DEATHBORN

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 Darkfall Book 1

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LEE MOUNTFORD

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OceanofPDF.com
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46

Darkfall: Shadows of the Deep

Free Book
Other Books by Lee Mountford
About the Author
Acknowledgments

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OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER ONE

England, 1880
Maxwell White’s instincts had proven correct—there
was something severely wrong with the person he was
following.
Both Max and the strange man up ahead in the distance
were on horseback, and Max had been following him since
he’d first happened upon the stranger in Whitby. While in
Whitby, the fella had looked close to death and had been
trying to conceal a wound in his gut. In the train station,
Max had briefly seen a heavy bloodstain soaked through
the man’s undershirt while he enquired about the cost of
travelling to Ferryhill. Evidently, a train ticket had been too
expensive. Max had watched from the shadows, something
he was adept at, as the stranger stole a horse, food, and
some other supplies.
If it had just been a desperately injured man doing what
he needed to do, Max would have given it no further
thought and carried on with his business in Whitby.
However, the man had ducked into an alleyway, bent
double, and vomited. After he stumbled away, Max looked
at the pool on the ground. It wasn’t vomit. Nor was it blood.
This substance was thick, black, and viscous. That had
ignited Max’s curiosity. As the man took a seat to rest,
looking decidedly pale, Max was able to quickly go to the
post office and raise a telegram to Durham, marked for the
attention of one William Tunstall. The contact at the
Durham post office knew to get the message to the
recipient quickly.
William was the warden of the Durham chapter of the
Deathborn. With any luck, they would be mobilised to be
waiting at Ferryhill, as per Max’s instructions.
Max was able to keep an eye on his target through the
window when sending the message, and then waited for the
stranger to make a move again. When he did, Max set off in
pursuit, keeping a safe distance. He had considered
speeding up and intercepting the strange man himself, but
that would be risky, especially without any knowledge of
what was going on. Besides, that was what the Deathborn
were for. They had the numbers and were more…
disposable. Deathborn could be replaced easily enough, but
Max—being a member of the Shadowhand—was a lot more
valuable to the cause.
It could be that whatever was happening to the man was
of no interest to Max or the Deathborn at all. Perhaps the
black substance he had vomited wasn’t anything
noteworthy, but Max couldn’t see how. So he had to follow
it up.
Max had been following the man at a safe distance for
two days now, heading northwest towards the town of
Ferryhill, a place Max had only visited once while passing
through. Whenever the man stopped to eat or set up camp,
Max did the same, keeping a close eye on his quarry the
whole time.
As he peered through his spyglass, he noticed the man
was no longer exhibiting any signs of discomfort from his
wound, though his pallor was now a horrible, unnatural
grey. It was a remarkable recovery, considering how much
pain the stranger had been in only days before, where even
slight movements looked painful. A wound like the one he
had would have no doubt needed medical treatment, yet
the stranger wasn’t showing any ill effects at all. And that
just wasn’t natural.
Max looked to the sun, which was starting to hang low.
They weren’t far off now. Max guessed they would arrive
sometime after nightfall. He’d given an estimated time of
arrival in his telegram, and all he could do was hope the
Deathborn would be waiting.

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 CHAPTER TWO

The wheels of the cart crunched over the dirt and stone of
the road as the horse-drawn vehicle rumbled along. The flat
wooden slat that served as a seat was uncomfortable, but it
was something Jack Bennett was used to—though he knew
such a long journey was quite new to his son, Samuel.
The two steeds pulling the cart marched on southward
at a steady pace. The sun would set soon, but he was
confident they would reach the town ahead in good time.
The boy sitting next to Jack had been quiet for a few
hours now. Samuel had been talkative earlier, assaulting
Jack with a flurry of questions about life on the road and
what that would be like, but as the hours wore on, he had
grown more withdrawn, even sullen.
Jack knew the boy was thinking of his late mother. He
reached an arm over Samuel’s shoulders and pulled him in
for a hug, though he made sure to keep a hand on the
reins.
‘You holding up, Son?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Samuel replied. His voice was quiet, and he
kept his focus on the road ahead. Jack saw that Samuel’s
eyes were wet and he felt a sudden wave of pain, loss, and
guilt. It threatened to bring tears to his own eyes, though
he managed to pull them back.
 The pain and loss were expected; Jack had been
devastated when his dear Rose had passed away. It had
rocked and shattered his whole world. But the guilt… that
was a combination of a few things. First, he hadn’t been
able to save his wife, as impossible as that might have
been. But the guilt was also from yanking Samuel away
from their family home, which was now a place Jack could
no longer stand to live.
The road the pair travelled on was a dirt track layered
with crushed rock and stone. Thankfully, however, the
weather was warm and dry, so while the ride was bumpy,
progress was quick, and they weren’t bogged down with
mud. The cart was flanked on either side by expanses of
fields, and the sky above was marred only by a smattering
of clouds.
The few worldly possessions the father and son owned
were bundled up on the back of the cart, wrapped in
blankets and cloth and tied down securely. Jack had a good
amount of money from the quick sale of their home, but it
wouldn’t last them forever, so he knew it needed to be used
wisely.
He slowly pulled away from his son. ‘I’ll see if I can pick
up some work in town,’ he said. ‘Hopefully a few days’
worth, if I can get it. Then we can move on.’
Samuel nodded. ‘What town are we going to?’
‘A place called Ferryhill, I think. Not somewhere I’ve
ever been before. I’m not sure what it will be like. We can
set up camp on the outskirts for tonight. Weather seems
nice enough. That acceptable to you?’
‘It is, Da.’
Jack knew Samuel wasn’t enthusiastic about sleeping in
a tent, as the boy was more of a home bird, much like his
mother. But Jack was sure it would be good for him.
Samuel’s dirty-blonde hair fluttered as a slight breeze
swept past. It was getting slightly long now, and messy. His
eyes were big and brown, like that of a doe, which was a
trait he’d inherited from Rose.
He was dressed in a white cotton shirt, brown vest
jacket, and thin trousers. Not exactly finery, but not bad for
a boy of seven; all of it had been made by Rose, who had
been a gifted seamstress. She’d always made sure the
family never lacked for clothing.
Jack was dressed similarly to his son, only without a
vest, and his shirt—rolled up over his defined forearms—
was a dull brown covered by a pair of suspenders that
looped over each shoulder.
‘You’ll enjoy sleeping outside,’ Jack said. ‘Feel of the
open air. We can light a fire before we sleep. It can be like
an adventure. I used to love that as a boy.’
Samuel furrowed his brow in thought. He used to be so
carefree, but now he seemed like the weight of the world
rested on him. He was thin and looked young—even for his
age. The height of innocence, and in no way prepared for
what had happened to his mother. Jack worried the
aftermath would break his son.
One of the reasons he’d yanked them away from the
family home was to expose Samuel to the outside world and
hopefully toughen him up.
Is that true, though? Jack thought to himself. Or is it
because I can’t cope with what happened and needed to
run away?
‘Won’t it be cold?’ Samuel asked.
Jack shook his head. ‘Not really. It’s summer and the
weather is nice. Worst we can expect is rain, but we’ll be
covered. Besides, it isn’t such a bad thing, feeling the rain
on your skin. You’ll love it, Son, I promise. Like I said, this
can all be a big adventure. Tonight, I’ll teach you how to
light a fire. It’s a good skill to have.’
Samuel gave another nod. ‘Yes, Da.’
The boy hardly seemed excited, but at least he was
willing to give it a try. Out here, Jack hoped Samuel would
learn the essential things he’d need to navigate life and
avoid ending up in a workhouse or down the pits. With no
house to maintain or pay for, living expenses could be kept
to a minimum. How long the nomad life would be feasible,
though, Jack didn’t know.
But for now, it would do.
Staying in their home had proven too difficult. Without
Rose there with them, the house was just an empty shell
full of painful memories—echoes of a life gone that he
would never get back.
After another ten minutes of travel, Jack saw the
settlement ahead come into view.

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 CHAPTER THREE

Ferryhill was quite different from Samuel’s home of

Lanchester. The streets seemed more compact, narrower,
and the houses and buildings were squashed together, with
only the town centre opening up into a wider area, which
was overlooked by the white-walled town hall building.
Samuel’s father had taken them up to that centre, to a
market, in order to pick up some fresh vegetables and
meat. However, given it was the end of the day, their
options were limited. Still, his father had insisted the food
would make a good stew.
One of the buildings he saw was a lodging house. Given
Samuel’s mother had taught him to read, he knew from the
sign that hung outside there were spaces available. He
contemplated asking his da if they could stay there, instead
of out in the open in their tent, but decided against it. It
wasn’t that he was afraid of getting told off for asking.
Rather, he could tell this journey meant something to his
da, and he didn’t want to make things more difficult.
Besides, perhaps it could be an adventure, something to
keep his mind occupied and stop his thoughts from running
back to his mother.
It always hurt to think of her now. Remembering her as
the beautiful, loving, and happy woman she was just made
him miss her all the more—and it was even worse to think
of what she became at the end, when the sickness was
done with her. Did that kind of end wait for them all?
Will Da go out the same way? Will I?
It was all just so… hard. Samuel was scared. All the
time. He didn’t know what lay ahead. The boy had gone
from having a family, with talk of maybe seeing a little
brother or sister arrive at some point, to having no mother
and no home at all.
He loved his da dearly and knew the man would protect
him no matter what, but Samuel hadn’t felt safe since he
learned his ma was going to die. The world was different to
him now—cold and cruel.
After their brief stop at the market, where his da had
spoken with a few people and asked about work, they
pulled away in their cart and headed to the southern side of
Ferryhill. There, the main road out of town cut through
fields that bordered the edge of the settlement. In that area
were some trees that his father said would give them some
good protection and was the perfect place to set up camp.
He said it was close enough to get back into a populated
area should they need to, but just far enough out of the way
for them to be left alone.
Samuel’s father steered them off the track and onto the
grass. As he did, Samuel noticed a rather large
congregation of people farther down the main road. It
seemed strange that such a group had gathered like that
well outside of town. What are they waiting for?
‘Who are they?’ he asked his da, who shook his head in
response.
‘No idea. Not our concern, though.’
They continued farther across the field, heading east.
‘This will do nicely,’ the older man said as he drew the
horses and cart to a stop close to the copse of trees. ‘It will
give us some shielding from the wind and keep us out of
sight of the main road.’ He hopped down from the cart and
walked around to the back. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I’ll teach
you how to set up the tent.’
Samuel’s da had spent the last few days before they set
off on their journey putting together the tent himself,
waxing a sheet of fabric and tying it to long poles of wood.
Looking at the bundled-up shelter that lay on the back of
the cart, Samuel couldn’t see how it would all come
together. It just didn’t make sense to him. However, his
father guided him through the process of unravelling
everything and then standing up the poles into a low
triangular shape before tying the ends together with twine.
From there, a base sheet was put down under everything,
and the rest of the material was draped over the structure
and secured to it, forming a covering. It took close to an
hour to assemble. Once they were finished, Samuel
couldn’t help his frown.
It doesn’t look very comfortable.
Though, Samuel knew that was the point. His da wanted
to make sure he could fend for himself in life. But at the
moment, he only wanted to curl up into a ball and hug his
ma again.
After the tent was complete, Samuel followed
instructions and helped set up a fire, collecting some dry
wood, twigs, and leaves from the trees, and piling them
within a circle of stones. A few branches were then used to
form a tripod over the fire, from which his father hung a tin
pot that he filled with water from a flask. He chopped up
and dumped some of their vegetables inside the pot, along
with thick chunks of chicken.
‘Gotta make sure it cooks well,’ his father told him.
‘Especially the chicken. Eating bad meat can really ruin
your week.’
Samuel’s father then took out two pieces of flint and
showed Samuel how to hit them together to try and create
a spark.
 ‘Eventually, the spark will catch and slowly get the fire
going. But you gotta encourage it and help it along.’
‘Don’t you have any matches, Da?’
‘We do,’ Samuel’s father replied with a nod. ‘And that’s
good if you need to be quick. But we don’t need to be quick,
and this is important for you to know, because you won’t
always have matches. So, make sure you always have flint.
Understand?’
Samuel nodded.
Eventually, one of the sparks fell into the twigs and
something started to happen—a small ember of light took
hold and began to smoulder. ‘Here we go,’ Samuel’s da
said, then cupped his hand around the twig that was
beginning to glow at one end. He then gently blew on it.
‘Fire needs air to grow. Not too much, lest you put the
whole thing out. Just gentle, so you coax it along, help it
spread.’ He then moved his head back and looked to
Samuel. ‘Here, you try.’
Samuel frowned again. ‘What if I blow it out?’
His father shrugged. ‘Then we just try again.’
With some hesitation, Samuel leaned forward and
brought his face closer to his father’s cupped hands. He
blew as gently as he possibly could and his father laughed.
‘Well, maybe a little harder than that. Try it again.’
Samuel did, harder that time, and the amber glow
immediately went out. Samuel sat back on his haunches,
annoyed with himself, but his da was smiling.
‘Don’t worry, Son, now we just try again.’
Samuel caught his fingers a few times when bashing the
stones together, causing him to yelp in pain, and he threw
the rocks down in frustration. That elicited another chuckle
from his da, who simply picked them back up and patiently
asked him to try again.
Eventually, after what felt like an hour, Samuel got a
spark to take hold. In that moment, the pride and elation he
felt was undeniable. It was matched when he blew on the
glowing amber spot and got a small flame to rise.
‘You’ve a knack for this, Son!’ his father said. Samuel
picked up on the obvious pride and enthusiasm that flowed
with his father’s words.
After they got the flames high enough to lick at the
underside of the tin pot, Samuel sat back again, smiling.
‘How’d you feel?’
‘Good,’ Samuel replied.
‘Feels like you accomplished something, doesn’t it?’
Samuel nodded. ‘Yes, sir, it does.’
‘I’m glad. You did well. That’s the kind of thing I want to
teach you out here. I know you’re hurting after what
happened. I am too. It’s understandable to be sad and in
pain, and even angry. None of it is fair. But that’s the thing:
life ain’t fair. It never will be. So, you gotta be as prepared
as you can be and learn to take care of yourself.’
Samuel clenched his jaw. His father’s words may have
made sense, but the mention of the death caused Samuel’s
throat to tighten. The tears came immediately, and he
fought to hold them back. His father laid a hand on his
shoulder.
‘Nothing wrong with crying, Samuel.’
Samuel broke down sobbing and put his head in his
hands. He felt his father's strong arms wrap around him
and pull him in tight. They sat like that for a while, with his
da stroking his hair as Samuel continued to cry. All he
could think of was his mother in her last days: bedridden,
gaunt, horribly pale, and coughing up blood. Samuel hadn’t
been allowed to get close to her for fear of the sickness
spreading. When she’d died, his da had burned her body,
along with the bodies of some other villagers who’d all
fallen prey to the same disease. Another reason his father
had wanted to leave.
Eventually, Samuel composed himself and gently pulled
himself from the embrace. He felt embarrassed and
ashamed for crying and took a few seconds to wipe the
tears from his face.
‘Never feel like you have to hide your sadness,’ his
father said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘At least not from
me. It’s healthy to grieve.’
‘Do you cry?’ Samuel asked as he looked up.
His father paused, then nodded.
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Been doing it quite a lot recently.’
‘I’ve never seen you.’
‘Guess I don’t want to burden you with it. I want to be
strong for you. Though I do cry for your ma, Son, and I miss
her every day.’
Samuel considered those words. It surprised him to find
out his father cried, as he couldn’t remember ever seeing it
—even on the day his mother had died. His da had certainly
looked hurt that day, angry even, and his face was all red
and his eyes were wet, but he’d never broken down and
sobbed the way Samuel had.
Samuel had always associated his da with strength. He
was a fairly tall man, a little over six feet, but without much
fat on him. The man had ropey, sinewy muscles, and his
chest was covered with a mat of dark hair. Samuel
remembered seeing some old scars on his father’s body,
and he’d wondered if they were still painful. His father had
a beard, which was relatively well maintained, and dark
hair that was messy and fell about his ears. His eyes were
blue, different from both Samuel’s and his ma’s, and his
face also bore a scar. It ran down the left side of his face,
starting just beneath his eye and running all the way down
to the collar bone.
The boy had once asked his mother where all of his
father’s scars had come from, but she had just said his
father had had a different kind of life growing up. ‘That’s
not a life you need to worry about experiencing, Samuel.’
It hadn’t made a lot of sense back then.
 ‘Da,’ he began, considering his words, ‘are we ever
going to have a home again?’ While he knew his father had
a plan of some kind, Samuel wasn’t sure if it was what he
wanted, living a life with nowhere to call home.
His father ruffled his hair. ‘We will soon, Son, yes. For
now, I just want to make sure you learn what you need to in
life. It’s an unforgiving world, and after your mother died…’
he paused for a moment. ‘Well, it has me a little worried. If
something ever happens to me, I want to make sure you
can take care of yourself.’
Samuel’s eyes went wide. ‘Something’s going to happen
to you?!’
‘Well, no, not yet. At least I hope not. But I won’t be
around forever. You know that. But this pilgrimage we’re on
won’t go on forever.’
‘Pilgrimage?’
‘Kind of like a rite of passage.’ Samuel frowned—that
hadn’t clarified things at all. His father went on, ‘When
we’re done, we can choose where we want to live and build
our own house.’
‘Build it ourselves?’ Samuel asked in surprise.
‘Why not?’
‘Do you know how to build a whole house?’
His father shrugged. ‘I think I know the gist of it. The
rest we can work out. And I’ll have you to help me, won’t
I?’
Samuel smiled. ‘Yes, Da, of course you will.’
His father gave him another hug. ‘Glad to hear it. Now,
let’s make some food.’

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 CHAPTER FOUR

Jack heaped scoops of stew from the steaming pot into

some carved wooden bowls they’d brought with them. He
handed one to Samuel. Jack had also packed up some of
Rose’s old spices, and considered trying out a few in the
broth, though in the end decided against it. He could cook
basic food well enough, but knew he ran the risk of
completely ruining the taste by overdoing it with the wrong
spice.
As he served up the basic food, he kept sneaking glances
through the thicket of trees back out to the main road,
specifically in the direction where the group of men were
still gathered outside of town. Jack couldn’t make out too
much, but back when he’d been on the road, he’d noticed
they had horses with them, and even some carts. He
estimated there were about twenty men in total, and it had
looked like they were waiting.
But for what or for whom they were waiting for, Jack had
no idea. It unnerved him somewhat, and he had considered
packing up and moving on to find somewhere else to sleep
that night, but he figured as long as the group kept their
distance, he and his son would be fine. Besides, with a
group that big out in the open like that, Jack doubted they
would be up to anything underhanded. They would be too
easily spotted.
Samuel, who was seated cross-legged on the grass in
front of the fire, lifted a spoonful of the broth up to his lips
and blew. He then slurped the soup from the spoon.
‘Good?’ Jack asked.
Samuel quickly opened his mouth and winced.
‘Hot,’ he mumbled around the food with a slight giggle.
‘That’s not a bad thing,’ Jack said. ‘At least we know it’s
cooked properly.’
After sucking in air, Samuel eventually swallowed. Jack
waited for the verdict. ‘How does it taste?’ he asked.
Samuel nodded with a smile. ‘Yes, sir. It’s good.’
‘I know it isn’t as good as your ma’s cooking, so I’ll try
to get better at that for you. I promise.’
‘It’s nice,’ Samuel insisted. ‘Really.’ However, Jack knew
the boy was just humouring him. Samuel then blew on
another spoonful and shoved that into his mouth as well.
They ate the rest of their food in relative silence as
darkness descended. While the air cooled a little, it still
wasn’t particularly cold, and rain didn’t appear likely
anytime soon. Jack hoped the experience of sleeping
outside was something Samuel would take to.
Jack had worried he’d scared the boy, talking about the
day Jack would no longer be around to care for him—even
as he’d raised the subject, his mind had been arguing
against it.
It’s too soon to be taking about this!
Hopefully, however, the boy had taken the message on
board, so the issue could be left alone for the time being. It
wasn’t like Jack was going anywhere anytime soon. But
when the time did come, Samuel was going to be ready for
the world—Jack would make sure of it.
After they’d both finished their food, Jack debated
keeping the fire going. The blankets in the tent would
certainly keep them warm, but Jack felt staying outside a
little longer could offer them some good bonding time.
However, the group on the road concerned him. They
still hadn’t moved and Jack noticed some of the men had lit
torches. That meant they planned on staying a while. Jack
knew that keeping his fire going could equally draw
unwanted attention to themselves.
There was a gnawing feeling in his gut, telling him
something wasn’t right.
‘We’ve had a long day travelling, Son,’ he said. ‘How
about we put out the fire soon and have an early night?’
Samuel looked up at the sky above them. ‘It’s really
early.’
‘It is,’ Jack said with a nod of agreement. ‘But we need
to head into town at first light tomorrow. I want to get a lay
of the land and see if I can pick up some odd jobs. I’d like
you to help with those jobs, actually. It might be a long,
tough day, so we’ll need our rest tonight to make sure
we’re ready. Sound good?’
‘Yes, Da.’
Jack smiled. ‘You’re a good lad, you know that?’ He
wanted to add: And your mother would be so proud. But he
stopped himself, not wanting to upset the boy again. They
were words Samuel no doubt needed to hear at some point
—and would hear from Jack—but the conversation that day
had been deep and upsetting enough.
‘Come on, let’s clean our teeth.’
Jack added a little salt and charcoal to two cloths, then
splashed a dash of water on each from his flask. They then
scrubbed their teeth with the cloth before rinsing with
more water.
‘Another good lesson,’ Jack said after swishing water
around his mouth and spitting it onto the dirt. ‘Charcoal
dust mixed with water scrubbed on your teeth will clean a
lot of the food away. Just make sure to swill afterwards, as
it doesn’t taste good. And always make sure your teeth are
healthy. If you don’t, eating can be a painful chore. I’ve
seen many a man who looked like a dog with a hot potato in
its mouth while they tried to eat.’
Samuel laughed. It was a hearty chuckle and made Jack
feel good. After the laughter died down, his son turned and
regarded the fire.
‘Do we just pour water on this?’ he asked.
Jack shook his head. ‘That would put it out, certainly, but
it’s a waste of good water.’ His son looked at the wet patch
on the ground where they had both spat after cleaning
their teeth. He cocked an eyebrow in confusion. ‘That
counts as a worthwhile use,’ Jack quickly explained. ‘There
was a need for it. But I’ll show you a different way to put
out the fire.’
Jack stood to his feet and stepped closer. He squatted
down and grabbed a few handfuls of dirt and grass from
the ground, dropping them over the fire to smother the
flames. He then pulled away some of the branches that
were providing fuel and kicked soil over them as well.
‘Gotta make sure it’s fully out,’ he explained. ‘Don’t want
things to get out of hand while you sleep. So, we make sure
that none of the wood or leaves are still glowing, you see?’
Once Jack was satisfied the fire was completely out, he
stood up to his full height again and stretched out his back,
taking in a full breath of air. The sound of the surrounding
insects reminded Jack of why he treasured being outside.
While he had loved his wife completely, still loved her, Jack
had settled into the role of a husband quickly, leaving his
whole life behind. It was a willing choice, and not one he
ever regretted, but it had certainly been an adjustment for
him. Prior to meeting Rose, he’d never had a real place to
call home. But that was a freeing and liberating way to live,
and he sometimes missed it. Jack just hoped his son had at
least some of his wandering spirit, otherwise the
pilgrimage he had forced on Samuel might prove tough.
 Jack ushered his son inside the tent, then took one last
look through the trees towards the gathering of people in
the distance.
Not my problem, he thought to himself, and climbed
inside the tent as well.

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 CHAPTER FIVE

It was completely dark now, though Max wasn’t sure of the

exact hour.
He was worried, however.
The man he had been following was… changing. Though
Max was a good distance away atop his horse Penelope, he
was able to observe his target through his spyglass. It
wasn’t easy looking through the apparatus while riding, but
it was a skill he’d developed over time.
The stranger’s skin was very pale now, and much of his
hair had fallen out, revealing a somewhat misshapen
cranium full of growths, spots, and sores. Max could also
make out a kind of hunchback forming through the clothes
the man wore. At one point, when the stranger turned to
his left, Max saw that his eye was engorged, almost bulging
from the socket.
Despite all of this, the rider’s movements weren’t as
laboured as they had been in Whitby, and he showed no
signs of needing to stop or slow down. In fact, it had been
many hours since Max’s quarry had even stopped to eat or
relieve himself. Of course, that meant Max hadn’t been able
to either, leaving him hungry and desperate to empty his
bladder.
Can’t risk losing my target. Stick with it.
 Besides, they were close to Ferryhill now. Max just
hoped the Deathborn had gotten the message and were
ready.
The road would take them into town from the south side,
and it was now a straight run without any branching paths.
Max lost the man for a brief while after he disappeared
behind a small incline, but after pushing Penelope into a
gallop to reach the peak, he eventually saw his man again.
In addition, Max then saw the glow from multiple lit
torches beyond the stranger.
Max allowed himself a smile. The Deathborn were ready.
He dug his heels into the side of his mare and yanked on
her reins, urging Penelope into a gallop.

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 CHAPTER SIX

Jack opened his eyes. He hadn’t managed to fall asleep, but

Samuel must have been tired, because his son was snoring
lightly beside him. The boy’s body was curled up into a
foetal position, his back pressed into Jack’s side, and both
had a thick, sheepskin blanket draped atop them.
With nothing else to do, Jack stared up to the sloped
ceiling of the tent, peering through the thick darkness and
listening to his son’s steady, rhythmic breathing.
His thoughts had focused exclusively on Rose since his
son had drifted off. Jack remembered the plans they’d had,
the improvements to their home Jack was going to work on,
and the desire to add at least one more member to their
family.
Rose had been his beautiful brown-haired and doe-eyed
goddess, someone far too pure and good for Jack. Yet she’d
somehow fallen for him almost as much as he’d fallen for
her.
Jack had considered himself the luckiest man alive when
she agreed to his proposal of marriage. They’d first met the
day Jack had arrived in Lanchester, a place he’d simply
happened upon during his travels looking for work. He
never for one moment thought he would settle there
permanently.
 But then Rose had drifted into his life, stopping to help
him after Jack had accidentally knocked a basket of linen
from a table in the market stall. Her brown eyes had
immediately drawn him in, as had her flowing hair, lithe
build, and confident posture. While only standing a little
over five and a half feet, she carried herself like someone
who was taller than Jack.
Conversation developed naturally, and he’d somehow
made her laugh. The next day, they had run into each other
again, though Jack got the feeling it hadn’t quite been a
coincidence.
And just like that, his life had been given a new
direction, a purpose beyond wandering the land.
He sighed. Stop torturing yourself.
The sound of those gathered men in the distance still
played through his mind. He’d been listening for any sign
of trouble, but had thus far only picked up on some distant
chatter and the neighing of the horses. However, Jack
pushed himself up onto his elbows as the chatter became
more intensified. He was then certain he heard one of them
yell, ‘Someone’s coming!’

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 CHAPTER SEVEN

Maxwell pushed Penelope even harder. The dull, heavy

footfalls from the black mare grew even more intense as
she ate up the ground beneath her, closing the distance
between them and the man ahead.
Max could see that the Deathborn had moved onto the
road, along with their carts, carriages, and horses, blocking
the way.
He hadn't been able to see much through the spyglass in
the last few hours, so Max had no idea of what condition
the stranger was now in. Max just hoped the Deathborn
had the wherewithal to assess the situation before
attacking. It might pay to speak to the man to try and learn
what had happened.
Gathering information was at the heart of Max’s line of
work, and it was often a much more powerful tool than a
sword or an axe. The Deathborn often struggled to
understand that truth—though in fairness, nuance wasn’t
their job. They were the lowest rung on the ladder—the
cannon fodder, to be used when numbers and brute force
were the best option.
That’s why people like Maxwell, members of the
Shadowhand, worked alone. He stayed in the shadows,
gaining information needed and striking only when
required. However, right at that moment, he didn’t know
enough about what was going on.
Though Max was gaining ground, his target had already
reached the Deathborn and drawn to a halt as the men
blocked the road. The closer Max got, the more he could
hear the voices of the men ahead.
‘What’s happening to you?’ one of the Deathborn yelled.
‘Are you sick? Dying?’
‘It’s a fuckin’ monster!’ one suddenly screamed. ‘Do we
kill it?’
Max didn’t hear any reply.
Come on, Penelope! Max urged. Before long, he was
able to make out the stranger a little more, who had now
climbed down from his horse and was bent double and
gripping his stomach. The surrounding Deathborn had their
weapons at the ready.
‘Jesus Christ, what is it?!’ one of them shouted.
The stranger coughed and heaved. Max, almost upon the
others, then spotted a stream of dark liquid fall from the
man’s mouth. He also noticed certain changes in his
target’s form: the man was getting larger, pushing out at
the old, ragged, cotton clothes he wore; his skull was also
expanding, losing the last of his hair as his face elongated;
finally, the consistency of the man’s skin was changing,
becoming weathered, like old leather.
Max had seen many things in his time, but this kind of
transformation was different.
It’s so quick.
The stranger screamed in agony, apparently helpless to
stop his body from morphing into something else.
Finally, Max got close enough to leap down from his
horse and sprint around to join the others.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ a large Deathborn asked Max
with raised eyebrows. He held a pitchfork, but the size of
the man made the weapon look small.
 ‘Maxwell White,’ he said. ‘I’m a member of the
Shadowhand.’
The man nodded. ‘Len Taylor,’ he replied. ‘You the one
that sent the message?’
‘I am,’ Max said. He quickly looked around and spotted
one of the carts the Deathborn had brought—it was stocked
with weapons. While he had a small, easily concealed knife,
right then he needed something bigger.
Max estimated there were around twenty Deathborn,
and they quickly started to form a rough semi-circle around
the man, who began to wail and thrash on the ground.
Panicked chatter from the Deathborn filled the air.
‘What are we dealing with here, Maxwell?’ Len asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Max replied. After answering, he moved
over to the weapons cart to grab something to use,
choosing a double-handed axe. Its weight felt good in his
grip. He then eyed the stranger, whose bulk was now
beginning to tear through his clothing, though the
screaming had started to die down and become more of a
deep, grunting breathing. His face was hidden by engorged
arms that covered his head.
The clothing soon fell away completely, revealing a body
covered with disgusting growths and odd lumps. Max knew
the only option was to attack. Letting the transformation
play out completely was too dangerous, and he could see
no scenario where the thing before them was going to be
anything other than a threat.
Before he could respond, however, the deformed man
slowly stood to his feet. Max drew in a sharp breath.
That isn’t a man anymore.
The thing before them was huge, now standing well over
nine feet tall, a misshapen monstrosity of humanoid form—
and the changes still weren’t done. The creature’s head
had pulled in lower, the neck getting lost in bulbous,
overgrown and uneven shoulders. In addition, the
shoulders had partially merged with a large hump at the
top of the creature’s back. Its jaw hung low, and when it
opened its mouth, long, uneven teeth could be seen. One
eye had sunk inward, whereas the right had widened and
drooped, the ball within an orangey-red with no visible
pupil.
With a roar, its already hulking mass expanded further
upwards. Max noticed that while the monster’s left arm
was thick and well-muscled, its right was much thinner. The
nightmarish creature had a lopsided, twisted appearance,
as if it were not yet properly developed. That was further
enhanced as the left side of its lower chest bulged out
somewhat, as if the ribcage beneath was misshapen on one
side. Its tough skin was thin in parts, especially over its
face and what remained of a nose. The monster let out yet
another bellowing cry into the night sky.
‘Attack!’ Max eventually yelled, pulling himself out of his
momentary shock.
The men did not respond immediately, taking a few
moments before any of them rushed the giant monstrosity.
The first to reach it bravely swung his scythe, managing to
bury the blade into the flesh, but the weapon quickly
became wedged in and stuck. The creature reached an arm
forward, grabbing the handle of the weapon, and yanked,
pulling the helpless Deathborn into its grasp. The monster
quickly swung both of its huge hands inward, bringing
them together in an almighty clap, right on the man’s head
—it exploded in a shower of red chunks and a mist of blood.

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 CHAPTER EIGHT

‘What’s going on?’ Samuel asked in a terrified voice.

The sounds of panicked shouting coming from outside
hadn’t initially woken the boy. However, the horrible,
unnatural roars had certainly done the trick. Samuel had
jumped awake and his hand had quickly found Jack’s arm.
‘It’s nothing,’ Jack lied, having no idea what else to say.
Being relatively well-travelled, he had encountered all
kinds of wild animals, but those guttural, bellowing roars…
they were like nothing he’d ever heard. So loud.
The sounds came again, drowning out the other
shouting.
Jack crawled forward to the opening of the tent. ‘Stay
inside, Samuel,’ he instructed. ‘I’m not going far.’ His son
quickly crawled forward and tightly wrapped his arms
around Jack’s waist.
‘No!’ he said, squeezing tightly. ‘Don’t leave me in here.’
Jack took hold of his son’s arms and moved them away
from him. He then gently cupped the boy’s face and smiled.
‘Don’t worry. I’m just going to look. I’ll only be a foot
outside the tent.’ He kissed his son on the forehead. ‘Now
stay here and don’t worry about anything.’
Even in the dark, Jack was able to see the terror on the
young lad’s face—a pleading expression for his father to
stay. In that moment, he looked much younger than his
seven years. Memories of holding Samuel as a baby sprang
up—he thought of cradling the helpless child, comforting
him, and protecting him.
Jack disentangled himself from his son’s grasp and
moved outside. After standing to his full height, he walked
forward a few paces and peered through the trees out
towards the crowd he had seen earlier in the night.
His breath quickly caught in his throat.
Much of what he was seeing was hard to comprehend.
The crowd of men, many of whom still held torches, were
facing off against… something. It was a gigantic creature,
which towered over them and somewhat resembled a huge
deformed and hairless ape.
The creature was holding the arm of one of the men
fighting against it, but his arm was quickly and easily
pulled away from his body as one would tear a wing off a
fly.
Run! Jack suddenly said to himself, snapping his mind
out of the state of awe and terror that had gripped him. Get
Samuel away from this.
He quickly ducked his head back inside the tent and
reached out his hand. ‘Come on,’ he said, trying to find the
right balance in his voice. He wanted to sound as urgent as
was needed, but also didn’t want to scare the boy. Jack
knew as soon as the words had left his mouth, he’d failed,
as he’d practically snapped them at Samuel.
‘What’s happening?’ Samuel asked again.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ Jack told him. ‘Just get your
shoes on quickly. We need to leave.’
‘But why?’
Jack searched for an answer that wouldn’t scare his son.
How could you say, ‘there’s an honest-to-God monster out
there slaughtering a bunch of men’ without scaring a
fucking child? ‘I don’t think we’re allowed to be on this
land, is all,’ he replied a few seconds later.
 ‘Is someone coming to move us? Is that what those
noises are? An angry dog or something?’
Stop asking questions! Jack thought. However, he
immediately admonished himself, knowing he was being
unfair.
‘The dog isn’t going to hurt us,’ Jack said, ‘but we need
to go.’
Thankfully, Samuel began to move, fumbling around
near the entranceway. He soon found his old boots and
began putting them on. Jack slipped on his own as well
while his mind raced for ways to keep Samuel’s attention
away from the main road and the scene that was playing
out there. Jack also considered whether they had time to
pack up and jump on the cart and make their way over to
the main road. If so, they would need to join it further up
from the fighting, where they could hopefully make an
escape. It would be slow going over the uneven terrain
before reaching the road, but once there they would be
able to pick up speed. The melee was a good distance away,
and Jack and Samuel, as well as their horses, were mostly
hidden by the small pocket of trees that surrounded them.
There was no reason to think they would be spotted. Even
if they were, would the creature break away from whatever
it was involved in and come for them?
The alternative was to simply run: get out of the tent
and run inland, away from the road, and just keep going,
putting as much distance as they could between them and
the monster. That would mean leaving behind everything
they owned, which was also dangerous. What would they
do for food and warmth going forward?
All of those thoughts and worries tumbled through his
mind as he gathered up the coats he’d brought into the tent
earlier. Jack quickly helped Samuel into his jacket, before
putting on his own. Once he had, Jack paused for a
moment, listening intently.
He frowned. Are the sounds getting closer?
 He couldn’t be sure, but it certainly seemed that way.
Feeling renewed panic, and still having no idea about his
next step, Jack led Samuel outside. He made sure to put his
body between the young boy and the fighting to block
Samuel’s view. However, he couldn’t help from looking
himself. It was now patently obvious the sounds were
getting closer. Jack peered through the trees and gasped.
No!
The creature was coming. The men that were fighting it
ran behind as the monster lumbered away from them with
an awkward and clumsy gait. Jack could only guess
whether it was trying to escape its attackers, or if it had
spotted him and Samuel and was coming for them.
He heard Samuel start to scream. Jack quickly looked
down to his side to see that Samuel was leaning and
looking around Jack—he saw exactly what was coming for
them.
Jack’s horses were panicked, too. They whinnied
relentlessly and reared up onto their hind legs, pulling
against the reins staked to the ground. Their sounds, as
well as Samuel’s screaming, drew the attention of the
nightmarish creature, and Jack saw it stare over in their
direction.
The monster quickly bellowed out another roar and
increased its speed, barrelling directly towards them.

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 CHAPTER NINE

Max sprinted after the abomination. As it ran, he noticed it

change its path a bit, and when he looked off beyond it,
Max realised why. Within a grouping of trees, the
Shadowhand spotted a tent, some horses, a man, and… a
child.
He couldn’t be certain whether the creature had seen
the campers and decided to attack, or if it hoped the trees
would protect it. Regardless, knowing there was a child
made things infinitely more complicated.
Max had tracked and hunted many monsters, many of
which started off as human, but had never seen anything
like what he’d just witnessed. The monster’s size was
impressive; while he knew of other creatures that could
grow almost as tall, it was the entity’s overall appearance
that most confused him, like that of an unfinished mutation.
On top of that, the transformation had been frighteningly
quick.
Up ahead, Max saw the man in the trees scoop up the
young boy, then start to run off in the opposite direction.
However, he was moving far too slowly to escape. Indeed,
Max himself struggled to keep pace with the monster, as
did the other Deathborn.
 Four of the Deathborn were already dead, lying back at
the main road. The Deathborns’ attacks, while looking like
they had hurt the monster, hadn’t seriously injured it. Some
of the men had pierced the thick skin, even drawn dark
blood and forced shrieks of pain from the creature, but
nothing had stopped it. Max had actually been surprised to
see the creature turn and run, as he’d feared it would
scythe right through them all. Its survival instincts had
obviously kicked in. That made sense, because in some
respects, the beast had only just been ‘born.’ Max reasoned
it likely didn’t hold many memories from the man it used to
be. Some, perhaps, but Max had seen from other
transforming monsters that they were at their most
vulnerable and confused immediately after coming to be.
Sometimes that’s when they’re the most dangerous, too.
The creature broke through the treeline with a roar.
Unfortunately, the man and boy hadn’t made much ground,
and as the lumbering beast cried out, the stranger lost his
footing and dropped to the ground. He quickly used his
body to shield the child. A father and son. Now, within the
protection of the trees, the monster stopped and turned to
face the Deathborn, who kept advancing and moved to form
another semi-circle around it. The great beast stepped
backwards, close to the stranger’s cart, and one of its huge
legs bumped against the wooden vehicle.
The stranger’s horses tethered in the campsite were
going wild, desperately trying to pull free from their bonds.
Max could hear the child cry and sob in terror even though
his face was buried into the bearded man’s chest.
The Deathborn around Max yelled at each other, trying
to coordinate their next attack, and Max could sense the
obvious fear in their voices. He contemplated pulling back
and letting them handle the creature themselves, knowing
his life was more important, as arrogant as that was to
think, but he couldn’t risk the monster getting free and
running into the main town. He knew he might be the
difference between them successfully killing it, and a
massacre in Ferryhill.
Max saw the beast quickly lean down to its side and
grasp hold of the cart with both hands. Max moved
instantly as the monster heaved up the vehicle, flinging the
cart towards them with surprising ease and strength. As
the cart sailed through the air, Max was already mid-dive,
jumping to his left. The cart crashed into two Deathborn,
then rolled twice, kicking up clumps of dirt and grass. It
rolled over two more Deathborn before it finally came to a
stop. A handful of the men lay screaming on the ground,
limbs bent and twisted—one had his shinbone poking
through his trouser leg.
It was carnage.
Len, one of the largest Deathborn, started to bark out
more orders—he was likely the second in command of the
Durham chapter. The main Warden would never leave the
chapter’s base to go out on a mission. Len instructed those
that were left to fully encircle the creature and attack from
all angles. Max side-stepped around to the creature’s side
as the towering beast roared again, clenching its mighty
fists and raising them into the air. In his periphery, Max
noticed the father and his son get up to their feet, then
start to run—the boy’s crying didn’t stop.
The Deathborn moved quickly, but hadn’t finished their
full circle around the monster when one fool, a man with a
hooked nose and dark moustache, shouted: ‘Get it! Kill the
fuckin’ thing!’
Max clenched his teeth in annoyance. Not everyone was
in position. And unfortunately, a lot of those left listened to
the idiot and ran forward. Max noticed, however, that the
hook-nosed man was not among them, leaving the others to
carry out his ill-informed instruction.
‘You bloody idiot, Edwin!’ Max heard Len shout.
The creature swung a large arm, sweeping it into three
men and sending them sprawling to the ground. It then
unleashed a punch, though this time not aimed at an
attacker—instead it struck the trunk of a nearby tree,
causing an explosion of splinters and flying leaves, and
even putting a huge dent in the bark. The creature
thundered out a furious roar again. It then turned and ran
through the gap behind it left by the Deathborn.
‘Follow it!’ Max ordered as the nightmarish thing fled
again, running over the abandoned tent and destroying it
underfoot. The huge beast headed after the running man
and boy.
It raised its arm towards them.

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 CHAPTER TEN

‘Hold on!’ Jack shouted, sprinting for all he was worth. He

could feel Samuel’s pounding heartbeat against his own
chest. The boy was clinging tightly to him, his head pressed
into the side of Jack’s neck. ‘Keep your eyes closed!’
This can’t be happening. It can’t be real.
Samuel was sobbing, utterly terrified and confused. Jack
had heard similar cries when Samuel had been told his
mother was going to die, only these were more panicked,
more urgent.
He doesn’t deserve this. Run. Harder. Don’t fail him.
Jack could feel the huge thing that followed them
growing closer.

Samuel wanted to plead to his father, to beg him to get

them away from the big monster that was coming.
However, he couldn’t stop crying long enough to form any
words—nor could he stop his body from shaking. He tried
to hold his da even harder, pressing his body into the older
man’s, hoping it would keep him safe somehow.
The boy let out a yelp as something swung into them
both from the side, hard. Samuel’s head shook as they were
both thrown sideways. The boy felt grass beneath him
when he hit the ground. He rolled, hitting his head and
twisting his arm a little, then eventually came to a stop
with the wind knocked out of him. Samuel sucked in a
mouthful of air as he looked up at the night sky. A second
later, something big and horrifying stepped into view.
Samuel wanted to scream but was immobilised with fear.
The giant thing looked down at him—Samuel felt his
bladder release.
The monster tilted its head back and let out a loud
bellow before looking down at him again.
Samuel knew what was going to happen next. Is it going
to hurt? He turned his head to the side and saw his father
getting up to his knees, looking back over at Samuel,
though Da was too far away to reach him. Samuel had
never before seen the expression that currently sat on his
da’s face: eyes so wide and his face frozen with fear.
Daddy, help me.

‘NO!’ Jack screamed and uselessly thrust out his hand.

My boy!
Samuel’s eyes were on him, and he knew the look on the
boy’s face would be seared into Jack’s mind forever. There
was fear there, but it was more than that, since it was
accompanied by a horrible acceptance of death. It was
something a child so young should not be capable of.
The moment that followed was only a few seconds long,
yet it seemed to take an eternity at the same time. Jack
could only watch.
Samuel was grabbed in two huge hands, then easily
lifted up into the air, screaming as he went; his blonde hair
flopped as his head was violently shaken left and right. The
child looked like a small ragdoll in the hands of the
uncaring brute.
Jack got back to his feet and was about to sprint towards
the monster, but saw it quickly reposition his son, putting
its right hand around Samuel’s small chest and its left hand
around his lower waist.
It roared and pulled, and all Jack could do was hold out
a hand a yell once more: ‘NOOOOO!’
Samuel screamed in pain.

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 CHAPTER ELEVEN

Maxwell had to stop running and look away after watching

what happened to the boy. The squeals, which were
suddenly cut short, echoed in Max’s mind. It was one of the
most horrific things he’d ever seen. Other members of the
Deathborn froze in place as well.
‘Christ,’ one mumbled.
The father’s desperate, broken screams rose up as the
monster threw away what was left of his son, sending the
two body parts sailing off into the trees.
Max gritted his teeth together. ‘Kill it!’ he shouted. ‘That
thing cannot be left alive!’
The Deathborn charged. Not that any of them had
known the boy, but the sight of a child dying so gruesomely
had done something to the group; it had galvanised them,
empowered them, and their fear was completely put to one
side as every remaining man raced towards the towering
creature.
Weapons plunged into the enemy from all sides. Max
positioned himself behind the monster and buried his axe
into a bulging calf muscle. However, though the Deathborn
had the numbers, the monster they fought had the
strength, and it batted away most of its attackers. One man
was even grabbed by the head, lifted up, and driven into
the trunk of a tree. His head disappeared as the flat palm
met the trunk, expelling a torrent of brain matter and skull
fragments.
Max tried to pull out his weapon from the monster’s leg,
but found it was buried too deep. A huge arm came
swinging down towards him, though Max was able to
nimbly dodge backwards away from it. Max prepared to
dive forward and retake his weapon, which still hung from
the calf, when a body slammed into him from behind and
sent him sprawling to his side. Max quickly looked up and
saw it was the father of the boy that had slammed into him.
The man sprinted over to the monster’s leg and took
hold of the axe’s handle. He yanked at it with a roar,
managing to pull the sharp edge free. The man then took a
mighty swing and slammed the blade back into the
creature’s calf. Then did it again. And again. He was like a
madman. His eyes burned with a wild fury as he bared his
teeth.
It was a chaotic scene, with the Deathborn buzzing
around the monster and continuing their assault, though
their numbers continued to dwindle.
After suffering more chops to the leg, the behemoth
twisted its upper body and swung its arms again, but the
father crouched under the attack and quickly scrambled
backwards out of its reach. The creature kicked out at
another man, catching him in the chest, and Max heard a
crunching sound as the Deathborn was flung backwards to
the ground. The centre of his chest was now inverted and
pooling with blood. He tried to let out a scream, but only
managed to cough out more crimson liquid, which speckled
his face.
Dead bodies were strewn around the campsite, blood
soaked the grass, and there were dismembered limbs and
discarded weapons all across the ground. Max quickly
picked up a discarded machete. The whole scene was
played out to the sounds of monstrous roars and panicked
yelling.
After running back in, Max was able to thrust his
machete into the area just beside the monster’s knee. A
spurt of black liquid erupted from around the dirty weapon
as it sank into the flesh. Max twisted the blade, then pulled
it sideways against the kneecap as hard as he could, hoping
to damage the ligaments while drawing the machete free.
The group as a whole managed to find a rhythm to their
attacks, with some diving in, then pulling back when the
creature focused on them. That allowed others an opening
to attack, and the process was repeated: drawing the
monster’s attention so those behind it could strike. Even
the father kept up his own assault, focusing solely on a
single leg—hacking away like a person possessed, then
ducking away when needed. The man let out cries of anger
and anguish with every blow.
‘Focus on the legs!’ Max shouted as he saw how much
flesh the father had stripped away. If they could get the
creature off its feet, it would give them a huge advantage.
As Max ran in, the father was suddenly knocked
backwards by a flailing arm, and he crashed into Max,
sending them both to the ground. Max quickly reached for
his weapon, but then saw the father was already getting to
his feet, Max’s machete now in his hand. The axe he had
been using lay a couple of feet away. The father’s teeth
were still clenched tightly together, and Max could see
veins bulging in his neck as tears spilled down his cheeks.
The father ran forward again. This time, however, he
continued past the behemoth, instead heading straight for
a nearby tree. Max saw the man hook the blade of the
machete into his belt as he sprinted.
He had no idea what the father was planning, but didn’t
have time to think about it—he picked up a discarded long
blade and got back to work.
My little boy. You fucking killed my boy.
Jack wasn’t thinking clearly as he scrambled up the base
of the tree. A white-hot rage consumed him. That anger
merged with overwhelming pain and anguish. All he could
think about was killing that thing and exacting revenge,
regardless of the size and strength of the creature.
The whole situation felt like a dream, or a nightmare;
nothing about it made sense. Not the men who were
around him, not the gigantic fucking monster he was trying
to kill… none of it.
Images of what happened to Samuel—of his mop of
blonde hair being flung around, and the gut-wrenching look
of grim realisation—kept looping in Jack’s mind.
I failed him.
Jack pulled himself up to the next branch as the
monster’s attention was focused on the men who dodged
around it. Though the attacks against it were constant, the
huge beast remained standing, letting out deafening roars
of frustration.
But its frustration was nothing compared to Jack’s
anger. He knew he wouldn’t survive this fight, but he also
knew he didn’t deserve to. All he could do was make sure
the thing died too.
After reaching a particularly thick branch, Jack hunched
down, then edged his way outward. He was a little above
the head height of the monster, which stood a few feet from
the tree, holding a screaming man in its hands.
Come closer, you bastard. Jack couldn’t reach it by
jumping, but if it stepped his way just a little…
The creature shifted its grip on the struggling man,
grabbing him by the legs before turning and stepping
towards the tree. It swung its victim by his feet.
 The poor man’s upper body slammed into the trunk with
a sickening crack. It hoisted him up and swung again.
Crunch.
The monster was much closer to Jack now, though, and
in a perfect position. Jack gripped the handle of his
machete with both hands and leapt forward.

