that they had yet to propose the undertaking themselves.
‘We can’t,’ said Lammy. ‘We’ve got to wait until daybreak.’
‘Why?’ challenged Elisa. ‘With Ona with you, you won’t miss their trail.’
‘Ona will reveal us to them. It will be too easy for them to misdirect us, or set up an ambush. I’m sorry, we have to wait.’
His words were like a physical blow, forcing Elisa to slump to the floor. Gesma leapt from the forge, her body glistening. Wanting to hold the cat, to have something of her brother close, Elisa opened up her arms. Before Gesma could cover the distance, she stopped. At first Elisa thought the cat heard some noise, perhaps her father. Only when she looked harder she discovered the cat did not move at all.
Dester strode up and wrapped a knuckle on Gesma head. The hollow thunk preceded his words. 'What's wrong with your cat?'
Gesma's elliptical eyes once full of life now only stared listlessly off into the distance. No longer able to contain her emotion Elisa screamed. She realised the cat only lived because of her brother, without Huckney Gesma was nothing but scrap metal. Without her brother the cat did not move.
Sharp scrambling across the hard bedroom floor awoke Elisa. Roused from a deep sleep, she clutched the thick woollen blanket tight against her chin. Again, she heard a series of scrapes, like knives sliding out of a sheath. Darkness enveloped the room, with only a faint grey light framing the curtained window. The sound, made more alarming by the intruder's lack of concern of detection, came from beneath the windowsill. Bunching the blanket about her tight fists Elisa thought of calling her father. Only if she did, the intruder would try to quieten her; the fear of which stifled the cry. With the scream dying in her throat like burnt logs collapsing in a fire she tracked the prowler. It now occupied the darkness beneath the window. Slowly her night adjusted eyes picked out a low form. Too large for a rat, and too small for a man, she immediately thought about her younger brother. Huckney knew better than to steal into her room, especially at night, unless he had a nightmare. Sometimes, if scared, he came to her room - every lightning storm without fail. Elisa whispered his name, hoping to hear his apology. No answer. Reluctantly she lowered her blanket, wanting to see more of what lay outside her bed. When the curtain twitched, she gave a startled cry and fell back against her pillow. Whatever shared her room had leapt for the drapes. She saw it. It had a long tail, and pointed ears.
When the creature next jumped and caught hold of the heavy curtain, tearing it from the thick pole, Elisa scooted out her bed. Halfway to the door she looked back into the room filled with moonbeams. In the ghostly glow, the cat sitting on her crumpled blanket appeared silver, though she knew burnished bronze covered its body.
'Gesma,' she cried, at once angry at the feline. 'What're you doing in her? Look at the curtain. Father is going to melt you down and make horseshoes out of you.'
Snatching a lamp Elisa lit the oil. The cat hissed at the flame as its brass eyes reflected the light. 'I knew you'd be trouble as soon as my brother made you.' As soon as she uttered the words, she felt guilty. Huckney had used his Talent of bringing life to metal to make her happy.
Stomping across the room, she meant to retrieve the torn curtain when a glow from her father's forge caught her attention. Leaving the curtain alone she peered out into the night.
'That's strange,' she told Gesma, as the cat joined her at the sill. Inspecting the bedside clock, Igneous Fowlt had sold her only the morning before, she saw it was almost three in the morning. What was her father doing working so late?
Gesma's tail clinked against the lamp. Alarmed at the unexpected sound, Elisa regarded the cat. 'What's wrong?' Again, the cat used its tail to hit the lamp, cracking the glass. Taking the hint, Elisa doused the flame. At once, the forge became clearer. He is not alone; there is more than one shadow inside.
'A traveller on his way to Crik Village,' she surmised. Though the explanation held no weight, she clung to the idea. Why her father wanted to have the only house outside the village, when there were plenty of empty homes right by the school, infuriated her, but until this moment, it had never scared her. 'Broken wheel,' she continued. 'Merchants go to Crik all the time, if he damaged his wagon on the way he would seek out my father.'
Pressing her face to the glass Gesma gave a low hiss. Her ears swivelled alert for any noise, while her tail thrashed back and forth between her legs. Picking up the cat's agitation, Elisa felt her skin prickle.
