Beyond Glamour

Chapter 5

            Climb wasn’t the right word, Whitney decided as she stared at the thing. Slither was. She was dark, mottled green-brown, her skin shiny with scales though the way they shimmered in the grey light made her think the creature was slimy and not smooth. Long and distinctly snake-like, her gaping jaw had Whitney’s heart slamming into her chest.

            She could see what the other two saw, overlaid over the snake monster’s form. With long, weed-like hair the same colour as her scales, with the same too bright yellow eyes and a mouth that seemed too big to belong to such a slender woman, even human she was terrifying.

            Dylan leapt up from the bench, putting himself in front of Whitney. She followed a moment later, moving beside him and grabbing his hand so, as his stance and the set of his face told her, he couldn’t attack the creature.

            Bract got up as well, his movements fluid and slow as he put himself to Dylan’s left, eyes flicking between the monster and them. “We haven’t trespassed in your waters nor have we disrespected you so why are you set on attacking us?”

            “Traitor,” she hissed, her tongue forked in both forms, making Whitney’s grip on Dylan tighten. “You speak of betraying the Court along with the help of these mortals. I’ll be rewarded for dispatching you before you could brew more rebellious thinking.”

            “Can you say you’re happy under the Court’s oppression? When was the last time they invited you or any of your kind to their feasts and revelry? When have they done more than order you about like a human child, keeping you from your natural inclinations?” Bract said, leaning forward.

            Her head reared up as she glared. “And what will they do if you try and fail? What penalties will they impose on all of us for not having stopped you?”

            “Better to die for freedom than to live under a boot for all eternity.” The glitter in Bract’s eyes had Whitney wondering if he was near tears, forced to go against one of his own, feeling pity for the horse-man.

            “Enough,” the creature hissed her snake tail lashing back and forth. “I shouldn’t concern myself with the words of dead men.” The way she hissed the last and drew herself up made Whitney certain she was about to attack. That decided her.

            And Dylan as well, she thought, if his words “How long?” were any indication.

            She frowned. “I can’t be sure. I’ve never tried on a Fae before.”

            “Well you’re about to find out,” he said, jerking his arm out of his hold and running towards the snake-thing. Bract was already facing it, two very long and very sharp looking knives in his hands.

            The creature reared back, a low warning hiss coming from its sharp toothed mouth as it watched the men rush towards it. Whitney had seen enough nature documentaries to know how this would normally end. Which is why she took a step forward and opened her mouth, letting her voice drop to is normal low tones. “Stop!” she called, just loud enough for all of them to hear it.

            Bract froze, knives halfway toward the snake while she herself went rigid, mouth hanging wide open like she been about to actually bite Bract’s head off. Dylan kept moving, his leg snapping out in a spinning roundhouse kick. It hit the woman in the back of the neck, her head smashing down into the ground with enough force that even the water-soaked grass did damage.

            He hesitated then, looking down at the creature, unsure of if he should follow-up ont eh blow or not. It should have a human out for hours. But as the snake tail swung towards him, too fast for Whitney to cry a warning, he found he’d underestimated his opponent.

            He hit the ground hard, the air bursting form his lungs on impact. Whitney opened her mouth, about to shout again, when black movement had her freezing where she stood. Bract was racing forward, his knives up and moving in a silver blur. When the creature turned, he was already there. Another almost unseen movement and there was a sound like steam escaping and Whitney saw the monster fall, her hands clutching at the gaping wound on her neck. “Wha-?” she gasped, her voice falling quickly until it was inaudible.

            On the human woman, it was like a hole had been opened up but Whitney couldn’t see anything coming out. The snake version was a different story. A sparkling, almost gas-like substance spilled from the wound, dripping down faster than she thought it should. It looked almost like it was her blood and at the rate it was flowing, Whitney assumed she was dying.

            Bract ignored the mortally wounded creature, bending over to wipe his blades clean on the grass before carefully sliding them up his sleeves. The weirdest part for Whitney was realizing that the horse him didn’t have the knives but she filed that information away for later while she turned to deal with more pressing concerns.

            She ran across the grass, sliding to a stop beside Dylan and dropping to her knees, her hands reaching for him. He was coughing as he sat up, catching one of her hands with his and holding it against his chest, where she could feel his racing heart through his shirt. She used her free one to touch his hair, the shaking, stroking motion done to reassure herself he was alive. “Are you alright?”

          He nodded, his breathing evening out. “I’ve done the same in training. How are you?”

            “Not a scratch.”

            “Good,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment. “The monster?”

            “Bract.”

            “How?”

            “Cold iron,” the Fae man said as he hunkered down beside them. “I have specially made cold iron knives with handles made of silver and insulated against the effects so I can use them. I still have to keep a layer of silk between them and my skin, even when they’re sheathed. Nasty things but very effective. Almost as effective as your yell back there.”

            Whitney turned to look at him, her almost black eyes blank. “I thought it would be a good distraction. And Dylan knew it was coming so he was still free to act.”

            “Hmm…” His gold eyes were bright as he looked her over again. Then he smiled and shrugged. “Well then, may I suggest we go somewhere else? I’d really rather not be here if there are more Royalists around.”

            Dylan and Whitney exchanged glances before nodding and standing. She was almost certain neither of them would be coming near this part of the river again.