Max watched in awe as the stranger jumped from the tree

and dropped down onto the hulking creature that was
swinging a now-lifeless Deathborn like a club. The man’s
machete was pointed down, aiming for the head of the
creature.
He’s insane. Jumping to his death, Max thought. Though,
in truth, he couldn’t blame the stranger after what had just
happened to the boy.
The edge of the blade quickly found the drooping red
eye of the monster. It wasn’t a clean blow, however, and the
blade slid away, slicing down the behemoth’s face. The man
was able to grab onto the monster’s head and upper body
and pull the weapon back up. He thrust it again, this time
pushing it into the eye socket while hanging off the beast.
The creature quickly brought its hands up as the man
released his grip and dropped to the floor. The monster
swiped at its own face, snapping the machete at the blade
but leaving most of the steel wedged into its eye. It
bellowed and spiralled its arms wildly. Max was able to see
yellow liquid seep from around the snapped blade.
Clearly not done yet, the father then ran to a nearby
body and retrieved the weapon lying next to it, this time
another axe. Whoever the father was, Max was impressed.
The stranger was obviously motivated by grief, but he was
relentless, and he ran straight back to the fray, where he
aimed once again at the ruined leg of the beast.
 Max joined in as well, again ordering the Deathborn to
concentrate on the creature’s lower extremities. One of the
larger men, similar in size to Len but with shoulder-length
blonde hair and a shaggy blonde beard, attacked the knee
Max had been working on. The bearded man wielded a
narrow spade with a narrow, sharp edge, and he wedged it
into the wound. ‘Take the fucking thing down,’ he yelled in
a strong Irish accent. Once the end of the spade was
buried, the Irishman pushed his weight onto the handle,
forcing it to the side with a cry of determination. Max then
saw a large kneecap pop from its socket within the leathery
skin. The Irishman was pushing so hard that the handle of
the spade snapped, and his momentum caused him to fall
to the ground. The creature roared in pain and took a step
forward—but stumbled.
Max sensed an opportunity. He ran in with his weapon
and started to hack at the wounded leg. Then Len attacked
with him, as did the father, bringing his axe down hard
enough to split the skin around the dislocated knee. The
knee bone fell free and dropped to the floor.
The wounded creature, which continued to roar, was
able to grab another of the Deathborn and force him to the
ground. It then raised its arms above its head, fists
clenched, and clubbed the man again and again with
terrifying force. The Deathborn’s screams were quickly cut
short, first turning to gargled moans, then being silenced
completely as his body was crushed more and more with
each blow. A few seconds later, his torso was little more
than dark red mush, with his limbs splaying out from the
disgusting mess.
Despite his horrific death, the others kept up the attack,
obliterating the creature’s lower leg. Eventually, it fell and
landed on the ground face first, partially covering what
remained of the man it had just killed. It again cried out,
but the Deathborn continued to hack away. With a few final
chops from the enraged stranger’s axe, the leg came away
completely at the joint, spilling jet-black blood that pumped
free from the stump.
Max knew they still had to be wary of the creature’s
swinging arms. It tried to get back to a standing position,
but the men were on it quickly, knocking it to the ground
again. With only one leg, the creature couldn’t keep its
balance.
For the first time, Max felt confident they could actually
kill it—and they had the father to thank for that. Still not
finished, the man set about chopping at the monster’s head
and neck, timing his swings to keep away from the beast’s
desperately reaching arms.
Max quickly lunged at the huge, ape-like head, thrusting
his machete at the other eye. His first attack didn’t strike
true, and he only succeeded in slicing the side of the
creature’s face, but he slowed down his second thrust and
managed to pop the fleshy red eyeball.
‘Finish it!’ Max cried to the others. He was about to add,
take the head, but saw that the stranger was already
getting to work on that, standing on the monster's back
with his axe raised.

Jack swung the axe down with every ounce of strength he

had. He was aiming for the back of the creature’s neck,
where the target area was small thanks to the behemoth’s
overgrown shoulders and hunched back. There was a valley
in the flesh at the base of the curved skull that indicated
where the monster’s head ended—that was the target. Jack
guided his blade down, chopping into the skin. Another
roar exploded from the beast and it rolled over, but Jack
was quick to leap away before lunging back in to launch
another swing just beneath the monster’s chin.
 A failing arm struck him and flung him to the ground.
Jack coughed as the air was driven from him—his world
spun.
Get up! It isn’t dead yet!
Pain bloomed in his head and Jack felt liquid running
down the side of his face. He wiped his hand across it and
saw his palm was smeared with blood. He shook his head,
trying to clear away the fog.
Get up! he told himself again.
Using the axe to help him, Jack set the head down on the
ground and leaned on the base of the handle while he
stood. After allowing himself time to take a breath, Jack
again took hold of his weapon in both hands. The monster
was now desperately rolling and swiping on the ground,
completely blind and squealing like a stuck pig. On another
day, Jack might have felt sorry for the creature, but the only
thing he felt now was white-hot rage, which intensified as
images flashed through his mind: Samuel being shaken
back and forth like he was nothing, the monster taking hold
of the boy with both large hands and…
Jack screamed and sprinted back into the battle. The
beast was again on its back, so Jack plunged the edge of
the axe into the same wound he’d opened up on its throat,
this time burying it deeper into the exposed, black meat.
Dark blood poured free, spurting up Jack’s body and
coating his forearms. The monster’s growls and roars
became gurgled as Jack managed two more chops, avoiding
its arms each time, before having to momentarily retreat.
The beast then rolled to its front, making a horrible
coughing sound and sending more blood to the grass below
it. Jack lunged straight back in.
Die! Die! Die!
He was relentless, taking every opportunity to hack
away more of the flesh and meat around the back of the
monster’s neck. The other men—whoever they were—took
aim at other parts of its body. At one point, Jack saw the
monster lift up its left arm, but the great hand was hanging
from the wrist precariously, the exposed bone partially
broken. A swing from a machete later, the hand fell to the
ground, causing another gargled cry from the blind
behemoth.
The monster began to pant heavily, making a sound akin
to a mewl. The fight in it appeared to be gone. What was
more, its neck was completely ruined.
Die!
He lowered the axe again.
Die!
Another hard chop. More blood exploded upwards.
Chop, chop, chop.
The monster made a pathetic attempt to crawl, but had
no energy left.
Fucking die!!!
Jack kept going. He was so blinded by rage that it took
him a moment to realise the axe was now hitting the
ground instead of meat. The attacks of the others had also
ceased. As Jack focused, he saw that the creature had been
decapitated. A thick, severed spinal cord protruded from
the bleeding neck stump, and the large cranium, having
rolled to its side, lay away from the vast torso. The jaw of
the beast was slack and its face was lifeless. However,
Jack’s fury was nowhere near sated. He let out a cry of rage
and continued striking the giant corpse with the axe.
‘You bastard!’ he cried out loud. ‘You ungodly fucking
thing!’
Chop, chop, chop.
Eventually, sapped of strength, Jack dropped to his
knees and began to sob.

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 CHAPTER TWELVE

Max watched the man, who was down on his knees with his
head dropped to his chest, cry as his body shook.
The battle was over, however many questions still
remained: who was the person Max had followed from
Whitby? Why had he changed into that beast? It was a
monster new to Max, one that his organisation might not
even be aware of, though he would have to double-check
the bestiary. It was a worrying development.
Someone moved close to him. Max looked to his side to
see Len.
‘What was that thing?’ Len asked.
Max could only shake his head. ‘I don’t know, though I
intend to find out. I have a feeling this leads back to
Whitby.’
Both men continued to look down at the grieving father.
‘Shame we have to kill him.’
Max swirled his head around. ‘Why?’ he asked.
‘The fella’s seen too much, hasn’t he?’
‘That’s harsh,’ a voice with an Irish accent said. The man
with the blonde hair and shaggy beard moved closer. ‘Poor
man has lost enough, don’t you think?’
‘I agree with you,’ Len said as he raised his hands, ‘but
rules are rules. Something like this, we can’t risk word
getting out.’
‘Word always gets out,’ Max said. ‘How do you think
most legends start?’
‘Well, those have always been our orders,’ Len replied.
‘If we think someone has learned too much, we can’t risk
it.’
The only other surviving Deathborn approached as well.
Max was disappointed to see it was the man with the
hooked nose and moustache.
‘What does one more death matter?’ he asked. ‘Let’s get
it done so we can leave this bloody place. I’m exhausted.’
‘There’s still much to be done here, fool,’ Max snapped.
‘We need to gather up the body and take it with us. We also
have to remove any trace that anything occurred here. That
means collecting all other bodies as well, including,’ he
nodded over to the sobbing man and lowered his voice, ‘his
boy.’
The hooked-nosed man threw his hands in the air. ‘I
don’t have the strength,’ he complained. ‘Do you know how
close I came to dying?’
Feeling his own anger bubble over, Max quickly drew
out his small knife and pressed the tip of the weapon to the
Deathborn’s throat. The man leaned his head back and
widened his eyes in surprise.
‘If you don’t do as ordered, I can bring you a lot closer
to dying, I promise you that. Understand?’
The Deathborn curled his lip but nodded, so Max
lowered his knife.
The sobbing father still hadn’t looked up. It was as
though nothing else existed to him beyond his grief.
‘I think you are missing something important, Len,’ Max
said, ‘when considering this man’s life.’
‘And what’s that?’ Len asked.
‘If it weren’t for him, I’m not sure we would have taken
the monster down. Did you see how he fought? Don’t tell
me the Durham Deathborn are so spoiled with numbers
they can overlook a talent like this.’
Len paused. Then his brows raised up and he rubbed his
chin. ‘That is an excellent point.’
‘We’ll take him with us,’ Max decided. ‘Your warden can
decide from there. I’d advise we get the man secured first,
then we can start on clearing this area up.’
Len turned to the Irishman. ‘Give me a hand with this,
Gus. He might not come willingly.’
The Irishman nodded. ‘I’ll go fetch the shackles.’

Though Jack was unable to stop crying, or shake the last,

painful moments of his son’s life from his mind, he still
heard some of what the men close by were talking about.
There were discussing his fate.
Just kill me, he thought. Give me what I deserve.
He felt broken, utterly devoid of strength, and crippled
by pain that stabbed at his heart. He heard footsteps
approach.
‘Just do it,’ he said. ‘I welcome it.’
Somewhere in his mind, behind the wall of anger and
hurt, he was curious as to who those people were and why
they had been waiting for the abomination. But in the end,
he just didn’t care… about anything.
The only things he’d ever cared for in his life had now
been taken: one lost to disease, the other ripped in two.
‘You get a stay of execution, my friend,’ one of the men
said. Jack picked up on an Irish accent. ‘I can’t imagine
what you’re going through, fella, but you have my
sympathies. I know this is probably the last thing you need
right now, but me and my friend here are gonna have to
restrain ya.’
 Jack didn’t even fight as his wrists were placed in thick
iron shackles connected to each other via a chain. He was
lifted to his feet and guided towards the main road, where
the horses, carts, and carriages waited. The two large men
moved Jack over to one of the carriages, which was a large,
black, basic design with a curved roof. It looked to be made
of steel. One of them opened the back door, and Jack
allowed himself to be lifted and pushed inside.
‘Get some rest,’ the other man said. ‘We’ll be on the
move soon.’
Jack was barely listening. All he could hear were his
son’s final screams.

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 CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The sway of the vehicle caused Jack to rock gently. He was

seated on a rather uncomfortable bench fixed to a side wall
of the carriage. The rear door had an opening to look out
of, but it was barred. In addition, he noticed a lot of
reinforced metalwork, much of it marred with long
scratches and dents. He wondered if the vehicle had been
used for transporting prisoners… or worse.
He took in all of those details from his peripheral vision,
as Jack was sitting with his head hanging down, looking at
his hands, which he slowly opened and closed into fists
over and over. The shackles around his wrists nipped at his
skin with every clench.
Bruises were forming on his knuckles and fingers. A
black, viscous substance from that thing coated his skin up
his forearms.
Though he wasn’t physically sobbing anymore, tears still
streamed down Jack's face, and he passively watched the
droplets fall to the carriage floor.
He kept reliving those final moments before his sweet
son had been so horribly…
It was Samuel’s final expression that haunted Jack so. In
that instant, the scared boy had known he was going to die
painfully. He hadn’t even had time to cry out for help. There
was just a look of pleading and grave realisation that
should never have crossed the face of one so young.
Flashes of the following violent act, of the blood, and of
the screaming crept up, but it made him instantly
nauseous, so Jack screwed his eyes shut. He was met again
by Samuel’s pleading face.
Save me, Da.
But instead of protecting and saving his boy, Jack had
only been able to watch as Samuel had been ripped apart.
In the space of a few months, his small family had been
completely taken from him. Jack had failed both his wife
and his son. Shame and rage bubbled through him.
The other thing that kept gnawing at him was the
impossibility of what had happened. Jack had no idea what
the creature was, but it shouldn’t have existed. It shouldn’t
have been possible.
The insanity of it all, coupled with the crushing sense of
loss, made his mind feel like it was going to break.
Jack wasn’t aware exactly how long he’d been in the
back of that carriage before it came to a stop—maybe three
hours, he’d guess. Eventually two men appeared at the
opening in the rear door.
‘We’re gonna open this up and you’re gonna climb out
nice and slow. Understand?’
Jack simply glared at them but gave no answer.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ the other man added. He raised
one of his hands to reveal a small knife. ‘Don’t try anything
silly.’
Jack heard the lock release, and then the door swung
open. He got a good look at the two men now, both of
whom were similar in height and build—shorter and
thinner than he was. A sudden urge to leap out and throttle
one of them built within him, accompanied by visions of
wrapping his chains around the other’s neck and pulling it
tight until his face went purple.
Who the fuck are they to detain me?
 However, rather than giving in to his animalistic desires,
he instead did as instructed and climbed out. His boots hit
the dirt, and he straightened his back up, feeling
immediately grateful when the base of his spine popped
after having been hunched over for the past few hours. He
stood toe-to-toe with the man with the knife, though he was
a good head taller and glared down with a scowl. Jack
nodded towards the knife the man raised.
‘You threaten me with that little needle again and I’ll
shove it through your eye.’
A shocked expression ran over the man’s face, and he
took half a step back. Jack didn’t move, instead continuing
to stare him down.
‘Keep your mouth shut,’ the man retorted. However, his
voice lacked the conviction it had earlier. ‘You’ll do as we
say.’
Jack looked past the man to take in his surroundings.
He was in a huge courtyard enclosed on all sides.
Behind the carriage Jack had arrived in was a large, black,
metal-rail gate, which stood approximately eight feet in
height. A brick wall ran from either side, only a little
shorter than the gate. The surrounding wall gave the
courtyard its square shape and ran into the back of a large
building on the opposite side of the gate. The building was
predominantly made of the same red brick as the boundary
wall, and it looked to be about two stories tall, not counting
the storey in the roof void evidenced by windows within the
slope of the slate-tiled roof.
The windows to the main walls were high and
rectangular, with those on the ground floor substantially
taller. There was also a huge, plain, wooden double door
central to the rear elevation, which looked large enough to
accommodate carriages. The building didn’t appear like a
manor or home, rather a warehouse, something more
industrial in nature.
 The courtyard itself was lit by flaming torches fixed to
the walls, casting everything in a flickering orange glow.
The ground consisted of grey-blue cobbled stones, most of
which were covered in mud and dirt. The smell of horse
shit was thick in the air.
Timber-framed paddocks were present in the busy
courtyard, containing scores of horses. Carts and carriages
were parked as well, and a bustle of men milled about the
area.
A cart near to Jack had a pile of bodies in the back—
those killed at Ferryhill. They were being unloaded, with
the corpses dumped unceremoniously on the ground—Jack
quickly whipped his head away, terrified he would see the
remains of his son.
‘Get those stripped of their clothes and anything else
salvageable,’ someone close to the bodies yelled. ‘And be
quick about it, lest the Warden’ll give us hell.’
A few of the men in the courtyard cast Jack sideways
glances, but he was left alone save for the two guarding
him. Most others clearly had jobs to do: some led horses
back to paddocks, others unloaded the dead, and others
still collected weapons from one of the carts and were
taking them inside. There was another cart as well, one
that contained the body of the behemoth.
‘Where are we?’ Jack asked the two men with him.
‘A place you might eventually call home if you know
what’s good for you,’ one of them replied.
Jack shook his head. ‘That isn’t what I mean. What town,
what city?’
‘Durham,’ the other told him. ‘On the edge of the city
centre.’
That meant they’d travelled in a northerly direction,
using the same road he and Samuel had used on their way
down to Ferryhill in the first place. In fact, he and his son
had skirted the city of Durham only yesterday, and Jack had
been considering stopping off there instead. He’d decided
against it in the end, as he knew from personal experience
the city was a hive of activity and would have likely been
overwhelming for his boy.
He’d never regretted a decision more.
‘And why are we here?’ Jack asked.
They gave each other a look before one answered. ‘The
Warden will tell you all you need to know. Listen to what he
says, fella, or you’ll end up like this lot.’ He nodded to the
bodies being unloaded from the cart.
‘That might be a mercy,’ Jack snapped back. Tears wet
his eyes again and he had to fight to hold them back. ‘What
was that thing?’ he then went on to ask. ‘Back there. The
monster that killed my son. What… what in the hell was it?’
The man with the knife lowered his eyes to the floor.
‘Sorry about your boy, for what it’s worth.’
‘Things like that… monster… they can’t be real. It makes
no sense. Who are you people?’
‘Those answers are going to be hard to give, fella, and
even harder to hear. As I said, the Warden will speak to
you, and then he’ll decide what happens from there.’
‘Who is this Warden?’
The man with the knife turned to his left and nodded
towards two people who were standing in deep
conversation. Jack recognised one of them from the events
back in Ferryhill: a man of medium height, thin, messy hair
worn in a centre parting, and a trimmed beard and
moustache. He had an intense stare on him and it soon
settled on Jack. The second man, who was older and clad in
dark clothes, stood listening.
‘The man in the black?’ Jack asked.
‘That’s him.’
The Warden stood a little over six feet tall, just a touch
larger than Jack. He was stocky, but looked to be in his
fifties, and had a bald head and a heavily weathered face.
In addition, the man’s nose had obviously been broken
multiple times over the years, as the bridge was flat and
broad with an old-looking scar across it.
His clothing consisted of a long coat, shoulder cape, and
old-looking black boots layered with mud. Beneath the coat
and cape, Jack thought he could make out dark robes.
Eventually, as the two men spoke, the thin man with the
angular face motioned over to Jack, and the Warden turned
to face him as well. Jack locked eyes with the Warden as
the two men’s conversation continued. Before long, the
Warden began to walk over. He stopped directly in front of
Jack.
‘I’m told you’re the one who killed the creature. That
right?’ Jack didn’t say anything. ‘The boy it killed, was that
your son?’ Jack still remained silent, though the mention of
Samuel made him clench his teeth and tense his jaw. After
a few moments, the Warden followed up with, ‘You mute or
something, boy?’
Jack took half a step forward and closed the already
small gap between them. As he did, the two men close to
him made to move as well, but the unflinching Warden just
raised a hand to stop them—he didn’t once look away from
Jack’s angry glare.
‘I’m not mute,’ Jack said slowly, letting anger lace his
words. ‘I want to know what that thing was that killed my
son.’
The Warden took a moment, then nodded. ‘At the
moment, I don’t think we’re quite sure what it was.’ His
voice was deep and had an aged, gravelly quality to it.
‘But your men were waiting for it.’
The Warden nodded. ‘We were. We got word that
something was coming our way and that we might need to
stop it.’
‘Is that right? So, who the fuck are you people?’
The Warden gave a small smile before lifting an arm and
pulling back his sleeve. Jack saw a crude tattoo on the
inside of his arm, just above the wrist. It was a skull, minus
the jaw. ‘We,’ the Warden said, ‘are the Deathborn.’
Jack frowned and gave another look around the busy
courtyard. ‘Never heard of you.’
‘I’d be surprised if you had.’
‘And what is it you Deathborn are supposed to do? You
look like a gang of angry city-folk who have taken up arms.’
The Warden let out a laugh. ‘Well, I can assure you we’re
much more than that. Granted, we look like a bunch of
thugs, but we’re a brotherhood, and every man here has
dedicated their lives to the cause.’
‘What cause?’
The Warden narrowed his eyes on Jack. ‘That thing you
saw tonight… We hunt and fight creatures like that. Killing
them is our cause.’
Jack tried to process that information. We hunt and fight
creatures like that. ‘There are more of those monsters?’
‘My boy, if you only knew the truth. There are things out
there in the shadows your mind could scarcely
comprehend. Monsters exist, son, and they’re worse than
you can imagine.’
‘Horseshit,’ Jack spat, an instinctive reaction to hearing
something so outlandish.
Another laugh. ‘Is it? After what you’ve experienced
with your own eyes this very night, are you prepared to
dismiss it so quickly?’ Jack had no answer to that, so he
stayed silent, lowering his head a little. ‘I understand this is
a lot to take in,’ the man said. ‘No doubt you’re dealing
with a lot, what with your boy being—’
‘Don’t talk about my son!’ Jack snapped through gritted
teeth.
The grin never left the Warden’s face. ‘You’re angry,
obviously. I can understand that—even more than you
know. I felt the same way, only for me it was my daughter
who was taken, many years ago now.’
 That comment took Jack off guard and he felt his frown
soften. ‘Your daughter?’
‘Mollie,’ the Warden said. ‘She had her head taken off by
something I couldn’t make sense of. It’s maddening, isn’t
it? Trying to cope with the loss of a child at the same time
your reality is shattered? I know that feeling well. It’s what
set me on my path.’
‘Path?’
‘Well, at first my road was one of revenge. And let me
tell you, I got my vengeance many times over. I let loose
with my anger, aiming it at deserving targets. It felt… good.
A lot of the brothers here have joined for similar reasons.’
‘They all lost someone?’
‘Not all, no, but quite a few. Others join out of necessity
—people who have no hope, no home, nothing else to live
for. We give them purpose.’
‘You mean you prey on the needy,’ Jack said as he
narrowed his eyes.
‘We give desperate people a choice,’ was the reply. ‘We
house them and feed them—’
‘And get them killed,’ Jack cut in. He nodded over to the
dead bodies being piled on the ground. ‘And now you’re
picking their corpses clean like vultures.’
‘We’re just reusing what they no longer need,’ the
Warden said. ‘Nothing more.’
‘What will happen to the bodies?’
‘They’ll eventually be loaded back onto a cart and taken
outside of town, where we own some land. There, they’ll be
burned.’
‘A bonfire of corpses, eh? Hardly dignified, is it?’
The Warden leaned in close to Jack. ‘You seem like a
man who knows the way of the world. Tell me, is there ever
any dignity in death?’
Jack thought of Samuel and Rose. There had been no
dignity for either of the two people he loved most in this
world—only pain.
 Jack looked down. ‘Is… is my boy in that cart?’ he asked
softly.
He felt a heavy hand rest on his shoulder. ‘Let us deal
with that. There is no reason for you to see any of it. We’ll
cremate him with the others. It will be respectful—it always
is.’ Jack stayed silent, not knowing what to say. Eventually,
the Warden went on. ‘Let me be clear, the brothers here do
not live a life of luxury. Most won’t survive very long, and
there is no opportunity to leave. Once you have sworn the
oath, you serve until you die.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ Jack asked.
‘I think you know why.’
‘What makes you think I’ll join? Back at Ferryhill, your
men were going to kill me because of what I’d seen.’
The Warden nodded. ‘Yes. I apologise for that, but it is
usually necessary. It might sound barbaric, but there is a
reason we try to keep what we see secret from the general
populace. If knowledge that monsters really do exist got
out, it would be bedlam. Things would break down. The
rule of law would be washed away, and panic would take
hold.’
‘All because one person knew about these things?
Horseshit. I know plenty of people who believe in monsters
and spirits, even wytches.’
‘True. But if specific incidents aren’t contained, things
can get messy—we’ve learned that through experience.
Regardless, you weren’t killed, were you?’
‘No, because the fella you were talking to over there
stepped in.’ Jack pointed over to the other man, the one
with the trimmed beard, who was still standing away from
them and watching the exchange, but not close enough to
hear.
‘He saw something in you.’
Jack got the impression there was something different
about that man. For one, he wasn’t clad in the same basic
attire as the others, and he’d seemed to speak with
authority.
‘Is he one of your brothers, too?’
The Warden shook his head. ‘No, he’s… more of a
cousin, I suppose is the best way to look at it.’
‘Not Deathborn.’
‘No. Something similar, but he works alone. As I said, he
recognised your potential. You stepped forward and killed
that creature when others would have wilted. You used
your anger to fight instead of sinking into panic and
despair. Those are qualities we look for.’
‘I take it if I don’t join your little club, then you’ll have
me killed?’
The Warden stepped back. After a moment, he slowly
shook his head.
‘Actually, no,’ he said. ‘I don’t get the impression you
would cause us a problem, despite knowing what you do.
You even did the job others were sent to do. I would say
that’s worth a reprieve.’
‘Then let me go,’ Jack quickly said. He held up his
shackled hands. ‘Unlock these and I’ll be on my way. I need
to grieve for my son, and I don’t plan on doing it here with
you people.’
To Jack’s surprise, the Warden simply nodded, then
reached into his coat pocket and drew out a large metal
ring that held a host of iron keys. ‘If that is your wish.’
I thought that would have gone differently.
The Warden then reached forward and unlocked the
metal shackles that bound Jack’s wrists. They fell to the
muddy floor. ‘You’re free to go,’ he said. ‘I do ask that you
keep what you saw to yourself. I have a feeling you will.’
Jack rubbed his wrists, smearing more of the viscous
residue from the monster around his skin in the process. ‘I
didn’t think you’d agree so easily.’
‘Well, if I’m completely honest, I don’t think you’ll go.’
 Jack let out a humourless laugh. ‘Why the hell would you
think that?’
‘Just a hunch,’ the Warden said. He then held out his
hand. ‘My name is William, by the way. William Tunstall.’
Jack frowned, looked at his outstretched hand for a
moment, then shook.
‘Jack Bennett,’ he replied. William’s grip was firm and
his hand hard and calloused, much like Jack’s.
‘Well, if you ever do change your mind, Jack, you know
where we are now. We don’t have the numbers I’d like, and
I’m certain we could use you. But, more importantly, you
have had a glimpse at the important work the brotherhood
carries out. I’m truly sorry about what happened to your
son, but I can tell you that by doing what we do, we have
kept others from experiencing the pain you and I feel. That
brings me some solace. But also, the things I’ve learned
since joining the Deathborn have opened my mind in ways I
could never have imagined. You could have that, too.’
‘Or I could be killed and ripped apart by the next
monstrosity you face.’
‘Absolutely,’ the Warden said with a quick and firm nod.
‘I will be clear about that. Ours is not a cause that
guarantees a long life. Quite the opposite. But, let me ask
you this, now that the veil has been pulled back a little…
can you truly return to a normal life?’
‘I can certainly try.’
Jack noticed someone slowly approach. It was the
‘cousin’ of the Deathborn the Warden had been speaking to.
‘What’s his answer?’ the man asked. His voice was
decidedly smooth and even, with a rather generic accent
that was hard to place.
The Warden shook his head. ‘He says it’s not for him,
Max. Though I’m not sure I believe him.’
The man named Max directed his glare onto Jack and
narrowed his eyes. ‘Maybe you need to cast your mind
back, my friend. I saw you in Ferryhill, how you acted, and
the glee you experienced in slaying that creature. You were
born for this.’
Jack clenched his jaw. ‘That wasn’t glee, that was anger.
I wanted to rip it apart, just like it did to my boy.’ Jack felt
his eyes dampen and a sudden wave of anguish surge
through him. Hold it back. ‘And don’t call me ‘friend,’ ’ Jack
added.
‘Oh, I don’t doubt your rage was a huge part in how you
acted,’ Max said. ‘But I believe there was more to it than
that.’
‘I don’t care what you believe,’ Jack indignantly shot
back. He then looked to William. ‘Are we finished? I want to
walk to the nearest bar and get started on the biggest
bottle of brandy they have.’
‘You won’t find any solace at the bottom of a bottle,’
William said. ‘Trust me on that.’
‘Ain't looking for solace. I’m just looking to black out.’
‘Before you go,’ Maxwell added, ‘do me one courtesy.
Just come with us for a moment. Let me show you
something. Do that, and then we’ll let you go.’
Jack let out a frustrated sigh. ‘Make it quick.’

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 CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The trio moved into the large double door in the back wall
of the building.
The walls inside were bare brick, interspersed with
thick, steel columns at regular centres, disappearing into
the high ceiling above.
The internal space was segregated into different areas
by more vertical columns, which travelled across the floor
in a grid. One area had been set up for eating, with a huge
dining table which looked like it could seat scores of
people. It was basic, appeared worn, and had stretches of
simple benching either side.
The smell of smoke filled the air, the source of which
was an enormous open fireplace set against the far right-
hand wall. The fireplace was taller than Jack was, and
about five feet wide. A fire roared inside, and benches,
stools, and a few thick barrels were set before it. About a
dozen men were in that area, either leaning against the
barrels or sitting on the stools. If the fire was the building’s
sole source of heating, then Jack guessed the surrounding
area would get a lot more congested in the winter months.
There was a significant food preparation area to the
back, currently unmanned, with shelves full of canned food,
sacks of grains and oats piled high, and tables and
chopping boards smeared with blood.
Jack could also see three sets of rickety-looking spiral
staircases leading up, all to the right-hand side of the
building, just off from the living area.
Lastly, Jack noticed the wall to his left was white plaster
and had panelled wooden doors set into it, indicating
another area beyond.
While the conditions were far from fantastic, Jack had
certainly seen worse in some workhouses.
He paid close attention to the men around him, trying to
get a gauge for the type of person who would willingly give
their lives to a cause like the Deathborn. They certainly
looked to be a rag-tag collection of souls. Most of them
regarded Jack wearily as he followed the Warden and Max.
Most of them looked to be in their late twenties or early
thirties—though some appeared decidedly younger, maybe
even in their mid-teens. The vast majority looked mean,
weathered, tired, and sullen, and most of their faces and
skin were dirty, sometimes lined with sores.
There was no laughing or joking between them. That
could have been because of the late hour, or just the normal
way of things. Some men slowly filtered up the staircases to
the floor above. Jack wondered how many more men were
up there.
The Deathborn were all dressed in similar clothing, and
the colours were a dirty selection of greys, browns, dark
greens, and blacks. Their trousers, shirts, and vests all
looked to be woven from cheap cotton, the type Jack knew
itched to high heaven, and a few men sported flat caps.
This was the Deathborn. Hardly a trained army, Jack
thought to himself. While they had numbers, Jack had seen
they didn’t appear to be effective fighting creatures like the
one back in Ferryhill.
Lambs to the slaughter.
 It certainly looked like a miserable existence; most were
likely just waiting to die.
‘Tell me,’ Jack began as they continued over to a white
plastered wall to their left, ‘do people ever run away?’
‘No one can leave,’ William replied. ‘Ever. Once you take
the oath, there is no going back.’
‘So you’ve said. But I can imagine quite a few people
experience a change of heart when they realise just what
they’ve gotten themselves into.’
William stopped and turned to Jack. Max pulled up as
well. ‘Some… have tried, yes,’ the Warden said. ‘But they
are hunted down and brought back. If they insist that they
cannot go on here, they are killed. Deserters are not
tolerated.’ William spoke as if it were a simple, obvious
fact, and not the cold and heartless action it actually was.
‘That seems… extreme.’
‘Perhaps, but it is necessary. Everyone is fully aware of
that before they swear the oath.’
‘Considering I was almost put to death for seeing too
much, I doubt many truly had a choice.’
‘Not everyone was in your position. But, I will admit, we
do what we have to in order to keep our numbers up.’
‘A lot of these men look painfully thin,’ Jack said. ‘You
collect people from the streets, don’t you?’
‘There are many unfortunate souls in this world who
have nothing and live day to day without food or warmth.
We can offer them—’
‘An excruciating death,’ Jack cut in.
‘Hunger is excruciating,’ William said. ’Succumbing to
the biting cold of the winter all alone is agonising. We give
men with nothing an opportunity.’
‘I don’t doubt you see it that way.’
‘It is the same for those who would otherwise be locked
up for life, or even hanged in the street for their misdeeds.
We offer those men a chance for penance as well.’
 ‘Enough,’ Jack said. ‘I understand perfectly. You
blackmail those with no other choice so that you can build
up numbers to throw to the wolves. All for your ‘noble’
cause.’ Jack shook his head in disdain. ‘And you really
expect me to join this?’
‘We don’t expect anything of you,’ Max said. ‘Nothing
more than for you to honour the courtesy you agreed to,
and seeing what we have to show. This way.’
Jack was then led to a particular door in the far wall,
which William unlocked with a key from his ring. The group
entered and emerged into an internal corridor, one with
lots of other rooms off it. The area was lit by wall-mounted
oil lamps, and the floor underfoot was bare concrete.
William locked the door behind them.
‘Why the lock?’ Jack asked. ‘Don’t you trust your other
brothers to be in here?’
‘Some,’ William replied. ‘Higher-ranking members have
access, but there are things in here that need to be
protected.’
Jack just shook his head. He was exhausted and numb,
on edge, and ready to break down. He didn’t have the
mental capacity to deal with the rest of it right now. ‘Just
show me what you have to,’ he said, tired of arguing, ‘then
I’ll be on my way.’
They continued down the corridor without another word,
stopping at one of the doors. To Jack, it appeared identical
to all the others: thick-looking plain hardwood.
‘What’s in here?’ he asked.
William paused. ‘It is a kind of… deadhouse.’
‘Deadhouse?’
‘A place where we keep bodies of those that have died,’
William explained. ‘Specifically, bodies we may yet learn
something from. A word of warning, Jack: steel yourself
before we enter.’
‘I’ve seen dead bodies before,’ Jack said.
 ‘My suggestion still stands.’ William then withdrew his
keyring yet again and cycled through the keys, eventually
settling on one of the smaller ones. He unlocked the door
and pushed it open, letting Jack enter first, where a
horrendous smell was the first thing to greet him.
The room inside was long and spacious, and again lit by
multiple oil lamps on the walls, casting an amber glow over
the area. Wooden cabinets and bookshelves stood against
the walls, the brick of which was painted a dark grey. A line
of seven tables ran down the centre of the room. Each table
was stained with what Jack assumed was old blood, and
four of them had a body laid out on top, two of which were
adults, two children.
They were a mess.
The adult corpses were mangled, one missing a leg and
arm, and the other actually in two pieces and separated
across the midsection. While only a minimal amount of
blood ran from the many wounds, the exposed meat
beneath the skin was still red, indicating the cadavers were
relatively fresh.
While the state of the adults was bad, gazing upon what
was left of the poor children turned Jack’s stomach. Their
bodies had been completely decimated, and the smallest
was only recognisable as human because of a single leg
that had been left mostly intact. The rest of the corpse was
a mushed and twisted pile of flesh.
Jack clenched his fists together. This time, he couldn’t
stop the tears from flowing. The numbness that had been
clouding him since he’d been thrown in the back of that
carriage earlier finally broke down like a crumbling dam;
he was overrun with a river of pain and grief flooding
through him.
He was furious at the Warden’s blatant manipulation.
However, he couldn’t vocalise any of that—it was all too
much. Jack doubled over, putting his hands to his knees,
and broke down crying.
 He felt a hand on his shoulder again.
‘Sorry you have to see this.’ Jack was a little surprised to
hear Max’s voice this time, and he turned to see the man
standing close to him.
William then began to speak. ‘This was a family who
lived on a farm just outside of Sacriston. Recently, we
followed up on reports of some strange activity in the area,
which led us to the farmstead. There, we found that the
family had fallen victim to an attack from a particularly
malicious wraith that had been bound to the area. This…
was the result.’
Jack’s mind was spinning.
‘What the fuck is a wraith?’ he managed to ask as he
again gazed over at the remains of the poor children.
‘Spectral entities that live on after the death of their
human form,’ Max said.
It still made no sense to Jack. ‘You’re telling me that…
ghosts… did this?’
‘No,’ Max replied. ‘Not a ghost. Wraiths are different.
After death, they change and become something else
entirely. They are able to interact with our physical world,
as you can see by the state of this family, and are tied to it
by a specific object or person. Wraiths can be deliberately
conjured, whereby the soul of a recently deceased person is
transformed through a specific ritual. It isn’t an easy
process, and not many know how to do it.’
‘Turns out the family you see here was on land a
particularly nasty person wanted for himself,’ William
added. ‘The four of them likely had no idea what was
coming their way. We were able to banish the wraith, but
not before we lost a lot of men, and now we are hunting the
person responsible. We brought the bodies back here to
make sure nothing else was going on. We’ve never known a
person killed by a wraith to turn into something else, but
we had to be sure.’
 Jack wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. The
amount of information the Warden had just spouted was too
much to take in.
‘The reason you’re seeing this, Jack,’ William continued,
‘is to prove that what happened to your poor boy, and to my
little girl, aren’t isolated incidents. Many innocent people
are killed by the things we fight, and sometimes they’re
children—who have no reason to be caught up in this
madness. Nevertheless, they’re chewed up and spat out—
sometimes literally. I won’t pretend that we save everyone,
and it’s far from as many as I’d like, but if the things that
hide in the shadows were left unchecked, then the numbers
of lives lost would be much higher. We do make a
difference.’
‘It was underhanded to show me this,’ Jack snapped. ‘A
cheap and cruel ploy to get me to join.’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ the Warden agreed. ‘But, everything I’m
telling you is true. I know it is all a lot to take in, I’ve been
there, but you have a choice: go and lose yourself at the
bottom of a bottle and spiral into a darkness of your own
making, or try to make a difference and stop what
happened to you from happening to someone else. And, in
the process, you can get a little revenge for your son.’
The rage inside of Jack continued to grow, and crackled
and surged, to the point he was physically shaking. He was
furious these men would stoop so low in an attempt to sway
him. However, the bulk of his anger was directed inward at
himself for failing.
Get a little revenge for your son.
Those were the words that stuck in his head, repeating
themselves in a loop over and over. It began to sound
appealing, a way to focus on the anguish.
‘So,’ William went on, ‘what say you? Will you take the
oath?’
Jack remained silent for a few moments. If he left, a fate
of drinking himself to death awaited. It would be a pathetic
way to go out. The alternative, which practically
guaranteed the end he deserved, would at least provide
him some revenge, and a chance to honour his son. Jack
took a deep breath and stood back to his full height. He
glared at William and Max, clenched his teeth together…
then gave a nod.

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 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Everyone had been ordered to gather close to the roaring

fireplace. Men that had been upstairs asleep were pulled,
grumbling, from their slumber and herded downstairs.
Jack had no idea of the time, but he guessed that it
would soon be morning. He wasn’t exactly sure what was
going to take place next, or how the oath would go, though
he was surprised proceedings hadn’t just been put on hold
until morning.
Jack was directed to a low stool while the other seats
were arranged, facing in, around it. Then, he was told to
sit. The heat from the fireplace warmed him to the point of
being uncomfortable. All eyes were on him; most looked
tired and annoyed. He couldn’t blame them for that. While
Jack’s emotions were chaotic, he had been running on pure
adrenaline for many hours now, so he felt his body finally
starting to crash. The pull of sleep was strong.
Max stood watch from the back, leaning against one of
the metal struts with his arms folded. William was standing
beside Jack, to his left, holding an old, leather-bound book
open. Two men flanked the Warden, one of whom Jack
recognised as the gorilla-looking oaf who had wanted to kill
him back at Ferryhill. Jack tried to remember his name.
Len?
 There was another person, this one to Jack’s right, and
he was seated at a small table that held a block of wood,
six-inch-long metal needles, a damp piece of cloth, and a
glass jar filled with black ink. The man took one of the
needles and began to hold it into the fire behind them.
There was a soft murmur of chatter in the room, though
it died down once William raised a hand.
‘I’m sure you all know why we are here. Hours ago, a
mission at a local town took an unfortunate turn. Many of
our brothers were killed. However, this man here, who lost
his young boy to the creature we were hunting, stepped
forward and slew the beast. He has suffered great pain, like
all of us, and has now agreed to join our ranks. And so, we
are here to bear witness to Jack Bennett taking the oath.’
William then turned and looked down at Jack, then quietly
said, ‘All you have to do is follow my instructions and speak
when prompted. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ Jack replied with a nod.
William lifted the book up and spoke, though his eyes
remained firmly fixed on Jack, indicating the words he
uttered were memorised. ‘Do you commit your life to us,
joining our brotherhood and giving over your life to our
righteous cause, forsaking all else in the name of
protecting our world? And, do you swear to follow our code
completely and absolutely, obeying all orders handed down
to you?’
Jack hesitated for a moment. The last demands made it
sound like servitude.
What else was I expecting?
‘Yes,’ he eventually said.
William went on: ‘Then state the words after me: I
pledge my life to the Deathborn.’
‘I pledge my life to the Deathborn.’
‘I swear my soul to the brotherhood.’
‘I swear my soul to the brotherhood.’
‘I am born again, ready for death.’
 Jack took a breath and spoke the words loudly. ‘I am
born again, ready for death.’
William took a breath, smiled, then closed his book.
‘Jack Bennett,’ he said rather grandly, ‘you have sworn
the oath. You have forsaken all else and been born anew, to
embrace death if needed to serve a higher purpose. As a
Warden of the Deathborn, I hereby welcome you into our
ranks.’
A half-hearted cheer went up from the gathered men, as
well as a small smattering of applause. Soon after, the men
rose and slowly began to disperse. Jack noticed, however,
that the gorilla-like man continued to hover close by.
‘That it?’ Jack asked as he turned his head up to William.
‘Almost,’ William replied. He then nodded to the seated
man next to Jack. At the same time, the Warden rolled up
his sleeve to once again reveal the crude tattoo of a skull
on the meat of his inner forearm. ‘We just need to get you
branded first.’
The seated man then took Jack’s left arm and forced his
sleeve up as well, before wiping the skin with a damp,
dirty-looking rag. He lifted the small, rectangular wooden
block, where Jack saw the symbol of the skull etched into
one end. The carving was dipped into the ink, and then
stamped onto Jack’s inner arm. Finally, the man lifted the
needle that had been heating in the fire and gave a wide
smile, revealing a mouth full of mostly missing teeth. ‘The
needle’s clean, I can promise you that. But… this is gonna
hurt,’ the man said with apparent glee.
He then began jabbing the needle into the skin,
following the stamp. Jack felt a sharp stinging and
tightened his fists and clenched his teeth. However, he
made no sound.
Eventually, several minutes later, the man finished his
work and again wiped down Jack’s arm. ‘Painful?’ he asked.
‘It didn’t exactly tickle,’ Jack told him. ‘But it was
bearable.’
 The tattooist looked visibly disappointed. ‘Welcome to
the club, I suppose,’ he said before putting everything
down on the small, circular table again. He then carefully
lifted the table in its entirety and walked away with it.
Jack gazed down at the new, permanent mark. The ink
was still mixed with drops of his blood, and he did wonder
if infection would set in. He looked up again at William.
‘Now we’re finished,’ William said.
‘What’s next?’ Jack asked as Max approached them,
weaving through the last of the remaining men.
‘First, you rest,’ William told him. ‘Then tomorrow, you
eat. After breakfast, we’ll need to take a little more
information from you and get you booked into our records.
With the amount of men we lost earlier, our bookkeepers
are going to be busy updating everything, so we have
plenty of time.’ The Warden then turned as Max came to a
stop next to him. ‘Are you staying with us much longer?’
William asked him.
Max shook his head. ‘No, I have to take my leave in the
morning. Something is happening out at Whitby. So, I’ll be
heading back to the coast.’
William just nodded, then held out his hand. Max gave it
a quick, stern shake before looking down at Jack.
‘Thank you for your help back there,’ he said, this time
extending his hand to Jack. ‘You may be tired of hearing
this, but I’m truly sorry about your boy. And I honestly
believe that your decision to join us will give you a new
purpose, though you may not see it yet.’
He kept his hand outstretched. Jack eventually shook,
but stayed silent.
‘Go get some rest,’ William told Max. ‘There are beds
available upstairs. Maybe even fresh water for a bath,
though you may have to fight for that.’
Max laughed. ‘A bed will be fine. I should only need a
few hours, and I’ll be gone shortly after first light.’ He then
patted Jack on the shoulder. ‘Farewell, Jack Bennett.
Perhaps we will see each other again one day.’
With that, he strode away towards the spiral staircase,
where the last of the men were headed as well.
‘You should sleep, too,’ William said to Jack. ‘I’ll allow
you a little time to come to terms with what’s happened
before sending you out.’
Jack got to his feet and rolled down his sleeve, almost
savouring the stinging sensation as the material passed
over the tender, tattooed flesh.
‘I’ll sleep,’ he agreed, ‘but don’t leave me to grieve.’ He
began to walk away and spoke again, this time over his
shoulder. ‘I didn’t join your little group to sit around and
mope. I joined so I could point my anger at something. Find
me something to kill.’

