Stranger (The Aevyanthis Chronicles, Book One)

Chapter Nineteen

By that afternoon, Luke and Enda had reached the border of Thyssilla and Agon: the Gate, as the elves called it. But the forest didn't just open up, revealing the haunted remains of what seemed like an ancient, misty battlefield; instead, the rugged terrain of Agon had crept its way into the forest, blurring the two kingdoms together. The forest thinned, but the trees that remained had grown thick and tall, like faceless sentries forming a natural barricade. Just like Elthron, watchtowers had been woven from the sturdy branches, although the place felt more eerie than tranquil. There were no fairy lights, no beetles singing; it was a dead place, and the dead lay silent.

"The barrier... it's so faint, but you can see it if you look close," Enda said, gesturing at the field.

A fine, shimmering wall separated the two kingdoms, barely noticeable unless you were purposely looking for it, and even then, only when the sun was hitting it at a certain angle. It reminded Luke of the fairylike iridescence of bubble mixture. He wondered if it went straight up into the sky and disappeared into space, or if it encased the entire elven kingdom in a giant, ethereal dome.

"Where are the guards?" he asked, turning his attention to the watchtowers. From where he stood, they all looked empty. Abandoned. Enda had found a spiraling staircase made of branches, and was already peering into the nearest tower by the time he realized where she was.

"Be careful!" he called up to her. "We have no idea what happened here, it could be dangerous."

She poked her head over the edge. "There is no one here. Everything looks..." Her eyes widened, her mouth contorting into a horrified gasp.

"Luke, WATCH OUT!"

The sound of paws, heavy and scrambling, rushed towards him, followed by a guttural snarl. He turned just in time to see a hellhound bounding from the bushes; its body was ablaze, its muscles rippling, its eyes alight and focused on him.

It leapt.

He jumped to the side, falling gracelessly in the dirt. Pain rushed up his side, but he ignored it; the beast was circling back around. Scrambling for his sword, he managed to grip his scabbard in both hands, using it as a shield as the beast bore down on him, gnashing its teeth inches from his throat. Its three tails whipped around his face, hissing like flaming snakes. He gasped for air; its paws were swiping wildly at him, pounding down onto his chest and tearing at his clothes, the weight pushing the breath from his lungs.

Somewhere in the trees, Enda was screaming his name. But her voice was distant, as if echoing down a long corridor. It was smothered, muted, almost lost to the heartbeat pounding in his ears. To Luke, she could have been a thousand miles away.

The demon – a shadowy mass of fire and fur - snorted hot breath and embers into his face as he struggled. The heat was unbearable. Steam rose out from under his fingers, the metal searing its elven patterns into his skin. Already he could feel the white-hot blisters forming on his palms. Instinct made him cry out, his arms slackening by a few inches. That was all it took.

The demon descended, and he shifted to the right to avoid having his throat torn. Instead, its teeth found his left collarbone and crunched down hard. There was a loud, internal popping sound. He let out a noiseless scream. Still crunching into his bones, the beast thrashed its head back and forth, shaking him like a chew toy. It pulled him up and slammed him down, once, twice, white sparks shattering his vision as his head connected with the rocky ground.

It let him go – perhaps to get a better grip, or perhaps just to play with him - but before those dripping teeth could clamp down again, he pushed back. His body sang with pain, wishing, threatening to let his arms give out, to give way to whatever death awaited him on the other side of that blade.