Sensing her father was in danger Elisa snatched her night robe from its hook, and after slipping on her sandals, exited the room.
Cloistered darkness draped her when she entered the corridor. Knowing her house, she proceeded confidently, with the cat a step behind. Pausing at her brother's door, she contemplated waking him. If there is danger, he will have a chance to run away, she told herself. Only if a merchant were with their father she would worry Huckney for nothing. Worst, her brother would have nightmares for weeks, making him want to sleep in her bed with her. No, better to be sure, I can always come back and wake him if I need to. Decided, she tiptoed along the corridor and down the stairs. Avoiding the creaking step, she flitted through kitchen and opened the backdoor. Cold night air caressed her like a careless lover. Crossing her arms, she ran across the garden, the knee-high grass whipping at her legs. Stacks of metal filled the yard before the forge. Father never leaves metal outside; it will rust. Gesma kept close like a shadow, but when Elisa made for the forge door, the cat gave a low hiss. Firelight spilled from the aperture, flooding the packed earth in a sea of red. Cursing herself for a fool Elisa veered away from the illumination. If her father were in danger, she would not help him by stumbling in on them. Allowing the metal feline to take the lead she tried to hear any sound from within the workshop. A metal clang awarded her diligence. Father's hammer, she knew the sound of the heavy tool beating metal before she could walk. Relaxing her stride, she allowed herself to breathe easier. No one would mess with her father when he had his hammer, whoever the late caller was he only wanted a smith. Wet cloth stuck to her calves. Feeling stupid, she followed her brother's dumb cat to the small window.
A pig's snout stood in profile against the dirty glass. Had her brother created a pig from iron? Rust clung to the face like dried blood. It stood at almost six foot with a broad neck that led to expansive shoulders that wore leather spaulders. Moving with menace the pig indicated to its right. Elisa noted a scruff of white hair peaking through the joints in the armour. Under the pig's arm, she spied a wolf, with a jutting grill of black iron teeth, and a growling bear.
Frightened the strange beasts would see her she dropped to the floor. She could still see the shadow of the pig sprawled across the ground as it moved behind the window. Curling herself against the warm stone of the forge, she tried to think. One thing she knew, her brother had not created those things. Beckoning Gesma to her, she got hold of the cat. 'Stay with me,' she murmured. 'If you move around they will spot you.' Although its unyielding metal dug into her ribs, she did not slacken her grip on the cat. 'I wish I had a worthwhile Talent, all I can do is breathe underwater, not exactly formidable.'
Clang followed clang as her father's hammer continued to beat metal. What are they making him do? Overcome with concern, Elisa, gathering her courage, lifted herself to the edge of the window. Gesma squirmed in her grasp, but she refused to let the feline loose. When she peeked inside the creature with the pig head was again gesturing deeper into the room. Tracking the room in that direction Elisa spotted her father. Sweat covered his body, making the firelight sparkle on his flushed skin. He wore the same leather apron he had worn for a dozen years, spotted with scorch marks and dust. Though broad, the encircling creatures were smaller. She saw another two beasts, a hawk faced brute covered in loose metal plates, and a ram with bronze horns. Realising they wore masks did not lessen her paralysing fear of them. Each held a jagged sword coated in rust. Her father worked a breastplate, beating the armour into recognisable form with well-practised strokes. Piles of armour and newly forged blades clustered around his feet. They are forcing him to make them weapons, thought Elisa with a start. Her father’s skill with metalwork brought many to his forge; obviously his fame had spread as far as this strange cabal. Jabbing with the point of its sword, the wolf growled at her father. Arming sweat from his brow the blacksmith tossed the breastplate off the anvil and with tongs grabbed metal from the hot fire.