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The first floor was another large, open space, where an

unmistakable smell of sweat clung to the air. The area was
predominantly taken up with rows and rows of basic,
timber-framed beds, some of which were stacked up on top
of each other. There must have been space for well over
seventy people.
There was also a separate area off to the far left that
was free of any beds and instead housed six battered and
dented tin baths. All were empty at present, and five large
wooden barrels, filled with water, stood close by.
Jack noted there was no area for privacy, so if he bathed
he’d be doing so in full view of everyone nearby. That didn’t
surprise him.
Or bother him.
As he looked around for an empty bed to crawl into, of
which there were plenty, he noticed a group of men staring
over at him. There were six in total, all but one of them
gathered around one of the bunk beds about twenty feet
away.
The last man was sitting on the top bunk, and openly
wore a scowl as he stared at Jack. He had a wry, stringy
frame and a thin face with a moustache that ran around to
join his sideburns. His hair was brown and brushed over to
one side, and the man wore an off-white shirt and had
braces that looped over his shoulders and connected to
brown trousers. His feet were bare.
‘Looking at something, new fella?’ the man suddenly
shouted in an aggressive tone. He then climbed off his bed.
Here we go, Jack thought. The real initiation into the
Deathborn.
The weasel-like man, who stood around five-foot-eight,
began to walk over, flanked by his friends.
Jack felt all eyes in the room fall on him. ‘I said,’ the man
carried on, ‘are you lookin’ at something?’
Jack was exhausted. He just wanted to get into a bed
and pass out, and hopefully not dream about his son’s
death.
However, he knew he couldn’t show weakness. If Jack
was seen as a victim, it would give anyone else who fancied
their chances licence to push him around as well.
That wasn’t going to happen.
The thin man walked right up to Jack, chest to chest, as
Jack looked down on him. If it had just been this one fella
on his own, Jack wouldn’t have been concerned, but there
were five others accompanying the weasel.
He felt a finger jab him in the chest and the man’s lips
pulled into a smirk. ‘Do you have a problem with me, new
fella?’
‘Depends if you’re trying to cause a problem,’ Jack
replied, keeping his voice firm and even. ‘Because if so, I
plan to bend you double and force your head up your own
arse.’
Jack then quickly lifted his hands and shoved the smaller
man as hard as he could, putting everything he could
behind the push. It was satisfying to see the brief look of
surprise cross the man’s face before his body flew
backwards and was sent sprawling to the floor. His goons
seemed equally shocked and they stood motionless for a
moment, giving Jack a window of opportunity to strike first.
He threw a stern right fist to the cheek of the man who
stood nearest, connecting with a satisfying blow, though it
sent a brief pain shooting up through his knuckles.
Even if Jack was to get overwhelmed in the end, he’d
make certain these idiots would think twice before trying to
intimidate him again. He didn’t care if that meant trading
punches with them every day for the foreseeable future.
Jack let out a roar and launched forward, swinging his
left fist at another target and connecting with the red-
headed fellow’s temple, which sent him to the floor as well.
The moment’s hesitation from the gang ended, and they
collectively realised they were in a fight. The remaining
three rushed Jack, soon followed by the one he’d punched
after pushing the leader.
Jack was forced backwards as bodies swarmed him. He
heard the ringleader shriek from the floor: ‘I’m gonna make
you regret that, you stupid fucker!’
Though Jack tried to keep upright, the four men working
against him was too much, and Jack was soon forced down
to his back. On the way, he managed to arc an elbow into
the ear of one of the attackers, who let out a cry of pain.
A fist made painful contact with Jack’s ribs, though he
wasn’t sure which of them landed the blow. Through the
mass of bodies before him, Jack could see the weasel-
looking man back on his feet.
Jack continued to fight, but knew a beating was coming.
‘Enough!’ a loud voice thundered.
A couple of extra shots rained down on Jack while he
heard heavy footsteps approach. Then he heard the weasel-
man speak.
‘Keep out of it, Gus. This ain’t your business.’
‘I’ll make it my business,’ the same deep voice said.
‘Fellas here want to sleep, not be disturbed by you trying to
swing yer dick about, Edwin.’
The men on top of Jack pulled themselves to a kneeling
position when the Irishman placed the end of a thick club
beneath the chin of one of them.
‘You shouldn’t have that in here,’ Edwin said. ‘Weapons
are all supposed to be handed in.’
‘This isn’t a weapon,’ Gus said with a grin. ‘I like to keep
it with me for sentimental reasons, you understand?’
Jack finally recognised the man standing above him as
the same one who had loaded him into the carriage back at
Ferryhill.
The group of thugs stood to their feet and warily moved
away from Gus. He was an imposing figure, roughly six-
foot-two, and as broad as a house. Jack could only imagine
the damage the man could do with that club—he didn’t
blame the others for backing off. Gus reached a hand down
and helped Jack to his feet, keeping his pale blue eyes on
the others all the while.
‘You fellas get yourself off to bed. It’s been a long night
for everyone, so we should all get a little shut-eye.’
Thudding footsteps made their way up one of the
circular stairs, and Len’s hulking frame came up into view.
‘There an issue here?’ he asked, staring over at Edwin and
his men.
Edwin shrank away further. ‘No issue,’ he eventually
replied. ‘Just welcoming the new chap, is all.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ Len replied with a shake of his head.
‘Everyone get to bed, or the lot of ya are gonna end up in
the cells for a few nights. Understand?’
The threat was evidently all that was needed to banish
the last of their resolve. Edwin gave Jack one last glare,
then headed back to his bed, followed by the others.
Seemingly satisfied, Len headed back down to the ground
floor, squeezing himself through the gap of the descending
staircase.
‘Don’t pay any mind to Edwin and his goons,’ the large
Irishman said, giving Jack a firm slap on the shoulder. ‘They
greet everyone like that. They try to get a gauge of people,
you know, see how much they’ll be able to intimidate them.
You did well standing up for yourself.’
‘I would’ve been fine,’ Jack said. ‘I didn’t need you to get
involved.’
Gus threw his head back and let out a hearty, bellowing
laugh. He delivered another hard slap on Jack’s shoulder.
‘Of course you would have,’ he said through teary eyes. ‘I
could tell by your cunning position on the floor as those
fellows kicked the living shit out of you—you had them
beat.’
The comment stung Jack’s pride, but he knew Gus was
absolutely right.
‘That’s… a fair point, I suppose. Won’t they come for
you, though? You know, for getting involved?’
Gus just shrugged and slapped the end of his club into
one of his meaty palms. ‘If they feel up to it, let em’ come. I
have a feeling they won’t, though. Some of us have done
that dance before.’
‘Well, thank you for your help,’ Jack said. ‘I saw you out
at Ferryhill. You been a Deathborn long?’
‘A few years,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t go through anything as
horrific as you did to agree to all this, but when I came over
from Ireland, I fell in with a bad group of people.’ He
paused. ‘Well, that ain’t completely accurate. I started to
run the show to tell the truth, but the police started to get
close. Too close. Couldn’t see a way out, but then I wound
up getting the opportunity to kill monsters for the rest of
my life.’
‘It was that or go to jail, I take it?’
‘Jail… or the end of a noose.’
‘Not much of a choice.’
‘Probably more than I deserved.’
Jack nodded. ‘Do many people here last as long as you
have? I get the impression the churn of people is quite
high.’
 ‘I suppose it is,’ Gus said. ‘But a fair few of us have been
here a little while. Want some advice? Get permission to
visit the library as much as you can. It’s in the locked
section downstairs. Lots of info there about the things we
hunt, including the bestiary—a huge compendium full of
knowledge. Read it. Might just save your life. It’s not like
we’re out hunting every day. Sometimes it’s weeks or even
months between jobs, and other times they come thick and
fast. All depends on when we’re needed. When jobs do
come up, the powers that be choose who goes out. Not
everyone is sent at once, just in case something goes
wrong. The Deathborn don’t want to lose a full chapter all
in one go.’
‘A chapter?’
‘Aye. There are a good few of them dotted around the
country, I understand. This is the Durham one, and our
reach covers the counties around here, all the way up
towards Newcastle and as far south as the North Yorkshire
area. I’m certain this is a lot for you to take in, but if you
ever have any questions, just ask. I can show you how
things work.’
‘Thanks,’ Jack said. ‘I do have one question.’
‘Tell me.’
‘That guy, Len, he mentioned throwing us in the cells?’
Another chuckle. ‘Yes, the cells. They’re in the
basement. Whole area is set up like a jail.’
‘I didn’t see any stairs leading down.’
‘They’re accessed outside, through the back. The
Warden is quick to toss people down there for days at a
time without food or water to keep everyone in line. We’ve
had a few lads thrown in there after they tried to run, as
well, just left there till they died as punishment.’
Jack’s eyes widened. ‘That’s barbaric.’
‘You’re in the business of being barbaric now, friend.
Plus, it sends a message. Any more questions for tonight?’
 After thinking about it, Jack shook his head. Truth be
told, he had a lot of questions, but his mind felt too foggy to
take in anything else. ‘I’m just gonna get my head down.’
‘Good man,’ Gus said. ‘I’ll do the same. Hope you rest
well, my friend. I’m Gus, by the way. You’re Jack, right?’
‘Yes,’ Jack said, then held out his hand. The two men
shook. ‘Thank you again for your help.’
Yet another slap on the shoulder. It was enough to rock
Jack. ‘Think nothing of it,’ the Irishman said. He then
walked away and climbed into a bed. The frame creaked as
he lowered his bulky form into it.
Jack picked out a bed of his own and climbed in. The
grey cotton sheets were threadbare and full of holes. He
also noticed a few stains on the material, though he was too
tired to care. He rested his head on the yellowed pillow and
closed his eyes. Soon after, he was greeted with an image
of his son, wide-eyed with a look of terrified acceptance.
I’m so sorry I failed you, Samuel.
Jack spent the next half hour weeping in absolute
silence.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

5 Days Later…
It was an overcast day, a little after noon, and most of
the daylight was blocked by grey clouds. The ground was
damp and glistened with dew and the air was cool and
fresh, smelling of wet grass.
Jack looked around at the open fields, towards the
cluster of trees up ahead. They were close.
It was his first mission. Jack and six others, including
Len and Edwin, had been chosen to go out and look into
reported incidents at Low Moorsley. They had arrived at
the village the previous day and investigated, learning that
five people had gone missing over the past few months. All
of the victims were men, and they had been last seen
heading southeast in the direction of an area containing a
copse of trees and a stream. It was supposedly a good spot
to hunt rabbits and deer. The last two men had left only a
few days prior and ventured out to hunt together, but had
not returned.
It was interesting to Jack that not everyone who went
out to that spot vanished—only those that set off later in
the day. Len had suggested that if a creature had taken
them, it might be nocturnal, which would narrow things
down somewhat.
 The initial information on the disappearances, as well as
the orders to investigate, came to the Deathborn from
higher channels, though Jack didn’t know what those
channels were. He was aware the Deathborn were only one
part of a larger entity—the lowest part—though he didn’t
know much more about the organisational set up.
Gus had told him there was some information on it in the
library, though he’d said it was vague. ‘Making sure no one
knows everything is the best way to keep control,’ he’d
said.
A library was a daunting prospect to Jack, as reading
was not one of the many skills he’d acquired in life, at least
not to a good level. He’d picked up a basic understanding
from when Rose had taught Samuel, but anything
complicated just looked like illegible foreign words
scrawled across the page.
Gus had then gone on to compare the roles of the
Shadowhand, of which Maxwell was a member, and the
Knights of Olin, which was a new one to Jack. Those two
other groups operated at a higher level than the Deathborn
and had access to much more knowledge and information.
But Gus theorised that even they were kept in the dark
about certain things by those even higher up the food
chain.
‘Shit rolls downhill, and the Deathborn are the ones to
collect it all,’ Gus had told him.
That morning, they had left Low Moorsley on horseback,
following the same route as the missing men. Edwin had
been frustrated that they didn’t have much to go on, with
the local villagers offering little in the way of clues. In
truth, Jack was starting to realise Edwin complained at
every opportunity. It was clear the man didn’t want to be a
part of the Deathborn, staying only because he didn’t have
a choice.
The horse Jack rode was a brown mare. She was a little
thin, but handled well and certainly wasn’t skittish. He’d
been told her name was Tabatha.
The group progressed towards the trees at a steady
canter.
‘Why are there only seven of us?’ Edwin moaned. ‘We
have no idea what we’re getting into. We need more
numbers.’
‘I’m getting tired of hearing your voice, Edwin,’ Len
warned him. ‘We’re here to see what we can find, so stay
alert and do as you’re ordered.’
Jack turned to look back over his shoulder, towards
Edwin, who caught him looking. Edwin frowned and shot
him a scowl.
‘What about you fellas?’ the weaselly man asked the
others. ‘Don’t you agree this is idiotic?’
Jack only knew the names of two of the other men with
them: Ash and Brian, two brothers. Ash was the oldest, in
his late thirties, and had thinning strawberry blonde hair
and a long, bent nose. Brian was about half a decade
younger, and his light brown hair was long and shaggy,
falling down over his thin shoulders. Jack had seen the
other two around, though he still didn’t know their names.
One was a short guy with a bald head, his mouth and chin a
patchwork of sores, and the last man was the oldest and
most portly of them all, with flushed red cheeks, pale skin,
and greying hair.
No one answered Edwin’s question. Jack was pleased
Edwin didn’t have any of his regular cronies along with
them, and wasn’t getting any backup when it came to
arguing against Len.
None of them were that stupid.
Jack heard Edwin huff and let out a long exhale. ‘We’re
riding to our deaths, I tell you.’
The group stayed silent until they got closer to the
group of trees. Jack heard the cawing of some crows, the
running water of the brook, and a light breeze that swept
through the tree branches, but little else. Len brought his
large stallion to a halt, and everyone else followed suit.
‘Off your horses, people,’ he ordered. ‘Look around the
area on foot. See what you can find.’
The instructions were followed and the horses were
allowed to graze as the seven of them investigated. The
stream was a little farther ahead, just beyond the cluster of
trees, but Jack saw nothing out of the ordinary in the fields
around them. However, they had to stomp through shin-
high grass to inspect, so he knew some clue might be
hidden.
He felt both woefully unprepared and vulnerable. Back
at the chapter house, he had spent a little time with Gus
studying the bestiary. Much of what was contained within
the book was difficult to believe, but he’d tried to take in as
much as possible. It had been less than a week since he’d
learned monsters really did exist, and this was the first
time he’d been given an opportunity to face another one of
them.
Jack had with him a large machete blade which was
tucked into his belt. While it was sharp, the metal was
weathered and rusted in areas, and the handle was
wrapped in dirty white cloth. He’d also been given a
smaller blade, which he kept tucked away in his jacket.
Most of the weaponry the Deathborn had for their members
were old and well used: a choice of blades, spears, serrated
hooks, scythes, and other farming equipment. The two
brothers and Len did have firearms, however, with the
brothers each holding old-looking rifles, and Len a revolver.
Jack had never fired a gun before in his life, so he wasn’t
upset about how the weapons had been distributed.
Edwin had complained, of course, but Len had dismissed
him, saying Ash and Brian were by far the better shots.
As Jack continued his search, he kept his hand on the
handle of his machete. A rustling sound near the base of a
tree drew his attention. The grass there was even longer,
and he noticed faint movement in the blades.
Probably a small animal, he reasoned, but decided to
look anyway. He tightened his grip on the handle and drew
steadily closer. It was only when Jack was right upon the
source of movement that he relaxed his grip. There was a
wooden cage hidden in the long grass, made from sticks
and twigs, which were tied together with twine. No, he
thought, not a cage… a trap.
Within the trap was a small brown rabbit shuffling
around in its confines. The animal’s movements were slow
and sluggish.
‘How long have you been here?’ Jack quietly asked the
animal. It occurred to him that if the trap here had been
set, obviously some of the hunters who headed out here
had made it to their destination before disappearing.
However, whoever had set it hadn’t been around long
enough to claim the bounty. Judging by the condition of the
rabbit, Jack didn’t think it could have been stuck in the
cage for longer than a day. He briefly considered grabbing
the animal; they didn’t know how long they’d be out here,
and it would make a half-decent meal. Instead, he took a
breath and lifted the door of the trap, allowing the no-doubt
hungry bunny to groggily hop free.
‘Looks like you’ve been through enough already,’ Jack
whispered as the animal disappeared into the grass. He
then stood to his feet and held the cage aloft. ‘Len,’ he
shouted over to the leader of the group. He waved the trap
around. ‘I found this and it was set, so someone’s been
here.’
He saw Len nod. ‘Look around for more,’ Len ordered
everyone. ‘And let me know if you find anything else.’
The search turned up a few more traps, one of which
was a hangman’s snare hanging from the branch of a tree.
However, it was out towards the stream where they made
their biggest discovery: evidence of a camp.
 The camp was in an area mostly hidden by some high
bushes, trees, and particularly tall grass. The centre of the
grass had been patted down to make room for the
remnants of a fire and two small, basic tents. There was
also a low open cart situated close by, with piles of hunting
gear: skinning knives, rope, twine, sticks, blankets, and
even some rabbit and deer carcasses that had begun to age
and smell.
‘No horses, though,’ Jack noted.
‘They likely bolted,’ Len said. He then pointed to the
remains of a low, broken branch. ‘Might have been tethered
to that, but got spooked enough to yank themselves free.’
‘No blood that I can see,’ Jack added as he started to
pace around the camp. ‘So, if something happened to these
men, I don’t think it happened here.’
Len cast his eyes around the area, deep in thought. ‘But
something did happen to em’. I can feel it in my water.’
‘Why don’t we just go back and report what we’ve
found?’ Edwin suggested. ‘Nothing more we can do here.’
Len didn’t say anything in response—he didn’t need to.
The intimidating glare from the hulking man was enough to
make Edwin fall silent and lower his head in submission.
‘Perhaps the hunters just got scared, took the horses,
and escaped in a hurry, leaving all this behind,’ one of the
brothers suggested.
Jack considered that. It was as much a possibility as the
horses bolting on their own.
‘Might be the case,’ Len replied, ‘though if it were true,
the hunters likely would have gone back to Low Moorsley,
and we know that didn’t happen. Everyone keep looking.
There’s more here, I just know it.’
The men spread out again and began to search. Jack was
puzzled. While the trees and bushes and high grass blocked
some lines of sight, the area in general was just too open
for anything to be hiding. It wasn’t even like they could
have been attacked by something like a wild boar, as there
were no bodies left behind, and no blood that he could see.
Nor were there any signs of struggle: no dropped weapons,
the tents hadn’t been ransacked or damaged, and
everything looked to have been left untouched on the cart.
It was as if the hunters had vanished. Or, more likely,
wilfully walked off somewhere.
Then an idea struck Jack: maybe they were lured. But
lured where? There was nothing around.
He walked over to the brook, which was roughly a
hundred paces away from the camp. On the far side of it
was a shallow hill, not high enough to hide much behind it.
Still, it was worth checking, so Jack waded through the
shallow water to the other side. He then walked around the
base of the hill to the back, making sure he could still see
the others over the top. His eyes were soon drawn to
something in the face of the grass-covered incline.
A crevice had been cut into the base, opening up like a
small mouth with a grassy beard around it. Jack squatted
down and peered inside the opening, which was about a
couple of feet wide. He could see grassy roots sprouting
from the soil of the tunnel inside: a narrow route seemed to
lead down, though the light didn’t penetrate far enough to
see much more. Jack did notice that many of the exposed
roots and weeds seemed to be forced inwards, as if
something had passed through.
It didn’t look like a hole dug by a rabbit or badger, more
a natural formation over time. Regardless, Jack cautiously
reached an arm inside, to see if he could find a back to it.
The only things he felt, however, were more hanging roots
and stones buried into the soil. Apparently, the tunnel went
on much farther than he could reach. He pulled his arm
back and rested on his haunches. It was tight, very tight,
but Jack thought the space was just high and wide enough
for a man to crawl through.
Probably not Len, though.
 It didn’t seem likely someone would go down there of
their own volition, unless they had a good reason, and
forcing a person inside seemed like it would be difficult.
Jack stood up and waved over to the others. ‘I might
have something,’ he shouted.
The rest of the group made their way over and stood
examining the crevice.
‘It’s just a rabbit or badger borough,’ Edwin said.
‘Too big for that,’ the portly man said.
‘Not for a badger,’ Edwin argued. ‘Some of those nasty
vermin can get huge.’
‘Someone needs to go inside,’ Len stated. He then drew
out a box of matches and handed them to Jack. ‘I don’t
reckon I’ll fit,’ he said, ‘but you might. Push yer head in
there, light a match, and see what you can see.’
Jack looked at the discoloured cardboard box in Len’s
huge paw. He was reminded of the lesson on starting a fire
he’d given to Samuel a week ago. It was one of the many
he’d wanted to teach the boy, to make sure his son was
strong enough to face the world.
‘You still with us, brother?’ Len asked as he shook the
matchbox. ‘You seem a little lost in your thoughts.’
Jack shook his head and took the box. ‘I’m fine,’ he said.
He then drew out a match and bent down, pushing his head
closer to the opening. It would be a squeeze, but Jack was
confident he could get his upper body inside while his arms
held the match out ahead of him.
‘Careful a badger doesn’t bite your face off,’ Edwin said
with a sneer.
Not feeling the need to respond, Jack took out a single
match and carefully lit it, cupping his hand around the
naked flame. Once he was satisfied it wasn’t about to go
out, he leaned forward and carefully began to shuffle
forward while resting on his elbows, pushing his arms,
head, and shoulders inside. With the match held out ahead,
Jack kept his movements slow, inching forward, though it
caked the front of his shirt and vest in muck.
Once he was far enough in, Jack looked around. The
flame illuminated a little way ahead, but he could clearly
see the tunnel continued much farther, at a manageable
decline, cutting down into the earth.
Jack pushed himself inside a little more, to the point only
his shins and feet were exposed outside. He felt cramped
and claustrophobic. The walls on all sides pressed into him
and the air was thin.
Then, Jack saw something lying on the ground and froze.
It was a single boot.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

‘You can’t seriously want us to go down there!’ Edwin

snapped. ‘We’ll get stuck.’
Nobody was listening to him. ‘We’ll need something to
light the way,’ Jack said to Len, who was rummaging
through one of the saddlebags on his horse.
‘Agreed,’ Len said. He then pulled out a bundle of old
cloth, consisting of ripped-up shirts, trousers, and other
loose rags. He took out a yellow tin of kerosene oil and
unstrapped a bundle of long, thick sticks that had been tied
to the back of his horse. ‘Quick tip for ya, lad. Always bring
materials to make torches if you’re out on a hunt—you
never know when you’ll need them. And fire is one of our
best weapons. Remember that.’
‘Those torches will be unwieldy while we’re moving
through such a tight gap,’ Jack said. ‘It’ll be hard not to
drop them, and even harder to keep them alight.’
‘You’ll need to use matches while you’re crawling,’ Len
replied. ‘These are for when things open out into a bigger
space. The tunnel is going to lead somewhere, and there
won’t be any natural light down there.’
Jack looked down at the boot in his hands he’d retrieved
from the opening. It was a male's brown shoe, made from
cheap leather. While he couldn’t know for sure, Jack was
fairly certain it belonged to one of the missing men and had
likely come free while they’d been crawling. There was no
blood on it, and it wasn’t torn or damaged in any way
beyond general wear and tear.
The plan the team had come up with was simple: Jack
would go down first, followed by Edwin, then the others, all
except Len, who was simply too large. It would be slow
progress, so it was decided the others would wait outside
at first until Jack signalled for them to follow.
Jack wrapped the head of one of the sticks with fabric.
Next he tied the material off and slipped the torch into the
side of his belt. He also tucked the kerosene oil and box of
matches into his pockets, then adjusted the position of his
machete, strapping it to his back with a leather sheath Len
had given to him.
‘Go carefully,’ Len told him. ‘Shout for us only if you
need to. If there is something in there, we don’t want to
alert it.’
‘Understood.’
Len then pulled free a coil of rope and passed one end to
him. ‘Tie this around your waist. Any sign of trouble, we’ll
pull you out.’
Though he understood the reason for the suggestion,
Jack thought being yanked back helplessly through the
passageway might cause him more harm than anything
else.
‘Is it really needed?’ he asked.
‘It is, because if you find anything and need the others to
come down as well, I want you to give three clear, hard
tugs on the rope. That way, I’ll know to send them down,
rather than you having to shout and give your position
away.’
Jack tied the thick rope around his waist, and Len began
to unravel it while Jack moved to the entrance of the
opening.
 ‘Remember,’ Len said, ‘move slow and careful. Three
hard tugs of the rope when you are ready for the others. If
you need urgent help, shout like buggery and we’ll pull you
out. You ready?’
After staring into the void for a moment, feeling a
smattering of nerves flutter up from his stomach, Jack gave
a firm nod. ‘I’m ready.’
He then knelt down and pushed his way back inside the
gap.
As soon as he was in, up to his waist, Jack lit a match
and held it out before him. As before, the match offered
only a little light. With the machete on his back and the
torch at his side, worming his way forward was a little
more restricted than it had been the last time, but Jack was
still able to make steady progress. Hanging roots brushed
his face as he used his feet to push off the ground and force
himself forward.
After about ten feet of crawling, always at a steady
decline, there was a noticeable increase in the sharpness of
the drop, to the point that Jack had to wedge his feet into
the tunnel’s side walls to keep from sliding forward too
quickly. The rope around his waist was uncomfortable, and
it was pulled taut by the others, them giving him just
enough slack to keep moving. He noticed a foul odour grow
stronger the deeper he got, smelling like old, spoiled meat.
Eventually, Jack’s match burned out and he had to light
another; he ended up going through three before the
ground started to level out and he emerged into a larger
area. The surrounding darkness was too thick for the light
from the match to penetrate, and the flame went out before
giving Jack any idea of what surrounded him. Here, the
awful smell intensified.
Working mostly in the dark, and in a squatted position,
Jack removed the wooden pole from this belt, took out the
tin of kerosene, and felt his way to the fabric head of the
torch. He doused the material in the fluid and then,
carefully, lit another match and put it to the cloth.
The head of the torch went up with a strong flame. He
raised the torch up higher, pushing back the dark, and saw
that there was now room for him to stand fully. Though he
couldn’t see too far ahead, Jack realised he was in some
kind of shallow, natural cave system, about eight feet high
and roughly the same width. The side walls, ceiling, and
ground below him were a mix of stone, rock, and soil, as
well as some protruding roots and yellowed weeds.
Jack took a few paces forward and quickly stopped. On
the ground before him, he spotted something. It was a
section of dull, red human intestine, specked with dirt.
His body tightened and his eyes darted around, his ears
trying to pick up on any sounds. There was nothing.
Regardless, he knew it was time to get the others down
now—it would be idiotic to continue exploring alone. He
took hold of the rope behind him, which was still taut, and
gave three tugs before untying the rope from his waist and
letting the end fall to the ground. Jack didn’t want to be
tugged about as the rest of the men made their way down
the tunnel and disturbed the line. He then reached behind
himself and drew out his machete while he continued to
listen intently. Still nothing. He squatted down to inspect
the fleshy tube on the ground. It was about a foot in length,
with both ends looking like they had been chewed. The dull
colour of the dry flesh indicated it had been there for a
while.
Jack was tempted to continue forward while waiting for
the others. Simply standing there with his torch, like a
beacon in the night to anything that lurked inside the cave
with him, made him uneasy. But then again, walking out
into the unknown by himself was equally unappealing, and
possibly even more foolish. In the end, he waited, though it
was a full ten minutes until Edwin emerged out into the
cave with him.
 The thinner man quickly scrambled to his feet and
looked over at Jack with an angry expression. He was about
to speak, probably about the layer of dirt that streaked his
clothing, but Jack already had a finger to his lips. He then
pointed to the intestine on the ground and Edwin’s eyes
went wide. The man gave a sigh—he seemed to visibly
deflate—then got to work on fashioning his own torch as
well, which was soon lit. The other men filtered inside soon
after. Everyone readied up and lit their torches—all except
the two brothers who needed their hands free for the rifles.
Jack didn’t like the idea of guns going off in such a confined
space; the sound would likely be deafening, and he also
wasn’t certain it wouldn’t collapse the ceiling above them.
‘We move forward as one,’ Jack said quietly. He wasn’t
sure if any of the other men technically held rank in this
situation, but he decided to take the initiative. If anyone
had an issue with that, they could speak up.
Predictably, Edwin did.
‘And who assigned you as the leader?’
Ash, the older of the brothers, prodded the intestine
with his boot and then looked out ahead. ‘Jack was the one
who found this place, and he came down here first with no
questions asked. I’m fine following his lead. Unless you feel
you’re up to it, Edwin?’
Edwin tipped his chin upward in defiance. ‘Yes, I’m
willing to do that.’
‘What would you have us do?’ Brian, the other brother,
asked.
‘We climb back up, tell Len we found nothing, then go
home.’
‘Coward,’ Jack whispered. ‘And keep your voices down.’
‘Don’t call me a coward,’ Edwin seethed. He did,
however, lower his voice. ‘Better to be smart than dead.
We’ll die down here for nothing.’
‘So you say we just go?’ one of the other men whispered.
‘And let whatever is happening here just continue?’
 ‘Yes.’
‘But… more people will die,’ the man said.
Edwin just shook his head in exasperation. ‘Better them
than us, you idiot. Don’t you agree?’
Jack saw the other man seemed to be considering
Edwin’s suggestion. His brow was knitted into a crease,
and he nodded. ‘You… might be right.’
‘Whoever wants to leave can do just that,’ Jack said with
a shake of his head. He again kept his voice low but firm.
‘Go back up and speak to Len about it. Anyone who wants
to do what we came here for, follow me.’
With the machete gripped tightly in his hand, and the
torch held aloft, Jack slowly began to move forward. After a
few paces, he looked back over his shoulder to see the two
brothers and one other Deathborn begin to follow. He felt a
wave of relief, not wanting to be trapped down there alone.
Edwin and one other didn’t follow, however. Eventually,
though, the other man apparently decided facing Len
without the rest of them was the more dangerous option
and fell in line with the others.
Edwin, clearly incensed, followed as well. However, Jack
didn’t miss the threatening stare the other man shot his
way.
The group ventured ahead at a slow pace. It didn’t take
long before they found something else: a severed, mutilated
hand. They were on the right track.
Much of the skin and flesh had been stripped away and
two of the fingers were missing. Like the intestine he’d
found earlier, there were clear bite marks, and something
had severed the wrist, shearing the now-exposed bone. The
flesh beneath the skin had begun to discolour, turning a
dull purple, and what remained of the skin was a pale grey
with patches of sickly yellow. The hand was palm up, and
the few fingers left were pulled in like a spider’s legs in a
death curl.
 ‘What type of creature could pull fully grown men down
here?’ Brian asked.
Jack, being the least-experienced member of the group,
had no idea how to answer, but hoped one of the others had
an idea.
‘Maybe they were killed up at the surface,’ Edwin
suggested, ‘then dragged down here.’
‘We didn’t see any evidence of that,’ Ash replied.
‘Although, it’s a possibility.’
‘So, in short,’ Jack began, ‘we have no idea what we’re
walking into.’
There was no response at first. ‘All the more reason to
turn back,’ Edwin eventually said.
Jack ignored him and started walking forward with the
others. He was on edge, finding it difficult to control the
nerves. His skin tingled as his ears strained, ready to pick
up any sound.
It occurred to Jack that if something were down there
with them, it would likely be able to see in the normally
complete darkness of the environment, which put them at
an extreme disadvantage, even with the torches.
The way ahead opened out into a larger space—Jack’s
breath caught in his throat.
While the uneven ceiling above them remained at
roughly the same height, the group had walked into a much
wider chamber, where human remains littered the floor.
‘Christ almighty,’ Brian uttered.
Jack could make out ribcages, arm bones, even some
skulls. The flesh had been mostly stripped away, with only a
few discoloured chunks remaining. Patches of hair lined
some of the skulls. One was missing its jaw. There were
also small, discarded clumps of meat on the ground, along
with bits of stringy intestines and chunks of internal
organs.
There was shredded material scattered around, which
Jack quickly realised were remains of clothing.
 The stench in the space was almost overpowering.
‘Whatever the target is,’ Ash said, ‘I think we found
where it feeds.’
‘Are these the missing people?’ the bald-headed man
asked.
‘Of course they are, you bloody fool,’ Edwin snapped.
‘We need to go.’
Jack stared into the dark beyond the human leftovers.
The torchlight was unable to give him a view of more than
a few feet in front them—he couldn’t help but worry that
whatever had been feeding here was aware of their
presence and watching.
How could it not be?
While Jack had tried to keep the others quiet, they’d still
made more noise than he’d wanted, and the flames from
their torches were hardly subtle.
Unless…
‘If this thing hunts at night,’ Jack whispered, ‘perhaps it
sleeps through the day. If we’re quiet, we might catch it
unaware.’
‘Or it might be just waiting for us to walk into an
ambush,’ Edwin countered. It was a fair point.
‘Then let’s hope it’s the former,’ Jack said. ‘Follow me.’
The group passed the piles of bones and organs, moving
farther into the space. After about fifteen more feet, the
chamber ended, and the surrounding walls closed in on
them. It would have been a complete dead end, were it not
for a hole at the base of the wall. It was similar in size to
the one back at the hill, but this one looked to have been
deliberately dug. There were clear claw marks in the edges
of the soil, and mounds of earth lay on the ground on either
side of the hole. Inside, Jack was certain he could hear a
sound… a faint clicking.
Jack brought his fingers up to his lips to silence the
others. Unless the creature they hunted had already
abandoned its lair, it had to be inside the opening before
him. The men all readied themselves, with the two brothers
bringing up their rifles and aiming them directly at the
opening.
Jack kept his voice as low as humanly possible and said,
‘I’ll check. Be ready.’
He crouched down again and shuffled forward, careful
to keep his balance while clutching his machete and torch.
You’re gonna die, Jack, his internal voice warned.
Whatever is in there is gonna bite yer head clean off.
While likely true, if there was something beyond the
opening, then this was an opportunity for Jack to kill it. By
doing so, perhaps he’d claim some of the redemption he
was seeking.
Jack aimed his torch out ahead of him as he moved
through the hole, pushing his head completely inside.
He discovered another chamber, this one much smaller,
but still large enough to fit a man inside if he were
crouched or curled up. He did a quick glance around,
taking in the—
Jack had to force himself not to gasp in fright. A
humanoid creature lay on its side in a foetal position. It had
long, gangly arms wrapped around a thin, dishevelled body.
At the end of its hands were elongated fingers that bore
long, jagged claws.
The dry skin, which looked as tough as leather, was
uneven in colour, most of it being a dark grey smattered
with patches of yellows and browns. Jack was able to make
out a breast partially hidden below the creature’s arm,
though it was withered like rotting fruit.
It was clear the monster was sleeping, and it wore a
peaceful expression on an otherwise ghoulish face, with the
skin pulled taut over a misshapen skull covered in wild and
wiry white hair. However, one of the more striking features
was its jaw, which hung down to the side as if dislocated,
with the jawbone dangling in a hammock of leathery flesh.
Slits in the skin ran from the edges of the mouth up to
protruding cheek bones, and a long, dark brown tongue
covered in black creases hung free. The teeth within the
mouth were jagged and long, like serrated horse teeth, and
there were small chunks of meat wedged between them.
The clicking sound he’d heard was coming from the
creature’s mouth with each prolonged exhale. Even though
Jack’s torch wasn’t far away, the curled-up monster
remained undisturbed.
Jack slowly backed out of the hole and stood to his feet,
looking to the others who waited with bated breath.
‘What is it?’ Edwin asked in a whisper.
Jack just shook his head. ‘I… don’t know.’ He kept his
voice quiet as well. ‘Something is asleep in there.’
He waited for a suggestion on what to do next, but the
only thing that was shared between the group was blank
glances to one another. Eventually, Ash stepped forward.
‘Let me see,’ he whispered.
Jack stepped aside and offered his torch, taking hold of
the man’s rifle in return.
After ducking inside the opening, Ash quickly pulled
back and turned back to the others, though he stayed
squatting down close to the hole. Too close for Jack.
‘It’s a banshee,’ he said quietly. ‘They’re nocturnal.
Heavy sleepers, but we need to be careful.’
‘Can we kill it?’ Jack asked. He was still nervous at how
close Ash was, and expected those long, taloned hands to
reach through and grab him any second. Thankfully, Ash
stood up and moved.
‘We can,’ he confirmed. ‘Fire will work, if we can burn
her for long enough. Decapitation, too. But they’re tough
adversaries… supposedly.’
‘You’ve not faced one before?’ Jack asked as he gave Ash
back his rifle and again grabbed his torch. As a group, they
all backed up and huddled a few feet from the earlier
opening, close to the revolting human remains.
 ‘No,’ Ash replied. ‘Read about them, though. That looks
like an old one, judging by the condition of her skin. If she
wakes, we’re in trouble. Her scream will put us down, and
we won’t be able to do anything but cover our ears in pain.
I’ve heard their screams can be powerful enough to make a
man’s head literally explode.’
Jack wasn’t sure if that was even possible, but certainly
had no plans to test the theory out. ‘We have enough
kerosene,’ he whispered. ‘I say we douse the thing while
it's in there and set it alight. If it tries to break free, we
hack at it until it finally goes down.’
‘Hack at it while it's ablaze?’ Edwin asked with an
incredulous tone. ‘We’ll set ourselves on fire as well, you
simpleton.’
‘Well,’ Ash began, who was obviously the most
knowledgeable among them, ‘I’m not sure how much
damage bullets will do. Banshees can soak up a lot, and
these rifles aren’t powerful enough to blow off a limb.
Jack’s right. All we have is fire and our blades.’
‘No, we use the guns and aim for the head,’ Edwin went
on and folded his arms across his chest. ‘If we hit it
enough, there will be nothing left of the brain.’
‘Too risky,’ Jack said.
Edwin stepped forward towards him. ‘I’m tired of you
thinking you’re some kind of leader, boy. You’ve been here,
what, five days? You’re the lowest of us, understand? The
shit on my shoe. So don’t presume to order me around.’
‘If you stopped acting like a coward,’ Jack started to
reply, closing the small gap between them, ‘I wouldn’t have
to keep giving you orders.’
He was aware any altercation would be disastrous for
them all, but backing down might mean they would all
follow Edwin’s advice and take the wrong course of action.
New member or not, Jack wasn’t about to let length of
service determine if they were successful.
 ‘You both need to knock it off,’ Ash said, daring to raise
his voice slightly. ‘Edwin, Jack’s right. We can’t shoot our
way out of this.’
Edwin sneered, then turned to Brian, who was closest to
him. ‘Fine. Brian, in that case, give me your rifle. I’ll stay
back and shoot if I need to. If the rest of you are so
confident, go right ahead with your little knives.’
‘Don’t give him your weapon,’ Jack warned.
Please see reason, Edwin,’ Ash went on. ‘You aren’t the
best shot here. You’re more likely to hit one of us than you
are the banshee.’
Edwin’s eyes turned to Jack and narrowed. ‘I won’t hit
any of you,’ he said.
Jack just shook his head. ‘We don’t have time for this.
Let’s just get on with it. Brian, keep hold of your weapon.’
‘I’m sick of you giving me orders,’ Edwin snapped back.
He then shot out a hand and grabbed the rifle in Brian’s
grip, taking hold of it by the stock. Brian instinctively
pulled back, and the gun dropped from both of their grasps.
Jack held his breath as the butt of the old rifle hit
against a segment of hard rock. As it did, a quick rattle
shuddered through the aged weapon, and then came a
deafening bang.
The gun was angled backwards as it went off, the barrel
aiming towards Brian, and the top section of his head burst
open just above his left eye like an over-boiled egg. A
plume of red mist escaped from the newly formed opening,
as did shards of skull and fragments of pink brain. Ash let
out a cry as Brian’s body fell to the ground.
‘What the fuck did you do?!’ Ash screamed.
A shriek tore from the small chamber behind them.

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OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER NINETEEN

The claws of the banshee suddenly grabbed the sides of the

opening in the wall. A second later, its head appeared as
well; the eyes were an off-white colour, and its mouth hung
low.
The creature locked its gaze onto them all, and then
heaved itself completely free of its resting place,
straightening out its body to a startling height. It stood
around seven feet tall on thin legs, sporting a potbelly that
was slightly lighter in colour than the rest of it.
Jack raised his weapon and torch instinctively.
‘Brian!’ he heard Ash call out again in desperation. The
man had already thrown down his weapon and was running
to his fallen brother, ignoring the threat before them.
‘He’s dead!’ Jack called. ‘You can grieve later. Ready
your weapon!’
‘What do we do?’ asked the Deathborn with the greying
hair, his voice full of panic.
‘Fight!’ was all Jack could think to yell back.
Anger swam through him. He wanted to strangle Edwin
for stripping away the element of surprise and their best
chance of attack. Now they were fucked. He could almost
feel the ripple of panic wash over what remained of the
group.
 The banshee took a tentative step forward and hunched
down, like a wolf readying to pounce. It raised its claws.
With Ash no longer mentally present in the fight, as well
as Edwin’s treachery, there was no longer any cohesion
between the men, meaning a coordinated assault was out
of the question. Not knowing what else to do, Jack decided
to take the fight to the monster alone. He gripped the
handle of his weapon tightly and readied himself.
However, before he could move, the banshee reared its
head back, opened its mouth, then let out a piercing
screech.
Jack immediately dropped his machete, as well as the
torch, and clamped his hands over his ears. Pain bloomed
from within his head. His vision instantly blurred, his eyes
felt like they were rattling from within their sockets, and
the world around him spun. All he could do was drop to his
knees in agony. Though he couldn’t hear it over the
screech, Jack realised he was actually screaming as he
pressed his hands harder to his ears in a vain attempt to
block out the sound.
Dear God, make it stop!
But the screeching continued. Jack felt a lurching in his
stomach and quickly expelled its contents, vomiting down
his front as the world around him continued to tip and turn
as he swayed.
Eventually, the infernal sound died down. Jack,
breathing heavily, squinted to try and see more clearly and
quickly grabbed his weapon. He wiped his eyes with the
sleeve of one arm as his vision continued to spin somewhat,
and the ringing in his ears prevented his equilibrium from
fully resetting. However, the banshee was still advancing
forwards. It had its milky-white eyes trained on him, but
then it seemed to focus on the weapon Jack held, and it
quickly changed course, sprinting past him on its elongated
legs.
 Jack took a desperate swipe with his blade as it passed,
but found only air—he could only watch as the creature
continued towards Ash, who was getting unsteadily to his
feet, looking dazed. Jack called out to him, and the man
turned just in time to watch the banshee leap through the
air and tackle him to the floor. Before he could get back up,
a large taloned hand grabbed Ash’s jaw. The jagged claws
of her fingers pierced the flesh underneath and appeared
inside of his mouth with a squirt of blood. Ash let out a cry
of pain and was dragged across the ground, kicking his legs
as he was pulled by his jaw off into the darkness towards
the entrance to the cave.
After quickly snatching up his torch, Jack staggered
forward and joined the others, his vision eventually
clearing, though the ringing in his ears continued. Ash’s
screams from the shadows grew more intense, and higher
in pitch.
‘Heeeellllp meeee!’
‘What do we do?’ the man with the grey hair asked in
panic. ‘Do we help Ash?’
A horrible, dull, wet sound came from the shadows,
followed by a squelching, and Ash’s screaming then
intensified.
‘He’s gone,’ Jack stated.
‘But—’
‘No!’ Jack snapped. He felt bad for Ash—he really did—
but there wasn’t the luxury of time to discuss the issue.
Even now, Ash’s cries were fading, turning to a gargle,
which was accompanied by tearing and ripping sounds. ‘We
need to get ready to fight.’ Jack then saw Edwin reach
down for Ash’s fallen gun, but Jack kicked out at his hand.
‘The banshee is too fast for that,’ Jack said as Edwin drew
his arm back in surprise. ‘Unless you are a fucking good
shot, you won’t hit it. We need knives, blades, and whatever
the fuck else you have at the ready. The only chance we
have is to swarm it.’
 ‘But, that noise it made,’ the bald man said, raising a
hand to his ear. ‘How can we get close?’
‘Everyone get your torches,’ Jack said urgently. He then
pointed off into the darkness, where Ash’s cries had grown
silent—the only sounds now were cracks and crunches.
‘Let’s go. We sprint over and attack.’
‘We’ll die,’ the grey-haired man argued. That notion
didn’t particularly concern Jack. If he died here, it would be
a fitting penance for failing his son so miserably. If he
survived, however, then there was always next time.
‘Some of us, yes,’ Jack finally replied flatly. ‘So, I’ll go
first. But if you don’t follow, it’ll pick us off one by one.’
Then came a voice from the darkness. It was young and
female, sounding like a girl of no more than seven years
old.
‘Please… please help me.’ The child sounded terrified.
‘I’m trapped down here. You have to help me.’
‘A child?’ Edwin asked. ‘Impossible.’
‘We have to help her,’ the bald man said.
The voice spoke again. ‘Please… I’m scared.’
But a realisation clicked in Jack’s mind. ‘It’s the
banshee,’ he said. ‘It’s imitating. That’s how it drew people
here to feed on. Those men came down to help.’
‘Are you sure?’ the grey-haired man asked.
‘Yes. Hurry, we need to kill it.’
However, just as Jack was bracing himself to sprint
forward, something small sprang out from the shadows and
hit the ground before them, rolling to a stop. Fully
illuminated by their torches was Ash’s head; it lay face up,
devoid of its jaw, and with only a single remaining eye
staring lifelessly upwards. Much of the skin was stripped
down to the skull. Glistening red meat was speckled with
clumps of dirt from where the head had rolled across the
ground.
A clicking sound emanated from the shadows, and the
group huddled together in response. Then that horrible,
deafening screeching came again. Jack tried desperately to
fight against the pain exploding from inside his head and
surging outwards from his inner ears. He managed to hold
his footing for a moment, weapon and torch still aloft, but
dropped to his knees after a few seconds and put his hands
to his ears as he groaned in agony.
As before, Jack’s vision was quick to blur and his eyes
started streaming. The pain was immense. He pressed his
forehead into the cool dirt as intense agony bloomed in
waves. It bored into his brain like a beetle eating its way
through the tissue.
It was torture, one Jack desperately wanted to end. He
wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but eventually the
screeching receded.
Get your weapon quickly! Jack screamed to himself,
knowing the monster would soon come bounding out of the
darkness to pluck away another of them.
After a quick scramble, Jack’s hands again found his
machete, and he took hold of the handle in both hands and
raised it up like a sword. The banshee was already coming,
running forward with long, lunging strides. As it had the
previous time, it focused on Jack first, but course-corrected
at seeing his weapon. The others were still unarmed and
staggering to their feet again. The banshee took the grey-
haired man, grabbing him around the neck as his eyes went
wide, almost popping out of his head. He let out a croaked
groan and the banshee pulled him away with ease.
Jack saw an opportunity. He grabbed his torch and
stumbled forward, pushing the other two on as well.
‘Arm yourselves and move,’ he slurred. He helped the
bald man pick up his weapon—a long serrated hook—and
pushed him and Edwin in the direction of the banshee.
‘We can’t,’ Edwin argued. His voice was groggy and
tears streamed down his cheeks. The bald man coughed
and gagged, but held his weapon out before him.
 ‘We don’t have time to argue,’ Jack stressed. ‘We can’t
give it the chance to scream again.’
The monster’s newest victim howled in pain from the
darkness. As they moved, Jack quickly rummaged through
one of his pockets and pulled out the can of oil. He shook it
and found it was still mostly full. He then thrust it into the
hands of the bald man with them.
‘Edwin and I will attack. When we do, you douse the
thing in this stuff. Squirt as much as you can on it, and then
hurl this at the fucker.’ He handed the man the lit torch.
‘Understand?’
The man just nodded.
‘I’ll do that,’ Edwin said, ‘and you two can—’ But Jack
pushed the man away. They advanced and the torchlight
soon revealed the banshee to them. It had its open mouth
clamped over the head of its struggling victim, like a snake
with its unhinged jaw slowly engulfing a large egg. Jack
heard a crunch accompanied by a muffled shriek of pain.
‘Now!’ Jack yelled. He sprinted forward, teeth locked in
a grimace, and weapon raised. Jack wasn’t even sure if the
other two had run into the fight with him, but he didn’t
much care.
The banshee pulled its mouth away from the head it was
devouring. Blood leaked from the man’s ears, the flesh was
torn away in many areas, and in some spots Jack could see
broken bones of the skull poking through the skin. An idea
swam up through the fog of Jack’s rage, something that
might stop the creature from bellowing out its debilitating
shrieks. Though his aim would need to be true. Jack ran
and quickly closed the distance, then pulled the machete
back, ready to strike.
You’re gonna die! Jack told himself. This is suicide!
But he didn’t care. He embraced the fear. Just as the
banshee drew its mouth free and opened its jaw horribly
wide, ready to scream, Jack leapt. In the same motion, he
thrust the machete forward as hard as he could. The blade
slotted into the mouth of the monster, down into the gullet,
with Jack’s full weight behind his attack. He felt the
machete sink into the inner flesh of the creature’s throat
when he crashed into the banshee. He held on to his
weapon while he bounced off the monster’s body, quickly
adjusting his feet and pushing forward again to drive the
blade deeper.
‘Douse it!’ Jack screamed. ‘Hurry!’
The monster gurgled and wheezed, and then brought its
large, taloned hands up and grabbed the handle of the
machete, pressing its hands over Jack’s own. The strength
of its grip was immense. Pain shot through the back of his
hands. Though he fought with all his strength, the banshee
began to force the machete back out from its mouth.
‘Hurry!’ Jack yelled at the Deathborn, who was fumbling
with the tin of fluid. Eventually, Jack felt streams of
pungent liquid splash onto the monster, though some hit
him as well.
‘Edwin!’ Jack shouted. ‘I need your help.’ His biceps
ached from trying to stop the creature. ‘Now!’ He glanced
back over his shoulder, but Edwin just stood motionless, his
expression unreadable. ‘If you don’t,’ Jack went on, ‘and
this thing gets free, it’ll come for you next. Help me or die!’
One of the banshee’s hands suddenly found its way
around Jack’s neck and began to squeeze. He let out a
gasp, though it was quickly cut off from the compression.
He saw more and more of the kerosene oil coat both him
and the monster. That didn’t concern him, however.
Immolation would be a painful way to go, but at least he
could take the creature out with him. He just had to hold it
off long enough for them to set the bastard alight.
Jack started to see spots. He continued to fight and keep
the blade pushed into the monster’s mouth, but it was
being inched out more and more. The banshee’s milky eyes
were locked onto him with a burning, animalistic hatred.
After a few more inches, it would be able to unleash
another horrifying shriek. Can’t… fucking… let that…
happen.
A sudden force hit him from behind, pressing into him—
Edwin, whose hand grasped onto the handle of the machete
as well.
‘You better be right,’ Edwin seethed into Jack’s ear. The
two of them then began to push the machete forward. A
second later, the banshee quickly released Jack’s throat and
grabbed the blade.
It’s working!
As the two men drove forward, the tall, lanky creature
lost its footing and tumbled backwards. Jack let himself fall
atop it, as did Edwin, and now, with their full weight behind
them, they were able to force the weapon even deeper into
the gullet of the banshee. One of its claws caught Jack on
the arm, splitting open the flesh just above his bicep, but
he didn’t let his grip loosen.
Now that the creature was on its back, the Deathborn
squirting the kerosene found a little more bravery and
stepped closer, letting the liquid rain down directly above
the monster, which was coughing and wheezing while it
fought back. Black blood oozed and spat from its mouth
around the rusted steel of the blade.
‘I’m nearly out,’ the man squirting the fluid shouted.
‘Move!’ Jack ordered Edwin and pushed him aside. As
quickly as he could, Jack reached up and grabbed the bald
man’s torch, just as the banshee thrust up one of its hands.
Jack was able to move a little to the side, just barely
keeping the claws from piercing his heart. Just as he was
about to thrust the torch down, though, the banshee
brought in its knees and kicked outwards, the feet
slamming into Jack’s chest with enough force to send him
sprawling backwards. He hit the ground, wind knocked
completely out of him, as the banshee scrambled to its feet
and yanked the machete free from its mouth. It spat up
thick, black blood, then cast its gaze down at Jack. It
hunched over, ready to pounce.
Before it could leap, Jack saw his Deathborn brother
step forward, taking a huge downward swing with his
sickle and burying the sharp edge into the side of the
monster’s neck. It flailed an arm and knocked the man
back, leaving the weapon dangling from its flesh.
Now! Move! Jack ordered himself. He sat up, took a firm
hold of the torch, and thrust it forward. The flaming end
struck the chest of the banshee. Jack held it forward,
pushing it across the creature’s skin. Within moments, the
entire top half of the banshee went up in a blaze—Jack
quickly pulled himself away to avoid any errant flames.
The banshee shrieked—though this time it was a
different kind of roar—and waved its arms around in panic
as it stumbled away from them. Jack saw his machete lying
discarded on the floor, the blade now wet with black
sludge, and quickly retrieved it.
‘We can’t let it get away,’ he called to the others. ‘Follow
it and kill it!’
The three remaining Deathborn then stalked the flailing
creature, who ran in panic and swung its arms in a futile
attempt to extinguish the flames. It twisted and spun and
let out animalistic howls of pain, now unable to hide in the
darkness since its upper body was a blazing torch.
Jack gritted his teeth together, ducked down, then
swung his weapon, burying it into the creature’s calf. The
skin was tough, but Jack managed to penetrate the dry
flesh. He then yanked his machete free and rolled away as
the monster took a swipe at him. He was starting to smell
the burning body crackling under the growing flames.
Edwin attacked next, again going for the lower body,
this time the other leg. Jack was surprised at how quickly
and smoothly the man moved, hitting the creature with a
fierce swipe across its knee. Jack had taken Edwin for an
utter coward, assuming he’d be useless in a fight, but he
watched as Edwin quickly ducked back to swing at the
creature’s knee a second time in quick succession. The
creature fell, dropping down to one knee.
A shot boomed nearby, and Jack jolted in shock. The bald
man had retrieved his rifle and fired from close range. Jack
saw the wound in the banshee’s shoulder where some of
the skin had been blown away.
We need to keep up the pressure. Jack stepped forward
again and swung a horizontal strike to the bent leg bearing
the banshee’s weight, taking another chunk of the calf-
flesh. The banshee swiped its claw at him, but the swing
was wild as fire consumed its face. Jack was able to easily
lunge away. He then jumped forward and let loose with
another blow, and another. Edwin joined in as well, both
men focusing on the trailing leg as the banshee now tried
desperately to crawl away.
‘Please… help… me,’ it cried, trying again to imitate the
child’s voice. This time, however, the voice came out aged
and raspy, and not at all innocent.
The bald man strode up to the banshee and aimed the
tip of his rifle at its skull. The shot struck the top of the
banshee’s head and dislodged a bit of burning skin along
with bone fragments.
Both Jack and Edwin continued to hack at both legs,
mangling the skin and meat around the calves, soon getting
down to bone. The blood spurting free was the same black
sludge that had spilled from the banshee’s mouth, and the
flesh under the tough skin was a dull, dark purple. With
both legs now ruined and unusable, the banshee was
crippled. It still heaved itself along the earthy ground,
digging its talons into the dirt for purchase, but Jack’s
group was circling it like vultures around prey. The
monster’s attacks had stopped as fire continued to ravage
it, crisping the skin beneath the wild, orange flames. The
banshee’s movements slowed even further, and its howls of
pain grew weaker.
 Edwin took a few more swipes at the abomination,
striking its arms and torso. Eventually, the banshee stopped
moving altogether and lay motionless as it continued to
burn.
Holy fuck. We did it.

