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Chapter 3: Eyes in the Dark

What counted as Lienze’s main thoroughfare was a dirt road just wide enough for a single-horse cart, if the cart was narrow and the horse kept straight forward. Along it ran numerous dirt patches where vendors could set up shop on market days. This late at night, the lane was quiet and deserted, with few houses in the immediate vicinity. Most of the small, clay huts with thatched roofs were spaced widely, so their gardens could stretch between them. Erik wondered if they actually grew lentils, or if, like other places named around here—say, Mt. Brunnen and Grim’s Woods—there was probably some lost story explaining the whole thing. Maybe they were magic lentils, that gave you gas enough to fly. It was a sad, desperate attempt of levity, that made him glad he had no one to say it to.

He sniffed, noticing a smell worse than gut gas, an odd stench lingering in the air. Yes, there was the ever-present manure, wafting in from the fields and stables, but something else lingered beneath, something like—

Lashed to crossed beams, his head strapped between the planks, the cold blade cutting red hot as it slit down the back of his neck, screaming flesh—

Shivering, he put a hand to the scar on his neck. It didn’t hurt ache like his chest, but the skin was ridged with stitches. Another of my wounds that won’t heal.

He spent a moment imagining all the things he’d do to Oslef if he ever saw him again.

But the stench brought him out of it, and with all those morbid thoughts in his head, he thought he finally recognized it: decay. At least I know why it made me remember the Crow’s tower. His stomach throbbed again.

But Wil hadn’t stopped plodding ahead of him, so Erik had to walk fast to catch up. In his haste, he grew careless, and the tanner looked; but, after a moment, the big silhouette moved on, ambling down the road to the other end of town. Erik continued after him, slow, careful.

As little as he wanted to, curiosity compelled him to sniff the air again. There was another scent mixing in with that of cloying flesh, another sickening smell, but in a different way. It bothered him; he knew all the plants around, and what would be blooming midsummer, as his father had commonly used local flora in his formulae. Including the elixir coursing through Erik, keeping him…alive.

The world settled into twilight, and drained to shades of slate, alleviated partially by the half-lit moon. Was there a time before the moon was broken, when night was filled with light? an idle thought passed through his head. Was it as bright as day? Even when the crescent and its islands were lit, he could barely see his feet below him, much less anything around him. He just kept his eyes on Wil’s figure, still swaying before him. It can’t be much further

An animal sound erupted from the woods, and Erik stopped dead. It sounded like a dog’s howl, but spinning to find it, he knew he must be wrong. It was the eyes that did it. They seemed to suck every bit of moonlight from the night and flare it out, like stars in a clear sky.

They weren’t called mooneyes for no reason.

Though he couldn’t see beyond its eyes, he knew what it should look like: lion-like in shape, longer and thicker than a man, with a mane that flared out like shadowy flames. Its claws were dangerous enough, but its bite was said to be worse: it could turn a man demonstruck in a moment.

It growled, howled like a hound, then advanced. Erik backed away. He was helpless, even though he clutched his knife in hand. No had killed one before; they never failed the kill. There was only one way this could end.

What will it be like, Erik thought numbly, to die by digestion? 

The stalker came on barking, jumping forward by margins—though a mooneyes shouldn’t bark. But Erik still backed away fast, yelling and swinging his knife before him. It snapped and growled and yelped, its fury seeming to grow by the second. 

His heel caught. He was weightless for one terror-filled moment, then he crashed to the ground. And the beast was on him, snarling, its breath smelling of decay and death—Erik lashed at it, but his arm was pinned beneath him and the creature, he couldn’t get it unstuck, and it was on him.

The mooneyes snarled and dove for his arm, teeth sinking in.

“Ah!” Erik flailed at the stalker as it bit hard on his arm, tearing through the cloth and into the skin. He lashed out, panic rising in his chest, knife still stuck under his side. Blood ran down his sleeve. The beast’s claws pressed against his chest, weight bearing down on him. Erik hissed through his teeth at the pain and pushed at it harder, but the beast just clamped down tighter.

“Hey! Off him!” The voice came from behind. Erik punched the stalker’s head, and its grip loosened. But it didn’t back off; it lunged for his neck this time, and Erik just managed to twist his leg around to push at its flank. It came again, snapping viciously, then suddenly stopped. Erik scrambled to his feet and away, turning back when he’d gone a few paces away, panting and clutching his arm. He finally managed to get the knife up and brandish it threateningly, but the animal was bowing down to the ground, bright eyes watching warily.

“Get the hell away from him, yah damn mutt!” the voice said. It was Wil, Erik saw, the big man running back up the road. “Get back to your master!”

“What are you doing?” Erik croaked. Bending down, he pinned his torn arm to his chest, trying to stem the wound. “It’ll kill you!”

But it didn’t; the beast whimpered like a scolded dog. Mutt? It was a dog, he suddenly realized—a nautded dog. Despite the hot pain in his arm, he couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit of—something else. A positive glimmer. Something hopeful.

It meant he was on the right path to finding a nekromist. And, with a lot of luck, a cure. From the pain throbbing in his arm, and the blood leaking onto the shirt, he’d need it.

“Get! Hear me? Scram!” Wil waved at the creature.

The dog looked at Wil, then back to Erik. He began growling again.

Scram! The hell is wrong with you, mutt? Go gnaw some deadwalker’s leg. ”

Erik watched with amazement as it gave him one last, almost regretful look, then turned and padded away.

How did he do that? He pinned his arm tighter as Wil came over and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Damn foolish thing you did, following me in the dark,” he muttered. “He catch you at all?”

“My arm, but I’ve had worse.” He hoped he had; even if the bleeding wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, he was still thinking about the madness that might be coming on. Still, he found his thoughts to be remarkably clear of the pain, as if he were remembering it rather than feeling it at that very moment. “Was that blighted thing what I thought it was?”

“Let’s get you back on to my place,” the tanner said, ignoring him. “The old lady can fix you up, then we’ll find you a patch of floor to rest on.”

Erik leaned into the other man, letting it slide for now, trusting the beast wouldn’t be back. His stomach roiled as he briefly glanced at the lacerations on his arm; instead of seeing his own wounds, he was remembering the crack of the lurcher’s arm in his hands, each of her limbs breaking, fingers crumbling to dust…

He stumbled away from Wil and let loose what the little bit of beer still in his stomach.

When he was done, the tanner straightened him up. “Come on, man, don’t throw up everything. Let’s see to those wounds of yours.”