Impatient, the other creatures moved around the interior, pushing over barrels of nails and assorted tools. Although the armour her father made was inferior to his normal exacting standards, its quantity was impressive. Elisa wondered how long her father had worked. How did I sleep through it all? Darkness stuck to the corners like bloated leaches. Slight movement within the gloom attracted her attention from her father. Slowly the hunched figure of a badger materialised. Crafted into a snarl the mask took on a cruel slyness. Squatting low, the beast had almost evaded her. A glimmer of reflected firelight ran along the serrated edge of the knife the creature gripped. Aided by the illuminated weapon she noted a smaller shape huddled beneath the crouching monster. Her heart struck her ribs as hard as her father’s hammer pounded the anvil. Dreadful clarity of the situation overcame her. Huckney, her little brother, whimpered under the watchful glare of the beast with the knife. They threatened Huckney to make her father work. This realisation caused bitter tears to fall down her cheek.
Knowing her family's only hope rested with the men of the nearby village broke her paralysis; she pushed away from the forge. Three miles separated her from the village. She ran. Reaching the hard packed track that wound its way through the trees to the village she dropped Gesma. Already a spasm of pain knitted her side. Propelled by fear she carried on, ignoring the pressure in her chest. Her flight through the tree-lined lane was a blur. Huckney, tethered to a support, occupied her entire mind. There were those in the village who had Talents that are more useful than breathing underwater. Willing herself to greater effort, she crested a rise and came upon the Hanging Tree. Craning her neck, she spotted the hangman's noose swaying in time with the keening wind. Mr Hasseltope had tied the noose, and she would make sure the beasts that attacked her family would swing from it. Ancient roots bridged over the lane. Heedless of the spiders that festooned the passage with dirty webs, she moved inside. Old fears of never finding her way out of the tunnel assailed her. Finally, she ran out from under the ancient tree. Before her, the lane dipped down into the long valley, which sheltered the village.
At the base of the hill, she crossed Tristle Bridge. As she ran across the stone arch, she focused on the squat building that loomed out of the night. A sign of a frothing pint creaked in the wind. She stopped, panting hard, and banged on the inn's door. Time did not allow her to carry on running into Crik Village; she may already be too late to help her father and brother. Besides, Crik Inn always sheltered a few hunters. Curses bloomed with the light as Mr Carnagy stamped to answer the racket she raised on his stoop.
'Girl, what you doing here at this time...'
Before the proprietor could continue, Elisa burst into tears. Distressed by her emotion Mr Carnagy made to grab her arm.
Stepping away, Elisa shook her head. 'They have my father, and brother,' she cried.
'You're the blacksmith's daughter, Elizabeth isn't it?'
'Listen to me! Myrms have my father!' She pulled the name from a campfire tale told to warn children from running off into the forest. Beasts so hideous they wore masks to hide their true appearance. As soon as she uttered the name, Elisa knew her intuition was correct.
The dumbstruck innkeeper only stood in the doorway. Angry, she bulled passed him into the chair cluttered commons room. At this late hour, all the tables were empty, and Mr Carnagy had replaced the glasses back behind the bar.
'How many hunters are staying here?'
'Six, and four merchants.'
Elisa was halfway up the stairs before the innkeeper thought to act. Gesma's claws raked the steps, peeling back splinters as she followed. Beating her fists on every door Elisa woke the occupants.
'You can't do that,' cried Mr Carnagy as he struggled up the stairs. 'They are paying customers. I promised them a good rest.'
A grizzled man, with arms as thick as tree trunks, swung open his door before Elisa had reached his room. Unlike the innkeeper, the huge man listened calmly to her tale. When she finished her account, the man gave a curt nod and disappeared back into his room, closing the door. Awash with emotion, Elisa stared at the closed door not comprehending the man's actions. Furious, she raised her fist to knock the door into splinters if she had to, when the large man returned wearing a coat.
'Dester, Ona, with me,' he cried to the other gathered men in a booming voice that brooked no argument. 'Malcolm, go to the village and tell them that Myrms have come.'
The thin boy tasked with raising the hue and cry, took off at once.
'I'm Lammy,' the big hunter told Elisa. 'Take us to them.'
Propelled through the inn with the men, Elisa allowed herself to hope. Those creatures had better not have hurt my brother or these hunters will use their axes to lop off their heads. Although the grim thought did not settle her stomach, it gave her the impetuous to match the men's strides. Rounding the corner, they entered the stables.
'Ride with me,' said Lammy, hoisting Elisa into the saddle.