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OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY

‘Where are the others?’ Len asked after Jack, Edwin, and
their fellow brother had pulled themselves free from the
small opening in the hill. The outside air was welcome and
fresh, feeling good as it filled Jack’s lungs.
‘Dead,’ Edwin spat as he got to his feet. ‘And we very
nearly joined them.’
Len shot Edwin a scowl, but turned and addressed Jack.
‘What was it?’
‘A banshee,’ Jack replied. ‘I’m certain it was luring
people down there. We heard it talking in the voice of a
little girl.’
Len nodded his head. ‘Is it dead?’
‘It’s dead,’ Jack confirmed. ‘We burned the fucking
thing.’
‘But that thing killed the others,’ the bald man said as he
hung his head low. ‘It was horrible.’
‘Our life is horrible now, brother,’ Len replied. ‘But we
took the oath, so we have no choice but to put the loss
behind us and move on.’
‘What of our brothers’ bodies down there?’ the man
asked.
‘When we return, I’ll brief the Warden. He’ll likely want
to bring the banshee back for study, but I doubt there is
much we can learn from the corpses of our men.’
‘So they’ll just be left there?’ Jack asked.
Len just shrugged. ‘Not for us to decide. How did you
know to burn the creature?’
‘Ash suggested it,’ Jack said. ‘He was the one who
realised the monster was a banshee in the first place.’
‘He spent a lot of time studying the bestiary,’ Len said.
‘Looks like it paid off.’
‘But he’s dead,’ Jack replied. ‘It didn’t pay off for him.’
‘His knowledge saved the three of you. Remember that.
It’s always wise to know as much as you can about the
things we fight.’
‘A book full of secrets ain’t much good to those of us who
don’t read well,’ Jack said.
Len laughed. ‘Then find a reading partner. It’ll prolong
your life. Same goes for you other two as well.’
‘Are there more of them around here?’ the bald man
asked. ‘More of those banshees?’
‘Not likely,’ Len said. ‘Banshees don’t live in packs, nor
do they procreate. Stories say they’re grief-stricken women
who are placed under a hex or a curse, though I don’t know
if that’s actually been proven. However, there have never
been reports of seeing more than one banshee at a time.’
‘Good thing,’ Jack said. ‘One of those things was bad
enough.’
Len gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder. ‘But you
killed it. That was a tough task for your first mission. You
did well. You might make a fine Deathborn yet.’ He then
looked at the others. ‘Come on, let’s get packed up and
head back. We can make it before nightfall if we move
quickly. I think the three of you have earned a solid meal
and maybe a hot bath.’
‘Some reward for risking our lives.’
‘It’s the only kind of reward you’ll ever get now, and it
won’t be a regular thing. Trust me.’
 Exhaustion had finally hit, and it was hard work packing
up their horses. Jack knew it would be a slower trip back
than it had been coming out, as they had three extra horses
to tow. Still, the promised hot meal and soak in a bath did
indeed lift his spirits. However, the thought of crawling into
a bed to sleep was not something he looked forward to,
knowing that would only lead to horrific dreams about his
son. The almost constant noise at the Deathborn chapter
house had been a welcome distraction to keep Jack from
facing his grief. There had been times over the past few
days where Jack had found a place to hide just so he could
cry, unable to repress the anguish any longer, but he’d
made sure he wasn’t seen, not wanting to appear weak to
the others.
As Jack climbed onto his horse, he looked over to the
bald man who had helped him down in the banshee’s lair.
The man looked miserable.
‘Keep it together,’ Jack told him as he ambled his horse
over to his fellow Deathborn.
The man looked up and quickly nodded. Then he paused,
before eventually shaking his head.
‘It’s just… the two brothers down there, Ash and Brian.
They took me in when I joined. They were my friends.’
‘I understand,’ Jack said. ‘Maybe there’s a lesson to be
learned here.’
‘What lesson?’
‘That friends are a luxury we can’t afford. Not in the
Deathborn.’
The poor man’s eyes widened. Jack hadn’t enjoyed
saying that, but he suspected it was true, and a fact the
man needed to come to terms with quickly.
‘That’s a depressing way to live,’ the man said.
‘I agree,’ Jack replied. ‘Doesn’t stop it from being true.’
‘Everyone ready?’ Len shouted from his horse. He
received only nods in response. ‘Then let’s go.’
 Jack yanked on the reins and his horse began to trot
forward.
‘You’re Jack, right?’ the bald man asked as he set off as
well.
Jack nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m Alf. Alf Privet.’ He brought his horse close to Jack
and held out his hand.
Jack looked at it with a frown. ‘Are you hard of hearing
or something, Alf?’
Alf frowned, looking offended. ‘What? Why?’
‘No friends, remember?’ Jack tightened his reins again,
pulling off ahead of the other man, who was left looking
dumbfounded.

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

As soon as they returned to the Deathborn headquarters,

Jack realised the evening would not be the relaxing one Len
had promised.
They had no sooner dismounted their horses in the
courtyard than the group was called inside to the main
area. There, all members of the Deathborn were gathered,
crowded around three men. The first was the Warden, the
next was Max, and the final person was someone new.
Whoever the man was, he carried an air of importance,
standing with his chest out and arms pressed behind his
back. He wore a long, dark-blue coat with gold trim, and
Jack noticed black leather chest armour beneath it,
complete with pressed metal studding. There was also a
longsword strapped to the stranger’s side, the handle—with
a carved horse's head at the end—protruding from under
the full-length coat.
The man appeared to be in either his late thirties or
early forties and sported a thick but neatly trimmed black
moustache and a shaped beard that hugged his strong
jawline. He was a handsome man, and had a full head of
black hair that was combed back, as well as blue eyes and a
stern gaze.
 Jack saw the Warden’s eyes fall on the four returning
Deathborn as they moved farther into the crowded room.
‘Good to see you back,’ William said with a raised voice,
bringing silence to the murmurs that had been coursing
through the gathered crowd. The Warden, Max, and the
new man were standing on crates, elevating their position.
‘Only the four of you left?’
‘Afraid so,’ Len replied.
William nodded his understanding. ‘Shame. However, we
have important matters at hand. Everyone in the room is to
pay close attention. The gentlemen standing here with me
are Maxwell White,’ he nodded to the member of the
Shadowhand, ‘and Theodore Edwards.’ William then
gestured to the new man, who simply held his stoic glare
out over the crowd. William went on: ‘Maxwell is a member
of the Shadowhand, and Theodore is a Knight of Olin. For
some of you, that might have meaning. For others, probably
not, but suffice to say these men are our superiors and
should be treated as such. A situation has come to light
that needs our urgent attention, so we will be mobilising
soon. I’ll let Mr. White explain more.’
Jack leaned close to Len and spoke quietly. ‘A Knight of
Olin? What’s that?’
Len whispered back. ‘The order of the Knights of Olin.
Another branch of the organisation we belong to. Like the
Shadowhand, they rank above us. Then again, everyone
ranks above us.’
‘Just how big is this ‘organisation’?’
Len only shook his head. ‘No idea.’
Up ahead, Maxwell folded his arms across his chest
before speaking. ‘As many of you will be aware, five days
ago, the Deathborn of this chapter intercepted a man
travelling from Whitby. That man turned into a type of
creature we have never seen before. Thanks to your help
and sacrifice, we were able to kill it.’ Max’s eyes had
settled onto Jack, and he gave a subtle, almost
imperceptible nod. ‘I tracked that man to Ferryhill myself,’
Max went on, ‘after investigating the harbour town of
Whitby. I believe I have now pinpointed where exactly he
came from before I saw him in Whitby: an isolated
homestead on the outskirts of the town. Some townsfolk
claimed they saw him arriving in town from the direction of
that house, and say a woman lives out there alone. They say
she’s something of a hermit and keeps to herself. So, I went
out there and observed what I could. I believe that
something happened in that house that later caused the
man to transform in Ferryhill.’
‘We need to find out exactly what happened,’ Theodore
Edwards said. ‘Knowledge is power in what we do, and if a
new threat is emerging, we need to know about it. That is
why Maxwell and I are here. We are going out there to
investigate further and confront the woman. A band of you
men will accompany us.’
A ripple of discussion surged through the Deathborn.
‘What will we find out there?’ someone shouted.
‘Why not take the York Deathborn?’ another added.
William brought his hand up to quiet everyone, and it
looked as if he was going to speak, but Theodore beat him
to the punch.
‘Silence!’ he bellowed. That single word was laced with
a sudden anger, etched onto his now snarling face. ‘You
should all know your place, understand? An order has been
given and you will follow it. No discussion.’ Everyone fell
silent. ‘Let it be known that I have my doubts about this
chapter. Even among men known for being nothing more
than thieves and reprobates, you seem to have even less
honour than any other chapter I’ve seen so far. But some of
you here helped kill the creature in Ferryhill. That gives
you experience, and maybe a slight advantage, which we
may need. But any further signs of dissent and I’ll put out
the order to the nearest Deathborn chapter, bring them
down here, and have all of you executed. Is that clear?’ The
room remained quiet, stunned into silence. Jack focused on
William, who stood next to the Knight of Olin, looking
decidedly sheepish, almost apologetic. Max’s expression
was more unreadable. ‘Now,’ Theodore went on, ‘we have a
few hours before we move out. Your Warden will round up
those of you who are travelling out with us. That’s all you
need to know for now.’
He then stepped down from the crate and walked
through the crowd, everyone standing aside to let him
move past. The knight disappeared through the side door
that led to the closed-off area.
Jack could scarcely believe how the man had spoken to
everyone. He leaned in close to Len again and whispered, ‘I
know he’s our superior, but he’s a bit of a cunt, isn’t he?’
Len chuckled, but quickly caught himself. ‘That may be.
But we do what that cunt says.’

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

‘Fine,’ Jack said after the Warden told him he’d be part of
the unit heading out. ‘But I need to eat first. And clean
myself off.’
He was surprised that he received a nod of agreement in
return. ‘That’s acceptable. You have a few hours before
leaving. Go fill your belly.’
Edwin had been picked as well, and cursed at being
selected, but seemed relieved some of his cronies had been
selected as well. Len was also set to go, as was Gus, Alf
Privet, and a selection of others, making up twenty-five
men in total, along with Theodore and Max.
Most of the Deathborn remained gathered in the open
space, close to the fire, all talking about what had been
said. Many were curious as to what this ‘new threat’ was.
‘Would it not serve better to leave tomorrow?’ Len asked
William. ‘When the men are refreshed.’
‘The knight wants to head out immediately. With a troop
that size, along with the carts for all the equipment, it will
be a two-and-a-half-day trip, minimum, so he wants to make
a little progress today before you need to camp for the
night.’
Jack and Len cast each other a look, and then made
their way through the crowd to the kitchen area. As they
walked, Gus fell in with them.
‘Not often we get a Knight of Olin visit here, Len,’ he
said in his thick Irish accent. ‘Something important must be
afoot, eh?’
‘You know as much as me,’ Len replied. Gus joined them
in the kitchen area while Jack and Len filled their plates.
They took a seat at one of the tables and Jack dug into his
boiled potatoes, carrots, and a chicken leg. Considering
some of the gruel he had eaten over the last few days, this
felt like food fit for a king. It was washed down with a
helping of weak, sour-tasting ale, brewed on site.
Gus sat with them, drinking ale from a wooden tankard,
but not eating.
‘What did you fellas find at Low Moorsley?’
‘A banshee,’ Len said, then gave Gus the brief highlight
of what happened that day.
‘Shame about the men we lost,’ Gus replied afterward.
The words, however, sounded nonchalant. ‘We need more
recruits, Len. Numbers are dwindling. I fancy not many of
us, if any, will return from Whitby. I’ve also heard talk
amongst the men of an escape attempt.’
‘Edwin,’ the large man guessed as he gnawed on his
chicken leg.
‘He’s at the centre of it, yes. You already know?’
‘Had my suspicions. If they run, they’ll be hunted down
and killed. Everyone knows what happens if you break your
oath.’
‘But the way they see it, they’ll only die if they’re
caught. You know as well as I do, not everyone that runs is
found. We don’t have the manpower for it. A few of the men
have started to figure that out.’
‘So what do you propose, Gus? We don’t exactly have an
army of men waiting to swear the oath, so we make do with
what we can.’
‘Well, stepping out of the shadows might be something
to consider.’
 Len coughed on his food. ‘Expose what we do?’
‘Sure,’ Gus said. ‘Why the secrecy? The things we’ve
seen and fought—why don’t we let the country know about
it? Better the general populace is aware of the truth so they
can be prepared.’
Len laughed before stabbing his fork into a half a potato.
‘Those decisions are for people above us. And they’ve
decided secrecy is the best course of action.’
‘But who decided that?’ Gus asked. ‘I know of the
Deathborn, the Shadowhand, the Knights of Olin, and some
men have mentioned a sect called the Thales, but how far
does it go?’
‘No clue,’ Len said. ‘We know as much as we need to,
and we do the job at hand.’
‘That’s short-sighted, Len,’ Gus replied before he drew a
large gulp from his tankard. ‘Way I see it, the Deathborn
and the rest have got to be tied into something bigger. The
government or the monarch or something. Maybe even the
church.’
‘Might well be,’ Len said as he shrugged. ‘Doesn’t
change anything. And if it is true, those people are better
suited to decide how we conduct ourselves.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that. People in power are
always corrupted. Believe me, I know that all too well.’
‘So go shout it from the rooftops,’ Len said with a grin.
‘See how far that gets you.’
Gus let out a laugh. ‘I’m not an idiot. That would be a
sure way to have my head cut off.’ Gus then turned to Jack.
‘You’ve been quiet. You have any thoughts on this?’
Jack took a moment, then shook his head. ‘I’ll be honest.
I have no idea what is happening. Up until a few days ago, I
thought the world was normal. Cruel, but normal. Now…
I’d probably believe you if you told me you could fly.’
Another laugh came from the Irishman. ‘Can’t say flying
is one of my gifts. Though, I do think I’m good at seeing the
bigger picture. Here is something to consider: the
Deathborn have been around for hundreds of years, so
these monsters aren’t new, but the world is getting smaller.
Humans are expanding their territories at a rate unheard
of. Pretty soon, there will be no corners for these creatures
to hide in anymore. So, any pretence of secrecy is only
temporary. It has to come to a head. And those in charge
would be wise to take the initiative and try to control
exactly how that happens. Plus—and it might just be me
overthinking things—the water seems to be getting a little
cold. Don’t you feel it, Len?’
‘What water?’ Jack asked.
‘It’s a metaphor, son. It used to be that we were out on
hunts or missions maybe once a month. Things have picked
up recently. Feels like… I don’t know, feels like something’s
coming. Especially with the visit from the knight. If he’s
here, something has the higher-ups unnerved.’
Jack narrowed his eyes and studied Gus. ‘You really
think things through, huh?’
‘Of course,’ Gus said. ‘Why on earth wouldn’t I?’
Jack shrugged. ‘Some things are just beyond what we
can hope to do. Unless you are born into money and power,
you muddle through while the rich decide how things are.’
‘Are you happy with that?’
‘There’s a lot I’m not happy with—but there’s also a lot I
can’t change. It is what it is.’
‘Bah, a horrible outlook on life,’ Gus replied and took
another drink. ‘You’re putting yourself in a box with that
kind of thinking.’
‘It’s realistic.’
‘It’s limiting. Me, I always want to know more. I mean,
ever since the Deathborn found me, even though what I’ve
seen has been horrifying, the knowledge has been freeing
in a way.’
‘How?’ Jack asked.
‘It’s opened up the world. Pushed my boundaries.
Everything I thought I knew has been turned on its head.
Makes me wonder what else is out there, what other
possibilities there are. Maybe it’s possible to take the
human race forward in ways we can’t even conceive of.’
‘Or ways to end it,’ Jack stated.
‘Ah, very true,’ Gus exclaimed as he raised a finger. ‘All
the more reason not to let those in charge decide our fate
for us, no?’
Len chuckled and leaned close to Jack. ‘You’ll learn to
get used to Gus and his never-ending grandstanding.’
‘Grandstanding?’ Gus asked with mock offense. ‘I just
like to keep my mind active. Stops madness from settling
in.’
‘If you ask me,’ Len said, smiling as he got to his feet,
‘it’s already taken hold. Now, come on, we need to get
ourselves prepared.’

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Before leaving the Deathborn chapter house, Jack had

managed to wash himself and change clothes; rummaging
through storage barrels, he’d managed to find a pale-green
cotton shirt, dark trousers, and a light-brown jacket. He
kept the boots from his last expedition, since they were
comfortable.
The troop spent the next two nights traveling. They
camped on the second night after finding some open
ground just past the market town of Guisborough.
On their travels, Jack had noted that Theodore only
spoke to Max, and occasionally Len. However, the knight
seemed to regard the rest of them as less than shit on his
boot. Considering the man had to rely on the Deathborn to
fight for him and put their lives on the line, Jack couldn’t
understand the knight’s attitude towards them.
During the trip, Gus had spent many an hour riding
beside Jack, chatting Jack’s ear off. Jack liked Gus, but the
man could talk, and had some rather fanciful ideas and
philosophies. They were certainly interesting, but Jack had
little time for them—he had joined the Deathborn for one
thing, and one thing only: to sate his anger.
And to run from my guilt.
 Jack wasn’t exactly sure where Gus fit into the hierarchy
of the Durham Deathborn. As far as he could tell, after
William and his second in command, the rest of them were
pretty much on an even keel, with a hierarchy born only out
of how much respect each man had earned, or how many
acquaintances he had. Gus was something of an enigma—to
Jack, it seemed like he had the ear of Len, and to a certain
extent the Warden as well.
His skills as an orator were at odds with Gus’
appearance: a hulking thug.
He was different from the rest of the Deathborn, all of
whom were miserable, waiting for the end, and resigned to
what remained of their life. The only variable Jack had
picked up on was that some felt trapped by the oath, and
others—like Jack—existed solely to fight. But neither drew
any joy from existence any longer.
The weather above that day was overcast, with grey
clouds that threatened rain. Fortunately, so far the trip had
remained relatively dry, with only a few showers to deal
with. However, Jack’s arse and inner thighs ached, and his
tailbone was sore from the constant riding, which was
interrupted only when they stopped to camp, eat, or piss
and shit.
Just as Jack’s thoughts threatened to run to his son
again, a horse falling in beside him mercifully pulled Jack
back to reality. It was Max.
‘Enjoying the ride?’ Max asked.
‘It’s pleasant enough,’ Jack replied. ‘Being out in the
open air is nice.’
‘Agreed,’ Max said. ‘I spend many a day like this, doing
what I do.’
Jack turned to him. ‘And what is it that you do, exactly?
What’s involved in being a Shadowhand? Or are you sworn
to secrecy?’
‘Well, I can say my job is to uncover as much information
as I can. If I find a thread, I pull on it, see what I can
uncover. Whatever I learn, I pass up the chain. It gives me
an enormous amount of freedom, and I can follow my
instincts as much as I please… as long as I am getting
results.’
‘Or it comes down the chain to the Deathborn to deal
with.’
Max nodded. ‘Yes, sometimes we order you into action,
just as the Knights of Olin can do.’
‘Is that where all our missions come from?’ Jack asked.
‘Devised from the information you dig up?’
‘Not always, no,’ Max said. ‘There is a hierarchy to the
order we belong to. Any rung on that hierarchy can pass
orders down.’
Jack let out a humourless laugh. ‘Shit rolls downhill.’
‘I guess it does,’ Max agreed. ‘But with what happened
at Ferryhill, and from how I hear you handled the banshee,
I think you are showing a lot of early promise.’
The compliment came as something of a surprise. ‘Is
there a reason for your kind words?’
‘Perhaps. I have sworn a similar oath to yours, as has
Theodore. So, while there is no escaping the work we do,
that doesn’t mean you need to be tied to the Deathborn
forever. It has happened before, where certain members
have shown an aptitude and have climbed the ranks a
little.’
Jack raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that what happened to
you?’
Max shook his head. ‘No, I was recruited straight into
the Shadowhand by my mentor. But I have known of others
who have worked their way out of the doldrums. Just
something to bear in mind.’
‘Are you recruiting me?’ Jack asked, gaining only a laugh
from his riding partner.
‘Not quite,’ Max said. ‘Not yet, anyway. You’ve shown
promise, and an ability to fight and control your fear.
However, what I do needs much more than that. I have to
plan, think, hide, blend in, pretend to be other people. I am
a grey man, a faceless person in the crowd, as well as the
tip of the spear, when needed.’
Jack could sense pride in the man’s words. ‘Impressive,’
Jack replied. ‘You certainly think highly of yourself.’
‘No, I’m just aware of the importance of what I do.’ It
still sounded like bravado to Jack, but before he could
respond, Max went on. ‘All I’m saying is if you can prove
yourself, there is more for you than just anger, grief, and
killing. There could be a better life for you yet.’
‘And what if I’m perfectly happy with my anger, grief,
and killing those monsters every chance I get?’
Max just shrugged. ‘Then keep on doing it until you die.
It doesn’t matter to me. But think on what I said.’
Max then pulled at his reins and buried his heels into
the side of his horse, prompting it forward.
After a few moments, Jack heard yet another horse draw
up to him. He turned to see Gus bring his horse closer.
Again.
‘What did the Shadowhand want?’ Gus asked with a
raised eyebrow.
‘Not much,’ Jack said. For some reason, he felt a little
reluctant to share what had been discussed.
‘Had to be something,’ Gus pressed. ‘That fellow doesn’t
seem like the kind to indulge in pointless small talk.’
Unlike you, Jack thought. But then, was there really any
harm in divulging what Max had told him?
‘He was just saying there are ways out of the Deathborn.
Beyond just dying.’
‘Ah,’ Gus said. ‘The promotion speech.’
Jack turned to him. ‘You’ve had it as well?’
‘Kind of, though mine was from the Warden. Told me
about how members of the Deathborn are sometimes
identified as having the required potential and plucked
from obscurity for a better life.’
‘Do you believe it?’
 Gus paused for a moment. ‘Well, put it this way, I’ve not
seen it happen in the years I’ve been a Deathborn. Though
I guess it’s possible. My theory is, it is kind of a
motivational tool given to those who can be useful. And I
think you’ve proven your worth.’
‘It doesn’t matter, anyway,’ Jack said. ‘I’ve no desire to
move on.’
The response from Gus was a disappointed tut. ‘That’s
sad to hear. I can’t say I know what you’re going through,
losing your boy and all, but I’ve seen other recruits go
through the same kind of thing. Most of the time, they don’t
last.’
‘I’m fine with that,’ Jack said. ‘Don’t exactly have any
long-term plans.’
‘So you’re just resigned to dying soon?’
‘Aren’t we all?’ Jack asked. ‘That’s why we’re here. We
all knew what we were agreeing to when we took the oath.
Every one of us, to the man, knows we’re on borrowed
time.’
‘Actually, no,’ Gus said in reply. ‘Not all of us.’
Jack didn’t prod the comment any further. If Gus had
designs on making more for himself, then good for him.
They rode for a few more minutes in silence, though Gus
eventually broke it.
‘Been speaking to some of the other men as well,’ he
said.
‘About?’
‘About what we might find in Whitby. There’s a theory
among them that we may be dealing with a wytch.’
‘Wytches exist?’ Jack asked, unable to keep the surprise
from his voice.
‘Does that shock you?’
Jack considered it for a moment. ‘I guess it shouldn’t.’
‘You need to read more of the bestiary. I keep telling you
that.’
 ‘Maybe so. When we get back, I’ll have you help me with
it some more, if you’re agreeable?’
‘When we get back? I like that optimism. Keep hold of it.
And yes, of course. Wytches are rare, certainly, and no one
really knows how they gain their power. But the longer they
wield their dark magic, the more it consumes them… turns
them… into something less than human. Or maybe more
than human, depending on your point of view. It’s also said
they can create some of the other monsters we face out
there, conjuring them with hexes or potions or spells and
the like. If wytches are able to create those things, then
one could be responsible for the creature that killed your
son.’
‘Can wytches be killed?’
‘I would think so,’ Gus said. ‘Though they are extremely
dangerous, and often no two are alike. I’ve heard some
embrace the darkness so much their appearance changes.
They are no longer women, but something much more
hideous.’
‘Like a banshee?’ Jack asked, remembering the
deformed creature he’d faced only a couple of days before.
‘Perhaps. There isn’t a lot of information on them in the
bestiary, to be honest. As I say, they’re rare.’
‘I don’t suppose the knight has let on about anything?’
‘Not as far as I’m aware,’ Gus replied. ‘Doubt he would
tell us anything unless we absolutely needed to know. But,
the men are worried. Wytches mean trouble, more so than
most of the things we hunt, so there is a lot of unrest.
Haven’t you felt it?’
Jack just shrugged. ‘I’ve kept to myself, to be honest.’
‘Yes, so I’ve noticed.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
Gus gave Jack a surprised look. ‘To keep you informed,
of course. You said yourself you’ve not really spoken to
anyone.’
 ‘Well, thank you,’ Jack said, not sounding grateful in the
least. ‘But rumours and theories won’t do us much good.
It’s all just an unknown at the moment.’
‘Well, that’s the thing,’ Gus said. ‘That Shadowhand fella
seems to have taken a shine to you. I’m thinking, if you
speak to him again, ask him about it. Try to mine him for
information that might help us. To be forewarned is to be
forearmed, you know.’
Jack turned to him. ‘You really like to have your nose in
everything, don’t you?’
‘I like to know what’s going on,’ Gus snapped back,
sounding genuinely offended. ‘That ain’t a bad thing, Jack.
Some of us don’t harbour a desire to die.’ Gus’ tone had
gone from offended to annoyed. ‘So, how about you pull
your head outta your arsehole for five minutes and help
everyone else out, eh?’ he snapped.
Jack held eye contact with the larger man. If it came
down to it, he didn’t fancy his chances should he and Gus
get into a fight, but he still didn’t appreciate the curt
attitude.
Perhaps I asked for it.
But Jack just wanted to be left alone and not get
involved in any kind of internal politics that might be going
on within the Deathborn—something he now understood
Gus probably excelled at.
‘If I speak to him again,’ Jack eventually said, ‘I’ll ask.
Least I can do if you are going to help me with the
bestiary.’
Gus’ frown softened. ‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘You know,
Jack, you don’t need to be so abrasive all the time. I get
your motivations, I do—seen enough of it in my life. But,
you might as well make the best of the time you have left
and not assume everyone here is your enemy.’
‘I don’t intend to make enemies,’ Jack said, ‘but I also
don’t want to make friends. The way I see it, that’s only
going to make things harder when people inevitably die.’
 ‘And you’ve seen enough of people you care for die,
right?’ Gus asked. Jack hesitated, then nodded. In
response, Gus just shook his head. ‘That’s a lonely way to
live, my friend.’

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The convoy pulled off the main road, onto the grass
embankment, and drew to a stop. Theodore gathered
everyone around him.
Over the past day, Jack hadn’t gotten the chance to talk
with Max again.
The men circled around the Knight of Olin and Max,
waiting for one of them to speak, though Theodore was the
one who stepped forward.
‘From the information passed on by my brother in the
Shadowhand,’ he said as he motioned to Max, ‘we should
arrive at the homestead within an hour. There is little point
waiting for nightfall and using the cover of darkness, as our
numbers would make too much noise, anyway.’ Jack quickly
cast his eye around the men. Everyone’s focus was on
Theodore. ‘Therefore, all but two of you will follow Max and
myself towards the homestead. The two left behind will
guard our carts and supplies and wait for our return. If the
rest of us are not back by this time tomorrow, the two
guards here are to return to the chapter safehouse and
report the mission a failure. As for everyone else, the task
at hand is simple, even for people like you: follow Maxwell
and I and do as we say. Is that clear?’
 There were a few murmurs of understanding, but little
more than that.
‘I asked you all a question!’ Theodore snapped. ‘I expect
a more enthusiastic answer. Is. That. Clear?’
‘Answer the man!’ Len snapped to everyone.
This time, the response was more enthused, and even
Jack shouted out, ‘Yes!’
Theodore cast them all a look of disdain. ‘Good. Now, we
don’t know exactly what we are going to find—’
‘Is it true she’s a wytch?’ a voice called out. Theodore’s
face clouded over in anger while everyone turned to eye
the man who dared speak up. Jack winced and sighed. It
was Alf.
Jack had seen him hanging around with Edwin and his
group during the trek, and he seemed to be getting closer
to them.
Idiot.
However, Jack noticed that Edwin, who had been
standing near to Alf, was now backing off, leaving the man
standing alone.
Theodore, jaw clenched, started to walk towards poor
Alf, who shrank away. Jack saw him turn to Edwin in
desperation before quietly mumbling: ‘But you told me to
ask.’
Edwin continued to back up, as did everyone else,
leaving a ring of space around the isolated man.
Theodore quickly closed the gap, bringing his face to
within an inch of Alf’s.
‘Did I give you permission to speak?’ Theodore asked.
Though his voice was now quiet, it simmered with anger.
Alf tried to formulate a response but could only stammer
out something incomprehensible. With blinding speed, the
knight delivered a powerful right-hand blow. The
Deathborn flopped backwards and landed in a crumpled
heap on the ground, unmoving.
 Two men sprang forward to attack the knight in
retaliation. Before they could manage a single swing,
however, Theodore sent a straight left punch to the nose of
the first attacker. Jack heard the crunch of bone and
cartilage even from where he was standing. The surprised
man took a couple of backwards steps, then slunk down to
his knees, his bent nose gushing blood. Theodore took a
few quick paces forward and easily ducked under the
swinging arm of the second attacker. He quickly wrapped a
strong arm around the man’s neck and put him in a
chokehold from behind. The man started to wheeze and
gag, flailing and clawing at Theodore’s arm and sleeve.
Theodore then leaned his body forward and forced the
Deathborn down to his knees. Theodore then pulled away
and savagely kicked the back of the man’s head, sending
him face first to the ground.
Theodore quickly unsheathed his sword. The motion of
sliding it from the scabbard was graceful, fluid, and easy,
and he pressed tip of the blade into the back of the fallen
man’s neck. The Deathborn’s body locked up, and he held
out his arms to his side in submission. The sharp point of
the gleaming blade pierced the skin just enough to draw a
few drops of blood.
‘Is there anyone else here who has a complaint?’ He cast
his gaze around the group, but no one said anything. All the
men looked away, Edwin in particular casting his eyes
down to the ground. Even Len stood motionless. Jack held
his gaze on the knight, however, and eventually Theodore
saw him staring.
‘Something wrong with you, Deathborn?’ Theodore
asked him with a scowl. Jack balled up his hands into fists.
A hand pressed onto his shoulder, and a large figure
moved past him. It was Gus.
‘Forgive my over-eager brothers, sir,’ Gus said, loud
enough for all to hear. His tone was cordial and respectful.
‘The men here are just fearful of what lies ahead. But you
are right, of course—it isn’t our place to demand answers.’
‘Correct,’ Theodore stated. He kept the tip of his sword
on the grounded man’s neck.
‘And my apologies for any offense the men have caused
you. Truly, we are sorry.’
Gus was a large man, and though Theodore had easily
dealt with his two attackers, Jack wasn’t sure if he’d have
such an easy time with the Irishman. It confused him why
Gus was being so placid, meek, and apologetic.
A sneer crossed over the knight’s face. ‘Are you
attempting to plead for this man’s life?’
Gus held his hands up. ‘To be honest, sir, I didn’t think
his life was in danger. Everyone here is willing to fight for
you when the time comes. Those two,’ he pointed to the
Deathborn on the ground, ‘clearly overstepped a line, but
surely the more bodies we have, the better.’
‘An Irishman, am I correct?’ Theodore asked.
Jack saw Gus’ body tense up. ‘That’s right.’
Here it comes, Jack thought. He had no doubt Theodore
was going to say something derogatory about the man’s
origin to draw a reaction. The Knight of Olin had been
nothing if not antagonistic towards the all the Deathborn.
‘Something wrong with that?’ Gus asked. His previously
diplomatic tone faltered. A chink in his armour, Jack
thought. Something he can be goaded on.
Theodore remained silent for a moment, sizing Gus up.
‘Actually, no,’ he eventually replied and withdrew his
sword. ‘Your people are good fighters, in my experience.
One of my brothers in the Knights of Olin hails from
Ferbane. My own bloodline descends from Ireland, too.’
Jack was… floored. It was the first time he’d heard the
knight utter anything other than an insult towards anyone
that wasn’t Max.
Gus was clearly taken aback as well. ‘I… didn’t know
that, sir,’ he said. ‘Ferbane is a nice little town, I hear.
Though I’ve never been myself.’
Theodore sheathed his sword and stepped back. The
ease of movement with his sword impressed Jack, as the
weapon seemed like a true extension of the man’s body.
The knight didn’t say anything else and instead simply
walked back to stand beside Max. Something was said
between them, though their voices remained low and
inaudible to the rest of the group.
Max then looked up and addressed the men.
‘The truth is, we do not know what we will find out at
the homestead. The woman I saw during my investigation
looked human, so if she is a wytch, she is not so far gone as
to be completely lost. What we need from her is
information, which we may take by force or coercion, or it
may be offered voluntarily. But remember, if the woman
dies, then she can’t talk. So, she is not to be killed. Is that
clear?’
Yet again, there were a few half-hearted nods and
utterances of agreement. Theodore turned his head and
cast a glare out to the group, who quickly responded, most
shouting out, ‘yes,’ or ‘understood.’
‘We eat now,’ Theodore said. ‘Get some fires going and
prepare some of the food we’ve brought with us. We have
one hour before we make our final push. Fill your bellies
and empty your bladders.’ He then looked down at the men
who were still on the ground, including Alf. ‘Pick these
three idiots up.’ Theodore then strolled away towards one
of the carts with Maxwell by his side.
‘I thought you were going to lose your composure there,
Gus,’ Jack said as he turned to face the Irishman.
Gus chuckled, then nodded. ‘Aye, me too. Thought he
was going to have a pop at my countrymen.’
‘I assumed that was coming as well. Maybe he didn’t
fancy his chances.’
Gus considered that, but shook his head. ‘I’m pretty
certain with that sword he could have skewered me pretty
easily.’
‘Perhaps. So, still think we’re dealing with a wytch?’
‘No idea,’ Gus replied. ‘If the woman at that house still
looks human, then that’s in our favour. Wytches use a dark
magic, and the more they summon and wield it, the more
that power has an effect on them. If our girl out there is
normal to look at, then she hasn’t drawn on too much of it
yet. It’s a hard thing to resist, though.’
‘Could it be something other than a wytch?’
‘Possibly. Could also be that the girl is completely
innocent, and the fella who turned just happened across
her home? We could be about to ruin the day of someone
with nothing to hide.’
Jack nodded, and then looked over at Theodore. ‘You
reckon he’s considered that possibility?’
‘Oh, he’s considered it,’ Gus said. ‘He’s too smart not to
have. But I’d wager he doesn’t much care and has decided
we do what needs to be done.’
The two men joined those setting up the fire and helped
unload some of the dried-out beef, as well as several sacks
of vegetables. As the food was being prepared, Jack kept
looking over at Edwin and his gang. The man who had
taken the punch from Theodore looked in a bad way, with
bruises forming across his nose and cheeks; the nose itself
was clearly broken and pointing off to the left. Alf was with
them as well, but he seemed to be staying silent, simply
looking down at the ground like a lost puppy.
The rest of them, however, were clearly conspiring
about something.
Jack made himself a plate of food and moved closer to
the group, leaving Gus behind to eat and chat with some of
the others. Edwin and his acquaintances grew quiet as Jack
approached.
‘Can I help you with something?’ Edwin asked Jack.
‘We’re having a private conversation here. So, ya know,
kindly fuck off.’
 ‘Planning something?’ Jack asked. He lifted a raw carrot
from his clay plate and took a bite.
‘None of your business,’ Edwin shot back. ‘So, keep
walking.’
‘Could do that,’ Jack said. ‘But see, I just worry
whenever I see you up to something, Edwin. Chances are, it
could get a lot of us killed.’
Edwin turned to the others around him and laughed.
‘New boy here thinks he has some kind of authority. Can
you believe him?’ He then looked back at Jack and the
laughter quickly fell away. ‘Listen, you fucking arse, be on
your way and keep your nose out of things that don’t
concern you. It ain’t me that’s gonna get us killed, you
hear? I’ve heard what wytches can do, and if that’s what
we’re headed to face, I’d rather turn and run.’
‘Seems about right for you,’ Jack shot back with a grin
before drinking from his sheepskin flask. Jack deliberately
took his time, gulping down the refreshing liquid. ‘I recall
you being eager to run back when we fought the banshee,
too.’
Edwin quickly stepped forward with a look of fury.
However, he stopped suddenly, his eyes darting past Jack.
Jack turned and saw Theodore and Max talking between
themselves in the distance.
‘Scared you’ll get in trouble if you take a swing at me?’
Jack taunted. He wasn’t quite sure why he was poking
Edwin so much, as he knew it would be easier and smarter
to avoid the aggravation altogether, but he quickly
remembered Edwin slinking away after Alf was struck. All
for asking a question Edwin had likely prodded him into
asking. The man was a user and a coward, and not
someone Jack wanted watching his back.
‘Those two over there,’ Edwin said as he pointed to their
leaders, ‘are the ones you gotta be concerned about.
They’re leading us out to a wytch’s abode to… what… chat
a little? It’s suicide. You don’t talk to a wytch. So, if we
can’t run, me and the boys here are thinking we make sure
that hag doesn’t get the chance to do anything to us.
Figure there will be a lot going on when we swarm the
place. Accidents happen.’
Jack let out a snort of laughter. ‘If you idiots kill the
wytch, the knight will have your head.’
Edwin just gave a shrug. ‘Well, if everything’s a little
chaotic out there, who’s to say a knife won’t end up in his
back? Think it through, Jack. We gotta look out for
ourselves. That posh fucker thinks we’re less than the
muck on the ground. You happy to lay down your life for
someone like that?’
In truth, the question gave Jack pause. Edwin seemed to
notice the hesitation on his face.
‘Ah, not so idiotic after all, eh?’ He dug his hands in his
pockets, looked down, and took a step forward. ‘We have a
chance here, Jack, and we could certainly use your help.’
‘Help with what?’
Edwin was about to reply, but paused. The next moment,
Len came ambling by, casting Jack and the others a glance,
but carried on.
‘With doing what we need to so we can be free,’ Edwin
said in a hushed voice. ‘If the chance arises and the knight
and the spy fall, then we can all run. No one will find us.
Those that want to go back, well, that’s up to them. But the
rest of us can escape the hell we were tricked into from the
very beginning.’
‘Aren’t you scared you’ll be hunted down?’
Edwin gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘They won’t
send anyone out this far to track us. They know it’d be
useless. I’m sure they’d tell everyone back at the chapter
house we were caught and killed, just to save face, but
we’d all have a chance at a new life. Including you.’
Not knowing what to say next, Jack fell silent for a
moment. He didn’t like or trust Edwin, but something about
what the man said rang true. Jack certainly didn’t feel like
he had been tricked into joining the Deathborn. In his mind
he’d known exactly what the stakes were, but that didn’t
mean it was the same for everyone.
‘My path is set,’ Jack said in reply. ‘I’ve no reason to
leave. But you gentlemen do as you please. Just don’t get
me involved. Word of warning: if wytches are as bad as you
say, can you really risk turning on your own in the heat of
battle?’
Edwin smirked. ‘If we kill that thing first, then sure.’
‘And what if she’s still human?’
‘Utter shit,’ Edwin spat. ‘A person starts down that road,
in my view, they’re already a monster. And I know you
aren’t against killing a monster. I saw how eager you were
to take out that banshee. Truth be told, you saved all our
lives down in that cave, I can admit that. Which is why I
want you to see sense.’
Jack again remained silent. Eventually, he shrugged, and
gave the only honest answer he could: ‘I guess we’ll see
when we get there.’

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

In the distance, Jack could just make out the sea, and on
the horizon were the small, black shapes of fishing ships.
He hadn’t ventured out to the coast much in his life, but the
sounds of seagulls above triggered a memory from his
youth: his father taking him over to a different fishing town
named Whitley Bay. It was one of the few memories he had
of his father.
The landscape out before him dipped and rose as it ran
out to sea, with pockets of trees and bushes dotting the
predominantly grassy ground. To his right, Jack could see
the edge of the settlement of Whitby as well, just before the
land dropped down, taking the town with it and out of his
line of sight.
There wasn’t much in the way of cover anywhere around
them, and the stone road they currently travelled on arced
up ahead, running off towards the main town. They hadn’t
seen much in the way of traffic during their last push, only
a few travellers in horse-drawn carriages or carts; all of
them had eyed such a large convoy with suspicion.
As they rode, Jack leaned forward and let his hand fall to
his side, pressing it against his saddle, where he had his
machete secured. It wasn’t the same one he’d used on the
banshee, but prior to setting off all Deathborn had gathered
around the weapons cart to pick what they wished to wield.
Jack’s eyes had immediately been drawn to the blade, this
one sharper and cleaner than his last. Sure, the swords or
sickles or spears were enticing, and the rifles or crossbows
would have been too if Jack thought he could hit anything,
but there was something that drew him to the machete—
there was an intimacy to the violence it caused. One
couldn’t be too far away when using it, so that meant he
got to feel every blow and see the damage caused up close.
He imagined swinging the sharpened edge into the neck of
the wytch, watching the surprised expression of the woman
who might have been the root cause of his son’s death.
The fantasy felt good.
Soon after, Max pulled off the main road and led the
men down a small, thin track formed by previously
trampled grass from repeated travel.
Everyone followed the Shadowhand, with horses either
single file or two abreast. With little protection from the
coast, the wind had picked up, and Jack could faintly smell
the salty sea in the air.
There was a palpable tension between the men.
Theodore had forbidden talking on their final approach,
unless strictly necessary, and that only added to the sense
of foreboding.
After another thirty minutes' travel, the convoy rose up
from a shallow valley to the crest of a hill. Jack noticed
Maxwell gesturing to Theodore, pointing up ahead just off
to the left. Jack’s eyes scanned over to a thicket of large
trees, and there, just in front of the treeline, he could
clearly see a single-storey house. Grey smoke drifted
upwards from the chimney.
Theodore raised a fist into the air and everyone drew to
a stop.
He spoke up, loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘The
land around us is open, so anyone in that house will see us
approach. If we take too long, it will give them an
opportunity to escape.’ Theodore turned his horse around
and started to head back down the line of men. ‘On my
order, we follow Max as quickly as we can. Push your
horses to their limit.’ The knight ambled past Jack, keeping
strong eye contact as he did. ‘I’ll bring up the rear.’ He
then continued to the back and circled around. ‘We charge,
we reach the house, then we dismount quickly. Max and I
will go in first, and a group of you will follow inside with us.
The rest are to stay outside in case anyone escapes. Those
inside, follow my orders.’ He then moved down the line,
pointing out the people who would enter the house, of
which Jack was one, along with Edwin and some of his
friends. When done, he moved to the head of the line.
‘Ready?’
‘Ready,’ the men shouted back in unison.
Theodore gave a nod. ‘Then charge!’ he shouted.
After the command, Jack buried his heels into the side of
his horse and gave a quick yank on the reins; all the horses
set off in a gallop. The rumbling footfalls of their hooves
over the grass grew like building thunder. The man in front
was not as quick as Jack would have liked, so he moved to
the side and overtook the rider, pushing his horse onward.
He quickly cast a glance behind him and saw Theodore
at the back, sticking close to the nearest Deathborn.
Theodore’s horse was an impressive, sturdy-looking beast:
predominantly white, and around half a foot taller than any
of the others in the convoy.
Jack’s own mount—a brown and white mare—was much
smaller and slight, but she powered on unrelenting.
It didn’t take them long to reach the homestead. The
house was a haphazard mix of orange brick and stone, with
a thatched roof and brown-painted wooden window frames.
Flowers, bushes, and other plants were dotted along the
grass out front, and a low stone wall enclosed a small
garden to the back. A chimney climbed up one of the gables
and Jack could smell the smoke pumping out of the crown.
The house looked quaint, even homey. He wasn’t sure what
he’d been expecting, maybe a dilapidated shack with
skinned bodies hanging outside and skulls fixed to the door,
but this… didn’t seem right. It didn’t look anything like the
house of an evil wytch.
The Deathborn all dismounted their horses and closed in
behind Max, who was already at the front door and peering
inside through a nearby window. Jack was pushed aside as
Theodore made his way through as well. The knight drew
his sword and unleashed a strong kick at the wooden door,
which burst inwards.
Theodore ducked inside first, quickly followed by Max,
and ordered the others inside with them.
‘Follow me!’
With his own weapon bared, Jack forced himself to the
front and piled into the house with only three other
Deathborn ahead of him; immediately upon entering he saw
their target, standing in what doubled as a living room and
bedroom, with a low, simple bedframe pushed against one
wall, and two single wooden chairs close to one another.
The woman who stood centrally in the room had long,
flowing, fiery red hair, parted in the centre and hanging
down to her shoulders. Her skin was pale, and she had a
lithe build covered with a green cotton dress with a long
skirt that ran down to the wooden floorboards. One of the
most noticeable features was her eyes, which were a dull,
milky white, with no pupils—they immediately reminded
Jack of the banshee. The other thing that struck Jack was
the stance the woman had taken, and the animalistic look
of fury she wore on her face.
She was hunched over, as if she was ready to strike, and
had one hand raised in front of her, palm out.
Jack felt the air ripple around him as Theodore strode
over to the woman, his sword held up high.
‘Get out of here!’ the woman screamed.
 ‘Don’t move,’ Theodore responded in a commanding
tone. ‘I order—’
He was cut off when the woman’s outstretched hand
burst into flames. She swung her arm towards the
approaching crowd of men, and the flames engulfing her
hand leapt forward in an arc, leaving a trail behind them.
Had Theodore not ducked down to his side, he would have
taken the full force of the fireball—however, the man
behind was not so lucky, and the streaking ball of fire
struck him in the head. The flames engulfed him and he
screamed, dropped his weapon, and began clawing at his
face as he fell to the floor. The woman backed up and
swung her other hand forward, sending another jet of fire
towards Theodore, who had to scramble backwards to
avoid it.
‘Get out!’ the woman screamed again as she continued
to move backwards towards a door. The Deathborn had
frozen, including Jack, but Theodore was already getting
back to his feet. The girl quickly launched another
projectile at him, and Theodore had to run to escape the
continued onslaught. Balls of fire struck the ground and
walls close to him, causing small pools of fire that,
strangely, extinguished the moment they didn’t find their
target.
Theodore sprinted towards a window and dove forward,
throwing his arms over his head as his body crashed
through the pane of glass and tore out part of the wooden
frame as he passed through. The exploding glass fell
outward behind him.
The woman continued to back up, running out of the
room, then slammed the door behind her. They heard the
sound of a turning lock. Jack then felt a bump in his back as
some men ran past him—one of them was Edwin.
‘Time to avenge your son!’ he quickly said to Jack as he
went. Jack cast a quick look around, though the rest of the
men stood dumbfounded. He had no idea where Max had
gone, but with Theodore now outside, it did seem the
perfect opportunity to slay the wytch. They could even
argue they had no choice if they were questioned about it.
Edwin led his group of four men towards the door and
they began hammering on it and kicking at the area around
the handle. The door wasn’t particularly strong, and soon
the men had forced their way through. Before entering,
Edwin turned to him.
‘Come on, Jack. Now!’
Jack tightened his grip on the handle of his weapon. If
they killed the wytch, he would never know if she was
somehow involved in Samuel’s death. Perhaps there was
more to the whole situation. Maybe there were others
involved that needed to pay as well. At that moment,
however, he also knew he had the chance to exact revenge
on someone who deserved it.
Jack ran into the room behind the others.
He found himself in a large space that took up the rest
of the house, appearing to be a kitchen and preparation
area. There was a large wooden table in the center, and on
top was a pig’s head, slabs of meat, pools of blood, and cut-
up herbs and other vegetables. The surface of the table—
criss-crossed with gouges and cutting marks—was so large
that everything was well spaced out, despite the amount of
ingredients on it. A large animal skin rug covered most of
the floor under the table, which seemed an odd place to
keep such a covering, knowing it could get ruined by blood
that ran from the table’s surface.
Cloves of garlic and other bulbous plants hung from the
ceiling in nets. Old wooden benches and cabinets were
pressed against some of the walls, running up to the
ceiling, which was supported by exposed oak joists. The air
smelled of garlic, herbs, and a tang of copper thanks to the
animal blood. On the far wall behind the table, Jack noticed
another door, which he guessed exited out to the back.
Finally, there was a smaller table close to the rear wall, this
one only big enough for two people.
The room was decorated with flowers in vases, which sat
on the windowsill, and painted pictures of landscapes hung
on the walls. One portrayed Whitby Abbey—a building Jack
had heard of but never visited.
It seems like a normal home, he said to himself.
The woman stood at the far side of the large table, with
the long piece of furniture between her and the Deathborn.
Jack noticed a hairclip lined with the heads of small flowers
nestled into the right side of her wavy red hair. She also
wore a single, braid within her long hair. It fell down to her
chin, and the end of it was tied off with what looked to be
plant stalks.
Her dress appeared to be velvet, and had intricate
golden patterns to the hem of the skirt and edges of the
sleeves, though the lines of the patterns were not perfect.
While the garment was of good quality, Jack got the
impression she’d made it herself.
‘Get out of my house, you animals,’ the woman shouted
while wearing a snarl. Her voice was unmistakably
feminine, but deeper than the average woman's, and there
was a strength to it.
‘You’ve got some nerve, woman,’ Edwin shouted back.
All the Deathborn in the room had their weapons raised.
‘Calling us animals, given what you are.’
‘You’re a monster!’ another shouted. It was Alf, who had
a look of hatred on his face, his lips curled into a grimace.
‘You and your kind. You murder people. Murder little kids!’
‘The only people I’ll murder is you lot if you take another
step forward.’ Jack noticed a slight change in her face—the
veins beneath the skin became more pronounced and took
on a dark colour. He also felt that familiar static in the air
he’d noticed in the living room earlier… just before the
woman’s attack. She slowly brought her wrist to her mouth
and bit into it, drawing blood.
 ‘Get her, Alf,’ Edwin shouted. He ushered the shocked-
looking Deathborn forward to the front of the pack. Alf
glanced around for help, his eyes eventually falling on Jack.
Jack took a moment. He looked at the wytch, then back
to Alf, before slowly shaking his head. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘She
isn’t attacking. We wait.’
A small expression of relief washed over Alf as he then
turned to Edwin—who was scowling. ‘Don’t listen to him!’
Edwin snapped. ‘He’ll get us killed.’ Edwin then shifted his
attention to Jack. ‘I thought you were with us, that you’d
seen sense?’
‘Don’t!’ Jack repeated to Alf, this time more forcefully.
Alf looked confused.
Edwin spun to face the wytch and pushed Alf forward
again, ushering him around the side of the table. ‘If we
don’t kill her now, she’ll slaughter all of us. We’re running
out of time.’
A slight movement caught Jack’s eye. A shadow moved
across the gap at the bottom of the back door.
‘Go!’ Edwin shouted and pushed Alf again.
‘I’m warning you,’ the woman yelled. ‘Stay back!’ The
veins on her face deepened and the static around the room
crackled and buzzed. The crimson blood running from her
wound increased, and the liquid thickened, then turned
black as it fell to the floor. Her white eyes widened, and she
began to mutter something under her breath. It sounded to
Jack like whispered chanting.
Edwin pushed Alf a final time and the man finally
relented, raising his scythe high and charging the woman.
Just as Alf reached her, however, the woman quickly
extended the bloody arm. A stream of the congealing liquid
shot forward from the wound. It hardened instantly in the
air, forming a shiny, obsidian skewer about a foot in length,
which pierced Alf’s throat, pushing through his neck and
appearing through the back, dripping with blood.
 Alf took a few steps forwards, his eyes wide in shock. He
dropped his weapon to the floor, then coughed and made a
horrible gurgling sound as blood ran from his mouth. The
wytch continued her chanting and began to move her arms
around, forming invisible symbols with her hands in the air,
using exaggerated motions. Alf’s gargling continued and
the black, crystal-like object in his neck began to change its
shape. It softened somewhat. As the woman suddenly
swung her arms out either side of her, the substance
instantly flattened and exploded outwards into the shape of
a disc, completely severing Alf’s head. Crimson liquid
bubbled from beneath the disc as Alf’s arteries continued
to pump blood upwards. His head remained precariously
balanced on top of the black surface, his mouth hanging
open.
The wytch lowered her arms slowly, the veins in her face
subsiding, and the disk again turned to liquid, which rained
down to the floor. Alf’s head bounced off the floorboards
and rolled to the booted feet of the wytch. His body, still
standing upright, twitched for a moment while the fountain
of blood continued to spurt from the severed stump of the
neck. Finally, it fell to the floor in a heap.
‘I… I warned you,’ the girl said. She was panting.
Silently, the door behind her drifted open. Jack saw Max
peek his head inside.
‘Out of my way!’ Theodore’s voice sounded from the
living area. Heavy footsteps approached.
‘You bitch!’ Edwin seethed through gritted teeth.
‘Everyone, attack!’
But before they could, Max swung a blunt club through
the air, striking the wytch on the back of her head. She let
out a cry of surprise and fell, her temple hitting the
floorboards. Her body quickly went limp and her eyes
closed.
Edwin took the opportunity to spring towards her with a
knife held out, but Max moved with surprising speed and
positioned himself between the advancing Deathborn and
the prone woman. He quickly drove the heel of his palm
upwards, into Edwin’s chin—the man let out a grunt of pain
and was sent sprawling backwards into his cronies. Jack
took a few paces out of the way as the men backpedaled.
One of them, to the rear of the crowd, pulled free a small
sickle and made as if to lunge forward, but Jack grabbed
his wrist.
‘No!’ he shouted. At that moment, Theodore emerged
into the room, sword drawn, and surveyed the scene. He
saw Max protecting the fallen woman, Jack holding one of
the Deathborn by the wrist, and the rest looking like they
were ready to attack. Jack had no time to move before the
knight thrust his sword forward—which Jack was certain
was aimed for his side.
Jack heard the wet ‘slunk’ but felt no pain. The blade
missed him and instead buried into the other man’s gut.
Blood formed around the wound, soaking the man’s dirty
white cotton shirt. He looked down for a moment, then
back up to stare at Theodore, where he tried to speak, but
only a groan escaped his lips, followed by a dribble of
blood. Jack released the grip on the man’s arm the same
moment Theodore drew his weapon free. The shiny metal
of the blade was now slicked with blood. The knight’s
victim fell to his knees, wheezed, then dropped to his side.
‘Does anybody else want to disobey my orders?’
Theodore shouted. He strode past Jack, casting him a quick
look, then approached Edwin and his friends. He positioned
himself next to Max, in front of the others, facing the men
that had gone against him. ‘I should run you all through
right now,’ he snarled. The tip of his sword raised up, and
he quickly moved it forward and pressed it against Edwin’s
cheek. Edwin turned his head away with a look of fear on
his face, briefly locking eyes with Jack, where Jack saw a
flash of anger aimed at him.
 ‘We didn’t have a choice, sir,’ Edwin said in desperation.
‘She was attacking. I thought—’
‘Quiet!’ Theodore snapped. ‘You take me for an idiot? I
gave an order: the woman was not to be killed. When I give
an order, I expect it to be followed. ‘So,’ he leaned in closer,
‘can I assume you worthless wretches are going to fall in
line now?’ Edwin nodded enthusiastically, causing the tip of
the sword to nick his cheek and draw blood.
‘Yes,’ he quickly said. ‘Absolutely. I’m sorry, sir, it won’t
happen again.’
‘If it does,’ the knight said in a low voice, ‘it will be the
last mistake you ever make.’
Theodore swiped the sword clear of Edwin’s face, slicing
a deliberate cut into the man’s cheek, causing Edwin to
grimace in pain.
The knight then took out a length of dark cloth from
inside of his coat and wiped his blade off with it, carefully
cleaning the steel. ‘We need to restrain the woman,’ he said
while concentrating on his weapon. When satisfied, he slid
it back into the scabbard at his side. ‘Then we get our
answers.’

