Gothick

Chapter Thirty-Five

The blows of wooden staffs hit Siegfried on all sides, yet he didn't seem to notice. Agnes watched him shrug the strikes off, pick up the nearest knight, and throw him across the training room. The man tumbled across the stone floor before coming to a stop just before the brick wall. Agnes thought she heard something crack.

Siegfried wheeled around at the other sparring partners. One knight pulled back, but Siegfried grabbed him by the throat and slammed him down, face red and in a perpetual snarl. A deep growl resonated in his throat, making him appear more animal than man. He moved so quickly that the men barely had time to react. Schneider and Goldstein stood on either side of Agnes, smiling.

"Excellent," Goldstein muttered. A scream echoed within the room as Siegfried broke another's arm, and then tossed him aside. "The procedure has worked far better than anticipated!"

"Well done," Schneider said, nodding toward Goldstein. "You may have very well have found Nördlingen's savior."

Agnes rubbed her eyes. Dark circles hung below them.

As she watched the man she had known since a boy-snarling and striking out like a beast-something within Agnes wanted it to stop. He hadn't been like this. Siegfried cared about those who served under him. He would have never thought of harming them in combat training, but now...

Siegfried dispatched the last of his partners. He stood there, looking twice as large as he stood hunched and panting. Schneider's laughter echoed through the room while he clapped, striding toward Siegfried.

"Well done, my man," he said. "Well done indeed."

Siegfried didn't reply. He just stood there, tense.

"Yes!" Goldstein cried, voice unusually high in his excitement. "I daresay he would be a match for those Gothicks."

Goldstein and Schneider clapped him on the shoulder. Siegfried took no notice. When the two finally moved on to summon the nurse for the wounded, Agnes stayed behind.

"Are you alright, son?" she asked. Siegfried stood there, huffing and gazing off, for a few minutes before answering.

"I will be...soon enough," he said in a haggard voice.

"You haven't been sleeping well, have you?"

Again, Siegfried fell silent. She waited, seeing the creases in his face deepen.

"I see her every night," he muttered. "She's so far away. I run toward her, but just when I can touch her..."

Siegfried's gaze shot at Agnes. It made her take a step back. These were not the eyes of the captain she once knew. These were darker and more focused and infinitely crueler. Siegfried pushed past her, and exited the training room. Agnes stood there, amid the fallen warriors, thinking to herself-What have we done?

That night, with the full moon shining in through the window, Siegfried found only fitful sleep. He tossed and turned beneath his sheets. Cold sweat drenched his body, making his thin, white nightshirt stick to his chest.

He could see Anna, so close. Every time he took a step forward, more and more blood stained her yellow dress. Siegfried ran toward her. If he could get to her before the stain became too large. Yet, it grew larger and larger with each step, and she seemed to draw farther and farther away. He could save her, he just had to run faster. His legs burned. That burn turned to pain, and then that pain turned to agony. Knees buckled and popped, bones lengthening and muscles stretching.

The pain became so excruciating that he almost woke, yet part of him refused. Now Anna was in his room, blood running down her front. She reached for him, her face pale and lip trembling. Her mouth parted, as though to ask for help, but no sound came.

"Anna," Siegfried said, though his voice came out a throaty growl. His back arched as it snapped and refined itself. He crawled off his bed, teeth grinding from pain. His jaw snapped and protruded. He crawled toward her, half asleep. Siegfried reached a hand out, each joint popping and each finger lengthening. Just as Siegfried grazed her dress with his fingertips, Anna fell to her knees and crumpled into dust.

Siegfried screamed, or more, howled. His chest felt as though it were splitting, both physically and emotionally. The more his thoughts raced, the more his body cracked and broke and rebuilt. He glanced up, and could have sworn he saw he saw two specks of gold. Hot anger ran through him. He threw back his head and roared. Siegfried no longer felt the pain of what he was becoming.

All he felt was rage.