The roan horse stamped its hoof in displeasure at the unwelcome weight as Lammy sank down before Elisa. 'Hold on,' said the hunter.
With her direction, the ride back to her home took far less time than she had expected. She noted Gesma kept track with the horses, flitting through the brush with lithe acrobatic flair. Returning to the meadow only increased Elisa's trepidation of what she would find. She had no idea how long it had taken to return with help. Gesma looked anxious, her tail standing erect. A moment later the movement of the horse took the cat from view. Ahead her house stood as indomitable as always, though the stone walls no longer could offer her the protection she needed. Trees and night hid the forge. 'Careful,' warned Lammy, as he brought his horse to a canter. 'Dester, you go around the back. Yell if you see anything. Ona, you're with me and the girl.'
'Where're we going?'
Ona reminded Elisa of a nervous rabbit sticking its head out of its burrow. He kept turning in his saddle. Did he expect an ambush? Now nervous herself she began to twitch at every sound, real or imagined.
'Where do you think,' said Lammy, 'we're going in through the front.'
The front, Elisa gulped down her rising fear. There will be no hiding once we walk into the forge. She couldn't bring herself to ask Lammy his Talent. It must be fearsome, she told herself. You don't become a hunter without a dangerous Talent. Ona' s skittish behaviour did nothing to soothe her nerves.
Sensing her concerns Lammy smiled back at her. 'We've yet to go up against anything that could stand up to my axe.' The axe the big man patted had two crescent shaped heads. Moon gleamed along both blades.
'They wear armour,' she said, unable to recall if she had told them.
'Doesn't matter, Bertha cuts through anything.'
The forge grew out of the dark.
'Where's the fire?' Elisa scanned the now dark windows.
'They must've heard us coming,' said Ona, straightening. 'You two made too much noise.'
Grumbling something unpleasant under his breath, Lammy kicked his horse forward.
Proceeding with caution, the trio, followed by the metal cat, stepped in front of the forge. A dank odour wafted through the open doors. At the centre of the room the fire had burnt down to embers until only a dim glow painted the hearth.
‘Ona, we need to see what’s inside,’ said Lammy, squinting into the interior.
Loosening his sword Ona jumped down from his horse. Walking in a half crouch the hunter stepped into the open doorway. Sudden brilliance flared from his body. Elisa shielded her eyes from unexpected yellow light. When the light refused to die, she peered out from between her fingers. The hunter was inside the forge; when he moved he left an after-image on her retinas.
With Ona’s help, they discovered the forge was empty. The armour her father made for the Myrms had disappeared with her family. Despair rifled through her, making her feel dizzy. Looking away from Ona she noted a deep rent in the earth.
‘Look,’ she cried. Whatever had cut the ground led into the woods.
Her hope at finding her parent and brother disappeared when Lammy hopped down from the horse and inspected the spoiled ground. ‘This came from the woods,’ he said. ‘Probably the iron the Myrms brought for your father to make their weapons.’ His mouth twisted when Dester appeared and reported no sign of the Myrms.
‘You must follow them into the woods,’ said Elisa, angry that they had yet to propose the undertaking themselves.
‘We can’t,’ said Lammy. ‘We’ve got to wait until daybreak.’
‘Why?’ challenged Elisa. ‘With Ona with you, you won’t miss their trail.’
‘Ona will reveal us to them. It will be too easy for them to misdirect us, or set up an ambush. I’m sorry, we have to wait.’
His words were like a physical blow, forcing Elisa to slump to the floor. Gesma leapt from the forge, her body glistening. Wanting to hold the cat, to have something of her brother close, Elisa opened up her arms. Before Gesma could cover the distance, she stopped. At first Elisa thought the cat heard some noise, perhaps her father. Only when she looked harder she discovered the cat did not move at all.
Dester strode up and wrapped a knuckle on Gesma head. The hollow thunk preceded his words. 'What's wrong with your cat?'
Gesma's elliptical eyes once full of life now only stared listlessly off into the distance. No longer able to contain her emotion Elisa screamed. She realised the cat only lived because of her brother, without Huckney Gesma was nothing but scrap metal. Without her brother the cat did not move.