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The Deathborn carried the unconscious woman into the

living and bedroom area, where they tied her to one of the
wooden chairs and set her in the middle of the room.
To Jack, it was yet another homey space. The bed had
thick cotton blankets that had been neatly made, and
paintings lined the walls.
A stone fireplace was set into the far gable wall with an
iron grate in front of it. Logs and twigs inside were ablaze,
kicking out a powerful heat, as well as spreading a potent,
smoky scent.
The wytch’s ankles had been tied to the thin wooden
legs of the chair, her arms bound behind her back, and her
torso strapped to the high back of the seat. Her head lolled
forward to her chest.
A handful of men gathered around the woman and
aimed their weapons at her. Jack had no idea just how
powerful she was, but with so many weapons so close to
her, he doubted she could do much.
‘Shouldn’t we search the property while she’s out?’ Jack
asked Theodore. The man turned back to him with a frown,
one that said: Did I ask for your opinion?
A groan from the bound woman interrupted them. The
wytch’s head began to slowly raise up. There was a
grimace of discomfort on her face as she opened her eyes.
Jack was surprised to see that they were no longer a solid
white and now looked normal, with irises that were a
crystal blue. The veins he’d seen in her face had also
disappeared, leaving the pale skin now smooth. The girl
wore a groggy expression, though it eventually drifted
away as she focused on the men before her. A cloud of
anger flashed across her face.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded, lifting her chin up
in defiance. ‘Why are you in my home?’
Theodore stepped forward. ‘I will be asking the
questions, wytch. And you will answer them. If not…’ He
pulled his sword free again, holding the blade to her throat.
He paused for a moment, before adding, ‘Do we have an
understanding?’
The woman’s top lip pulled up into a curl. ‘You can’t
intimidate me,’ she said. ‘Deathborn, I take it? You’re all
animals.’
Theodore pushed the tip of the sword closer to the
vulnerable flesh of her neck. ‘Don’t confuse me with one of
them,’ he said. A second later, he continued, ‘You know of
the Deathborn?’
‘I know you hunt and kill what you can’t understand, just
because you’re scared little men.’
‘We hunt and kill monsters that take the lives of the
innocent,’ Theodore shot back.
‘I’ve taken no lives that didn’t deserve it,’ she countered.
Though her tone was forceful, it sounded genuine. Of
course, the possibility remained she was just very good at
lying.
‘Tell me about the man that left here a week ago?’
Theodore went on to say. ‘He was in distress when he
headed out, clearly injured.’
The woman’s expression hardened. ‘What of him?’
‘Don’t play games with me. You know what he was, what
you were sending out into the world. You knew what kind of
monster that man would become.’ Theodore then extended
an arm and pointed to Jack. ‘A monster killed that man’s
son. An innocent, six-year-old boy.’
Seven, Jack thought as a jolt of anger ran through him.
Not just at Theodore getting the age wrong, but more
because he was using Samuel’s death as a tool in an
interrogation. The knight didn’t give a shit about Samuel—
Jack had to fight the urge to say something. The wytch then
cast her blue eyes over to him with an expression of true
sympathy, which surprised Jack.
‘I’m truly sorry if innocent people died,’ she eventually
said in a soft voice.
‘Lies!’ Theodore snapped. ‘You aren’t sorry in the
slightest. Now, tell us, why did you unleash him?’
‘I didn’t unleash him,’ she snapped.
‘It was your magic that turned him!’
The wytch paused for a moment. She then shook her
head and threw out a humourless laugh. ‘You know
nothing, do you? Blind, clueless fools fumbling around in
the dark. No, it wasn’t my magic that turned him at all. He
intruded into my home, so I made him leave. Whatever
happened to him, whatever creature you say he turned
into… it was not my doing.’
‘Then I suggest you tell us everything,’ Theodore said.
‘From the beginning. Share every last detail with us, lest I
start to make you suffer in ways you can’t imagine. Then I’ll
mount your head on a spike right outside your front door
and burn your home to the ground. But not before we tear
it apart looking for the answers we seek, of course. Which
I’m sure we’ll find here somewhere.’
The woman glared at the knight with hatred burning in
her eyes. ‘Cowards and bullies!’ she seethed and spat at his
feet. ‘That’s all you are. Weak men. No, little boys, hoping
to understand things far beyond what your stunted
comprehension would ever allow.’
 ‘Lash out with all the insults you want,’ Theodore
replied. ‘But you have until the count of three to start
sharing. One.’
‘Burn in hell!’
‘Two.’
The woman gritted her teeth together. Veins bulged in
her neck. Theodore pressed the sword harder into the side
of her throat, causing a divot in the skin that quickly filled
with blood. The crimson liquid trickled down to her chest.
‘Thre—’
‘Fine!’ she shouted, then took a deep breath, still glaring
at her captor. ‘Fine. I’ll talk.’
‘Wise,’ Theodore added. ‘But be warned. If I feel you’re
lying or withholding information, I’ll carry through on my
promises. The pain I put you through will be legendary, and
your lovely little home here will be a pile of ashes. So… do
go on.’
While keeping her hate-filled eyes on Theodore, the
wytch began: ‘He arrived at my house just over a week ago,
badly injured. He told me that, while travelling, a group of
thieves ambushed him, stabbed him, and left him for dead.
However, he managed to stumble to my house and begged
me for help.’
‘So you didn’t know him beforehand?’ Jack asked.
Theodore whipped his head around. ‘Keep quiet, idiot!’
he shouted. ‘One more word out of you and I’ll mount your
head next to hers. Understand?’
Jack gritted his teeth and didn’t say anything, but
eventually nodded a reply. Theodore turned back to the
wytch. ‘Though his intrusion was unwelcome, it was a
question I was going to ask. Answer it. Did you know the
man before he showed up at your door?’
‘I did,’ the wytch eventually replied.
‘How?’ Theodore asked. ‘What was your relationship
with him? Who was he?’
 ‘He had no relationship with me. He was a runner, a
smuggler. He simply picked up packages from me and took
them away.’
Theodore shook his head. ‘What? What packages? What
were they?’ He knelt down on one knee in front of her and
narrowed his eyes. ‘And where was he taking them?’
‘I don’t know what was in them. Well, I didn’t know at
the time. I simply held them until he arrived, and then he
brought them to their owner.’
‘So you were a go-between?’
‘In a sense.’
Theodore sighed. ‘You’re being obtuse. Just spell it all
out, from the beginning. Quickly.’
The wytch drew in another breath. ‘I picked up the
packages in town. They were always left at the same
location, and it was my job to check that spot every time I
was there. If there was anything waiting for me, I brought
it back here to my home. The man’s job was to come here
periodically and pick up any of the parcels. That was the
extent of our ‘relationship.’ I didn’t even know his name.’
‘Who was leaving these packages in town for you?’
The wytch shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t need to
know. That is the truth.’
‘You must know something. Who is it you were working
for.’
‘I ‘work’ for no one,’ the wytch said.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Theodore countered. ‘Who were the
packages going to, and why were you helping? There had
to be some kind of agreement in place.’ The woman
remained silent. Theodore leaned closer. ‘Answer me.’
‘They were being taken to… my sister. The man who
collected them worked for her. Or, rather, he obeyed her.’
‘Your sister?’ Theodore repeated. ‘Explain.’
‘My sister had an agreement with some people in
Whitby. I don’t know who they are, but the packages were
for her, and I was to collect them and pass them on to the
smuggler, as I’ve said. What she gave those people in
Whitby in exchange for that… I have no idea.’
‘Why didn’t she collect them from you herself? Why all
the unnecessary steps?’
‘I haven’t seen my sister in years,’ the wytch said. ‘She
used to collect them, but… something stopped that.’
‘What?’
‘You!’ the wytch snapped. ‘The Deathborn. You attacked
her and nearly killed her years ago. So, she’s remained
hidden.’
Theodore rose to his feet, looking down at the girl while
wearing a frown. Jack could tell he was thinking something
through.
‘Another wytch,’ Theodore mused, more to himself than
anyone else—a second later his eyes widened in realisation.
‘Your sister was Cora Freyer!’ he then exclaimed. The way
the wytch clenched her jaw and scowled at the knight
confirmed the suspicion. ‘So, the hag survived,’ he went on.
‘We found no body, so I long suspected that may have been
the case, though I couldn’t be certain.’
‘Something you were involved with?’ Maxwell asked
him.
Theodore nodded. ‘Many years ago. We’d become aware
of a wytch’s activities in the North Yorkshire area. We
managed to track her and engage. It was a bloody battle
and many men were lost. In the end we used dynamite, lots
of it, and thought we had killed her, but couldn’t confirm it.
We had to assume she had been obliterated by the blast,
but I was never certain. Actually,’ he rubbed his chin as
another thought seemed to come to him, ‘that skirmish
happened on a road leading to Whitby. I’m inclined to think
she was on her way to see you,’ he nodded to the woman in
the chair, ‘wasn’t she?’
The wytch said nothing in response.
‘Did you know this Cora woman had a sister?’ Max asked
Theodore.
 Theodore shook his head. ‘We didn’t know much about
her, in truth, besides some of the things she’d been getting
up to.’
‘You hunted her down for no reason!’ the bound woman
shouted. ‘There was no need to go after her!’
Now it was Theodore’s turn to laugh. ‘I wonder,’ he said.
‘Do you really believe that? If so, it’s clear you didn’t know
your sister very well. Or are you so far gone you don’t know
the difference between right and wrong? She was evil.’
‘You’re lying,’ the woman said.
‘Ah, so you didn’t know her well.’ He gave a
condescending chuckle. ‘And yet, you followed her into
wytchcraft, didn’t you? Or was it the other way around? Did
she learn from you? Tell me, who is the eldest?’
The woman took a slow breath. ‘Neither.’
Theodore gave a brief frown, then a slow nod. ‘Twins.’
‘What is your name?’ Max asked her.
After a moment’s hesitation, the woman replied,
‘Assandra.’
‘And who was the first of you to begin learning the dark
arts?’ Theodore questioned.
There was no response.
‘You said the smuggler came to you injured,’ Max said.
‘What happened to make him turn?’
The girl turned her attention to Max, but still didn’t
answer.
‘Talk!’ Theodore demanded. ‘If you tell us what you
know, then I give you my word you will be left alive.’
‘Your word,’ Assandra scoffed. ‘You break into my home,
tie me to a chair, threaten my life, and expect me to think
your word means anything?’
Theodore smirked. ‘It’s the only chance you have, so
stop avoiding the question.’
Another pause. Come on, Jack thought to himself.
Answer! He realised he was desperate to find out what was
behind all of this—behind Samuel’s death. If other people
were responsible, like the woman’s sister, then there was a
chance he could make them pay. Although, Jack wasn’t
convinced the woman before him was totally innocent,
either.
‘As you said,’ Assandra eventually began, ‘the man was
badly hurt, and likely would have died. He wanted help, but
I said I could do nothing for him. The wound was too bad.
But… he said he knew of a way. The packages. He knew
what they contained and said they could save him. But… he
was scared. Worried that if my sister found out he’d
interfered with the goods, she might take his life.’
‘And yet you still claim your sister is a good person?’
Theodore scoffed. ‘Does that not speak to her nature? She
was clearly willing to kill this man, her… servant?’
Assandra averted her eyes from him. ‘I told him I didn’t
want to get involved. However, I suggested he do what he
needed to if he felt the contents of the packages could save
him. He seemed apprehensive, but his options were limited.
So, he opened one.’
‘What was inside?’ Max asked. He squatted down before
her, eagerly awaiting her answer.
‘The parcels were wrapped in paper, and beneath that
was a wooden box,’ she said. ‘When he opened the box, we
saw there was straw inside, cushioning a large glass jar
filled with dirty water.’
‘Just water?’ Theodore asked, sounding doubtful.
The woman shook her head. ‘No. There was something
in the water. It was… alive.’
Max leaned closer. ‘What?’
She took a breath. ‘I’m… not certain. It wasn’t
something I’d seen before. Like a large leech, I think
maybe the best way to describe it. But the head was…
strange. The man looked terrified of it, but he fished the
thing out and,’ she made a disgusted face, ‘he swallowed it.
I thought he was going to choke. It wasn’t a particularly
small creature, and I watched his throat bulge when he
choked it down. He gagged for a while before composing
himself.’
‘Then what?’ Max asked.
‘Then… nothing. There was nothing else to be done. He
started to panic again about Cora finding out, saying he
would be killed, so I spelled out his choice again: he could
run or he could go back. Regardless, I told him he had to
leave. I wasn’t about to get caught up in whatever was
going on and wanted him gone. I said he might find
transport in Whitby to get to wherever he wanted to go. He
tried to think of a destination and mentioned going back to
his hometown.’
‘Ferryhill,’ Max stated.
She nodded. ‘The smuggler said it might be far enough
away from Cora’s reach. He still looked in a bad way, but
he left and headed off in the direction of town.’
‘That’s where I picked him up,’ Max said. ‘He stole a
horse there. While I was tracking him, the wound did seem
to have less and less of an effect, almost like it was
healing.’
‘So whatever that creature was,’ Theodore went on, ‘it
stopped him from dying. But… it changed him. Did he know
what would happen? That he would transform?’ Theodore
asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Assandra said. ‘Likely not. I felt like he
was just clutching at straws, trying to find a way to save his
life. All he said was that those things were powerful.’ She
then paused for a moment. ‘Spawn,’ she said. ‘That’s what
he called those things. Spawn.’
‘Spawn? Of what?’ Theodore asked.
‘Again, I don’t know. They aren’t like anything I’ve seen
before.’
Theodore looked over to Max. ‘Sound like anything
you’ve ever come across?’
Max shook his head. ‘No, but it needs investigating. I
knew something was happening at Whitby. If things like
this are being shipped out, we need to know why.’
‘There is also the problem of her sister,’ Theodore said
as he pointed to the woman. ‘If those parasites are being
sent to her, we need to know what she’s planning to do with
them.’ He then moved close to the girl, towering over her,
and glared down. ‘Where is she?’ Theodore demanded.
The wytch shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t for a
long time. She only communicates with me by letter now.
It’s been that way ever since your kind tried to kill her. And
the one person who might have known, you killed.’
‘The smuggler?’ Max asked. ‘He couldn’t tell us anything
when we found him. He could roar and rip people apart,
but articulation wasn’t within his power.’
‘Then you’re shit out of luck, aren’t you?’ she said. A
self-satisfied grin drew over her face.
Theodore took a breath, then he began to slowly circle
the bound woman. ‘In truth, I was a little surprised you so
willingly divulged that much about your sister. Such a
betrayal. Many would give their lives for a sibling. But now
I see your thinking. Because you don’t know where she is,
you think we won’t find her, so what you gave up didn’t
matter. Correct?’
‘I’ve answered all your questions,’ Assandra replied,
sidestepping the question. ‘And told you all I know.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Theodore said. ‘I think
you’ve told the truth thus far, and answered fairly honestly,
but I do not believe you have answered fully. I think you’ve
withheld quite a bit.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I haven’t.’
‘Your first outright lie,’ Theodore stated. ‘For example,
you mentioned that you collected packages from Whitby.
The man opened one when he swallowed the spawn. But
what you didn’t divulge is whether or not you had more
than one in your possession when he came to see you.’ Jack
saw the girl’s defiant expression slip. Theodore chuckled. ‘I
thought so. You have them here now, don’t you? Actually, no
need to answer. They’re here, and we will find them. That
means you’ve had a week here with those things, knowing
what they are. I can’t imagine you just left them in their
jars to pickle while you went on with your life. You will have
spent that time studying them while waiting to hear from
dear sister again.’
‘So,’ Theodore went on, ‘those spawn will be taken off
your hands. But beyond that, if I were to say to you that
finding your sister is imperative to us, would you be able to
help us?’
‘I already told you,’ Assandra replied. ‘I don’t know
where she is.’
Theodore continued to walk around her with slow steps,
hands behind his back. ‘And I believe you,’ he said. ‘But I’m
asking if you could find her if you needed to. Do you have
any way to determine where she is?’
‘Of course not!’ the girl said. ‘I wouldn’t even know
where to begin with…’
She trailed off after Theodore stopped behind her and
pressed a hand down onto her shoulder. ‘Don’t play games
with me, girl. I’ll ask again, but I’ll make it a little more
clear. If your life depended on it, and knowing that if you
fail, your blood would slowly be drained from your body as
my men torture you, would you be able to use the dark
power you wield to find your twin? Because’—he now
leaned closer to her, bringing his face near to hers—‘I think
you can.’
His steely blue eyes bored into the wytch, who then
shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. It was clear
Assandra wasn’t the kind to be easily scared or intimidated
—her initial defiance in the face of danger had proven that
—but it was also obvious Theodore was right. The woman
seemed to wear her emotions on her face, and her
instinctual expressions and reactions had robbed her of any
chance to lie convincingly.
 ‘In that case, my dear,’ Theodore said, ‘here is how
things will proceed. You will use whatever magic you need
to find your sister for us. You will then accompany us while
we learn what she is doing. Be forewarned, though, it will
likely result in her death. From there, you will be allowed
to return here and live alone in relative peace. But,’ he
stressed, ‘we will be in constant contact and keep an eye on
you. You don’t look too far gone. Not consumed by that
dark power yet. But it could just be a matter of time. Also,
your kind are rare, and we don’t know as much about you
as I would like. So, you will be a specimen to be studied—
not intrusively, of course—and you will truthfully answer
any questions we have for you. In return, you will be free to
live out your days. When you do eventually die, your body
will be retrieved and dissected so that we can learn more
about you and your power. Understood?’
A look of seething hatred flashed across her face as she
clenched her teeth together. ‘What kind of deal is that?’ she
asked, incredulous. ‘You think I would betray my sister in
return for a life as a prisoner?’
‘I do,’ Theodore replied in an eerily calm voice. ‘Because
the alternative is much worse. You will still be dissected,
but this time we could do it while you are alive.’ He stood
to his feet. ‘And don’t forget, it was your sister that brought
all of this down on you. She put you in harm’s way by
getting you involved. It doesn’t seem to me like she much
cared about the danger associated with it. Tell me, is that
kind of sister really worthy of your protection?’
The wytch in the chair was shaking with anger, her face
turning red, and the veins in her neck again bulged. She
then let out a long scream of frustration. When it died
down, she began to sob. Theodore placed a hand on the
back of her head.
‘Good girl,’ he said with a sneer. ‘I knew you would see
things my way.’
OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

After the interrogation, Assandra said they would have to

go down to her basement to gather what she needed.
Theodore had ordered her to be released from the chair,
but her hands remained bound behind her back. She led
them back through to the kitchen, where she told the men
to move the large table and pull back the rug. A wooden
trapdoor with black iron hinges was revealed. Max,
Theodore, Assandra, and four Deathborn, including Jack,
were taken below ground.
Jesus, Jack thought. This was what he’d expected a
wytch’s house to look like.
The footprint of the basement was approximately the
same size as the floor above, spanning the full width and
breadth of the house. The ground underfoot was concrete,
and deep joists ran from one side wall to another, holding
up the floor above. The walls down there were bare brick,
but predominantly hidden by cabinets, bookshelves, and
loose shelving. Multiple crates were stored down there,
some covered with blankets, and there were piles of
hessian sacks full of hidden things.
There were four tables spaced across the floor, similar to
the one in the kitchen, though some had built-in drawers in
the sides.
 However, it was the other items in the basement that
intrigued Jack.
Animal carcasses, small and large, were packed into
glass jars filled with yellow liquid. They were all stacked
either on the floor, or on the cabinets and shelf space.
Bones hung from the ceiling on twine or rope, all forming
different symbols and bizarre patterns as they slowly
twisted while suspended.
Open books rested atop the tables; there were old
leather tomes with yellowed paper, as well as hand-drawn
diagrams showing symbols Jack didn’t recognise. The
pages also showed illustrations of human body parts,
including eyes, half a human head, and in one what
appeared to be a cross-section of a brain.
As well as the animal carcasses, there were many jars in
the cabinets containing herbs, plants, and liquids. The
room had an odd, sour odour to it, which Jack couldn’t
quite place.
‘Is this where you carry out your insidious incantations,
wytch?’ Theodore asked as he pushed the girl to the centre
of the room. She didn’t answer.
Jack noticed Max slowly walking around the space,
inspecting the cabinets, crates, and shelving. He looked
over at Assandra. ‘Before we begin,’ he said, ‘I want you to
show us some of the packages you collected. I want to see
one of those creatures.’
She held his gaze for a moment. ‘I don’t have any more
left.’
Max studied her, then shook his head. ‘You’re lying. Do
you honestly believe we won’t turn this place upside down
and find them anyway?’
There was a pause. The wytch looked like she might
explode in anger. Instead, she sighed, then nodded to an
area close to the far wall, where something was hidden
beneath a hessian blanket.
 Max walked towards it and pulled the covering aside.
There was a small stack of boxes, all about half a foot in
height and width. The tops of two had been removed, while
the others remained nailed into place. After peering into
one of the open crates, Max reached in and pulled out a
large glass container.
Inside was what looked to be a large black slug, and it
bobbed about in dirty, yellowed water. The creature was
still alive, periodically writhing and squirming around.
Without thinking, Jack took a step forward to get a closer
look.
The creature’s dark flesh had small, random divots, and
grey-coloured growths in places. Its body was thick, about
a couple of inches in diameter, and at the end of its tail was
something that looked like a small, circular teat, which was
opening and closing at irregular intervals. However, it was
the organism’s head that appeared most peculiar.
Initially, it simply appeared to be a slightly bulbous end
to the slug’s form, but after Max tapped on the glass it
bloomed open like an umbrella—there was an audible gasp
from some of the Deathborn gathered around. A ring of six
thin stalks pulled open, a yellow webbing of skin
connecting them all together. Each of the limbs had small
suckers on the end, and the centre of the opening
contained a circular mouth filled with tiny, needle-like teeth
around the perimeter. A thin, pink tongue slithered free,
grabbing at the water around it before disappearing back
inside.
Jack recalled how Assandra mentioned the smuggler had
struggled to swallow one of those things.
No surprise there. This thing is huge.
He certainly wouldn’t have wanted to try to swallow one.
The very thought of it turned his stomach.
But one thing he couldn’t understand: how can a
creature like this turn the smuggler into… that thing?
 After studying it, Max set the jar down again and turned
to Assandra.
‘Have you learned anything from these things?’
She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve been looking at these spawn. Studying them. So,
what have you discovered?’
Assandra studied both Max and Theodore for a moment.
‘A lot,’ she eventually said.
‘Then tell us,’ Theodore demanded.
‘Perhaps… it would be easier to show you.’
‘How?’
The wytch’s eyes narrowed on the knight. ‘The man
upstairs, the one I killed… I need his head.’
Jack took a second to process what he’d heard. His
head? Theodore and Max cast each other suspicion-filled
glances, but after a moment Theodore turned to another of
the Deathborn. ‘Go and get the head. Bring it down.’ The
Deathborn looked genuinely confused. ‘Is that difficult to
understand?’ Theodore added in a raised voice, ‘Get on
with it.’
With an expression of disgust, the Deathborn quickly left
and bounded up the rickety steps, only to come back down
a few moments later. His obvious revulsion intensified as he
held Alf’s decapitated head by the hair. The man held it out
before him with an outstretched arm. Jack felt his stomach
lurch—drops of blood freely ran from the severed stump.
Alf’s jaw hung loosely open and wobbled as the unfortunate
Deathborn descended the stairs.
The man then approached the wytch and held out the
head, turning his face away from it.
‘My hands are tied, idiot,’ she told him. Looking lost, the
Deathborn glanced to Theodore for help, who just rolled his
eyes.
‘What do we do with it?’ Theodore asked Assandra.
The woman slowly walked to one of her cabinets and
nodded to one of the large, wide glass jars filled with dirty
yellow water. The bodies of large beetles floated around
inside.
‘Put this on one of the main tables and take out the
bugs,’ she ordered the Deathborn. The man did as
instructed, with Assandra following, and he set the jar
down, then pulled off the lid with an audible pop. A foul
smell drifted from it, but the Deathborn reached inside and
began to fish out the beetle carcasses. The wet bodies
slapped onto the table, one by one, until they were all
removed.
‘Put the head inside,’ Assandra ordered.
The man gazed down to Alf’s head with a look
somewhere between pity and revulsion. Jack understood
his misgivings—death was rarely dignified, but what was
happening to Alf’s body was particularly dehumanising.
The Deathborn lowered Alf’s head and pushed it down into
the fluid.
Some of the yellowed water spilt over the edges of the
jar and the head bobbed up to the top. It tilted to one side
slightly, fitting comfortably inside but with only a little
room to spare around it. The water darkened some as blood
from the neck wound mixed with it. Jack was still able to
make out Alf’s dead, vacant expression.
‘Like it or not, I’m going to need my hands for what
happens next,’ Assandra said to Theodore.
The knight scowled. ‘You think I’d be idiotic enough to
untie you?’
‘If you want to see what I have to show you, then you
need to trust me,’ she said.
Theodore walked straight up to the woman and lowered
his head to her. ‘To be clear,’ he stated, ‘I do not trust you
at all. But I’m confident I could kill you before you can do
anything.’
Assandra sneered. ‘It certainly looked that way when
you were jumping through a window to avoid being burned
alive.’
 Theodore delivered a stinging backhanded slap across
Assandra’s cheek. The loud smack sent her tumbling to the
floor. The knight stomped over to her with wild eyes and
hauled her back to her feet. Jack noticed blood trickle down
from the girl’s nose. After holding her by the scruff of her
dress, the knight shook her. ‘Speak to me like that again,
wench,’ he said through gritted teeth, with spittle
launching from his mouth, ‘and your head will be in one of
these jars as well!’
However, the girl didn’t shrink back, nor even look
away; instead, she held her defiant gaze on Theodore. Her
eyes were watering from the force of the blow, but she did
not cry, and instead replied in a low and steady voice, ‘I’ll
say again: if you want to see what I have to show you, then
you’ll have to untie me.’
After a few seconds of hesitation, Theodore reached
down to his belt and pulled free a large knife. ‘If you make
one wrong move…’ he warned as he spun her around and
cut her bonds away. The rope fell to the floor.
Assandra quickly moved over to Max, who still held the
jar containing the spawn. She reached inside as the
creature began writhing more intensely, and after a few
tries to hold its slippery body, she managed to get a firm
grip on it. Assandra then lifted the leech from the water.
Immediately, its head bloomed open again, and the body
elongated before quickly contracting once more.
‘Can it survive out of water?’ Max asked. He studied the
spawn from a respectful distance.
‘It can,’ Assandra said. ‘They move better in water, but
they are able to crawl, much like a slug or snail.’
‘How does it breathe both in water and out of it?’ Max
asked. ‘I don’t know of any other creature capable of that.
Even whales need to come to the surface to breathe.’
But Assandra shook her head. ‘I don’t know, but it can,
as far as I can tell. And they’re extremely durable.’ She
then walked back over to the table. The spawn continued to
writhe in her grip. ‘What I do next might disgust you,’ she
said to everyone. She then lifted the creature above her
head—Jack expected her to suddenly swallow it whole. He
instinctively gripped the handle of his machete. However,
Assandra instead held the leech just over her open mouth.
She then brought her other hand up to grip the spawn and
began to squeeze.
The leech tried to thrash in her grasp, but Assandra held
it firm with both hands, widening her mouth. The flesh of
the leech bulged out either side of the tightening grip. As
the pressure mounted, a dark liquid was forced from the
tail end of the creature, spurting out from the opening in
the teat. Jack had to keep from gagging as the wytch
drained even more of the black fluid into her mouth. Some
of the men gave audible groans of disgust. Once Assandra
had drunk her fill, she then held the spawn over the jar that
contained Alf’s head. Despite being squeezed so much, the
creature quickly filled back out as Assandra relaxed her
grip a little. She then quickly began the squeezing process
again, forcing more of the dark liquid out of the spawn's
rear. This time, she practically wrung its body to push out
as much as she could.
The fluid drained into the yellow water, though it didn’t
mix, instead holding a separate consistency like oil. To
Jack’s surprise, the black fluid then began to move, or
swim, as if it had its own agency. It drifted towards the
floating head in one long stream as more of the liquid
flowed into the jar behind it.
‘Impossible,’ Max said. ‘Blood doesn’t act that way.’
Jack wasn’t certain it was blood, but given how hard
Assandra was squeezing the organism, it was a possibility.
However, Max was right in one regard: fluid shouldn’t react
in that way, like it was somehow… alive.
The thick liquid quickly found its way inside Alf’s head
through holes in his nostrils, mouth, ears, and even around
his eyes.
 Eventually, Assandra stopped squeezing, and everyone
watched as the last of the liquid completely disappeared.
Jack turned his attention back to the spawn that Assandra
was holding. The wytch walked over to the glass jar she
had scooped the spawn out of and returned it inside. The
leech seemed grateful to once again be in water, and
twisted and turned, wrapping itself into a protective coil.
The woman set the lid back into place and strode once
again to the table.
Max took a step closer and leaned in toward the jar
containing Alf’s head. Jack narrowed his eyes as well in
confusion, certain he’d just observed Alf’s left cheek twitch.
‘Wait,’ Theodore said and drew out his sword. He
stepped closer to Assandra and held the blade to her.
‘Whatever you are going to do, I want to make sure I’m
close enough to end you if I need to. You,’ Theodore then
ordered, looking to Jack, ‘ready your weapon and stand
close as well. Everyone else, be on your guard.’
Jack pulled out his machete and moved behind
Assandra, who stared directly at him over her shoulder as
he walked. Her expression was unreadable.
He held up his weapon.
Assandra turned back to the jar before her. She closed
her eyes and began to breathe deeply. Jack kept stealing
glances of Alf’s head as well. Again, he noticed more
movement—this time one of the eyes quickly blinking shut
before opening again. Others in the room noticed that as
well.
‘He blinked!’ someone shouted. ‘I saw it, Alf blinked!’
Then, both eyes opened wide and Alf’s face took on a
look of horror.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Pain.
It flooded Alf’s senses like a jolt of lightning, exploding
from inside his brain and surging outwards.
Along with the agony was a maddening confusion.
Memories swam up from some deep abyss, merging into
the fore of his subconscious, reminding him of a time so
long ago. Or was it recent? It was hard to tell. Confusion
reigned.
He remembered standing upright. A sudden pain that
started in his throat and quickly spread. Darkness
overtaking him. Then, the memory dispersed, even though
he desperately tried to keep it from fading back into
obscurity. It was no good. There was only blackness.
Another surge of pain. He could see, though everything
before him had a clouded yellow filter to it. His instinct was
to scream. However, though his jaw worked, Alf could
summon no voice, nor any breath.
Darkness dulled everything again and his sight faded
away.
More pain. More light. Things snapped back into focus.
Muffled sounds. Faces floating before him. The closest was
a woman, one that seemed familiar… but not. Something
more, as well: a… connection. He felt tied to her.
 There was a shifting and probing inside his mind. A
coldness that rolled and creeped over it. Pain was
everywhere. As was panic. Memories of limbs he could no
longer move presented themselves. There was nothing. No
limbs. No body. He wasn’t whole. Not anymore.
What was he? Where was he? Alf continued to open and
close his jaw in desperation and confusion. The agony was
unbearable.
Dullness again, his senses receding like the sea slipping
back from the shore. Everything faded. Memories and
sight, slipping away…
Then waves of pain and sensory overload crashed once
more.

Jack was astounded.

He saw Alf’s head within the jar seemingly reanimated,
flashing into life for a few moments, with his eyes roving in
panic and jaw working as if trying to speak, before slowly
fading to lifelessness again. The pattern repeated again,
over and over. Jack wondered if the dead man had been
brought back to consciousness somehow, or if the facial
reactions were some kind of spasms brought on by the
spawn’s fluid.
But then he noticed Assandra. As Alf’s jaw started
working, so too did the girl’s, both in unison. When Alf
made a face like he was screaming, a low, guttural sound
croaked from Assandra—it began to build in intensity until
it became a horrific shriek. It faded to silence as the face
grew still again for a short while, before it twitched and
came to life once more, jaw moving.
Assandra then uttered incomprehensible words. There
was a long, breathy, ‘Heeeeelp,’ that spilled from her lips.
‘Pleeeaaase.’
 ‘What’s happening?’ Theodore demanded.
Assandra turned her head to him. ‘I have a connection
with him,’ she said, in her own voice this time. ‘He is being
pulled away from death for moments at a time. The blood
keeps bringing him back, sustaining him in brief bursts.
The blood I drank, that is also inside of him now, is
connecting us. I sense pain, confusion, terror. His brain is
constantly dying, over and over, only for the fluid to pull it
back to life.’
‘Sounds like hell,’ Jack said.
Assandra actually nodded in confirmation. ‘Yes.
Possibly.’ She then stopped and her eyes widened as Alf
once again returned to the fore. She let out a groan. ‘Help!’
Alf grew motionless again.
‘How on earth did you come to learn this?’ Theodore
asked with disdain.
‘I’ve seen the blood bring back insects. Out of curiosity, I
put some of it on the tip of my tongue and felt a connection
to the bug. So, I suspected this might happen. I’ve also
tried dissecting some of them, but their bodies eventually
grow back. They haven’t needed any food to survive so far,
either.’
Her jaw then fell slack and she wheezed. ‘Nooooo.’ Her
voice was low again, like it belonged to someone else.
‘It’s necromancy!’ one of the Deathborn shouted.
‘Nothing to do with the leech. She’s doing it all!’
‘Quiet!’ Theodore snapped. He turned to Max.
‘Thoughts?’
‘I don’t believe this is necromancy in the true sense,’ he
said. ‘We have seen for ourselves: it is the spawn and its
blood.’
‘But what are these things?’
Max could only offer a shrug. ‘I cannot answer that.’
‘They can’t be a natural creature,’ Theodore suggested.
‘Created somehow, you think?’
 ‘More investigation is needed. We know Assandra was
collecting them from Whitby; I have long suspected
something is happening out there.’
Assandra then let out another scream as Alf’s floating
head came to life once again. The utter horror on the poor
man’s face scared Jack. What a horrible fate. He just hoped
Alf wouldn’t exist forever in that state of undeath.
‘There is a more pressing concern,’ Theodore went on to
say. ‘The wytch’s sister. Who knows how many of these
spawn made their way to her, or what she’s doing with
them? We need to find her, and quickly. If just one of these
things can turn a man into a wild monster, then I shudder
to think what havoc she can cause.’
Max seemed to consider the man’s words. ‘We split up,’
he eventually said. ‘First, we find out where the sister is,
then I head to Whitby. Investigative work will be easier if
I’m on my own. You take the Deathborn and find the sister.’
‘Agreed,’ Theodore replied. ‘When you reach town, send
communication to our superiors to update them. I’m not
sure I’ll have the opportunity.’
‘Understood,’ Max said with a nod. Both men looked
over to Assandra as her jaw slowly closed and she returned
to being herself.
‘Will that last long?’ Theodore asked, nodding to the jar.
‘I can stop it at any time,’ the wytch said. ‘I will still feel
his connection until the fluid in his brain wears off, but I
can push it aside.’
‘Then cut the connection,’ Theodore ordered. ‘We have
much to discuss.’
‘And him?’ she asked as she pointed to Alf. His jaw was
working again—his terrified eyes were wide in the dirty
water.
Theodore gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘He isn’t
my concern. Put him here amongst the other dead things
for all I care. For now, we need you to do what you
promised and find your sister.’
 ‘Not what I promised,’ she shot back. ‘What I was forced
to do.’
Theodore gave her a stern look. ‘Do as ordered. Now.’
Assandra didn’t respond. Instead, she resealed the lid to
the jar, then lifted it up. She cast Alf one last look, then
walked to the far wall and placed him on one of the higher
shelves, where he was surrounded by the floating, pickled
bodies of bugs and small animals.

Alf’s vision swam back to him. The world around him was
distorted and yellow. Small, dark objects floated close by.
Parts of an insect? Legs? Mandibles? Something looked up
at him from beyond his cold, wet world. A woman. Did he
recognise her? It was hard to make sense of anything
thanks to the pain coursing out from his brain in constant
waves.
Her hands were close. It was like they were pressed
against the wetness around him, the fingertips flat with
pressure. He could even see the lines in her palms. Then,
the hands withdrew. Alf could make out other figures
standing behind her. They were harder to see clearly.
The woman. There was something about her.
Impressions of detached curiosity flooded him. But he knew
those feelings weren’t his own. They were hers. He also felt
a simmering anger aimed at one of the other shadowy
figures.
No. Don’t leave me like this. Help! Help me! What’s
happening!
Everything grew dark.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Assandra set out a number of items on the table before her.

There was a pile of bones and tiny skulls, something
wrapped up in a length of cloth, gemstones, and a few
small pouches. She had also set up two large candles in
iron holders.
‘How will this work?’ Theodore asked. He stood close to
Assandra. Jack made sure to be nearby as well, his weapon
drawn.
‘It’s an incantation,’ she replied. Assandra then opened
one of the pouches. Jack could see a small clump of black
hair contained within. ‘One that will help me get a sense of
where she is.’
‘A sense?’
‘Yes,’ the woman said. ‘This isn’t accurate enough to
give you a specific mark on a map, but it’s the best I can
do.’
‘Continue,’ Theodore said with a sigh.
The woman opened the scroll of fabric and laid it flat.
She then picked up the small bones and began to recite
something, though the words were confusing to Jack and
were certainly not English. Assandra spilled the bones out
onto the cloth in a seemingly random pattern. Still
chanting, she began to nudge the bones around, staring
intently, flipping some over and sliding others into different
places in quick, awkward movements. As he watched her,
Jack saw the wytch’s eyes begin to cloud over, once again
turning to that dull, milky white. The dark veins also
returned to her face. She kept on speaking and nudging the
bones around for close to ten minutes.
Assandra then took hold of the hair and held it over the
open flame of one of the candles. The clump of hair began
to smoke and smoulder, the ends glowing amber. After that,
Assandra shifted the hair away and hovered it over the pile
of bones. She gently blew on the glowing strand ends,
causing dark smoke to fall over the small, scattered
remains.
I wonder if that hair belonged to her sister.
Assandra then closed her eyes and her whispering
ceased. Her brow furrowed, as if she were concentrating
on something with her mind’s eye. Eventually, she slowly
turned her body and pointed. ‘This direction,’ she said, with
her eyes still closed. ‘Miles away.’ Her frown deepened,
‘Yes,’ she confirmed, more to herself than anyone, before
following up with: ‘About a half-day's travel.’
Her jaw suddenly fell slack, much like it had when she
had been channeling Alf, and her head lolled backward.
Her eyes snapped open, and she gazed wildly up to the
ceiling. She pulled in a quick, surprised breath.
‘Cora,’ she exclaimed in a shocked voice. She continued
to stare up at the ceiling. Her body was tense and her
breathing quickened. To Jack, it seemed like she was
staring through the ceiling to something beyond it. She
went on: ‘I… I see her.’
‘What’s going on?’ Theodore demanded.
‘I see through her eyes,’ Assandra whispered. There was
a sense of wonder in her voice. Then her expression turned
to horror. She screamed and dropped to her knees,
suddenly burying her face in her hands. ‘No!’ she yelled.
‘Cora, no!’ Assandra then began to scream.
 Jack instinctively ran over to the woman and knelt
beside her, laying a hand on her shoulder. No sooner had
he done that than Theodore was quickly beside him and
savagely kicked him in the side, sending Jack sprawling to
the floor, clutching his ribs in pain.
‘Keep back from her, you fool!’ the knight snarled. ‘And
get your weapon raised.’ He kicked Jack again, though that
strike glanced off Jack’s shoulder.
With his teeth gritted together, Jack almost succumbed
to the urge to thrust his machete up towards Theodore.
Even as he quickly got back to his feet, Jack had to restrain
himself from attacking the knight.
‘Everyone,’ Theodore went on, not even looking at Jack.
His voice was loud enough to rise above Assandra’s
shrieking. ‘Ready yourselves! This might be a trick.’
Everyone in the room, including Max, moved closer to
the kneeling woman, though they still left a respectable
distance. They waited for Theodore’s instruction to attack,
but the knight simply watched the hysterical wytch. To
Jack, at least, her reaction seemed genuine. Something had
scared her—he was sure of that. There was also some
sobbing in amongst her horrified cries, but both began to
fade. Eventually, Assandra’s screaming ebbed away
completely, leaving her crying into her hands.
Assandra lifted her tear-streaked face. Her eyes were
normal again, as was her skin, with the veins no longer
visible. She sniffed, then looked upwards at Theodore.
‘What happened?’ he demanded.
‘I… saw her,’ she replied in a quiet voice. ‘Rather, I saw
what she was seeing. Cora was outside somewhere,
surrounded by trees in a heavily wooded area. And…’
Assandra paused.
‘And what?’ the knight pressed.
Assandra took a breath. ‘There were dead things,’ she
replied. A look of revulsion crossed her face. ‘I saw bodies
of people. It was… vile. I saw Cora’s hands and arms too.
She was—’ The woman couldn’t continue and again began
to cry.
‘She was what?’ Theodore demanded as he knelt down
beside her. He clamped his hands around her shoulders and
pulled her into an upright kneeling position. ‘What did you
see?’
Assandra ran her hands up her own arms, pulling back
the tight, green sleeves. She began to scratch at the skin. ‘I
can still feel how her flesh itched,’ Assandra said. ‘It was
black, lumpy… monstrous. She wasn’t herself—not
anymore. I heard her call out to me. She knew I was
watching, but her mind didn’t seem her own. It felt like…
madness.’
‘Sounds like she’s turned,’ Max said as he stepped
forward. ‘Succumbed to the lure of power and abandoned
her humanity.’
‘If she even had any to begin with,’ Theodore quipped.
‘She did!’ Assandra shot back with a snarl. ‘You have no
idea what she’s been through. What we’ve been through.’
Theodore bent down, bringing his face close to hers.
‘No,’ he said with a cold expression, ‘I don’t. And I don’t
much care. Your sister is a monster now, nothing more.
You’ve seen it for yourself. Worse, she now has those
things,’ he said, pointing over to the crates of spawn. ‘God
alone knows what she can do with them. Tell me, in your
little vision did you discover what she is planning to do?’
Assandra looked away and shook her head. ‘I couldn’t
understand much. Everything was jumbled and… frantic.’
‘But it was the spawn that forged the connection
between you two, wasn’t it?’ Maxwell asked. ‘The original
incantation was just to sense where she was, not to see
through her eyes.’
The woman gave a brief pause. ‘Correct,’ she said. ‘I
wasn’t expecting the vision, so I couldn’t control it. I…
don’t know what happened. I think it was her reaching out
to me. After I drank the fluid…’
 ‘A connection was made,’ Theodore finished. ‘So it
stands to reason your sister has been using the spawn
blood as well.’
‘Regardless,’ Max began, then pointed in the direction
Assandra had moments earlier. ‘The wytch is in that
direction.’ He then pulled out a small pocket compass.
‘That is roughly south. Half a day’s ride, she said.’
‘And in a wooded area,’ Theodore added.
‘Half a day’s ride to a heavily wooded area. There is one
location in particular I can think of.’
‘Dalby Forest,’ Theodore stated with a nod. ‘It’s
certainly large enough for her to remain hidden. When I
fought her before, it was actually only a little way north of
that forest. Seems she didn’t travel too far after her defeat.’
He then looked down at Assandra and nudged her with the
toe of his boot. ‘You,’ he said, ‘do you know of Dalby
Forest? Is it a place of significance to your sister?’
She didn’t look up, only shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I
already told you, I haven’t seen her in person for a long
time.’
‘You said you communicated by letter?’
‘Letters I did not keep,’ she snapped back. ‘And Cora
never told me her location.’
‘Why didn’t you keep the letters?’ he asked.
‘I had no need to.’
‘And you never wrote her back?’
Assandra shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t have known where
to send a letter, so the communication was all one way.’
Theodore took a moment as he considered the answer.
‘When you last saw her in person,’ he went on, ‘where was
she living?’
‘She wouldn’t tell me.’
Theodore studied the girl again. ‘The woods in your
vision, was it Dalby?’
‘I don’t know,’ the wytch said again. ‘I’ve never been.’
 Theodore and Max then gave each other a look.
‘Regardless,’ Max said, ‘it seems a logical place to begin.
There is a small village on the outskirts called Lockton.
Start there. If she’s in the forest, the village-folk might
know more.’
‘Agreed,’ Theodore said. ‘We’ll head out immediately. I
think we’ve learned all we can here. Take care in Whitby.
However, I believe Cora to be the more immediate threat,
so I’ll take the Deathborn to Dalby.’
‘What of all this?’ Max said as he cast his arm around
the room. He then pointed to the jars of the spawn. ‘And
those.’
‘The creatures come with us,’ Theodore said. ‘I’ll make
sure they get to the Thales once our mission is over.’
The Thales? Jack thought to himself, hearing the term
again. Perhaps another faction, like the Deathborn,
Shadowhand, and Knights of Olin, he wondered.
‘And her?’ Max added, looking down at Assandra.
Theodore narrowed his eyes on her. ‘Her?’ A smile
crossed his lips. ‘Don’t worry about her. She comes with
us.’

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY

Jack was once again experiencing that familiar pain in his

inner thighs and tailbone from the uncomfortable saddle.
The group was again on the march and had been riding for
two hours.
As per Theodore’s orders, Jack, Gus, and two others
stayed close to Assandra, positioned in the centre of the
convoy. Jack and Gus were just a little way behind the
wytch, who was riding atop what used to be Alf’s horse, her
hands still bound together as she gripped the reins. Earlier,
Theodore had considered tying her up completely and
dumping her into one of the carts as they travelled, but in
the end the knight had decided they had the numbers to
keep the woman in line.
Theodore made sure he spent time at different parts of
the procession, sometimes falling to the back with Len, and
other times moving right up front to take the lead. Most of
the men, including Jack, had no clue where they were now,
well outside of anywhere they’d ventured before.
The road again consisted of stones, gravel, and dirt, and
they had so far passed four other carriages coming from
the opposite direction. One had been a beautiful, veneered
oak vehicle, with brass handles and metalwork. The driver
was wearing a thick black coat and top hat, and Jack
caught sight of a face peering out from the carriage door—
a female with blue netting over her face. Probably someone
noble, though if she were of really good standing, then Jack
knew she would have likely had a guard or two riding with
her for protection.
Overhead, the weather remained overcast. At one point
the clouds above had released a brief, light rain down on
them. The rain had cooled Jack off, but it hadn’t impeded
the group’s progress.
They had seen only a handful of settlements so far on
their travels, all of which were set well away from the road;
but other than that there had been only rolling fields of
grass, punctuated by smatterings of shrubs, bushes, and
trees. Had the convoy not been making so much noise, it
would have been quite a peaceful vista. Jack liked areas
like this—areas where a person could feel like they’d
escaped civilisation.
Just like the places I’d planned to take Samuel.
‘Horrific what happened to Alf, eh?’ Gus asked Jack,
pulling him from his thoughts. Jack hadn’t even realised the
Irishman had fallen in bedside him. ‘Can’t imagine a worse
kind of hell, to be pulled back from the release of death into
a nightmare like that, over and over again.’
The Irishman had not been present in the basement to
see what had happened and had instead been one of the
men standing guard upstairs. But clearly someone had told
him what had happened. ‘Horrific is a good word,’ Jack
said. ‘Just seeing his head bobbing around and the fear in
his eyes. He had no idea what was happening.’
Gus took a moment, then followed up with: ‘Tell me
about that creature. The leech-looking thing.’
Jack sighed. ‘Someone’s clearly filled you in, Gus. What’s
left to tell?’
‘Well, that’s just it,’ Gus replied. ‘I don’t know. If you tell
it, there might be a detail the other fella left out. It’s
amazing how that can happen. Different minds pick up on
different things.’
‘My mind just wants to forget what happened, thank
you,’ Jack stated with a chuckle.
Gus smirked. ‘I can understand that. I’ll leave it, then,
for now.’ However, to Jack’s disappointment, the man still
seemed like he wanted to talk. ‘So,’ he went on, ‘What do
you think of this part of the country? Beautiful, isn’t it?’
‘You ever been before?’ Jack asked.
‘North Yorkshire?’ Gus asked, then nodded. ‘A few years
ago, I passed through some areas here. Very scenic. The
Deathborn have a chapter in York, too. Wonder if they’ll be
angry that we’re stepping on their toes?’
‘They can take it up with the knight,’ Jack said. ‘We’re
just following orders.’
‘Aye, that’s true.’
Though the two men had been speaking relatively
quietly, Jack kept looking up to make sure they weren’t
about to be berated by Theodore. The knight, however, was
looking directly ahead as he led the way.
Jack gave an aggravated sigh.
‘Something wrong?’ Gus asked.
Jack nodded ahead. ‘That fucker,’ he said, and pointed
up to Theodore. ‘I didn’t expect to be treated like a
nobleman when I joined, but in his eyes we’re worse than
shit. It’s angering me. And why doesn’t he like us talking to
each other while we travel? Are we men or children?’
‘Who knows,’ Gus said. ‘Try not to let him get to you. He
won’t be around forever. In all the time I’ve been with the
Deathborn, I think I’ve seen a Knight of Olin maybe twice,
if memory serves. They do what they need to, then they
leave. He won’t be a thorn in our side for long, so just grin
and bear it for the time being. Soon, your only worry will be
which monster is gonna tear out your throat.’
Jack let out a snort of laughter. ‘Well put. Maybe it will
be this new wytch.’
 ‘Ah, maybe. Though I think she might be more inclined
to pluck out your eyes and eat them.’
Jack cast him a look. ‘Wytches do that?’
‘No idea,’ Gus said with a chuckle. ‘Sure sounds like it
could be true, though.’
Gus then eyed Assandra, who rode a little way ahead of
them.
‘What do you make of her?’ he asked, keeping his voice
especially low.
Jack just shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Not thought about it.’
Gus shook his head. ‘Well, start thinking, Jack. Consider
what you witnessed back there in that basement. Your mind
should be full of questions.’
‘It isn’t.’
‘I worry about you, I really do. You should demand more
from yourself.’ Jack braced himself for another lecture from
the Irishman, but instead Gus moved the conversation on. ‘I
feel a bit bad for her, though,’ he said, a little louder this
time. ‘I’m not even sure if I classify her as a wytch.’
‘Of course she is,’ Jack said. ‘She killed Alf and used her
own blood to do it. She was throwing fire from her hands.
What is that if not the power of a wytch?’
‘A fair point,’ Gus conceded. ‘However, the Bestiary
describes a wytch as an adversary. That girl was just
someone living her life, minding her own business. From
what I could tell, she just wanted us to leave, and she only
attacked because Edwin and his friends tried to kill her.’
Jack couldn’t disagree with that, though he was worried
they’d started speaking too loudly. ‘Keep your voice down,’
he said. ‘She might hear you.’
Assandra turned her head and gave them a withering
look. ‘I can hear you, you blithering fools. You aren’t
exactly quiet.’
‘Apologies, ma’am,’ Gus quickly said with a big smile. He
looked past her to check that Theodore wasn’t watching
before carrying on. ‘I meant what I said, though. I don’t
think it’s right what we’ve done to you.’
Jack felt the urge to take a swipe at Gus to shut him up.
‘If you feel that bad,’ Assandra hissed, ‘come up here
and cut my bonds. Let me go home.’
‘I would if I could,’ Gus said. ‘Only, if I did that, the other
men here would just hunt you down anyway. The rest of
them here aren’t as empathetic as me and my friend.’
The woman’s hard gaze briefly settled on Jack before
flicking back to Gus. A humourless smile crossed her lips.
‘Empathy? You don’t know the meaning of the word. Any of
you.’
‘I understand why you think that,’ Gus went on, ‘but
please remember that many of us are here against our will,
forced by the threat of death.’
Assandra turned back around. ‘Then choose death and
let me live my life in peace.’
‘Now who lacks empathy?’
She didn’t respond, which Jack couldn’t say
disappointed him, having not been comfortable with Gus
even talking to her in the first place. He didn’t understand
why the Irishman couldn’t have just kept to himself.
‘Let me ask you something,’ Gus went on, much to Jack’s
dismay. ‘Are you close with your sister?’ There was no reply.
‘It’s clear you didn’t really want to give her up. I know
having to lead us to her is hurting you. I am confused about
something, though. From what I’ve heard, you didn’t know
what was in those boxes until the injured man paid you a
visit.’
‘That’s right,’ she said in a cold tone.
‘Why? Weren’t you curious?’
‘The letters from my sister forbade me to look.’
‘Isn’t it odd? Keeping you in the dark like that? Forgive
me, but it sounds like she was using you to get your help
without giving much in return.’
 That caused the wytch to whip her head around with an
angry scowl.
‘Don’t presume to tell me about my relationship with my
sister,’ she seethed. ‘You know nothing about us. We had
only each other growing up, no one else, and we only
wanted to live in peace. But you men can’t accept that, can
you?’
Gus gave a thoughtful nod. ‘Well, I’ve never had the
pleasure of meeting your sister, but I certainly believe that
you want a life of peace.’
Jack sighed. ‘Gus, will you please—’
However, the Irishman cut him off with a dismissive
wave of his hand and carried on. Jack suddenly realised
Gus had deliberately raised his voice earlier to draw
Assandra’s attention. He wanted this conversation.
‘What about your parents? They die when you were
young or something?’
‘Either keep quiet,’ Assandra said, ‘or I’ll call out to your
leader up there. I’m certain if he wants anyone asking me
questions, it's him, not some lowly peasant like you.’
Gus just smiled and put a hand to his chest. ‘You wound
me with your insults, m’lady. Forgive me, I’m just
inquisitive by nature, something my friend here doesn’t
seem to understand, either.’
‘You could learn a lot from your friend,’ Assandra
replied. ‘Start now, and try being quiet and obedient, like
he is.’
‘Obedient?’ Jack asked.
Gus chuckled. ‘Oh, he’s certainly that, which I find
disheartening. When we first met, I thought he might have
a little more about him, but that’s not the case.’
‘And this one likes to push his nose in where it isn’t
wanted,’ Jack shot back. He heard Assandra give a sigh.
‘I’m being held prisoner by children,’ she said in a
disheartened tone.
 ‘Be that as it may,’ Gus said, ‘just know that my friend
and I, at the very least, don’t want to hurt you. Truth be
told, if your sister is anything like you, I wouldn’t want to
hurt her either. But… given what I heard you saw in your
vision, I think we both know—’
‘Quiet!’ Assandra snapped. Jack quickly flicked his eyes
up and was relieved Theodore hadn’t seemed to notice.
However, he knew the knight’s attention wouldn’t be
elsewhere for too much longer. ‘I’m tired of listening to you
and whatever little game you’re playing. I’m going with you
all because I have no choice, but I don’t owe you anything
beyond that. Certainly not a chat. And I won’t help against
my sister, who—let it be known—I hope kills you all. So…
leave me be.’
There was a brief pause before Gus responded with, ‘As
you wish, ma’am. Sorry if I offended you.’
Assandra offered nothing more, not even an
acknowledgement of Gus’ apology. Jack welcomed the
silence. Not ten minutes later, Theodore moved back down
the line and relieved the contingent who had been guarding
Assandra, appointing four other men to the role. Gus and
Jack let their horses fall back towards the rear of the
convoy.
‘Why did you have to initiate that?’ Jack asked Gus when
Theodore was again out of earshot, with the knight having
moved back to the front of the convoy. ‘There was no need
to speak with her.’
‘There was every need,’ Gus said. ‘Just because you
want to act like a mindless sap doesn’t mean I have to.’
‘Really? So tell me, oh wise one, what critical
information did you glean from talking with her?’
‘Firstly,’ he began, ‘there is a strong chance she’ll betray
us and help her sister if the opportunity arises.’
‘That’s hardly a revelation,’ Jack said. ‘They’re sisters,
and we are a group of strangers forcing her to do
something against her will.’
 ‘True,’ Gus said. ‘But we also found out the two of them
don’t have any family. Whether that means they were
abandoned by their parents, or the parents died, we don’t
know. My money is on the latter.’
‘And that is of interest to us?’
‘Of course!’ Gus stressed. ‘If they grew up together and
relied on each other, do you not think it strange the sister
seemed to keep Assandra at arm’s length?’
‘So?’
Gus threw his head back in frustration. ‘Jack! You
cannot be this dense! Tell me you’re pulling my leg. Do you
not see Assandra’s love for her sister isn’t reciprocated?’
‘I do realise that!’ Jack snapped back. ‘It doesn’t take
any real intelligence to work it out. But what I’m telling you
is that none of it matters. Knowing all of this… what
advantage does it give us? None. It’s just pointless
information we don’t need.’
‘Information is never pointless, Jack,’ Gus said. ‘Not only
do we realise Cora is not as invested in the relationship as
her sister, but Assandra knows that as well. Deep down. Did
you see how she reacted when I pressed the point? She was
angry—and not just with us. She’s hurting because she’s
realising it. Her own sister has been using her. On top of
that, she’s seen for herself that her sister has now turned,
lost herself to the dark power and likely isn’t human any
longer.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, while there is a chance she might help her
sister, there is also a possibility she might realise Cora is
beyond saving. If so, having a woman on your side who is
able to throw fire from her hands is something we might
need. Understand?’
Jack gritted his teeth together. ‘I… suppose I do,’ he
begrudgingly replied.
‘Good,’ Gus said. ‘And do me a favour, Jack, for your own
sake: start using your brain and wits a little more. You
might be a Deathborn, but that doesn’t mean you have to
be mindless.’

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The convoy arrived at Lockton at dusk. With the sun

dipping under the horizon, the sky overhead was a fierce
red and orange, turning slowly to a dark blue the farther
away it was from the setting sun.
They approached the small village from the east, with
the forest in the distance just behind them to the southeast.
The treeline stretched out for miles in both directions. It
looked to be less than an hour's travel on horseback.
As the group entered the village, Jack saw that it was,
for the most part, one long road with buildings on either
side. A few smaller streets and paths branched off the main
thoroughfare, but there was little else. Rubble walls cut off
the primary road from some fields, where sheep grazed on
the outskirts of the village, and the buildings looked to be a
variety of farmhouses with stone walls, slate roofs, iron
guttering, and wooden window frames. Some of the houses
looked to be in good condition, while others were a little
more worn and aged. The farther Jack and the others
moved down the main road, the more farmhouses gave way
to more standard terrace housing. The road narrowed, and
to the left they came upon a small, single-storey church and
an adjacent graveyard. Had it not been for the rather short
tower to one side of the building, and the surrounding
graves, the church could have passed as a large farmhouse.
A little farther ahead, Jack also saw a modest-sized, red-
brick school. A few people were out walking the streets,
and all of them turned to eye the procession suspiciously.
One of the men watching with interest was a
lamplighter, who was positioned at the top of a ladder,
which in turn was resting against the head of a black cast-
iron streetlamp. A door to one of the terraced houses
opened and a portly man with bushy grey hair, muttonchop
sideburns, and a lumpy nose that resembled cauliflower
stepped out of his house onto the narrow pavement outside.
‘Who the fuck are you lot?’ he barked in a raspy voice,
casting his gaze up and down the convoy.
Theodore, at the head of the line, held up a fist to bring
the ambling procession to a halt. Jack watched as the
knight sneered down at the man from atop his steed.
Instead of responding, Theodore simply turned his head
and yelled, ‘Len! Up here now.’
The large man made his way up towards the knight.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Speak to this man,’ Theodore instructed. ‘Find out what
you can.’ With that, the knight turned his horse around and
moved away.
Len initially looked confused, then smiled politely at the
man and climbed down from his horse.
‘Evening, sir,’ he said and held out his hand. The portly
man just looked at it like it was covered in shit, so Len
pulled his hand away.
‘Who are you folks?’ the man asked. ‘And what yer here
fer?’ His Yorkshire accent was thick.
‘Well,’ Len began, ‘truth be told, we’re on our way to
Dalby Forest—’
‘It’s that way,’ the villager quickly said and pointed
south. ‘So, off yer trot.’ He then paused and frowned.
‘Though you oughta think twice afore heading over there.’
 ‘Can I ask why you say that?’ Len asked. ‘Also, to be
clear, we aren’t here in your village to make trouble, friend.
We’re just going to regroup on the outskirts and rest up for
the night, then travel into the forest come morning. We’ve
only ventured this far into town to get a little information.’
‘About Dalby?’ the man asked with a raised eyebrow.
Len nodded. ‘Yes. You said we should think twice before
going in… may I ask why?’
‘There’s something in those woods that ain’t to be
crossed.’
Len cast a glance over to Theodore, who had been
watching the exchange. He then turned back to the man.
‘In truth, we expected as much—it’s why we’re here. It’s
our intention to go into the forest and put an end to what is
happening out there.’
The man’s bushy eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘You
gonna kill the wytch?’
Len paused for a moment. ‘We’re going to try.’
The villager stared at Len for a few moments and
rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin. ‘Why? Who are you?
You don’t sound like yer from round here. More northern.’
‘That’s right,’ Len said. ‘From Durham, mainly. But we
heard what was happening out here and wanted to help.’
‘Word spread that far up?’ he asked. ‘And then ye just
wanted to lend yer swords outta the kindness of yer hearts,
eh?’ He shook his head. ‘Can’t say I believe that. Think I’m
stupid enough to swallow shit if you told me it was sugar?’
Len laughed. ‘I don’t think that at all. But look at it this
way: we’re going into the woods to put an end to the wytch.
We don’t want anything from you other than information, if
you can give it. We’ll spend the night on the land outside of
town and cause you and your village-folk no trouble. So…
what have you got to lose?’
The man considered Len’s words for a moment. ‘You
could draw her wrath. Bring it down on us if ya fail.’
 ‘We already have her wrath down on us, George,’ a
feminine voice called over. A woman stood on the other side
of the street, close to the wall of the graveyard. She was
wrapped up in layers of modest clothing, with an old
knitted shawl around her shoulders and a yellowed bonnet
on her head. ‘If we keep burying our heads, we’ll lose even
more people.’
Len turned his attention back to the man. ‘You’ve lost
people?’
The man called George took a moment, then nodded.
‘Aye. Men, women, and little bairns, too. At first it was just
people who’d ventured into the woods to hunt and forage.
But then… people started getting taken in from within the
village in the night.’
‘How many?’ Len asked.
The man looked down at his feet, but shrugged. ‘Can’t
say fer certain. Enough.’
‘Didn’t you send anyone in after them?’
The man’s head snapped back up. ‘Course we did!’ he
said with a look of anger. ‘You take us fer cowards, lad?’
‘No,’ Len said with his hands raised, ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘People did go out there, but most didn’t come back. So,
we stopped sending em. Pointless to lose even more of our
kin. And it isn’t just our village, either. Word is people have
been taken from Elleburn, Thornton Dale, even Wilton.’
Len gave a nod. ‘Can I ask… how do you know it’s a
wytch? Have you seen her?’
‘Not me,’ George said. ‘But one of the few who did make
it back was a fella called Christopher Waltham. He saw
terrible things out there. Things that woulda turned your
hair as white as mine… if you had any.’
‘And where is Mr. Waltham? Can we speak to him?’
‘He’s probably sitting in the Ox Inn, drinking himself to
death. Not been right since he came back that day.’
‘The Ox Inn is a public house?’
 ‘A pub, aye. It’s a little farther along the main road. Only
pub we have here. It’s a small place, so I don’t expect you
all would fit inside.’
‘I understand that,’ Len said. It looked like he was about
to go on, but then the clip-clop of Theodore’s approaching
horse drew his attention.
As he rode up, the knight said, ‘Most of the men will
head out of town and set up a camp for the night. I’ll
oversee them and make sure our guest behaves. Len, you
take a few men and go speak with this villager. Find out
what you can.’
‘Understood.’ Len then looked down the line. ‘Jack, Gus,
you fellas are with me.’
‘You didn’t answer my question from afore,’ George
added.
‘Which question?’ Len asked.
‘Just who are you people?’
Len smiled. ‘Truth be told, my friend, it’s best you don’t
know.’

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Jack had no idea what to expect inside the Ox Inn. From the
front, it looked like a low, long barn that had been
converted, with a corrugated tin roof and crumbling red
brickwork. A warm, orange, glowing flicker of light spilled
out from the few windows in the wall. The already open
main door, which the three men entered through, was a
large barn entrance with an arched head.
It took a moment for Jack’s eyes to adjust once inside.
There were some candles atop large barrels that acted as
tables, and some mounted on the walls, but it was still
quite a dark space.
The sanded, wooden floorboards were dirty, and in some
areas there were heaps of sand or hay, obviously used to
soak up any spills. Up above their heads, Jack saw the
underside of the thin, metal sheeting, supported by
exposed, weathered joists. Some of the tin sheets had holes
in them, and directly below them were wooden pails to
collect any leaking rain.
Only a handful of patrons were inside, most standing
close and leaning on the tall barrels, drinks in hand. There
was one couple, a man and a woman, seated on a low
bench next to a rectangular table in the centre of the room.
Jack noticed a single door in one of the side walls, with a
sign above it reading ‘Rooms’.
A long bar was set against a wall in the far corner, and
the innkeeper—a small man dressed in a white shirt and
black overcoat—stood behind it, looking decidedly bored.
The barman noticed the three men enter, as did most other
people, and he shot them a confused look.
Obviously not a place used to seeing strangers.
‘Which one do you suppose is our fella?’ Gus asked.
Jack raised his hand and pointed to the only person who
did not look up from his drink as they entered. ‘Him, I
reckon,’ Jack said in a low voice.
The man in question stood alone at a barrel, leaning
forward and gazing down at his tumbler glass. The man’s
red hair was wild, as was his grizzled beard, though Jack
assumed the man was only in his mid-twenties. He was
dressed in a red cotton shirt—replete with stains expanding
from his armpits—suspenders, and loose cloth trousers.
With the evening temperature dropping, he was the only
person in the Ox Inn not wrapped in protective layers. If
the encroaching cold bothered him, he didn’t let it show.
‘Seems like a good bet,’ Gus agreed. ‘You doing the
talking here, Len?’
‘Suppose so,’ the large man said.
‘Or,’ Gus went on, ‘maybe we give Jack here a chance to
try.’
Both Jack and Len turned to look at him. ‘Why?’ Jack
asked. ‘Len handled the older fella outside just fine. I’m
sure he can get any information we need.’
‘I’d say he could,’ Gus agreed. ‘But that man over there,’
he pointed, ‘clearly knows loss. And it looks recent. That is
something you can empathise with. He might wall up if Len
or I push for answers—we’re strangers, after all. But you
have a shared pain with him, something you can make a
connection with. It’ll work, trust me.’
 ‘I think you’re wrong,’ Jack said. ‘And I don’t like you
using my boy’s death as a way to trick people.’
Gus shook his head. ‘It ain’t a trick. A tactic, maybe, but
so be it. What did I tell you before? All information is
valuable. It could help us with what we need to do. So… go
help us.’
Jack sighed and looked at Len for some sanity. However,
Len had his eyebrows raised and was nodding his head.
‘Man’s got a point, Jack. I think you might be best placed
for this one.’
‘You have to be joking.’
But the grin both men wore made it clear they weren’t.
Jack sighed and his body sagged. ‘I hate you, Gus,’ he said.
Gus just laughed. ‘No, you don’t, you just don’t like that I
push you so much. But go on, get as much as you can from
the poor fella. Remember, don’t just settle for one-word
answers. Really dig.’
Fuck, Jack thought. Knowing how much he hated others
prying in his own business, Jack really didn’t want to pull at
a stranger’s threads of anguish. But thanks to Gus’ none-
too-subtle railroading, Jack had no choice.
He took a breath and considered how best to approach
the lone drinker. ‘Any of you have any coin?’ he asked.
Len raised an eyebrow. ‘For what?’
‘I’m going to grease the wheels of conversation,’ Jack
said, holding out his palm. Len, with a look of realisation,
dug into his pocket and drew out a coin purse. He emptied
out some farthings and shillings into Jack’s awaiting hand.
‘Don’t spend it all,’ Len warned.
Jack rolled his eyes and ambled over to the bar.
‘Don’t recognise you three,’ the innkeeper said. ‘Need a
room?’
Jack shook his head. ‘That fella over there in the red
shirt, the one on his own—’
‘Christopher?’ the innkeeper asked.
 That’s our man, Jack thought to himself. ‘Yes, him.
What’s he drinking?’
‘Brandy,’ the innkeeper said. ‘He’s been drinking it all
day. He drinks it every day.’
‘I’ll have two more,’ Jack said.
After paying for the drinks, Jack picked up the tumblers
and strode over to Christopher, stopping at the opposite
side of the barrel. Eventually, the man raised his red eyes
up and studied Jack for a moment.
‘Can I help you with something, friend?’ the man asked,
his voice slightly slurred.
Jack set one glass down in front of himself, then placed
the next one before Christopher. ‘I’d just like to talk a little,
if that isn’t too much trouble.’
Christopher eyed his fresh drink before looking up at
Jack again with a frown of confusion. ‘Do I know you?’
‘No,’ Jack said. ‘My friends and I’—he gestured over to
Gus and Len—‘are from a little farther north. But you and I
might have something in common.’
The man raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘That so?’
Jack hesitated. He hated what he was about to do. It felt
manipulative and disrespectful to the memory of Samuel.
‘The wytch, out in Dalby Forest… I lost someone to her.’
Christopher’s expression didn’t change much, but he
nodded. ‘Lots of people here have lost someone to that
devil.’
‘I understand you have too?’
Christopher took a hearty sip of his brandy and gave
another nod. ‘My boy,’ he said. Jack’s body tensed.
‘I—’ he began, but his voice cracked. He gave a cough
and continued. ‘I lost my son as well.’
Now the man took on a different expression. His eyes
focused on Jack and widened a little in both sadness and
empathy. ‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘What was your boy’s name?’ Jack asked. Yet again, his
voice wavered. He placed his folded arms onto the top of
the barrel and leaned in, noticing Gus and Len had taken a
seat over in one of the darker corners. With the size of both
men, they were hardly inconspicuous.
‘Peter,’ Christopher said. ‘Yours?’
‘Samuel,’ Jack said.
‘What happened to him?’
Jack paused and stared at the amber liquid in his glass.
He took a sip. Then another. I don’t want to fucking do this.
‘He felt his eyes grow wet. Another breath. Another drink.
‘We were travelling,’ he began. ‘We stopped and set up
camp for the night. Happened across a man. There was
something… off about him. Then he changed. I swear to
you. Turned into something I can’t describe. A monster. It…
it took Samuel.’ Tears spilled down Jack’s cheeks and
dripped to the table. ‘Killed him. Right there in front of me.’
‘Dear Lord,’ Christopher uttered in reply.
Jack nodded and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his
shirt. ‘There was a group passing by and they helped me
kill it. But it was too late for my boy. That’s why I’m here. I
plan to kill the wytch for what she’s done. Me and my
friends over there.’
Christopher glanced over to Gus and Len before turning
back to Jack. ‘You have my sympathies for your son, friend,’
Christopher said. ‘A few months ago, I might have thought
you were crazy, telling a story like that. But now…’ He then
frowned. ‘I thought you said you lost your son to the wytch,
though?’
‘In a way, that’s true,’ Jack said. ‘She was the one that
caused the man to change like he did. If it weren’t for her,
my boy would still be alive.’
‘And it happened farther north?’
‘Aye, close to Durham.’
Christopher’s eyes widened. ‘I’ve heard of Durham. A
fair trek, that.’ He shook his head. ‘Can’t believe her reach
goes so far. I thought this was just a problem for the
villages around here.’
 Jack gave a slow shake of his head. ‘I’m afraid not. Can I
also ask,’ he went on, eager to move the conversation away
from his own loss, ‘what happened to Peter?’
Christopher hesitated, then downed what remained of
his drink. He slid the one Jack had bought for him closer.
‘He was off playing one day,’ Christopher began. ‘It was
getting late, and he ventured a little too far from the
village.’ The man clenched his jaw in an effort to stop from
crying—a reaction Jack knew all too well. ‘His friends ran
back, saying something took Peter.’
‘Something?’
‘Aye. They couldn’t really tell me much about it, as they
were terrified. It took a long time for them to calm down
enough to say my son had been dragged off to the forest.’
He took another drink. ‘So, I grabbed a big shearing knife—
only thing I had to hand—and went after him. I was out
wandering the forest all day, getting lost, and had to spend
the night in the woods. Heard some horrible sounds out
there. Not human or animal. I knew there were things in
the darkness watching me. Next day, I carried on looking. It
wasn’t until night was drawing in again that I found… her.’
‘The wytch?’
Jack noticed the man’s eyes narrow and flick down to
the table as he nodded. A look of revulsion washed over
him. ‘Aye, the wytch,’ he said in a quiet voice. It was at that
point Jack realised the gentle hum of conversation from the
other patrons had fallen silent. Christopher, however, didn’t
seem to notice. ‘I found an area that was just… wrong. The
trees and the grass, they seemed diseased. Not like
anything I’ve ever seen. Then there was the smell. Awful.
Made me sick. I’ve come across plenty of dead animals
before, so I know what a body smells like when the meat is
old and rotten. But this… never known anything so strong
or vile. I followed the diseased trees to a small clearing.
There was an abode, which sat at the top of an
embankment. And what I saw at the base…’
 His head sagged down to his chest and he began to cry.
The couple at the central table began to gather their things
and stand up. The woman shot Jack a piercing look as they
walked by and left. The others in the room were also
casting displeased glances in his direction.
‘What did you see, Christopher?’ Jack asked.
Christopher shook his head. ‘I… I can’t.’ His tears were
flowing freely now as he sobbed. ‘There… there were a
mass of dead people. Or, at least, they should have been
dead. So many of them. All stuck on this…’ he trailed off
and gritted his teeth together. Finally, he added: ‘I saw my
boy, too.’
‘What do you mean by ‘they should have been dead’,
Christopher?’
The man just shook his head, over and over again. ‘Don’t
make me remember it.’ His head then snapped up. ‘I saw
her as well, you know,’ he said, voice sounding manic now.
‘There was a house, old and falling apart. She was just
standing in the doorway.’ A hand shot out and grabbed
Jack’s wrist. ‘You think you and your two friends over there
can kill her?’ He began to laugh. ‘It would need an army,
more numbers than you have. She… she wasn’t human. She
looked…’ Christopher broke down again. ‘You can’t stop
her.’
Jack placed his hand over the one that tightly gripped
his wrist. ‘But you got away, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘So, she
isn’t all that powerful.’
Christopher’s response wasn’t immediate. ‘She… let me
go,’ he eventually whispered. ‘The hag saw me, yet didn’t
do anything. She just watched me. Peter was there… right
there, though he was…’ Christopher’s face twisted up in
anguish. ‘I ran!’ he screamed as he slammed his fist down
to the barrel. ‘I ran like a coward! Peter was… he could
barely speak, but he knew I was there. I could see him. And
I just ran. Felt fear you can’t imagine, and I left my son!’
 Christopher then swiped his hands across the top of the
barrel and sent the three glasses tumbling to the floor. He
kicked the barrel in anger, once, then twice, and finally
pushed it over completely before backing away. ‘I left my
son!’ Christopher screamed again. Veins bulged in his neck
and his face flushed red. He then pushed over another
barrel as the other people in the public house rushed over
to help.
‘Christopher, calm yourself,’ one man said.
However, Christopher grabbed a stool and hurled it at
one of the windows, cracking the glass. He was wailing as
he lashed out, kicking at the bar even as the innkeeper
rounded it and started to grapple with the man.
‘Easy, Christopher,’ the innkeeper said, like he was
trying to tame a wild horse. He then tried to pull
Christopher into a hug. Christopher resisted, started to
cough, then bent double and began to vomit. With his hand
on Christopher’s back, the innkeeper looked over to Jack,
anger in his eyes. ‘You!’ he shouted. ‘Take your friends and
leave! I don’t know what you’re doing, but it ain’t welcome
here. Go!’
Jack wanted to apologise, to make it known he’d never
intended to upset the poor, grieving father. Before he could
reply, however, he felt a large hand on his shoulder.
‘Come on, lad,’ Gus said, ‘I think you’ve gotten all you
can here.’
Jack looked back at Christopher, who had now bundled
himself up on the floor and was lying in the mess he had
made, sobbing like a lost and scared child. A broken man. ‘I
didn’t mean…’
‘Let’s go,’ Gus said again in a gentle voice, then ushered
Jack back outside.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The night was proving to be cold, though Jack refused to

put on a coat. Instead, he simply sat—machete laid beside
him—and watched the crackling campfire, away from
everyone else, far enough back not to be bothered. All he
could think about was Christopher’s outburst. Jack felt
terrible about it.
That, in turn, led him to think of Samuel.
Every man had been given a meal, prepared at the fire
by some of the Deathborn, which consisted only of boiled
vegetables. Jack hadn’t eaten any. The collection of carrots,
potatoes, and green beans lay undisturbed on a length of
cloth, which Jack had set on the ground.
After leaving the public house, and after much prodding,
Jack had told Gus and Len everything he’d learned from
Christopher. Len, in turn, had taken that back to Theodore.
Now, they were camping for the night outside of town. On
one side of the camp were two large tents constructed out
of thick, yellowed fabric and supported on timber poles.
Both tents were tall enough to enter while standing, though
there were no protective layers on the ground, with the
men having to sleep on the bare grass and soil. All
Deathborn, including Len, would be squashed together in
one tent, while Theodore had exclusive use of the other,
though the equipment, weapons, and the spawn were
stored with him.
It hadn’t been determined where Assandra would be
sleeping as yet.
The wytch was sitting away from Jack, over on the
opposite side of the fire. Her hands were still tied at the
wrists, though she was able to move enough to eat, and she
was currently chewing the last of a green bean while
staring at the ground.
Someone approached beside him and dropped down
heavily. It was Gus, again. Of course it is. The Irishman
pulled his thick legs inwards and crossed them.
‘Not now,’ Jack said curtly. ‘I’m not in the mood to chat.’
‘I understand,’ Gus said. Jack doubted he did. ‘I didn’t
come to talk your ear off again, so don’t worry.’
‘So, why bother me?’
‘Can’t I just be concerned for a friend?’ he asked. ‘You
seemed to have taken the exchange in the pub badly, even
though you did nothing wrong.’
‘Christopher’s outburst was my fault,’ Jack said. ‘I
caused that pain.’
Gus shook his head. ‘No, you didn’t. He was already
feeling that pain—he’d been feeling it since the day he lost
his son. I seriously doubt that’s the first time this village
has seen him blow up like that. Especially if he spends his
days buried in a glass. Everyone copes with loss differently,
I suppose. He turned to booze. Others,’ he then nodded
towards Jack, ‘run towards death themselves. The truly
special ones, though, are able to bear the weight and still
keep moving forward.’
‘What is this, if not talking my ear off?’ Jack snapped.
Gus held his hands up in defeat. ‘Just sayin’, is all. But
no, that isn’t why I’m here. Theodore wants to see us.’
Jack looked up. ‘Why?’
Gus shrugged. ‘Not certain. Though it involves her as
well.’ He pointed over to Assandra, and Jack turned to see
Len now standing over her, talking. The large man helped
her up to her feet, though Assandra didn’t look happy about
it. ‘Come on,’ Gus said, patting Jack’s leg. ‘Best not to keep
our not-so-gracious leader waiting. Grab your weapon, too.’
After standing, Gus bent down and bundled up Jack’s
vegetables before handing them to him. ‘Keep hold of these
and eat them when we’re done. You’ll be no use to anyone
if you’re weak as a kitten.’
Jack took the bundle of cloth and stuffed it into one of
his pockets. He stood up, then followed Gus to Theodore’s
tent, all the while wishing he could just be left alone, if only
for a few hours. As they approached the entrance, Len and
Assandra drew up beside them.
Jack and Gus paused, allowing the other two to enter
first. Assandra locked eyes with Jack as she moved by
them.
Jack pitied her. She looked miserable, which was
understandable. However, he was not naïve enough to let
his guard down around her.
If she chooses to side with her sister when it counts,
we’re going to be in trouble.
As he entered the tent, Theodore was standing facing
them, now with his thick coat off. It exposed the fine white
shirt he wore beneath, which was covered with a chainmail
vest. In one hand, he held his sword.
Two small lanterns hung from vertical timber struts,
each with a small, lit candle inside casting a low light
around the tent. A cotton sheet was spread out on the
ground to one side, and atop it lay an animal-skin blanket.
Must be nice to sleep in such comfort, Jack thought. The
collection of weapons, including some rifles and a couple of
crossbows, were also heaped against one of the walls, and
in the far corner was a pile of decidedly familiar-looking
boxes.
They all stood before Theodore, waiting for him to
speak.
 ‘You,’ Theodore said as he pointed to Jack. ‘The man you
spoke to, who escaped the woods, did he give you any idea
exactly where the wytch was?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No, only that he’d wandered for a
couple of days looking. Sounds like he happened upon her
by chance.’
‘The forest is vast,’ Theodore said. ‘Without knowing
where to head, we could be in a similar situation of
wandering aimlessly. The trees are too dense for us to bring
our horses, so we need a way to find the wytch as quickly
as possible. And fortunately,’ he looked at Assandra, ‘we
have a way to do that, don’t we?’
‘I’ve already helped you,’ Assandra stated. ‘I told you
where she was.’
But Theodore shook his head. ‘No, you did not. You gave
us a general direction. I determined the most likely location
from the limited information you provided.’
‘But I still told you everything I know.’
‘Everything you knew at the time,’ the knight corrected
as he strode away from the group to the stack of boxes off
to his side. ‘We are closer now, much closer, so we need you
to pinpoint things even further.’ He then opened the lid of
one small crate and pulled out the jar within. ‘I want you to
carry out the incantation again and give us a more accurate
direction of travel. Then,’ he shook the jar with the spawn
inside, ‘I want you to connect with Cora once more. Gain as
much knowledge as you can about where she is, what she’s
doing, and if possible, get a sense of how strong she is.’
Assandra’s body tensed up, and she quickly shook her
head. ‘No, I won’t. I’ve given you enough.’
Theodore chuckled. ‘You’ll do as ordered. If not, I’ll take
your head. Then, I might see about bringing you back to life
to suffer, as you did to one of my men. Does that sound like
something you’d want? Constantly pulled back from death,
only to exist in a filthy glass jar, where you’ll die over and
over again.’
 The wytch clenched her jaw. ‘I’m tired of your threats.’
‘A promise is not a threat. And I’m tired of having to ask
twice. Just do as you’re told.’
Assandra hesitated, but then lifted her chin defiantly.
‘You aren’t able to bring me back like that,’ she said. ‘You
don’t have power like I do. Your promise is an empty one.’
Theodore chuckled and raised the jar up, holding it in
one hand by the base. It balanced precariously on his palm
as he stared at the floating creature within. Its head
bloomed open, and it began to twist in the yellow water.
‘Well, I’ve been thinking about that. I believe the initial
incantation, or spell, or whatever it was you carried out,
was your doing. But actually making the connection to your
sister? That had a lot to do with our little friends here.’
Theodore shook the jar. ‘Maybe it needed your magic to
assist. But perhaps it didn’t. I can’t be sure. However, what
I am fairly sure of is that when the Deathborn was
reanimated in that jar, it was purely down to the blood from
the creature. That had nothing to do with you.’ He took a
step forward. ‘That’s why I’m confident my promise is not
an empty one.’ He leaned his head close to her and fixed
her with a steely gaze. ‘And you know it, don’t you?’
Her eyes shifted away, flicking down to the ground. ‘Just
leave me alone,’ she said.
Theodore laughed. ‘I thought as much. Just know that
I’m growing tired of your resistance. If it happens again, I
can show you how eager I am to experiment with the
spawn myself. Is that clear?’ The woman didn’t answer. In a
flash of anger, he quickly let his sword fall to the floor and
gripped her jaw with his free hand. Assandra winced in
pain, though the knight forced her to look at him. ‘I said,’
he thundered as his eyes burned with rage, ‘do you
understand?’
Jack could see Assandra’s obvious anger matched that of
the knight. However, she slowly managed to force a nod,
even though the man was firmly gripping her head.
Theodore withdrew his hand and snatched up his sword.
‘I need my things for the incantation,’ Assandra said.
‘The hair and the bones. Without them, I can’t find her.’
‘We have them,’ Theodore said with his back to her. ‘I
had the men gather up those things back at the house.’ He
opened one of the larger crates and pulled out a large roll
of hessian fabric. He moved back to Assandra, placed the
bundle down at her feet, and carefully rolled it out. ‘You’re
welcome,’ Theodore said with no small amount of
condescension. ‘Now, get to work.’
The knight drew back a few paces and folded his arms
across his chest, raising his eyebrows in expectation.
Assandra’s body sagged. ‘You’ll have to untie my hands,’
she said.
Theodore just shook his head. ‘No, we don’t. Stop
playing games. They aren’t bound behind your back, so
you’re perfectly capable of grabbing what you need to,
throwing your bones around, and uttering your little spells.’
Assandra’s jaw clenched. ‘I need an open flame. Without
that, I can’t—’
‘That,’ Theodore said, ‘you can have.’ The knight quickly
retrieved a small candle from one of the hanging lanterns,
including the brass baseplate it sat on, and placed it
carefully on the hessian sheet as well. The ground beneath
the fabric was uneven, so the burning candle looked to be
precariously placed. ‘Everyone draw your weapons,’
Theodore calmly said to Jack, Gus, and Len. ‘Make sure she
doesn’t try anything.’
The Deathborn spaced out in a semi-circle around
Assandra, who regarded them with a cold expression. When
her gaze settled on Jack, he had to fight from instinctively
looking away. The woman reluctantly got down to her knees
and reached her hands forward.
‘One last thing before you begin,’ Theodore added. ‘If
you lie to us and send us in the wrong direction, your head
will be in one of your jars by sundown tomorrow.’
Assandra didn’t respond. Instead, she looked back down
and solemnly got to work. As before, the incantation
involved her reciting something in a strange tongue, then
picking up and rolling the small bones about the sheet.
Again, the wytch burned a clump of hair from one of the
pouches and blew smoke over the animal remains. Jack
watched the proceedings intently, completely mystified and
engrossed with what the woman was doing. As before, her
eyes clouded over and became milky white, and those dark
veins returned. Her chanting increased in speed, and her
breathing quickened.
Eventually, Assandra lifted her head. She turned her
body, raising her arm in a south-easterly direction. ‘There,’
she croaked out.
Theodore strode to the entrance and lifted the flap of
material, following her gesture.
‘Don’t move,’ he ordered. He then retrieved a club from
the pile of weapons, while still holding the glass jar under
one arm. He placed the club on the ground in the direction
Assandra was pointing, nudging it a few times to ensure
the makeshift marker was laid exactly the right way, the
head pointing southeast. He then stood back up and turned
back to her. ‘How far?’ he asked from outside.
A frown creased Assandra’s brow. She kept her eyes
shut. ‘Close.’
Theodore shook his head in annoyance. ‘That doesn’t
help, wytch,’ he snapped. ‘Give me a distance, or time of
travel, as you did before.’
‘It isn’t a precise method,’ Assandra said. Her breathing
was still quick, and her words came out in a rushed,
breathy sentence.
‘How far?’
‘A few hours’ walk, maybe,’ she said. ‘Deep in the forest,
I’d guess.’ Her frown deepened, and she shook her head.
‘That is the best I can do. And that is the truth.’
 Theodore studied her. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘You can stop.’
Assandra’s eyes opened again as she lowered her arm.
After a few moments, her naturally blue irises appeared
once more. Her breathing returned to normal.
‘What about the connection to your sister?’ Theodore
asked. ‘Last time you saw through her eyes.’
Assandra shook her head. ‘Nothing. I couldn’t make it
happen again.’
‘Not exactly a surprise,’ Theodore said. ‘The connection
was caused by the spawn blood. I think we can now assume
the effect eventually wears off. However, we still need to
make it happen.’ He raised the jar. ‘Consume more of the
blood. Do it quickly. I want to know as much as we can, so
we can camp for the night and head out at first light. We
need a full night’s rest for what’s to come.’
‘I don’t even know how I did it last time,’ Assandra
argued. ‘It was almost like Cora sensed me and made the
connection herself. I don’t know if I can do it again.’
Theodore removed the lid and held it towards Assandra.
‘Try.’
Assandra hesitantly bit her lower lip, staring down at
the disgusting creature in the jar. Eventually, Assandra
reached inside slowly and managed to take hold of the
spawn. Its head opened in protest and its wriggles grew
more frantic. The wytch lifted it free and let it drip over the
opening for a couple of seconds. She drew in a deep breath,
then held the spawn up over her open mouth with both
hands. She squeezed.
Though the creature fought back, it was helpless, and
black sludge excreted from its back end and into
Assandra’s mouth.
Jack grimaced as he watched. He couldn’t imagine how
awful the fluid must taste. When Assandra was finished,
she swallowed, and let the spawn drop back into its glass
prison. The woman then waited, concentrating, looking
ahead but at nothing in particular. It was as if she were
trying to look beyond what the rest of them could see in the
tent.
No one spoke. A minute passed with nothing. Then
Assandra started to talk. Her voice was quiet and sounded
hesitant. ‘Cora? Is… is that you?’
The cloudiness returned instantly to her eyes. She then
clamped her teeth together—her body started to shake and
her face reddened. The dark veins beneath her skin grew
more pronounced. She lifted her hands to her head,
pressing her palms into her temples in pain.
‘What is it?’ Theodore asked with urgency. ‘What do you
see?’
Assandra let out a scream.
‘What do you see?!’ Theodore demanded.
‘Nothing!’ Assandra shouted back as she dropped to her
knees. Her head fell back, and she looked skyward. ‘I can’t
see anything. It’s black. All black.’ Then she shrieked again.
‘Tell me what’s happening!’ Theodore shouted.
‘I can feel it. Something… something is probing.’ Her
voice was thick with desperation.
‘Cora?’ Theodore asked.
‘No,’ Assandra shot back in a breathless tone. ‘No,
something… more.’
‘What is it?’
Assandra let out another scream and bent double,
pressing her palms harder into the side of her head. Jack
cast a look to Gus, who looked just as perplexed as Jack
felt.
The woman shook her head frantically, causing her red
hair to whip around her face. ‘I don’t know!’ she shouted. ‘I
need to stop.’
‘Don’t!’ Theodore snapped. ‘Keep going.’
‘I can’t!’
However, moments after uttering those words,
Assandra’s face relaxed a little and the creases across her
brow smoothed out. Her breathing was heavy. The woman’s
hands lowered from her head and her body slowly relaxed.
‘It’s… it’s gone,’ she said. Assandra then cocked her
head to the side and raised her eyebrows. ‘I can see again.
Through… through her. Through Cora.’ She then touched a
fingertip to her temple and squinted. ‘She knows I’m
watching.’
‘What do you see?’ Theodore pressed. ‘Anything we can
use?’
A tear spilt from Assandra’s eye. ‘She’s angry. She’s
betrayed.’
‘I don’t care,’ Theodore snapped. ‘For the final time, tell
me what you see.’
Assandra shook her head. ‘There isn’t much. She’s
inside a building, or a house, but there’s very little light. I
can’t make much out.’ Assandra’s lower lip quivered. ‘I can
see her arms. Her hands. Oh, Cora, what have you done?’
The wytch’s brow furrowed again. ‘Wait… she’s… I can feel
her in my head.’
‘Doing what?’
Assandra gasped. ‘I need to break the connection.’
‘No.’
‘Yes!’ Assandra shot back. She grimaced, her body
tensed up, and her face reddened. It was clear she was
fighting and struggling with something. She started to
shake, and then let out a strained cry… before suddenly
stopping. The milky whiteness that clouded her eyes swam
away to reveal her irises once again. She was still
breathing heavily and brought a hand to her chest.
‘You severed it, didn’t you?’ Theodore asked with anger.
‘I had to!’ Assandra said, as she turned to look up at
him. ‘Cora was in my head. You wanted me to find out what
I could, but the connection works both ways.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning… she might know we’re coming. I tried to
break from her as quickly as I could, but I’m not sure what
she found out. I could feel her in my head, like a spider
crawling over my brain.’
Theodore remained silent for a few moments, putting his
hands behind his back in contemplation. Then he simply
nodded, calmly. ‘What was the other thing?’ he asked. ‘That
came through before Cora?’
Assandra looked away. She tried to stand to her feet, but
Jack saw her legs wobble and she dropped back down
again. He instinctively stepped towards her and helped
Assandra up, supporting her weight. Once she was steady,
Assandra gave Jack a small, appreciative smile. However,
when Jack straightened her up and turned to Theodore, the
knight glared at him in anger.
Theodore looked toward Assandra again. ‘Tell me, what
was it?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘There
were just… impressions… of a consciousness, one far
beyond my own. Powerful. Terrifying. I think it noticed me,
briefly, like when we become aware of a gnat buzzing
around our heads. I honestly felt like I was going mad
under its gaze. But then… it just pulled away, leaving only
Cora. I have no idea what it was.’
‘Could it be in the forest with Cora?’ Theodore asked. ‘If
you sensed it, then it stands to reason it's with her, close by.
Maybe even working for her.’
But Assandra shook her head. ‘It didn’t feel like that to
me. This thing, whatever it is, I don’t think it takes orders
from my sister—from anyone.’
‘But was it with her?’
Assandra paused as she thought. ‘I can’t say for certain.
I got the impression there was a kind of communion going
on between it and Cora, where Cora was reaching out.
When the entity was gone, I just felt anger from my sister.
She knew I was working against her, but the anger was also
because of the interruption.’
 Theodore again pondered the information. ‘Then we
continue into the forest as planned. Something is
happening and we need to find out what.’
‘But she knows we’re coming. As I said, I felt her in my
head. I tried not to think of what you said about heading
into the forest tomorrow, but I could feel the thoughts
being plucked from my mind, like one yanks a trapped hair
from a boil.’
‘Sir,’ Len spoke up, ‘if that is true, we may well be
walking into a trap.’
Theodore sighed. ‘When the good Lord handed out
intelligence, the Deathborn were truly at the back of the
queue, weren’t they? It was obvious the connection would
work both ways. Cora has known someone was coming
since Assandra’s first connection back at Whitby. That’s
why I repeatedly stressed we will be heading out
tomorrow.’
‘I don’t follow,’ Len said.
Theodore gave a humourless chuckle. ‘I know you don’t.
Ready your men. We are leaving now.’

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Far from some cunning ploy, Jack couldn’t help but think
stealing a march was a mistake. Progress had been slow
through the thick woods, and the men—who had been on
the road for days—were tired and dealing with low morale.
They hadn’t come across any trails since breaching the
forest’s perimeter, so they were trudging forward across
uneven ground. The surrounding trees were a mix of ash,
oak, and tall, spear-like Sitka spruces. The ground around
those coniferous trees was thick with needles. The smell
around them was fresh, rich, and sweet… almost fruity.
The sounds of the forest were typical of other wooded
areas Jack had visited: hooting of owls and high-pitched
singing of insects. There was even the cawing of a crow.
In fact, had Jack not been marching towards his
undoubted death, he would have found Dalby Forest quite
beautiful and peaceful, a place that would have been
perfect to have brought—
Stop! Focus on what’s at hand.
Visibility was also low. The canopy of trees overhead
restricted any moonlight that might have otherwise washed
down on them. Because of this, a few of the Deathborn had
been instructed to carry lit torches to help guide their way.
The carts and horses had all been left tethered at the edge
of the forest. They’d found a spot that had good cover and
was well off the beaten track, so the equipment and horses
would hopefully be safe.
However, there had been one thing Theodore hadn’t
been willing to leave behind: the boxes that contained the
spawn. Some of the men had therefore been tasked with
carrying the boxes.
Jack being one of them.
That, in Jack’s mind, was another mistake. We’re
bringing these right to the wytch. If the Deathborn failed,
their enemy would have exactly what she wanted. Jack
guessed Theodore was not someone who’d handle criticism
well, but even so, he was extremely tempted to raise the
point.
Theodore, who also held a torch, led the way at the head
of the line, marching relentlessly while following the
direction pointed out by Assandra. He had the bound
woman walking next to him, hands now tied behind her
back, with one of the Deathborn just behind them, weapon
drawn.
Carrying two of the boxes—one piled atop the other—
was hard work, and Jack was freely sweating. However,
that did help ward off the chill of the late evening.
After another hour of travel, that single crow again gave
an almost lazy squawk above them. The little night sky Jack
could see through the trees was broken only by the small
pinpricks of stars. Theodore raised a fist and drew
everyone to a stop.
‘Gather round.’
The Deathborn approached and stood in a semi-circle in
front of Theodore, who looked up at the trees.
‘I find it strange,’ he began, ‘that of all the sounds I hear
in these woods, there’s only been a single crow at a time.
On top of that, those scavengers usually tend to be active
during the day. Curious, wouldn’t you say?’
 Jack didn’t know if the man was talking to anyone in
particular, or just musing out loud. Jack also couldn’t be
certain if it was the same crow over and over, or different
ones the farther they travelled.
‘Wytch,’ he said, referring to Assandra. ‘Tell me, are we
being watched?’
‘By the bird?’ she asked in confusion.
‘And by Cora as well,’ he added while still looking up.
Assandra frowned and glanced up as well. Then, her
eyebrows raised in a look of realisation.
Jack suddenly understood what Theodore was thinking.
‘It’s possible, I think,’ Assandra said. ‘Though it is not a
magic I know how to perform.’
Theodore’s sights settled high up on one particular tree.
He strode forward and lifted his flaming torch. Jack could
just make out the form of a bird on one of the high
branches, looking down at them, though it was too high to
see many of the details.
A crow, he guessed.
‘Crossbow. Now,’ Theodore ordered. One of the
Deathborn quickly ran forward and offered up his weapon,
which had a timber stock and matching arced cross section
at the end. The string had already been pulled taut and a
bolt set into place, ready to fire.
Theodore took the weapon in exchange for his torch and
told the man to hold the flame upwards. While the
crossbow was small enough to be fired with a single hand,
if needed, Theodore set his free hand on the stock for
support and took aim. Jack was no ranged weapons expert,
but he couldn’t help but think it was a difficult shot,
especially considering the distance and lack of light.
Thunk.
The brief, dull sound of the mechanism firing was
followed by a squawk from above. Moments later, he heard
the sound of something hitting the ground, and then the
mad flapping of wings.
 Theodore led the men forward a short distance to where
the bird lay on the ground. It rolled manically, propelled by
the one wing it was able to move. The other had been
pinned to its chest by the bolt.
How is it still alive? Jack thought—and not just because
of the bolt that had been shot through it. A chunk of flesh
across the beast's abdomen was missing, and the exposed
meat beneath looked old and rotted. Something had been
eating it, but not recently.
‘What is it?’ Len asked.
‘I’m guessing Cora used the body of a bird to create a
spy. Something to watch the woods in case of any
intruders.’
The animal continued to flail. Theodore took back his
torch and pressed the end of it down onto the reanimated
corpse. He held it there. While unpleasant to watch, Jack
reminded himself the creature wasn’t really alive.
Eventually, it went up in flames, though the bird continued
to writhe as the fire engulfed it.
Soon after, the bird grew still. Jack remembered what
Len had previously told him: fire is one of our best
weapons. It certainly did seem effective in putting down the
creatures Jack had faced thus far.
‘I’d wager our enemy knows we’re coming,’ Theodore
said.
‘It was pointless me making the connection with her
earlier, then,’ Assandra said. Jack had to agree—the
element of surprise was now gone.
Theodore rounded to face her. ‘Did I ask your opinion?’
he snapped. ‘The connection earlier yielded results. We
know that there is another entity in all of this. That is
valuable knowledge that we wouldn’t have otherwise had.’
‘So,’ Len began, ‘I take it we carry on as planned?’
Theodore thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes.
There is no other option.’
 Jack looked down at the boxes in his arms. He knew
Theodore hated people speaking up without invitation, but
this was something he felt he needed to raise. ‘Can I ask a
question?’
All eyes fell on Jack. In his peripheral vision, he saw Gus
shake his head, though the man was wearing a grin.
Theodore frowned and waited for a few moments. ‘Speak,’
he eventually said, surprising Jack—he’d expected to be
instantly rebuffed.
‘The spawn,’ Jack began, and raised his two boxes a
little. ‘I understand the logic of taking them from
Assandra’s house to make sure they are safe. But… are we
not now taking them right to Cora?’ He then paused,
waiting for the angry reaction that would no doubt follow.
Indeed, Jack saw Theodore’s jaw clench, but the tone of
his response was calm and measured. ‘Yes, I understand
your question,’ he said. ‘And it was a consideration.
However, I decided it best to bring them with us. There is
strength in our numbers, and leaving them unguarded was
not something I’m prepared to do.’
Jack nodded, though he still wasn’t convinced. If their
strength wasn’t enough and they all failed and died, Jack’s
original point stood: Cora had the spawn. Theodore
obviously picked up on Jack’s hesitance, which was no
doubt etched on his face. ‘You don’t agree?’ the knight
asked while tilting his head to the side.
‘It isn’t my place to agree or disagree,’ Jack replied
before quickly adding, ‘sir.’
Theodore stepped forward, coming close to Jack. ‘That’s
right,’ he said, his jaw still clenched. ‘Any more questions?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No, sir.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ He then addressed the rest of the
group. ‘Gather up and fall in line. We move out again.’
The procession was soon on the march once more, with
Jack falling back midway through the line, still struggling
with the boxes that were growing heavier as they walked.
Gus moved up beside him, chuckling.
‘Get it over with,’ Jack said in a quiet voice.
‘Get what over with?’ Gus asked in a similarly low tone.
‘You’re going to tease me about opening my mouth to
Theodore when I should have kept quiet.’
‘Well, I did warn you he doesn’t like backtalk,’ Gus said.
‘But you were using your head. Truth be told, I was
thinking the same thing.’ He patted the top box Jack was
carrying. ‘Those are starting to look awful heavy by the
way.’
‘Care to lend a hand?’
Gus’ grin widened. ‘Afraid I’ve been instructed to have
my weapon at the ready.’ He raised the thick club he was
holding. ‘So, afraid I can’t.’
Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Convenient.’
‘Anyway,’ Gus went on, ‘what I was going to say is that
I’m impressed. You aren’t just blindly following. Looks like
my advice is starting to rub off on you a bit, eh?’
‘You mean the incessant nagging I hear every hour of
every day?’
‘Yes, that,’ Gus said with a laugh.
Jack smiled. ‘Then yes, I suppose it is starting to sink in.’
‘Excellent!’ Gus exclaimed, patting Jack on the shoulder.
‘Maybe just pick your moments a little better in the future.
I’m surprised the knight didn’t dislocate your jaw for
doubting his plan.’
‘You and me both.’
Gus then motioned up ahead to Assandra, who was
walking close to Theodore and another Deathborn. ‘I still
don’t know what to make of the girl,’ he said. ‘Do you get
the impression she knows more than she’s letting on?’
Jack hesitated, then shook his head. ‘No. In truth, I don’t
think she’s part of whatever it is her sister is doing, beyond
being the unwitting accomplice for a time.’
 ‘A fair point,’ Gus said. ‘And did you see her reaction
when she made the connection to her sister? Poor girl was
horrified. Can’t imagine Cora will be a pretty sight when
we find her.’
‘Think we stand any chance?’ Jack asked.
‘I honestly have no idea. We did manage to subdue
Assandra.’
‘But Assandra was just defending herself,’ Jack argued.
‘I also got the impression she was holding back, at least
initially.’
‘True,’ Gus said. ‘Also, we both know Cora will be
stronger. Assandra hasn’t succumbed to the dark power
she’s able to wield. The same can’t be said for her sister.’
‘Which means trouble for us,’ Jack said.
‘Which means trouble for us,’ Gus replied with a nod.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

It had been roughly another half-hour’s walk since the

incident with the bird. Jack’s arms and fingers were
starting to ache beyond what was bearable. The boxes
hadn’t been heavy initially, but after carrying them for so
long over rough terrain, he was at the point he felt he
might drop them. He’d actually come close to tripping over
a wayward vine a few hundred meters back, which had
caused everyone to watch him stumble to keep his footing.
After recovering, Jack had felt his face flush with
embarrassment, not helped by the sniggering of the other
men—led by Edwin. Now he just wanted to hand the
packages off for a little while.
They came across a stream that wound through the
forest, running roughly east to west. They would have to
cross it to continue. As the men stood at the edge, he saw it
was only a few feet in width and not particularly deep, but
the ground beneath the flowing water was rocky and
uneven.
‘Careful with your footing,’ Theodore warned, then
waded through first and easily reached the opposite side.
The others started to cross; Jack was about to take his first
step into the water as well, but then he paused, hearing
something ahead over the splashing of the other men. The
sound was faint.
A moan?
Theodore had obviously heard it as well, as he turned to
look ahead into the trees and raised his torch higher. Jack
quickly made his way across the stream, careful not to
stumble again. He felt his low-quality boots instantly soak
through as the cold water flooded them. Once out on the
other side, he listened again.
Another moan, this one long and low, and coming from a
slightly different pocket of space.
The light from Theodore’s torch didn’t stretch very far,
but at the very edge of its illumination, Jack saw something
glint in the darkness. He quickly realised it was the
reflection from a pair of eyes. Theodore quickly unsheathed
his sword and took a step backwards.
‘Everyone at the ready!’ he commanded.
Jack set down the boxes he was carrying and drew out
his machete. He saw the glinting of another pair of eyes
ahead as well, a little to the right of the first. Then, two
figures emerged, shambling forwards. Jack drew in a
breath.
It was two men. At least, they might have been men at
one time. Now they were merely hideous and rotting
corpses. The flesh of the first man was a dark grey and
looked dry. It was thin in some areas, allowing the bones
beneath to peek through, such as on his arms and across
his chest, where the rib cage was visible. Rags of clothing—
a deteriorated open shirt as well as simple cotton trousers
—hung loosely from him.
As the corpse ambled closer on unsteady feet, Jack could
make out more of his face, where the hair on his head had
thinned to just a few dark and wispy strands. His eyes were
cloudy, and his mouth was pulled back into a snarl.
The other man was in a similar state of decomposition,
and the skin around his mouth had been completely
stripped away, leaving dark gums on display around
yellowed teeth. His throat was open in a wide, gaping hole,
and he was completely naked. That corpse, however, held a
cleaver with a stained, rusty blade in one hand, whereas
the other was weaponless.
‘Wights!’ Len shouted.
Jack cast a confused look at Gus. ‘Ghouls, lad!’ the
Irishman added. ‘The dead brought back to life.’ He looked
at the hefty club in his hands. ‘Would have preferred having
a sharper weapon to deal with them, though guess I can
make plenty of mess with this.’
‘Take off their heads or destroy what little brains they
have left!’ Theodore shouted.
Every member of the Deathborn readied themselves—a
nervous energy crackled through them. Jack did notice
Edwin sneakily shuffle away to the back of the group,
getting close to the stream.
Coward.
Still, numbers were on their side, and with only two
enemies to fight—especially ones that moved so slowly—
Jack fancied their chances.
Then, the rest of the wights started emerging from the
darkness.
The others stumbled into the light in a splayed arc
formation, slowly bearing down on the Deathborn, who
were instinctively backing up. The sounds of the moaning
increased as more and more of the dead came into view.
Some were missing arms, some bore weapons like knives or
scythes, and all were in various stages of rot. The smell of
spoiled meat emanating from the repulsive corpses soon
drifted over to Jack.
He counted seventeen of them.
‘Attack!’ Theodore suddenly shouted. He then started to
run forward, keeping his sword low and to his side, the
edge of the blade sweeping through the top of the grass as
he moved. After a moment’s hesitation, the rest of
Deathborn gave a war cry and ran into battle.
Theodore’s movements were fluid and quick; Jack
watched as the knight sprinted close to one of the ghouls,
dipped his body slightly, then slashed his sword upwards to
take off an arm that was outstretched towards him in one
clean motion. The newly exposed fleshy stump, cut at the
wight’s bicep, showed dull, purple meat around the severed
bone. Theodore then spun his body, with the blade
following in a smooth 360-degree arc. This time, he sliced
through the neck of the walking corpse, cutting off its head
completely. The whole thing looked effortless, and the
wight’s head rolled from its neck to the ground below, the
body dropping with it.
Jack soon reached one of the wights as well, his machete
raised above his head. He knew he didn’t have Theodore’s
skill with a blade, nor was his weapon as sharp, so there
was little chance of his slashes cutting through the enemy
so easily. That meant he needed a different approach. He
lunged forward with a hard, high front kick, slamming the
sole of the boot into the chest of the advancing wight.
Jack felt the bones of the exposed ribcage crack beneath
the force of his kick, and the corpse stumbled backward
and fell. Acting quickly, Jack then stomped his boot down
hard onto the throat of the wight, stopping it from lifting its
head again as its jaw worked frantically, trying to bite. The
creature lifted its arms up in an attempt to grab his leg, but
Jack raised his machete up and quickly thrust it down as
hard as he could.
He heard a dull sound of impact as the edge of the
weapon buried itself into the corpse’s skull. Jack tried to
yank it free again to strike once more, but the blade was
buried so deeply it didn’t budge. He had to then move his
foot onto the wight’s head and use all of his weight to
forcefully wiggle the machete up and down in order to get
it free. The reanimated corpse was motionless now, but that
didn’t stop Jack from stabbing it again and again. The more
he struck, the more he felt a bubbling anger start to rise. It
actually felt good, in a way, and he indulged his desire to
inflict more damage. When he calmed down enough to take
stock, he saw the wight’s cranium was ruined, with
multiple gashes and openings puncturing the skull,
revealing the dull grey brain beneath. Dark fluid ran from
the wounds.
The sounds of fighting filled the air around him. With his
teeth still clenched together in anger, Jack surveyed what
was happening—he realised how lucky he’d been that
another of the wights hadn’t shuffled up to him to attack
while he’d been busy with his downed foe. Most of the
Deathborn were being swarmed, as even more of the
wights had emerged. Many more. Theodore was carving
through multiple ghouls, all dropping to his blade, but
everyone else was in trouble, each fighting at least two at a
time. Assandra was standing in the stream, keeping as far
back as possible, her hands still tied behind her back.
Jack quickly ran to the aid of one of the Deathborn who
was being pushed back by two ghouls. He then flung
himself into the closest wight and forced it to the ground,
face down, while landing on top of it. He pointed his
machete downward and dropped all of his weight onto it,
again puncturing the skull. The blade met resistance at
first, then slowly sank down. The struggling dead man
ceased fighting and went motionless. Gus was close by, and
Jack saw him unleash a mighty swing of his club, which hit
one of the wights square in the head. That corpse also went
down, its head striking a rock. Gus didn’t let up and
connected with four more savage overhead blows. Jack
heard a crack after the first; after the fourth, all that
remained was a wet sludge of dark purples and greys, all
mushed together with a dark fluid.
However, to the right of Gus, Jack also saw one of the
Deathborn lose his footing when three of the ghouls bore
down on him. The man kicked and fought on the ground,
but it was futile. One of the wights held a long knife, which
it quickly thrust down, blade first, plunging it into the
man’s stomach. He cried out in pain as another creature
stood over him. It took hold of his head and pushed its
thumbs—one of which was little more than bone—into his
sockets, causing clear liquid to burst free and spill down
the side of his face. The third wight leaned in close and
brought its mouth to the man’s throat, though he continued
to fight and yell in agony and desperation. The wight bit
down.
The screams from that Deathborn turned to gargles as
blood ran down from the corners of the wight's rotted
mouth. The creature pulled back, bringing a mouthful of
flesh with it, leaving stretched tendons and strings of meat
running back to the open wound. The ghoul began to chew,
so the one with the knife bent forward as well to take a bite
of its own, as did the corpse that still had its thumbs buried
into the Deathborn’s eyes. Its teeth took away some flesh
from the man’s cheek. The bone below, slick with blood,
was visible beneath.
Jack wanted to fight his way over to help, but he’d been
cut off by two of the shambling corpses that were closing
in, forcing him to backpedal.
He saw one of the wights advancing on Assandra as
well, wading into the water after her. Since her hands were
behind her back, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.
Jack cut back, dodged away from the creatures closing in,
and ran towards her, shoulder-charging the wight close to
Assandra. As before, he plunged his machete down through
its head with a satisfying crunch when the skull gave way.
As Jack stood back to his feet, Assandra looked at him
angrily. ‘I don’t need your help,’ she snapped.
Jack raised his eyes in surprise. ‘Your hands are tied.
What could you have done?’
 She shook her head, then turned her back to him,
exposing her bound hands. ‘Untie me, then.’
Despite knowing releasing her would anger Theodore,
Jack knew it wasn’t fair to leave her so helpless like that.
He turned to see the carnage, where every man was
fighting for his life. He looked beyond that—and his
stomach dropped. Even more of those things were
emerging from the darkness. He looked back at Assandra.
‘Don’t make me regret this,’ he said, then got to work on
her bonds. Just as they were starting to fall loose, Jack felt
a weight crash against him from behind. He lost his footing
on the slippery rocks underfoot and fell, twisting as he did
so that he could land on his back. A wight was atop him,
letting out excited groans. It reached down to Jack’s face,
clawing at him and digging into his flesh with its ragged
nails. The wight’s face was a dull, sickly yellow, and the
texture was as dry as old parchment paper. Its nose was
absent, leaving only an open area that housed stringy, black
cartilage.
Jack’s face sank below the water and he inadvertently
took in a mouthful of it. The machete slipped from his grasp
while he flailed. Eventually, his hands found the wight’s
neck and managed to hold its head far enough away to
keep it from biting him, but his own head was continually
being forced down beneath the water, and it was a struggle
to periodically lean upwards to gulp in some much-needed
air.
Jack was stuck. He couldn’t let go of his grip lest the
creature take a chunk out of him, but by using both hands
to fight it off, he couldn’t leverage himself to move above
the water. His head plunged under the water yet again.
Through the distortion of the water, Jack saw Assandra
approach the wight from behind. She placed her now-free
hands on either side of the wight's head. Soon, dark smoke
started to drift up from where Assandra’s hands met the
wight’s cranium. It also escaped from the creature's open
mouth. Jack could feel heat emanate towards the parts of
his body exposed above the water. A second later, the
wight's head went up in a ball of flames. Jack felt the
wight’s grip on him slacken and it flopped off him to the
side. As its head submerged beneath the water, the flames
instantly extinguished with a large puff of smoke.
Jack quickly sat upright and pulled in desperate breaths.
He looked up to Assandra, who stood over him, eyes white.
‘Would you believe me if I said I didn’t need your help,
either?’ he asked in between pants.
With pale skin, blank eyes, and visible veins, her face
had an otherworldly quality to it, but that was humanised
when she cracked half a smile. ‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said.
She then offered him her hand. Jack took it, though he was
a little wary her hand might still be scalding hot. It wasn’t,
yet Jack could still feel a residual warmth from her palm.
The fighting continued, though the Deathborn were
clearly overrun and forced to drop back.
‘I’m going to run,’ Assandra told him. ‘This isn’t my
fight. It never was.’
‘But we’ll die,’ Jack said.
‘Only if you stay,’ she told him. ‘Come with me now,
while you have the chance.’
‘I can’t turn my back on them.’
Assandra just shrugged. ‘Then stay and die.’ She turned
and began to walk away through the water.
‘I let you free!’ Jack shouted.
‘And I saved your life,’ the woman shot back as she
looked over her shoulder at him.
‘You’re scared,’ Jack added with a hint of realisation.
‘Scared of what she’ll do to you, aren’t you?’
Assandra stopped and clenched her fists. Seeing her
body tense up at his accusation, Jack knew he had hit on
something.
‘We’re your best chance, you know,’ Jack went on. ‘If you
leave now and we fail, you think your sister is just going to
forgive and forget your betrayal? Forced or not, you were
helping us get to her.’
The wytch slowly turned around. Her jaw was set, and
he saw a yellow glow start to surround her tightly balled
fists.
Well done, Jack thought to himself, You’ve gotten her
angry. Now what?
‘You know what Cora has become,’ he continued. ‘You’ve
seen it. So, you tell me, is she the sister you remember?’
‘We can’t beat her,’ Assandra said.
‘We can,’ Jack shouted back.
But Assandra shook her head. ‘That thing she was
communicating with. It’s… it’s far beyond us.’
‘So you keep saying. Help us find out more about it,’
Jack said. He knew he was running out of time. ‘Knowledge
is power—or at least that’s what I’m told. There’s
something going on here and you know it. Don’t you want
to find out why your sister was using you?’ A screech drew
his attention. Three wights had broken through and were
ambling quickly towards him. ‘If nothing else,’ he went on,
‘help Cora find peace. Would the woman you knew really
want to exist as she does now? Twisted into something
beyond all recognition. Help end her suffering. You need to
do this, Assandra, or Cora will come for you. There are
some things that you just can’t run from.’
He was out of time. The three walking corpses were now
within striking distance. Jack backed away just as one
swung the small hand-axe it was carrying. He was able to
easily dodge backwards, though he knew dealing with all
three would be difficult.
An incredible heat surged past Jack’s head,
accompanied by a flash of blinding light. The air crackled,
and he instinctively ducked to the side and looked up to see
a stream of fire blazing from Assandra’s outstretched
palms. It splashed over the closest wight continually until
its body was completely engulfed in flames. Jack pushed
himself backwards as the burning wight flailed. Assandra
let loose with another surge of liquid fire, blanketing the
second, then the third wight, both of which went up like lit
torches. The heat that flowed from their burning bodies
was incredible, and it didn’t take long for them all to drop
down into the water.
Assandra’s hands were still cloaked in flame as she
walked forward. ‘Bastard!’ she seethed at Jack. However,
she kept on going past him, stepping out from the stream.
With a cry of anger, she unleashed another torrent onto a
crowd of four wights that were shuffling towards her. It
didn’t take long for them to drop. After that, she hurled
fireballs at her targets, and while not every spell struck
true, the numbers of the attackers started to wane in a
literal blaze of fury.
Theodore had taken notice of the display. His eyes shot
to Jack, and it was clear the knight was connecting the
dots. However, he was thoroughly distracted fighting two
ghouls himself at the moment.
Assandra continued her assault, laying waste to even
more of the wights; Jack couldn’t help but notice she was
careful not to attack the ones close to any Deathborn. The
grass in many areas was now tinged black around burning
corpses that no longer moved. As she took another step
forward, however, Jack saw her stumble. She dropped to
one knee, took a moment, then stood again and continued.
Jack fished about in the stream and managed to find his
machete. He then tried to pick out the best place to
advance to. Gus was busy with a crowd of wights, and had
one on the floor, though its lower half was gone—severed at
the waist. The Irishman looked beaten and scratched, but
was still going. With a large foot on the downed wight’s
back, and his large, meaty hands wrapped around its head,
Gus pulled upward with a roar. The wight's head was
forced from its body, mouth opening and closing, and its
spine slipped up through its torso and out through the neck
stump. The spine didn’t sever completely, so when Gus
dropped the wight, its head was still connected above its
body by around half a foot, making it look comical in the
most macabre sort of way.
Deciding Gus was as good a person to assist as any, Jack
set off and ran over to his friend, and he and Gus managed
to overcome the crowd around them. Jack allowed himself a
moment to survey the area: bodies littered the ground,
many of them still alight or smouldering and charred black.
The tide seemed to have well and truly turned. However, a
great many Deathborn had fallen as well, one of whom lay
in the last throes of death, lying face up while cradling the
intestines that had been pulled from his open stomach.
Assandra was down to one knee again and looked
physically drained. Even lifting her arms seemed to take
considerable effort. Jack and Gus ran over to her as she
screamed and sent yet another scorching torrent of fire
towards a group of wights.
Eventually, the battle ended as the last wight fell,
decapitated by Theodore’s sword. The silence that
descended was in such a stark contrast to the sounds of
chaos that preceded it.
Theodore then stomped over to Assandra—the wytch
was down on all fours and breathing heavily.
‘Who released her?’ he demanded.
Jack noticed Assandra’s hands clench together again,
and a warm, amber glow emanated from her concealed
palms and through her fingers. Her jaw shook as she
scowled at the approaching knight.
No, Jack thought, don’t.
Assandra tried to push herself to her feet, but she
quickly dropped to the ground, utterly depleted of strength.
Jack moved over and knelt down beside her, hooking one of
her arms over his shoulder, and helped the woman stand.
‘You!’ Theodore snarled and pointed his sword out
towards Jack. ‘I knew it was you. Who gave you permission
to release her?’
Jack opened his mouth to reply, but Assandra spoke first.
‘No one released me,’ she said, before giving herself a
moment to breathe. ‘I started working on the bonds as soon
as we entered the forest. It’s lucky for you I did, otherwise
you and your men would have been overrun.’
Theodore cast an angry gaze down on Assandra before
eventually turning to Jack. ‘Re-tie her. Now.’
Jack hesitated. ‘But… she helped us. Saved us.’
Theodore strode forward. ‘Are you questioning me?’ It
was less a question, more a challenge—and it pushed Jack
over the edge. He was tired of tiptoeing around the knight.
It was time to put the fucker in his place, consequences be
damned.
‘If I may, sir,’ Gus cut in as he stepped closer. ‘Maybe
cool heads can prevail here.’
‘Did I ask your opinion, Irishman?’ the knight seethed.
‘No, sir, you did not. But, if I may—the girl here, she had
the chance to run, but she didn’t. She stood and fought
with us and laid waste to those ghouls.’
‘And now they are defeated,’ Theodore replied in a
matter-of-fact tone. ‘So, she must be restrained again.’
‘That is your prerogative,’ Gus went on to say, ‘You’re
the leader, after all. I’d just kindly ask you to consider
exactly what the woman has done for us here.’
‘I’m aware,’ Theodore said.
‘I don’t doubt that. It’s just, given she helped us instead
of running… I would very much like her by my side when
we face the wytch. We may need her.’
Theodore scowled. ‘She doesn’t look strong enough to
raise her head, let alone fight against her sister.’
‘My strength will return,’ Assandra stated as she leaned
onto Jack.
Theodore stepped closer to her. ‘And why should I trust
you?’
 ‘I don’t care if you trust me or not,’ Assandra said,
eyeing him as her head sagged. ‘But I want to know what
my sister is doing. I fear…’ Her head dropped fully as she
cast her eyes down. ‘I fear her plans might be a danger to
everyone.’
‘Why?’ Theodore asked. ‘What makes you so sure of
that?’
‘The entity,’ she said. ‘The power I felt was
indescribable. If Cora’s plan is to try to control it somehow,
or unleash it…’ She trailed off and said nothing more.
‘You’ll willingly fight against her?’
Assandra lifted her head again. ‘Yes,’ she said, then
looked at Jack. ‘Some things you just can’t run from
anymore.’
The knight appeared to be considering her words as he
remained silent, a frown knitted on his brow. To Jack, it
would have been a simple decision to make; let the woman
help them and stop treating her like a prisoner. They
needed what she could provide. Theodore wasn’t an idiot,
so surely he had to see that. But Jack knew Theodore also
didn’t want to lose face by relenting to pressure in front of
the men.
‘I want four men around her at all times,’ Theodore
eventually said. ‘If she steps out of line by just an inch, she
dies.’ He then scowled at Assandra. ‘Don’t forget whose
side you’re on.’
Assandra did not reply.

OceanofPDF.com
OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Theodore allowed everyone a brief respite, giving the men

time to pull themselves together and treat any wounds they
may have had. There were only nine of them left now in
total. Before Jack was able to sit and rest, the knight pulled
him aside and away from the main group.
‘I’ve been watching you,’ he said to Jack. ‘You’ve formed
a bond with the wytch—don’t think I haven’t noticed.
Chatting to her on our journey, always there to help her
when she falls. There is some kind of connection, is there
not?’
‘No,’ Jack shot back defensively.
Theodore stepped closer. ‘Lie to me one more time and
I’ll run you through.’
Jack clenched his fists, though kept them down by his
side. He took a breath. ‘We’ve spoken,’ he admitted. ‘But I
wouldn’t call that a connection.’
‘You untied her by the stream and allowed her to fight,’
Theodore went on. ‘She didn’t release those bonds on her
own.’
After a moment’s hesitation, Jack shook his head. ‘No,
she didn’t. I thought we were going to be overrun, and so I
assumed she could help.’
 ‘And you were right,’ Theodore said. ‘You used your
head. In some ways, that is to be lauded. Though you did go
against my orders. Luckily for you, her lie fooled the men,
allowing me to spare your life.’
Another pause. ‘So, what do you want from me, sir?’
Jack asked.
‘What I want,’ Theodore went on, ‘is your loyalty. To not
forget which side you’re on. Do I have that?’
‘Of course,’ Jack said.
‘I’m not so sure I believe you. But, you can prove it to
me. I’ve let your rapport build with the wytch, as I felt it
might be beneficial. Now it’s time to see if I was right.’
Jack felt his stomach drop. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I want you to speak to her again,’ Theodore said. ‘Try to
find out as much as you can. Dig into the history with her
and her sister. Anything you uncover might be important. I
need to know if she’s going to turn on us when it matters.’
‘What makes you think she’ll open up to me like that?’
Theodore just smiled and gave him a firm pat on the
arm. ‘Just do it—go speak to her. I can spare another half
hour before we move out. Report back to me in private
when you are done.’
The knight then strolled past Jack without giving him a
chance to respond.
Jack’s head dropped down. Then he turned to see that
Assandra was currently sitting while facing away from him,
speaking with Gus. Though in truth, it looked like it was the
Irishman doing most of the talking. With his mouth feeling
dry, Jack pushed himself forward, loathing what he had to
do.
Why do you care so much? You don’t owe her anything.
You don’t owe her. She was the one that sent the man out
who killed my boy.
Even though he tried to tell himself that, Jack didn’t
really believe it. He approached Assandra and Gus, who
were both seated cross-legged on the ground. ‘Mind if I sit
with you?’ he asked.
‘Rest your legs,’ Gus said as he gestured to the grass
beside him. Jack sat down, and Assandra made eye contact.
‘What was that about?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘The talk with your leader over there.’ She nodded her
head back towards Theodore.
‘He thought I helped you out of your restraints,’ Jack
said. ‘So he gave me a bit of a talking down to about it.’
The half-truth came surprisingly easily to him. ‘I denied it…
but he didn’t believe me.’
Assandra’s eyes narrowed as she studied him. She then
nodded.
‘I’m surprised the knight is allowing us a rest and isn’t
pushing us on already,’ she said.
Jack just shrugged. ‘I think we’ll be setting off soon,
once we get our strength back.’ He then eyed Assandra.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Still weak,’ she said, ‘But better than I was.’
‘Theodore seems to have accepted that we need you, so
I’d guess he wants you as ready as you can be?’
‘Should I be thankful for that?’ Assandra asked coldly.
‘I expect not,’ Jack replied, ‘just offering an opinion.’ He
decided to quickly move the conversation on, and said:
‘What were you two discussing?’
‘I was asking Assandra here about herself,’ Gus said.
Assandra shook her head and rolled her eyes. ‘He was
interrogating me under the pretence of chit-chat. Nonstop
questions, one after the other.’
‘I’m an inquisitive person,’ Gus said.
‘You’re a pest,’ Assandra shot back, though Jack was
certain he picked up a small amount of warmth and humour
in her tone. He was also happy that Gus had greased the
wheels and already started the probing.
 ‘Apparently questioning you to madness is a sign he likes
you,’ Jack quipped. ‘He’s done the same with me.’
‘Hold on there, fella,’ Gus said with a smile. ‘I never said
I liked you, so don’t go making assumptions.’
‘Good to know,’ Jack replied, grinning. A natural silence
fell over them for a moment. Jack was anxious. Do I just lie
to Theodore and say Assandra told me nothing of value?
That was the course of action that eased his conscience
most, though he doubted Theodore would be so easy to
fool.
The hell with it, Jack thought. Best to be as direct as I
can.
‘Assandra, is there anything you can tell us about your
sister that might help us?’ Jack asked, keeping his tone
steady and non-confrontational.
After a questioning look, Assandra shook her head. ‘I
told Theodore everything after my last vision. There’s
nothing I know that he doesn’t.’
‘What about before she turned? Was Cora a person that
could be reasoned with? Maybe there’s still some part of
her that—’
‘No,’ Assandra replied quickly. ‘Even before all this,
Cora wasn’t a woman who would follow orders. She was…
determined. Strong. Ambitious.’
‘Ambitious how?’ Gus asked.
Assandra shuffled a little. ‘It’s not important,’ she
replied.
‘It might be,’ Gus said. ‘If you don’t mind talking about
it. I can promise you, there’ll be no judgement from myself
or Jack. We aren’t the type of men to do that.’
The woman stared at them both. Jack could practically
see her internal workings trying to decide whether to
divulge anything to them. Eventually, she spoke: ‘After what
happened with our parents—our father, specifically—Cora
didn’t want to have to rely on anyone. She saw that as
being weak. Her ambition was to gain power.’
 ‘What happened to your parents?’ Jack asked. ‘You
mentioned your father…’
Assandra lowered her eyes. ‘That was a long time ago. I
was still a child, only fourteen.’
‘You can tell us,’ Gus gently urged.
The wytch’s response was slow in coming. ‘My mother
and father were… different… from most married couples, I
suppose. My memories of them were not of man and wife,
but of owner and servant. She was always so passive. My
father, Vern, was a rather intelligent man. I believe when
he was younger, he gained qualifications at a big city
somewhere, though I’m not sure what they were. A doctor
of some kind, or professor. My mother always seemed more
like a specimen to him, something to study. She was the
one my sister and I inherited our gifts from. My father
treated us the same way he did our mother.’
‘What kind of father does that?’ Gus asked.
Assandra could only shrug. ‘Mine,’ she said. ‘We grew
up that way, always moving around and living in private
areas, hidden away, so Father could carry out his studies.
He tested us, pushed us to explore our power. But as we
got older, we started to rebel a little. Mainly Cora, though I
followed her lead. We are twins, but I always considered
her the older sister, as she watched over me. When we
were fourteen… something happened.’
Jack leaned in. ‘What?’
‘My mother died. I didn’t see it happen, but Cora told
me it was because my father pushed her too hard and tried
to make her do something she didn’t want to. I was out in
the meadows at the time. Cora found them and saw Mother
as she was dying. Cora was furious and screamed at Father.
He told her the only reason we had our powers was
because of him, because of what he did for our mother. I
still don’t know what that was supposed to mean. Cora was
enraged. I didn’t see what happened next, either, but I
heard the sound: the swell of energy and the explosion. The
house shook, and Cora came running out in tears. She
looked more angry than sad and told me both parents were
dead. She grabbed my hand, and we ran. From then on, it
was just the two of us.’
‘Jesus,’ Gus exclaimed. ‘What a horrible childhood.’
‘So, if it was just the two of you for so long,’ Jack began,
‘what happened to change that? Why the rift between you
two? Even before her fight with the Deathborn, I got the
impression you didn’t see a lot of her.’
‘We did stay together for a long time,’ Assandra said.
‘We were looking out for each other. But that wasn’t
enough for Cora. She went down a dark path. I told her I
didn’t want that, and we agreed to part ways but to still
keep in contact. In a sense, I felt it was a relief to her, and
that I’d been holding her back.’
Jack was somewhat surprised at how much Assandra
was openly sharing with them. He assumed it was because
she had been isolated for so long—it was as if she were
unloading some of what she’d been bottling up.
‘Didn’t you worry about what she would become?’ Gus
asked. ‘We know that someone who accepts the darkness
too much loses their humanity.’
‘How do you know that?’ Assandra asked with a frown.
Gus shrugged. ‘It’s documented, I guess. The Deathborn
have experience with wytches, limited though it is.’
‘Well, I haven’t read any of your books,’ Assandra said.
‘The only things I knew were from my family. It’s not like
there was a coven we could join to share warnings about
what we might become. So no, I never worried about that.
Though… I did wonder just how far she’d go to get what
she wanted.’
Gus gave a sad smile. ‘Given what we know now, I’d say
she is willing to go pretty far. It can’t have been easy for
you to see what you did during your communion with her.’
The woman began to pick at the golden hem on the
sleeve of her dress. ‘No,’ she said.
 Jack was scratching at some loose skin on his thumb as
well. What he was about to ask did not sit well with him.
‘Can you think of anything that might help us when we face
her?’
‘Help to kill her, you mean?’ she asked coldly.
‘Not necessarily,’ he replied.
Who are you trying to kid, Jack?
It was clear Assandra wasn’t fooled either. ‘Don’t
presume me to be an idiot,’ she said. ‘And to answer your
question, no, I don’t know of anything that can help kill her.
I don’t even know what she is anymore. You saw what
happened with the spawn and your friend at my home when
I brought him back.’
‘When you brought his head back,’ Jack corrected.
‘Exactly my point. If Cora has used those spawn on
herself somehow, I’m not sure it’s even possible to kill her.’
Jack nodded. Assandra was right. Then something struck
him.
‘Back at your house,’ he began, ‘you said the spawn
were resilient and could survive through a lot. Did you ever
try to actually kill one?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I didn’t really set out with that
goal—I just tested their durability a little.’
Jack looked over to the boxes he’d set down near the
stream, now guarded by two Deathborn, one of which was
a disgruntled-looking Edwin.
‘What are you thinking, lad?’ Gus asked. ‘I see your little
brain working there.’
Jack turned to Gus again and raised his eyebrow. ‘Little
brain?’
‘Come on, share it. You have an idea.’
‘I think we should kill one of the spawn. Or at least see if
we can. If Cora is drawing anything from them, then a
method for destroying them could work on her.’
‘You’re openly talking about killing my sister,’ Assandra
said. ‘Do you think I’m just going to sit here and listen to
it?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jack said, and he meant it. ‘I don’t intend to
be cruel or careless. But you know as well as I do, it might
come down to that.’
Plus, you want Cora dead to avenge Samuel, don’t you,
Jack? You just don’t have the courage to admit it to her.
‘He’s right, lass,’ Gus said in a gentle voice. ‘Can’t
imagine how hard it is for you to hear it. I never had any
siblings myself. But people are dying because of Cora. We
saw that at Lockton, and Jack saw it with his young boy. It
needs to stop.’
‘Do you think I care about those that are dying?’
Assandra asked. However, the pain on her face betrayed
her.
‘I do,’ Gus said. ‘You might not like people, nor want
their company, but I can tell you know the difference
between right and wrong.’
The wytch grew silent. Jack saw a glint of wetness in her
eyes.
Gus turned to Jack. ‘Where do we start with the spawn,
then?’
‘I have an idea,’ Jack replied. ‘Though I’d need
Assandra’s help with it.’
‘Fire,’ Gus said.
‘Worth a try. It seems effective against most things we
fight.’
‘Well,’ Gus said with a smile, ‘I may owe you an apology.
Perhaps your brain isn’t so little when you decide to use it.
I’m proud of you.’
‘Keep your sarcasm,’ Jack quipped. ‘Assandra, can you
help? I’ve noticed you’re pretty adept with fire.’
‘I have to ask,’ Gus cut in. ‘Is pyromancy your specific
power, or does it extend beyond that?’
Assandra frowned again. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean… can you do more?’
‘Yes, I can do more. Why?’
 The Irishman held up his hands. ‘Just curious. I’ve never
met a wytch myself, so it’s always good to learn as much as
you can.’
Her face hardened. ‘Learn about your enemy, you
mean?’
‘No, not at all. I don’t consider you my enemy, lass, not
in the least. If I did, I wouldn’t have stood up for you.’
‘So I should be thankful for that? That you kidnapped
me, but are kind enough to meekly suggest I not be leashed
like a dog. How very noble of you.’
We’re losing her, Jack thought. Her initial urge to open
up had now been replaced by a more familiar anger and
coldness. Can’t blame her for that. You’re asking her to
help kill her kin.
‘That’s fair,’ Jack said, then rose to his feet, brushing the
grass and dirt from his trousers. ‘I’m sorry to have pushed
it, Assandra. It was insensitive.’
As he turned to leave, Assandra spoke again. ‘Do you
Deathborn ever stop to think about the things you’re
killing?’ she asked him, looking up.
Jack frowned, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘I… No, not
really. I’m new to this, and so far I just do as I’m told.’
‘And kill what your masters tell you to.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Because these things are an inconvenience to you,
therefore they deserve to be slaughtered?’
‘Inconvenience?’
‘Perhaps the things you call monsters are just animals
doing what’s in their nature. Does that mean they deserve
to die?’
Jack shook his head. ‘If a wolf invades a town and
slaughters a child, the townsfolk kill it to protect
themselves. This is no different. From what I’ve seen, we
don’t actively hunt down and kill things that don’t give us
cause to.’
 Assandra stood up as well, wearing a humourless smile.
‘Is that so?’ she asked. ‘Well, I was perfectly happy minding
my own business, but you came to kill me anyway.’
‘That isn’t true,’ Jack said. ‘We came to—’
‘You all attacked me. If it wasn’t for the fact I’m useful to
you now, I’d already be dead and you know it. So, what
gives you the right to judge who or what lives or dies?’
Jack opened his mouth. However, no answer came. He
had none to give.
No, he thought. I do have something to say here.
‘I understand what you’re saying. You might even have a
point. But, see, there’s also the fact my boy was killed
because of your sister. He was innocent—he didn’t get to
decide if he lived or died. It just happened to him. Same as
the man I spoke to in Lockton. His boy was taken from
him.’ Jack felt his anger slowly rise as he continued. ‘Cora
did that. She did it deliberately. Remember that. Now it’s
your turn to give me an answer: what gives Cora the right
to decide who lives or dies?’
He realised he had his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
A lot of bottled-up anguish was flowing, and it had seemed
to come from nowhere. Assandra, who now had a tear
running down her cheek, couldn’t look him in the eye. She
didn’t answer. ‘I’m truly sorry about the situation you’re in,’
Jack went on. ‘But there is a job that needs doing here. No
more innocent children will die because of your sister. We’ll
make sure of that. I’ll make sure of that.’
Shaking, he turned again to walk away.
‘Wait.’ Assandra’s voice was soft. When he turned, he
saw she was still looking down at the ground. ‘You… you
may be right.’ She took a breath. ‘Bring me one of the
spawn.’
Jack nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘Best check with Theodore, lad,’ Gus cut in. ‘He’ll likely
shit a spleen if he just sees you two burning up one of his
new pets.’
 ‘I’ll go talk to him,’ Jack said.
He found the knight standing away from the others,
sitting on a rock with his sword laid across his knees. He
was running a thick piece of grey-blue flint down the
freshly cleaned blade.
‘That was quick,’ the knight said without looking up.
‘We may have something.’
‘About Cora? What did she tell you?’
‘Not much beyond what we already knew,’ Jack lied.
‘But,’ he quickly added, ‘the conversation did lead to an
idea. If Cora is using the spawn to help her or to draw
power, then we need to come up with a way to cut it off. If
we can find something these creatures are weak to, then it
will probably be a strong weapon against the wytch as
well.’
Theodore ran the flint along the edge of his blade once
more, then paused and looked ahead, deep in thought.
‘I can see the logic there. Good thinking. Any idea where
to start?’
‘We think fire is as good as anything.’
‘But that means destroying one of the spawn,’ Theodore
said. ‘Potentially wasting a specimen we could learn a lot
from.’
‘That may be true,’ Jack said. ‘But if it could give us an
advantage against the wytch, it’s worth the risk.’
At first, the knight was silent, before he eventually gave
a firm nod and stood to his feet. ‘I agree. I’ll collect one of
the leeches. Get a torch.’
‘Actually,’ Jack began, ‘Assa- the wytch,’ he corrected,
‘said she would help.’
Theodore studied Jack’s face. ‘She agreed to help
willingly?’
‘Not at first, but I made her see how important it is that
her sister is stopped.’
‘How?’
 ‘I just emphasised the evil her sister was doing, and
would continue to do. She didn’t like it, but understood. I
think we can rely on her when it matters.’
‘I’m glad you’re so confident,’ Theodore said. He placed
his sword back into its sheath. ‘I still have my doubts.’ His
gaze hardened. ‘She told you nothing else about her sister
or her past?’
Jack shook his head. ‘She didn’t, no,’ he lied once again.
‘I can keep speaking to her again, if you’d like. See what I
can draw out?’
‘We don’t have time,’ Theodore said. ‘But if I’m honest,
I’m not convinced I can fully trust you either.’
‘Why?’ Jack asked, trying to feign offence. ‘I’ve done
everything you ordered.’
‘We’ll see. Now, tell the wytch to set up. I’ll fetch one of
the spawn and we’ll find out if your theory has any weight
to it.’
It didn’t take long to set everything up. Theodore had
most of the Deathborn watch the trees around them while
Assandra, Theodore, Len, Jack, and Gus gathered around
one of the water-filled jars Theodore had set on the ground.
‘Don’t start out too strong,’ Theodore told the wytch.
‘It’s not good incinerating it immediately. I want to see if
it’s able to recover from fire injuries at all. Build up the
intensity gradually.’
Assandra cocked an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t that cruel?’ she
asked. ‘Bad enough we’re killing it. Is there any need for
torture?’
‘Just do as you’re told,’ Theodore replied, then backed
away from the jar. The spawn within coiled around itself in
the confined space. Assandra stepped forward, opened the
lid, and reached her hands inside, cradling the leech before
setting it down on a large, flat rock. As she stood to her
feet and raised her hands, Theodore called out: ‘Halt!’
Assandra frowned in confusion as the knight stepped
forward, his sword unsheathed. Already, the spawn was
slowly pulling its body across the rock like a slug. ‘I want to
try something,’ the knight said. He then lowered the tip of
his blade and quickly stabbed it into the spawn, which
caused the creature to writhe. The knight flicked his sword
upward, opening up a gash that quickly filled with dark,
thick blood. Its head opened and closed, and its thin tongue
frantically flicked at the air. It looked like it was in pain.
However, soon after the cut had been made, Jack saw
the flesh begin to slowly knit itself back together. The
whole process took maybe a minute, but once completed,
all that remained of the former wound was a slight wrinkle
that blended in with the many others lining the spawn’s
body.
‘Fascinating,’ Gus uttered.
‘These things are more than just durable,’ Theodore
said. ‘They can regenerate. That is… disturbing.’
The grotesque mollusc—if mollusc was the right word—
had again begun its slow crawl along the rock, leaving a
trail of sticky residue behind it.
‘Begin,’ Theodore ordered to Assandra.
She nodded, then regarded the creature again. She
brought one hand up, aiming her palm at the creature. She
closed her eyes and concentrated. After a few seconds, her
face paled. The veins under her skin plumped up. A brief
and controlled stream of flame ignited from her hand and
swam over the spawn, which quickly rolled and writhed.
Jack wanted to turn away. He’d hunted animals for meat
before, plenty of times, but the act of watching this
creature suffer just to further their understanding wasn’t
pleasant. Assandra soon ceased her magic. Jack saw that
the body of the spawn had certainly been damaged: areas
of the skin had been burned away and the flesh beneath
was charred and glowed amber. Once again, the leech’s
head opened and closed continuously, though it could make
no sound to screech or scream.
 They waited, seeing if the spawn could repair itself once
more. A minute passed, then two. Theodore had to move
the mollusc back to the centre of the rock so it didn’t
slither off into the grass. However, its wounds remained. If
there was any healing taking place, it was extremely slow.
‘We may have found our weapon,’ Theodore said. He
then addressed Assandra again. ‘Now kill it.’
The wytch was reluctant, but did as instructed. This
time, the volley of fire she unleashed was much stronger
and more sustained. Jack could feel the heat from the
onslaught even from a distance. Her body swayed a little,
and at one point he thought she might drop to her knees.
She’s still a little weak, he realised.
However, she kept on going. When she was done, the
body of the spawn lay still, curled up like a dead worm as it
continued to burn. Theodore ordered them to leave it for a
while. The flames took a few minutes to die down, and the
charred corpse was now completely lifeless.
Theodore looked up to Jack. ‘It seems you were right,’
he said. He then gathered up the body in his gloved hands
and twisted it. The dry flesh crumbled as the spawn was
easily ripped in two. Theodore then dropped both halves
back into the open jar.
‘I believe we have a way to defeat our enemy,’ he said.
‘Assandra lends us our strongest offence, certainly, but she
is not our only weapon. When the time comes, remember
the torches. They might help. We’re close now, so dig in for
just a little longer. Ready yourselves for what lies ahead.’
The Deathborn gave a roar of agreement. Assandra,
however, remained silent.
‘It’s time to finish this.’

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Thankfully, when they’d set off from the stream, they’d

decided to leave the boxes behind. With only nine of them
left, there weren’t enough people to carry them and still
fight, so the boxes were hidden in a grouping of bushes
close to the stream.
Moving was much easier now without those boxes
weighing Jack down. And they were closing in now. He
could practically feel it.
It was still in the dead of night, so the group was guided
by torchlight over uneven terrain.
At one point during their trek, when Jack was deep in his
own thoughts, it suddenly occurred to him that he could no
longer hear any of the natural sounds of the forest. There
was no high-pitched chirping of insects or hooting of owls,
only the sound of a light, intermittent breeze and their own
breathing and footfalls. Jack couldn’t be certain exactly
when the noises had ceased and given way to an uneasy
quiet. He was about to raise the point when Theodore, once
again at the head of the line, wandered towards a tree up
front and spoke up.
‘We’re getting close,’ he said as he looked upon the tree.
It appeared to be an oak, though it was difficult to tell
anymore, as the trunk and branches were now black and
withered, and it was devoid of most of its leaves. From a
distance, one could have been forgiven for thinking the tree
had been set on fire and left charred, but upon closer
inspection Jack could see the texture of the bark had a
waxy sheen over it and looked gluey to the touch. The few
leaves that remained on the high-up branches were dry and
crumpled inward, black in colour. However, the most
striking feature was the many growths lining its surface:
fleshy, tumorous orbs, all of them different sizes, the
largest of which appeared to be filled with pus, with sickly
yellow heads to them. Most had very faint, milky-white
veins weaving beneath the surface, resembling wispy webs.
These growths were predominantly clumped around the
base, but some smaller bulbs had sprouted farther up the
trunk.
Looking off beyond that particular tree, Jack saw that
other trees ahead had been infected in the same way, and
the number grew the deeper they walked. Much of the
grass had also lost its green, fading to dark browns or
blacks.
As curiosity got the better of him, Jack raised his
machete and pushed the tip onto one of the growths on a
nearby tree trunk. There was a resistance at first, but
eventually the steel slid into the fleshy bulb, causing thick,
viscous fluid to pop free and spill down to the ground. The
liquid was a pale yellow and brought with it a foul smell
upon release. Jack pulled the machete free and wiped the
blade on the grass at his feet.
‘Well,’ Gus said as he approached. ‘That was fucking
disgusting.’
‘It was,' Jack agreed. 'What’s happening to the trees?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Gus replied. ‘Looks like the life is being
drained out of them somehow. And I’ve never seen a tree so
diseased before it produced these,’ he said, prodding one of
the growths with his club.
‘Keep moving,’ Theodore ordered them.
 As they progressed, the festering disease grew stronger,
with the number of diseased trees soon vastly
outnumbering any healthy ones. The tumorous formations
also started to sprout up on bushes and dead logs as well,
growing much like fungi. The grass became thinner and
more patchy, and even the dirt underfoot started to squelch
as they walked, excreting black water.
Kicking some of the muck aside, Jack saw thin, black
tendrils running through the soil, like thin veins reaching
outward.
‘Sir,’ he called out to Theodore. The knight approached
and Jack showed him his find.
After squatting down to study the tendrils, Theodore
looked up at Assandra, who had wandered close herself.
‘Any idea what this is?’ he asked.
She knelt as well, then shook her head. ‘No. I’ve never
seen anything like it.’
‘The damn wytch is infecting the whole area,’ a voice
said, full of loathing. Jack swivelled to see Edwin looking
over his shoulder. ‘She’s spreading her sickness,’ he went
on. ‘Her madness. Pushing it out and sucking the life from
everything.’ He took a step back. ‘We need more men,’ he
said with more urgency. ‘We need to retreat and gather
more forces. Get the York Deathborn here as well. We can’t
do this alone. It’s suicide. We’ll all die!’
Theodore was immediately up on his feet and he
unleashed a swinging blow, catching Edwin with the back
of his gloved hand and sending the Deathborn staggering
backwards. ‘Keep your thoughts to yourself!’ he snapped.
‘There is no turning back. We move forward and kill the
wytch, whatever the cost. Now steel yourself, you
miserable wretch, or I’ll kill you where you stand.’
Edwin clutched at his cheek and wore a scowl, but he
eventually gave a slow nod. ‘Understood,’ he said with no
small amount of reluctance.
 ‘Good.’ Theodore then turned and addressed the full
contingent. ‘None of us know exactly what we are dealing
with here, but don’t let it scare you. This…’ he paused,
clearly searching for a suitable word, ‘rot changes nothing.
It is just further evidence we’re moving in the right
direction. The plan has not changed—we continue on and
kill the wytch.’
The march continued. As it did, the landscape around
them continued to change. The veins in the ground became
more pronounced, bulging up from beneath the soil in
areas and becoming thicker. None of the trees now were
normal, and the surfaces of most were pocked with
thousands upon thousands of small holes, all clumped
together. Jack also noticed a smell that was repulsive, but
also familiar. He remembered it from his fight with the
banshee in its underground lair.
The rotting smell of the dead.
With the lack of foliage in the tree canopy above them
now, they were now offered a little more light from the
moon, which peeked out from behind the passing grey
clouds. Up ahead, Jack could just see the silhouette of a
ramshackle building.
Though still too far away to make out the details clearly,
the building leaned to one side. It seemed to stand on the
edge of a sharp decline, where the land just beyond the
house quickly dropped away out of sight.
Other than the house, two other things drew Jack’s eye:
a pair of wooden structures that stood about fifteen feet
high. They each consisted of thick, vertical, upright posts
with a cross-post that ran perpendicular near the top. A
human body was fixed to each of these, with the arms tied
to the horizontal sections and their heads lolling down to
their chests. Both were male and completely naked, with
the one to the right in an advanced stage of decomposition
and the flesh missing in many areas, either rotted away or
picked clean by the crows.
 They’re a warning.
Everyone drew to a stop without speaking. Jack’s eyes
roved over the diseased trees, trying to pick up any kind of
movement. His ears strained. If there was something out
there waiting, he couldn’t detect it.
Regardless, it was obvious they had reached their
destination.
Jack’s mind was cast back to what Christopher Waltham
had told him at Lockton, about seeing the disease of the
forest, and then coming across a house at the head of a
sharp decline. He remembered the other thing Christopher
had said as well: There were people. They were dead. Or
they should have been. So many of them… I saw my boy,
too.
It occurred to Jack that Christopher might have been
talking about the wights the Deathborn had faced, but Jack
couldn’t remember seeing a young boy amongst their
assailants, so he worried something else could be waiting
for them at the base of the hill.
The group advanced slowly. Jack strained his eyes,
watching the trees and listening intently for any kind of
sound. The silence around them was unnerving. They
carried on, getting closer to the building.
There came a faint sound, just at the edge of Jack’s
hearing. A low moan, carried by the slight breeze.
‘There!’ one of the Deathborn yelled. Jack saw the man
pointing off ahead to the house. ‘In the window. Did you see
it?’ He sounded panicked.
‘What was it?’ Theodore asked.
The man who had shouted took a couple of steps back.
‘We need to leave,’ he said.
I’ve seen worse than this. Why am I losing my nerve
now?
‘What did you see?!’ Theodore demanded.
‘She’s in the house!’ the man shouted. ‘Didn’t you see
her?’
 Jack scanned the abode but saw nothing. He did,
however, notice a rise in the moaning he’d just heard. It
wasn’t a single cry either, he realised—now there were
multiple weak voices, all coming from somewhere over
near the house, possibly behind it.
The house itself was a single storey with a pitched roof
that sloped sharply up to one side. It was of mostly timber
construction, though the wood had aged and warped; the
wooden-framed windows had clearly seen better days, with
the glass stained and dirty. A timber entrance door sat in
the front elevation, though it hung from its top hinge,
making it stand lopsided. The roof tiles were slate, though
mostly covered by dark-green moss.
A stone chimney ran up one side of the building. No
smoke came out of the head, and there were no visible
lights on inside the dwelling.
If the house was still lived in, it had been shown no care
in a long time—it certainly appeared abandoned.
Jack squinted and fixed his eyes on the windows facing
them, scanning between them in turn.
‘I don’t see anyone,’ he said. Then, movement at the
rightmost window drew his attention. ‘Wait,’ he added,
pointing. Though the dirt that streaked the glass impaired
his view somewhat, Jack was just able to make out a face,
yet it was partially hidden by a dark hood. The skin was a
dull grey, and the face was unnaturally long, though the
rest of the features were too blurred to be clearly made
out. He could see dark patches where the eyes and mouth
should have been, and Jack noticed the hole of the mouth
seemed to be shifting and moving, as if it were uttering
something he couldn’t hear.
Almost as soon as he laid eyes on the strange figure, he
felt something—a stabbing panic began to build in his
chest. He then took a step back as well. Fear quickly rose
up and threatened to overwhelm him, seeming to have
come from nowhere.
 Why am I scaring so easily?
‘I see her,’ he said, though his voice cracked. ‘I think we
need to run.’
Then he heard voices. Not the moans from behind the
house, and not those of his fellow Deathborn, but whispers
in an unknown language coming from inside his own head,
hammering away at his skull.
‘Pull yourselves together, men,’ Len barked. ‘I’ll not
have you losing your nerve now.’
‘If any of you fools try to run, I’ll cut you down myself,’
Theodore added.
However, the threats did little to sway Jack. The terror
he felt continued to grow to the point his body began to
shake. He could almost feel the thing behind the window
staring at him, casting its gaze like a god looking down on a
bug, and the whispering it put into his head was
maddening. He knew that nothing Theodore could do to
him would possibly match what waited if he stayed. Jack
watched as the face slowly moved left and right, sweeping
its vision over the men that approached. When the gaze
moved away from him, Jack noticed the terror that wracked
his body ebb away ever so slightly, though it soon peaked
again as the face turned back to him.
‘Look away from it!’ Assandra yelled.
‘Why?’ Theodore shouted back.
‘She’s doing it! It’s Cora. She’s using a hex.’ Her words
were drawn out, almost like it was a struggle for her to
speak.
In his periphery, Jack saw that Assandra was holding her
hands to her temples and grimacing in pain. The spell was
obviously affecting her as well, but she slowly forced
herself to look away. Once she’d finished turning, she
instantly sped up and ducked behind a blackened tree. Jack
managed to catch sight of Theodore as well, with the
knight also hiding behind a thick tree, his back to the
abode.
 Jack, however, was unable to fully look away, despite
desperately wanting to.
‘I can’t stop looking,’ Jack heard Len shout. ‘We need to
flee!’
Edwin let out a pained scream.
The whispers in Jack’s head grew louder, with the words
still incomprehensible. Then, he suddenly dropped to his
knees as pain exploded from inside his skull.

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 CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Jack had his hands clamped to the sides of his head tightly,
covering his ears. It felt like he was trying to hold his
cranium together and keep it from bursting open. Though
he was screaming, it barely registered—all he could focus
on was the pain.
And yet he was still unable to lower his head and look
away from the form behind the window. He felt his palms
grow wet and realised blood was running from his ears.
Jack felt a trickle of liquid travel down from his nose to his
top lip as well. It felt like his brains were being scrambled,
turning to mush and leaking out.
Something then hit him from the side, the impact hard
enough that Jack’s body was thrown sideways to the
ground. He was then forced face down by rough hands on
his shoulders.
‘Don’t move!’ he heard Theodore order from above. ‘And
don’t look at the fucking house.’
The pressure that was holding Jack down disappeared
and he heard quick footsteps moving away. He then heard
the sound of someone else hitting the ground.
‘Don’t look up,’ the knight said to someone else.
The excruciating pain in Jack’s head mercifully started
to subside. Keeping his face buried in the grass and dirt, he
rolled his head to the side, making sure it was away from
the house. He saw more of the Deathborn in states of
despair, with Gus, Len, and Edwin among them—Theodore
made his way to each, throwing them down and forcing
their gaze away from the wytch.
However, the man farthest away, who now lay on the
ground with his chin dug into the grass, was still eyeing the
abode, and he looked in a horrific state. The face of his skin
was flushed, but on top of that, the blood streaming from
his nose, ears, and even his eyes came in gushing torrents.
The man was attempting to scream, but succeeded only in
vomiting out more of the blood. Beyond that, his bald
cranium had swollen up, bulging out like the top of a
mushroom, with veins popping against the taut skin at the
side of his skull.
Theodore wasn’t able to reach the poor man before the
top of his head exploded, shooting blood and brain matter
up into the air and forcing his left eyeball to pop from the
socket. His body flopped forward a second later.
Thankfully, the Knight of Olin had managed to save
everyone else, and most men lay prone on the ground.
‘Stand,’ he ordered everyone. ‘But keep your backs to
the vile hag.’
Jack took a breath and wiped away the slow trickle of
blood from under his nose. He then forced himself up, the
previous debilitating terror now replaced with a more
manageable and natural fear.
‘Assandra,’ Jack called. She turned to him. ‘Can you
attack her? Burn down the house?’
Assandra looked down at her hands. She appeared to
concentrate. Her face was strained and she ground her
teeth together. However, she then stopped and shook her
head in frustration. ‘Something’s blocking me,’ she called
back, looking around in confusion. ‘I think Cora has set up
a protected area. It’s sapped my power.’
 Jack sprinted over to her, keeping his head ducked and
facing away from the house. The other men were
regrouping as well. When he reached Assandra, he stepped
close to a nearby tree to hide behind it.
‘What do you mean, she’s sapped your power? Is that
even possible?’
Assandra nodded. ‘Evidently it is. It’s a spell, I think. I
should have expected it.’
Fuck, Jack thought.
‘Can we break it?’
Assandra paused and closed her eyes in deep thought.
‘Fall in,’ Theodore shouted over to them. Jack turned to
see the knight signalling both of them to join the others,
who had gathered behind a thicket of bushes and a
grouping of trees. ‘Now!’ he added.
‘Wait,’ Jack shot back. Theodore gave a surprised
expression that quickly turned to anger. The knight really
doesn’t like being talked back to. Jack turned back to
Assandra. ‘There has to be a way,’ he urged. ‘Think.’
Eventually, Assandra’s gaze met his. ‘Maybe there is.
Cora will have set up a boundary using totems, or symbols,
effigies, things like that. They will mark out the edges of
the area that is protected. When we are within those
borders, we are vulnerable to her hexes, and one of those
has stripped me of my power. We need to destroy the
barrier at the area’s edge.’
Jack cast his eyes around. Since it was the dead of night,
finding anything would be difficult without knowing exactly
where to look. A horrible thought occurred to him. ‘What if
the boundary stretches to the edge of the forest? These
whole woods could be protected.’
But Assandra shook her head. ‘That would take too
much power, even for her. Holding the protection in place
takes effort. The bigger the space, the harder it is. It likely
won’t stretch too far away from the house.’
 ‘And how far is ‘too far’?’ Jack asked. ‘Fifty feet? A
hundred?’
Assandra just shrugged. ‘I’m not certain. Unless we find
the markers, there’s no way of knowing.’
Jack thought for a moment. ‘Maybe there is.’
However, before he could verbalise the idea, he heard
the other men yelling in panic. He turned to see them
backing away from one of the blackened bushes that they
had been hiding behind—one man was unable to move as
he was caught by spiked, black vines that ran from the
foliage. They had snaked around his wrists and legs, with
more of the stalks emerging from the undergrowth and
moving towards him, snakelike, seeming almost sentient as
they tangled him up.
‘Get him free!’ Gus yelled. A number of the Deathborn
ran in to help and began hacking and chopping at the
vines, but more quickly emerged, their lengths covered
with small growths. They consumed the trapped man,
covering most of his body while leaving his head free.
Scores of the vines slithered up towards his head,
entering his mouth, cutting his cheeks with their thorns.
His screaming became muffled and gagged as the vines
forced themselves down this throat.
The other Deathborn tried to get close but were fended
off by the rope-like stems, with some having their limbs
briefly caught while others managed to chop them free.
Eventually, the others realised it was a lost cause and
backed away.
With nothing else to focus on, the vines continued their
assault on their victim unobstructed. They shifted around
the struggling man. Those that had burrowed inside his
mouth pushed deeper. His body started to convulse. Then,
the man’s eyes began bulging in their sockets, and they
were slowly pushed outwards, slopping free and dangling
via a trail of optic nerve. More of those nightmarish vines
emerged from the socket, slick with blood, and moved
down the man’s face to wrap around his neck.
The coils constricted, cutting into the flesh, tighter and
tighter, eventually splitting the skin and allowing blood to
flow freely. The poor man’s head was then completely lifted
away from his body by the vines. They moved it up into the
air like they were claiming a prize, and both the head and
his body disappeared into the underbrush, completely out
of sight.
After the attack of the wights and what was happening
now, the Deathborn’s numbers were dwindling rapidly. Jack
knew if they didn’t deal with Cora quickly, there would be
no one left to finish the job. And to make matters worse,
their biggest asset, Assandra, was currently impotent.
‘We need to retreat!’ Jack shouted. He was looking over
at Theodore and the others, but made sure Assandra could
hear as well.
‘Coward!’ Theodore called back. ‘Don’t you dare run. I’ll
—’
‘Stop!’ Jack yelled back. ‘I don’t mean flee the forest
completely, but the area we’re in is protected by the wytch.
As long as we’re in her trap, we have no hope. We have to
drop back and find a way to break the spell.’
Theodore frowned, then a moment later shook his head.
‘No man falls back. We’re close. The sooner the wytch is
dead, the safer we’ll be.’
Idiot, Jack thought. He wasn’t about to blindly follow
orders if it meant charging to their deaths. He quickly
moved over to Assandra and held out his hand for her to
take. ‘You’ll know the markers if you see them, correct?’
She hesitated, then nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘Good. Then help me.’
Assandra looked down at his hand, and took it a second
later. Both of them fell back, putting distance between
themselves and the house. ‘Will you know when your
strength returns?’ Jack asked, panting as he ran.
 ‘I think so,’ she replied. ‘I felt a little different as we got
close to the house, but I’ve never been stripped of my
abilities before, so I didn’t realise what was happeni—wait!’
she suddenly shouted and drew to a stop.
‘What?’
She looked down at the ground. Then she raised up her
hands and gazed at her palms. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘I… I feel it
again.’
Jack looked around. He could still make out the house,
as well as the rest of his group, but they were now a good
distance away.
Theodore continued to berate him. ‘Get back here now!’
the knight yelled.
‘Jack, follow your orders!’ Len added.
‘We need to make this quick or they’re going to execute
me. How many of these markers have to be destroyed? All
of them, just one?’
‘Just one,’ Assandra told him. ‘They all connect together
to form the barrier. If one is destroyed, the link between
them all is broken. But even if we remove the hex, Cora is
still extremely powerful.’
‘I don’t doubt that, but you’re powerful as well,’ Jack
said. ‘And we need to get you back into the fight.’ He again
looked over at the others and his face fell.
‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he uttered. The ground around
the men was starting to glow, fiery red light escaping
through the cracks in the dry soil as if a raging fire burned
underground. Smoke started to rise. Jack noticed the
glowing light was stretched out a few feet in all directions,
forming a rough circle with the Deathborn all within it.
‘What is that?’ he asked.
‘Exactly what it looks like. She’s going to cook them
alive.’

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 CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The ground below Theodore was becoming immensely hot.

The remaining grass, already black and withered, was now
smouldering to nothing. Even as he sprinted to get free of
the shards of red light breaking through from the soil, he
felt the heat coming through the soles of his boots. He
leapt, hitting the ground and rolling clear of the area, but
as he did his coat caught fire and he was forced to quickly
shrug out of it and throw it to the ground. Len, the
Irishman, and Edwin managed to get free as well, but the
other three with them were too slow.
Flames rose up from the ground, surrounding the three
men who had been running. The smoke that came up from
the dirt was now thick, erupting so fast as to almost be
steam. It engulfed the screaming men. Even through the
billowing smoke, Theodore was able to see what was
happening to them.
The heat within the circular pattern began to cook and
boil the trapped men’s flesh, with great blisters forming
and popping as their skin turned a fierce red. The
Deathborn closest to the edge of the glowing ground stared
at Theodore, wide-eyed in pleading agony, and he raised a
hand and reached out towards the knight. The fingers on
the man’s hand had fused together, and the skin around the
smallest finger was drooping, hanging low around the bone
like goo. The flesh of his face took on a similar effect, with
the skin around one of his eyes sloughing down.
Unable to hold himself up any longer, the Deathborn fell
face first to the ground and rolled over quickly while he
continued to melt. The clothing he was wearing became
one with his body, forming an expanse of pink and red flesh
melded with his dark clothes. Eventually, he stopped
moving. His flesh continued to bubble, pop and boil,
eventually revealing his skeleton in some areas. Finally, the
flames and light around the dead men started to fade.
‘Run!’ a voice called again. It was Jack. ‘Fall back.’
The ground around Theodore and the others then began
to glow once more. This time, they were all quicker to
react, and they sprinted away. However, as they moved, the
change in the ground beneath them followed their path,
always forming in circular patterns and moving with them.
Theodore hated that they had to retreat—a quick assault
and sustained pressure is our key to success.
Eventually, they reached a point far enough away that
the patterns of light stopped following.
Jack and Assandra came running over. He wanted to
unsheathe and swing his sword, to take Jack’s head for
daring to go against his direct instructions, yet the
Deathborn had been proven right, so he held back… for
now.
‘How is the area protected?’ Theodore demanded.
Assandra relayed what she knew about needing to find
the ‘markers,’ as she called them, which frustratingly could
be anything from a totem or effigy to a symbol carved into a
tree.
‘We split up,’ Theodore said. Normally, he was against
lessening a numerical advantage, but right now time was
against them. ‘We sweep around in different directions and
search.’
 ‘Then we need to hurry,’ Gus said. Theodore turned to
face him. The Irishman was pointing over to the house up
ahead. There, the front door was slowly opening, and a
huge, dark figure emerged.

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 CHAPTER FORTY

The cloaked entity that stepped out of the low doorway

slowly rose up to its full height. Its robe was long, thick,
and black—a heavy and dirty hessian that was aged and
frayed. It was also lined with muck, even areas of moss.
The figure stood over seven feet in height. However, even
from a distance, Jack could just make out the exposed
hands, which had dark, dry skin lined with growths.
The fingers were long, withered, and had jagged and
yellowed nails.
‘Cora,’ Assandra said in a pained voice. The robed figure
was an intimidating sight to behold. ‘We need to hurry,’
Assandra went on. ‘We may be outside the influence of the
hex, but she can still attack us.’
Cora’s arms raised up to her sides, pulling up the
bottom of her robe. There, Jack was able to see misshapen
feet.
He heard whispers emanate from her direction,
travelling on a breeze that suddenly swept towards them.
Those whispers turned to a deafening, demonic roar, a
sound not possible from a human—Cora brought her hands
quickly together, palms slapping closed. A torrent of black
matter exploded from the clap, like thick liquid travelling
through the air, squirming and swirling while it barrelled
towards the group.
Everyone dropped to the ground as the black substance
spread out above them, striking the trunks of nearby trees.
Jack felt a pull in the air above when he narrowly avoided
the substance. He looked up and saw it searing into the
bark of a black tree, quickly melting into its surface like
acid and sending plumes of smoke up.
Jack scrambled away, grabbing Assandra’s arm and
running towards an area of thick underbrush, where he
again dove to the ground. Soon, a large form thumped
down beside them. Jack saw Gus roll to face him.
‘I don’t like our chances here, my boy,’ the Irishman
said.
‘Find cover!’ Jack yelled to the others, but saw they
were already moving in the opposite direction.
‘Hurry,’ Assandra ordered. ‘I need to be able to fight
back.’
‘Don’t stand still,’ Jack added. ‘Keep moving and stick to
cover.’
Gus hauled himself up. ‘I’ll go first.’ He pointed to a
thick group of trees about fifty paces ahead. ‘See if I can
reach those. If I make it, you can both follow.’
‘Be careful,’ Jack said. He saw Assandra frantically
scanning the area, likely searching for anything that might
be part of the hex field.
‘Anything?’ he asked.
But she shook her head. ‘No.’
Jack cast his eyes back to the house and the wytch. He
was able to make out both through the undergrowth. They
were a little under fifty feet away. However, the wytch
started to lift from the ground. Her feet, which looked to
have two big, fat toes pushed together and split down the
middle like the trotters of a pig, dangled over the grass and
dirt.
 Jack was sure she couldn’t see them from behind their
cover. However, as soon as one of them broke clear, he
knew they’d be spotted.
He looked back to Gus. ‘After you, then, big fella.’
‘Feel free to go first.’
Jack laughed. ‘I wouldn’t want to deny you your heroic
moment.’
Gus gave a grin. ‘Chicken shit.’
Before the Irishman took off, however, Jack noticed a
look of nervousness and doubt cross Gus’ face. But he
steeled himself, drew in a breath, and ran forward.
As he moved, Cora’s hood turned in his direction. A
screech tore through the air and she again smacked her
hands together, sending another snaking length of the
black substance from her fingertips to weave its way
towards him. Gus dove forward and the long projectile
coated the ground where he had just been standing,
melting the grass instantly and forming a depression in the
soil.
Gus was quickly back up and running again. Another
mass of the black goo narrowly missed him when he dove
behind cover. He quickly scrambled backwards and pressed
himself against the base of a tree.
He was breathing quickly, but turned to Jack and
Assandra and let out a relieved smile while giving a thumbs
up.
‘Our turn,’ Jack said with minimal enthusiasm.
However, his attention was drawn back to Gus as
barrage after barrage of projectiles flew towards him,
hitting the trees and shrubs. The wytch shrieked again,
sounding almost… desperate.
Jack looked at the trees Gus was cowering behind,
casting his gaze high up. Was the wytch just wanting to kill
a target, or was she so relentless in her attacks because of
another reason?
‘There!’ Jack suddenly shouted and pointed.
 Assandra shifted her gaze and looked up as well. ‘That’s
it!’ she exclaimed.
Roughly midway up the tree, hanging from one of the
branches by a short length of twine, was a slowly rotating
totem. Two large twigs had been tied together in the shape
of an inverted crucifix. It was slicked with what looked like
dried blood, and a length of flesh, likely part of a tendon,
spiralled around it.
‘Can you burn it from here?’ Jack asked.
Assandra turned her body to face the tree and brought
up her hands. Jack could see the concentration on her face
as her pupils were lost to an expanse of milky white again.
The dark veins returned, and the air around Jack fizzed.
Then, Assandra thrust a hand forward, palm outwards, and
Jack felt a wave of heat roll towards him. The ball of fire
arced through the air, striking the tree just below its target.
Gus threw his hands over his head in shock. ‘What the
hell are ya’ doing?!’ he shouted.
‘There’s a marker above you!’ Jack called back.
Gus twisted his body and looked up. Realisation dawned
on his face.
Jack turned back to look at the wytch again, who had
now stopped her attack. She was moving quickly over
towards them, gliding through the air, feet still hovering off
the ground.
A thought struck Jack. ‘Attack her,’ he said to Assandra.
She frowned. ‘Cora’s getting closer,’ he said. ‘You aren’t in
the protected area anymore, so can’t you launch something
at her from here?’
Assandra paused, then nodded. She set herself again
and spewed more flame from her palm, this time in the
direction of her sister. However, the fire seemingly hit an
invisible barrier, spreading out over a translucent surface
like a liquid flame. The heat that radiated out was
immense. Assandra immediately stopped.
‘I can’t penetrate the barrier!’ Assandra shouted.
 Fuck, Jack thought.
Assandra again adjusted her body to face the dangling
totem. Jack, meanwhile, looked back to the advancing
wytch.
‘You need to hurry,’ he warned. Cora was drawing closer
at frightening speed. Jack was able to make out more of the
detail on her exposed skin, such as her hands and feet,
which had clusters of tightly packed holes across the
surface.
Assandra launched another attack; this time, her aim
was true, and the flame struck the totem hard enough to
make it swing back and forth and set it alight. She fired
again, the fire making the marker fall to the ground as the
supporting twine was burned away.
The wytch cried out before falling suddenly silent. Gus
was quickly up on his feet and began stamping on the
totem, not to put out the flame, but to destroy it completely.
‘It’s done!’ he shouted.
Jack laid a hand on Assandra’s shoulder. ‘Your turn now,’
he said, feeling a small swell of hope as he turned back
toward—
The wytch was gone.

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 CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

‘We’ve broken the barrier,’ Theodore heard Jack yell. While

that was good news, frustration coiled within the knight.
Jack was constantly overstepping his bounds, taking
initiative when it wasn’t his to take. Commoners like him
were there to follow orders—to put their bodies on the line
when the situation demanded it. However, thanks to him,
they were making progress; yet again, Theodore couldn’t
put Jack back in his place.
Theodore saw Jack, the woman, and the Irishman all
making their way back towards the house at a steady jog.
‘Follow me,’ he snapped at Len and Edwin, then rushed
to meet the trio ahead. All six of them, the only ones that
now remained, fell in together. Theodore was quick to
resume command.
‘Everyone follow my lead,’ he commanded. Before
waiting for any reply, he added, ‘Where did the wytch go?’
He looked at Jack, expecting an answer, but the
Deathborn just shrugged. ‘I have no idea,’ Jack replied.
‘One moment she was there, but as soon as we broke the
totem, she was gone.’
Theodore turned to the girl. ‘Your kind can disappear
now?’ he asked. ‘Is that within your power, too, to vanish
into thin air?’
 He saw her scowl, but didn’t care in the slightest. If she
was able to simply transport herself somewhere else, he
needed to be prepared.
But if she could do that, surely she would have tried it
already.
‘I don’t know how she did it,’ the girl snapped back. ‘As I
keep saying, she’s more powerful than I am, and has spent
more time studying and learning. She can likely do a lot of
things I can’t.’
Theodore shook his head in annoyance and scanned the
area before them. ‘Everyone be ready,’ she said. ‘She won’t
have gone far.’
‘Does anyone else hear that?’ Jack suddenly asked. ‘I
noticed it before, but it’s still there.’ Theodore gritted his
teeth together. The fool needs to learn to keep his mouth
shut. He’s becoming far too confident in speaking up
without invitation.
‘I do,’ the Irishman answered.
Theodore had heard what they were talking about, of
course: multiple low groans, carried on the wind, coming
from an area just beyond the house.
‘What do we do?’ Edwin asked.
‘We do what I say,’ Theodore stated. There were
precious few of the Deathborn left now, and he felt the
mission slipping away from him. All because of their damn
incompetence. ‘Follow me. Keep your eyes on the trees.
You,’ he said to Gus, ‘watch behind us as we walk. If anyone
sees anything, alert me. Does everyone understand?’ He
gave them no chance to answer. ‘Good. Let’s go.’

Assandra was just as confused at the distant groans as the

others. What confused her more, however, was that the
others didn’t appear to hear the other strange sounds she
could—there were horrific whispers that were at once
deafeningly loud yet at the same time barely perceptible. It
reminded her somewhat of the incessant whispering Cora
had placed in her head while they were in the midst of her
hex. She knew this, however, was something different.
It wasn’t Cora.
Assandra had heard it before, back in Lockton, upon
mentally connecting to her sister. That entity.
With no one else mentioning the whispers, Assandra
decided to keep it to herself for the time being.

Theodore set off first, sword in hand, with the others

packed in behind him, creating a small huddle as they
moved forward. ‘Get back,’ the knight ordered, feeling
crowded. ‘If we’re too tight together, we’re a bigger target.
Fools.’
The men did as ordered, then continued closer to the
house. Upon reaching it, Theodore peered in through one
of the windows.
Inside, the space was open and mostly empty, with little
indication it was being lived in. Vertical timber struts rose
up from the floor to support the sagging roof. The floor was
mostly bare with little in the way of furniture. The only
things present were an old stained table, a couple of stools,
and a stack of crates pushed to one side of the house.
Those crates looked decidedly familiar, and there were
scores of them, most still unopened. Theodore also noticed
some hessian blankets on the floor, along with a dirty pillow
that had seen better days. Remains of partially eaten
vegetables were scattered beside the blankets. For some
reason, it seemed odd to Theodore that the wytch would
eat something like vegetables—it seemed odd she would
even eat at all, in fact. Unless, of course, there was
someone here with her…
‘See anything?’ Jack asked.
Theodore spun his head around and glared at the
Deathborn again. ‘Keep your bloody voice down,’ he
seethed, before adding, ‘no, it’s empty.’
The knight thought about the people said to have been
taken from nearby villages, all kidnapped by the wytch and
presumably brought back here. Were they the wights his
group had fought? If not, there were no signs of any bodies.
And there were no remains inside the house for the wytch
to feast or experiment on.
The moaning and groaning had grown louder the closer
the group had gotten to the house. Just behind the house,
Theodore could see a sharp drop in ground level. The
noises appeared to be coming from the base of that decline.
With no other sign of the wytch, investigating those strange
noises had to be the next step.
‘We’re going to move to the back of the house and then
descend,’ Theodore stated. ‘Be on guard.’
He led the Deathborn around the side of the building,
noting the darkness of the warped wooden walls. The
timber was clearly infected with something, as Theodore
could see large pockets of fungus and mould, reminding
him of the diseased trees in the area. He soon reached the
crest of the bank and looked down. Theodore paused.
‘Dear Jesus,’ Edwin uttered. Theodore noted the awe
and fear in the man’s voice before he added, ‘What in God’s
name is that?’

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 CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Jack’s stomach lurched as he gazed down the embankment.

Describing the horror he was seeing was… difficult.
There was a writhing mass of living matter, black and
twisting and pulsating, and it seemed somehow alive.
It sat in a clearing, easily twelve feet wide at the base
and twenty or so in height, forming a roughly rectangular
shape.
Though the object was solid, a kind of jet-black sludge
crawled around over its mass, hiding most of what was
underneath. Not everything was obscured, however. Fused
into the surface, and only partially exposed, were scores of
people, most of their bodies lost beneath the surface of the
monolith. All were naked, pale… and alive. Kind of.
The pained moans they had all heard were escaping
from the mouths of the poor souls. Some had their upper
bodies exposed, arms dangling down, while others had only
a head and an arm free. The rest of their bodies were fully
merged with the sludge. Though each of them could move
somewhat, their motions were slow and an obvious struggle
—most were only able to briefly lift their heads and let out
slow, agonised cries. Additionally, all of them had long, fat
black objects on their bodies which seemed to be slowly
moving. However, Jack couldn’t make out exactly what
those were.
There were men, women, and Jack even saw one young
boy close to the top, near Samuel’s age. Jack’s mind
immediately ran back to Christopher Waltham.
There was one man stuck in the monolith who seemed
different somehow. His position was roughly central at the
bottom, with his upper body hanging free from the waist
up. His back was straight, with his arms dangling by his
sides and palms facing outwards, and his mouth open. His
eyes were wide, but there were no pupils or irises, only an
expanse of white. It reminded Jack of what happened to
Assandra’s eyes whenever she used her power.
The man’s skin was grey, wrinkled, and dry, like an aged
corpse. Jack would have assumed he was dead had his body
not made slight movements, like slowly opening and closing
his mouth.
‘What is this?’ Theodore asked and turned a furious
scowl at Assandra. She, in turn, looked aghast at what she
was seeing, and could only shake her head in horrified
confusion.
‘I… I don’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve never seen
anything like it.’
‘It’s like some kind of… living monolith,’ Gus said.
‘Those people look like they’re alive.’
‘What are those things on their bodies?’ Edwin asked. ‘Is
it… spawn?’
Jack narrowed his eyes and focused—Edwin was right.
He’d noticed the moving black shapes on the torsos of
some of the bodies, but hadn’t made the connection. Now it
was obvious. Jack watched as one of the spawn at the edge
of a woman’s body moved off her shoulder and crawled
fully into the black substance. Its body then flattened out
and melded with the matter, which gratefully accepted it.
They’re forming the sludge, Jack realised. That writhing
mass that held the bodies was made from the spawn.
 ‘What is Cora doing with this thing?’ Theodore
demanded of Assandra. ‘What is the purpose?’
‘I don’t know,’ she repeated, this time more forcefully.
‘Can we save those people?’ Jack asked. ‘Just… pull
them out?’
No one gave an answer.
‘We have to try,’ Jack said.
‘We’ll do nothing until I give the order,’ Theodore stated.
‘I’ve grown tired of your unwelcome suggestions.’
He’s grown tired of me? Jack kept quiet, but was finding
it increasingly difficult.
‘We go down there,’ Theodore eventually announced.
‘But don’t drop your guard. The wytch is close by, I can feel
it. But that thing down there,’ he pointed to the living
monolith, ‘needs to be destroyed.’
‘Understood, sir,’ Len responded.
Jack’s stomach sank a little. Shouldn’t we at least try to
save them?
Theodore set off first, as usual. The decline was quite
severe, so Jack moved down sideways, grabbing hold of the
grass behind him to avoid toppling forward.
When the group reached the bottom, they waited for a
few moments to see if Cora showed. When she did not, they
slowly approached the monolith. The people stuck within
didn’t seem to be aware of the group. Even if the trapped
souls moved their gaze over to the Deathborn, they seemed
to just stare through them, unaware anyone was nearby.
After reaching the living structure, Gus waved a hand close
to one of their faces, but there was no reaction, not even a
focusing of the pupils.
Jack looked closer at the black matter between the
bodies, which other spawn were still crawling into. It
occurred to him that since some were still working their
way into the substance, they would have likely been
recently placed on the bodies—otherwise, all of them would
have already been submerged.
 Did we interrupt Cora in the middle of a ritual?

Assandra gazed at the withered body at the base of the

monolith, the one that appeared different from the others.
She wasn’t even sure of the person's sex. Its wide, white
eyes didn’t appear to be focused on anything, yet they drew
her in. The whispering in her head had begun once again.
She was certain it was coming from the monolith, or
through the monolith, being planted straight into her mind.
While she couldn’t understand the specific words, their
intent was clear to her: touch the conduit. By placing her
hands on the head of the corpse, she somehow knew a
channel would be opened. But a channel to what? A feeling
of sickening awe overcame Assandra—her hand slowly
began to rise.
No, she quickly told herself and took a step back.
Nothing good can come from this.

‘Someone’s in the trees!’ Edwin suddenly shouted as he

pointed off to the left. Everyone spun around, though Jack
couldn’t see anything.
‘Where?’ Theodore demanded.
‘Off in the distance. I saw someone duck behind a tree.’
‘The wytch?’ Len asked.
Edwin shrugged but kept staring, wide-eyed. ‘Can’t be
sure,’ he said. ‘Maybe. They were wearing a dark red hood
and a robe.’
Jack frowned. That doesn’t sound like Cora.
‘Arm yourselves,’ Theodore commanded. Everyone’s
weapons were raised. They watched and waited.
And waited. Nothing.
 ‘There’s no one out there,’ Gus finally insisted.
‘I saw someone!’ Edwin snapped back. ‘I know I did.’
‘Well,’ Theodore went on, ‘they aren’t showing
themselves.’
The knight turned back to the monolith, facing one of
the trapped people, the same one Gus had waved at before.
Theodore looked over the form of the poor man, whose top
half dangled free. Then, the knight placed his sword back
into his sheath and took hold of the man with both hands
just below his arms.
‘I wonder,’ Theodore uttered. He then began to pull.
The trapped man’s head began to move quickly, bobbing
from side to side, and his groans increased.
The black matter that held him remained stuck to his
waist as the body moved, slowly pulling free, though not
without some struggle from the knight. Jack stepped
forward to help.
‘Stay back,’ Theodore commanded. ‘I have this.’
Theodore heaved again. The man’s head continued to
flop around, his already wide eyes now threatening to pop
free from his skull.
‘Oh dear God,’ Assandra uttered and turned away. Jack
felt a lurch in his stomach.
The body did indeed come free… what was left of it. The
area below the abdomen was simply gone, and the small
protrusion of a severed spinal cord was visible. The
exposed flesh and organs where the lower half had been
stripped away were coated with the slick black substance,
and thick tendrils ran from the goo of the monolith up
inside of the man.
Theodore jumped back and dropped him, causing the
body to fall face first to the ground. The torso writhed for a
few moments before growing still, his groaning stopping.
The black matter that had been connected to him, including
the tendrils, snaked backwards and joined the surrounding
mass of the monolith once again.
 Jack’s mind struggled to understand what he’d just seen.
Had the monolith dissolved the man’s lower body and
absorbed it somehow?
‘We need to destroy this,’ Edwin said with a hand over
his mouth. ‘Give these people some peace.’ His gaze briefly
settled on the top, then quickly looked away. Jack knew
who it was Edwin had focused on, though he couldn’t bring
himself to look up himself. It did slightly surprise Jack that
Edwin seemed concerned for the suffering these poor souls
were enduring.
Theodore turned to Assandra. ‘Burn it,’ he commanded.
‘Burn it to the…’ Then, however, his eyes went wide as he
looked past her.
A screech rang out.
‘She’s here!’ he screamed.

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 CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Cora, no!
Assandra’s sister swept towards them and rose up high
into the air. Her arms parted and the robes around her
billowed out wide to reveal what she had become.
Assandra’s heart broke at seeing the grotesque,
misshapen body and the once-beautiful face of her sister.
Cora’s skin had turned a dark grey, though some areas,
such as her stomach, were a sickly yellow. Her body was
lined with multiple tumorous growths, some isolated, some
packed together in bunches. Many of them had dark dots at
their heads, which seemed to move and swim beneath the
surface like pupils buried in milky water. They reminded
Assandra of clustered tadpole sacks. Open sores and
uneven patches of long hair were also dotted around the
wytch’s form.
Cora’s stomach had sunken in well beneath the canopy
of her overhanging ribcage. Most of Cora’s long face now
peeked out under the thick hood. The head looked like it
had been stretched out from its former shape, with a jaw
that reached down to the wytch’s collarbone. That meant
the mouth was an elongated hole that seemed to be
permanently open. The teeth inside Cora’s mouth were
long and wide, yellowed and cracked, with flat ends like
those of an old horse. Her nose was mostly gone, with just
a triangular gap present showing the nasal bone beneath.
Lastly, her eyes were wide open, all a milky white, but
sunken so far back into her head to almost be lost to
shadows.
There was nothing recognisable from the woman
Assandra used to know.
The men around Assandra brought up their weapons as
Cora swooped down with blinding speed. She landed on
Len, and her filthy, moss-lined robes swirled around the
large man, fully encompassing him. In an instant, the
shrouded form of the wytch moved quickly away, phasing
through the air to the treeline and taking Len with her. She
moved out to the trees behind the monolith so quickly she
was practically a blur.
‘After it!’ Theodore shouted, leading the charge.
Assandra ran with them, her heart pounding and nerves
tingling. She had her powers again, but still felt grossly
outmatched by her sister—once again, she wondered if she
was on the right side by helping the Deathborn.
Of course, she had been forced into it, but if she now
chose to switch and help Cora, could the remaining men
actually do anything about it? Only Theodore, Jack, Gus,
and Edwin remained, assuming of course that Len was
done for.
Even if she did assist Cora, there was still every
possibility Assandra would then be hounded relentlessly by
other Deathborn. She was known to them now, and if the
ones with her here didn’t return, people would come asking
questions.
Even beyond that was the concern of Cora herself.
After the connection she had made back in Lockton, and
after now seeing exactly what her sister had become,
Assandra doubted there was any humanity left in the
woman. And if Cora felt betrayed, Assandra doubted she
would be allowed to live.
 The whole situation was a dire mess, hard for Assandra
to comprehend. On top of it all, that voice was still in her
head, uttering strange things that continued boring into
her mind.
She heard a screaming coming from the trees—Len,
bellowing out gargled shrieks of pain.

Len was wracked with both terror and absolute agony. His
entrails were being pulled out of his open stomach by the
horrific entity above him. He could do nothing but stare
into the dead eyes of the wytch as it hovered over his prone
body, her hands buried into his gut. He could feel them
squirming inside of him, forcing organs aside as they took
hold of more lengths of intestine and yanked them out.
The wytch moved her open mouth above Len’s own and
regurgitated a black liquid down onto him.

Assandra was right behind Theodore as the knight came to

a stop and signalled for the others to as well. Len’s huge
body lay on the ground before them. Lengths of fleshy,
rope-like intestines ran from his stomach and were spread
out around him. His front was soaked in blood from the
large, open wound in his gut.
Cora was nowhere to be seen. However, Assandra’s
senses tingled. She could almost feel her sister watching.
Assandra concentrated, allowing her power to rise to the
surface, then opened her hands and commanded a flame to
spark. It burned in her palm.
Jack turned his head away from Len’s corpse. It was soul
crushing to see their second in command—possibly the
strongest among them—killed so easily.
The air around Jack buzzed, and he saw that Assandra
was ready, eyes white, dark veins lining her face, and
holding a crackling ball of fire—a sight that never ceased to
amaze him. Fire seemed so effortless for her to conjure up
—he had a feeling she’d mastered it. Jack wondered if that
was why Assandra fell back onto fire so regularly to defend
herself, rather than using other abilities.
Cora’s feats have been much more varied.
A sound drew everyone’s attention and their eyes all fell
on Len again. Jack saw one of the dead man’s arms begin to
twitch.
The last throes of death, Jack wondered. However, Len
suddenly sat up and caused everyone to jump back. More of
his insides slopped free. His mouth hung low and slack, and
his eyes had a vacant, faraway stare. A low groan escaped
him, sounding more like air escaping than a deliberately
made sound.
‘He’s a ghoul!’ Edwin shouted.
The former Deathborn man then shifted around and
climbed up to his feet, swaying unsteadily as his innards
dangled before him. Len turned his head, and a snarl
formed as his eyes fell on the group. His hands came up
and he began to advance.
It was a horrific sight, and yet Jack felt something was
off. One wight against all of them, even if he had been one
of them, was an unfair fight. The reanimated corpse was
hardly going to stop the four men and a wytch. Why would
Cora set him on us, other than as a…
He turned his head to the side, looking beyond the
group.
‘Assandra!’ he yelled out in panic as the horrifying wytch
streaked towards them, arms outstretched, aiming straight
for her sister.
 Assandra spun her head just in time to see Cora bear
down on her. She instinctively thrust her arm forward and
launched her fire, which struck the incoming wytch in the
chest in a burst of flames. Cora adjusted her course
through the air and spiralled away from the group, the
cloak that fluttered around her igniting. She hit the ground,
rolling over again and again. Assandra’s eyes were wide.
‘She… she was going to kill me,’ the girl uttered.
‘You need to stay focused,’ Jack warned, pointing to the
downed wytch, who was pushing herself up from the
ground. Assandra could see that her sister’s grey arms—
now protruding from the sleeves of her cloak—were lined
with growths. Cora quickly stood to her full, terrifying
height, even though her robes were still ablaze.
The wight that used to be Len quickly found Edwin,
who’d had his attention focused on Cora. The Deathborn
was forced down to his back as Len fell atop him. Gus was
quick to help, putting his club around Len’s neck and
pulling, trying to lift the wight away from Edwin. Even in
death, however, Len was still incredibly strong. The stringy
intestines of the wight slopped across Edwin’s front as the
man cried out for more help.
Theodore charged for the wytch.
However, she swung an arm towards him and the air
around her hand grew hazy. That distortion suddenly shot
towards the knight with immense speed, struck him, and
sent him hurtling backwards into the trunk of a tree. He fell
to the ground, dropping his sword in the process. He
coughed and wheezed but lay still, unable to move. A
second later, a similar energy blast hurtled towards Jack.
Jack was able to dive out of the way and avoid most of
the impact, though it still caught his lower body and caused
him to hit the ground as well. He felt his legs go numb.
He tried to move them… yet he couldn’t.
What the hell has she done to me?
 He did feel a tingling feeling ebbing down his thighs as
sensation gradually returned, but it was a painfully slow
process, and he was forced to crawl forward and pull his
lower body behind him.
With the two others busy with Len, that left only
Assandra to face off with Cora. The tall wytch, still alight
but making no effort to put out the flames, slowly advanced
on her sister.

Assandra backed up. Her eyes were wet. She was scared—
terrified, in fact—of her sister. In truth, Assandra had
always been a little intimidated by Cora, as her twin was
always the more forceful and determined, but facing her
like this… it was something else entirely.
Assandra shrunk back further. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘Cora,
stop this.’ She sounded weak and scared. She hated that.
However, she was powerless to find any kind of strength in
her voice.
Cora closed in, and she quickly discarded the burning
robes, casting them to the ground with a sweep of her arm
—which revealed her full, grotesque majesty. The wytch’s
hunched shoulders had clusters of large red growths
sprouting from them. Her upper arms were a mix of
tumours as well as large holes, some of which glinted,
indicating hidden forms inside, reminiscent of eyes. The top
of the wytch’s head was bulbous, as if filled with liquid, and
had only a few strands of dry, straw-like hair hanging down.
Her face was expressionless and dead, with a vertically
stretched mouth and deep-set eyes.
‘Stop,’ Assandra said again. She was close to tears. Is
this what happens to all wytches who give themselves over
to our power? Did they all end up looking like Cora? ‘Don’t
you remember me?’ she asked, even as her voice quivered.
 There was no response. Cora just continued advancing.
No attack came, though Assandra didn’t know what Cora’s
intentions were—she seriously doubted her twin was
coming closer for a reuniting embrace.
‘Stay back!’ Assandra tried to order. There was little
conviction in her tone.
Cora kept advancing.
With tears now running down her cheeks, Assandra
drew in her breath. She still didn’t quite feel at full
strength—the wights had taken a lot out of her—but knew
she needed to act. She concentrated, summoning her
power to engulf her hands in fire—an element she found
particularly easy to bend to her will.
‘Please,’ Assandra begged again. Despite everything,
now that she faced her sister like this, Assandra didn’t
want to fight. For one, she didn’t want to be responsible for
Cora’s death. More than that, she simply didn’t want to die
by her sister’s hand.
However, Cora did not relent.
Assandra thrust her hand forward and sent a jet of fire
towards her sister, purging with everything she could
muster; she screamed as the flames leapt through the air
like a blazing arc of liquid.
However, Cora instantly crossed her arms over her
chest, pressing them together at the wrists, and a web of
dark, wispy matter bloomed out before her like a shield. It
took the impact of the fire and easily kept it at bay. The
flames spread around the protective webbing, crawling
over its surface, though Cora was completely protected.
Assandra strained and strained, pushing out as much as
she could, expelling everything from her body. The strength
of the fire increased, but Cora’s protection easily held.
As Assandra began to feel faint, she ended the attack
and lowered her hand, before quickly pushing her other
arm forward instead. That sent another stream towards
Cora, aimed lower this time, hoping to get under the
webbing. However, the diameter of the shield expanded to
stop the stream again.
Eventually, Assandra was exhausted and had to stop—
she quickly stepped backwards on unsteady feet. It was
hard to keep her balance as the world around her spun. A
slow second later, Cora brought up a gnarled hand, palm
out, and a burst of dark energy exploded forward, sweeping
over Assandra and forcing her to the ground. The black
matter that had swarmed her then cocooned around
Assandra, and it looked to be a similar consistency as the
shield. Assandra fought against it, but quickly felt the
substance start to constrict around her, like thousands of
tightening and unbreakable threads. They forced her arms
to her sides and then began to press into her skin.
Breathing became difficult, and the threads continued to
press tighter.
They’re going to cut into me, Assandra realised. Slice
my body into pieces.
Cora drifted closer, eventually coming to a stop next to
the prone form of Assandra, who could only look up
helplessly. The pain started to intensify as the threads
sliced into her arms.
She cried out in anguish, her wet eyes pleading with her
sister, but the wytch still showed no emotion, not even a
flicker of recognition. Cora simply stared down at
Assandra, like someone carelessly watching a struggling
bug die.
Assandra’s eyes were then drawn to a slight movement
behind the large form of her sister—two people were
closing in, keeping low.
A blade suddenly burst through Cora’s stomach. That’s
Theodore’s sword, Assandra realised. However, as Cora’s
head dropped back and she bellowed out a cry of pain into
the sky, the wytch also spun—Assandra saw Gus was the
one who had stabbed her sister, and Edwin was beside him.
 Theodore and Jack still lay on the ground some distance
away. A few feet behind Gus, Assandra saw Len’s finally-
still corpse on the ground, his head completely destroyed,
now just a smearing of red and pink mush.
Cora lashed out an arm and struck Gus, sending him
toppling backwards. The sword was still buried all the way
into her, though, skewering her completely. Cora screeched
again and Edwin, armed with a scythe, quickly backed
away.
The dark strands that held Assandra quickly began to
dissipate now that Cora’s attention was diverted. Soon, the
threads were no more.
She was free.
Assandra then scrambled backwards when she saw Cora
grab the steel of the sword in an attempt to dislodge it, but
the sharp blade cut into her hands as they slipped down its
length. The wytch howled in anger once again.
Theodore was struggling back to his feet, his limbs
looking heavy and weak. Jack, however, was already up,
sprinting towards them with his machete in hand.
‘Assandra!’ Gus shouted at her from his position on the
ground. ‘We could do with your help here!’
But Assandra only wanted to run. She continued to
crawl backwards. Cora turned to Jack, let out a shriek, and
raised her hands out to her sides. With them held out, she
crouched down, like a predator ready to leap. Assandra felt
the air around her change. It heated up and started to
shimmer.
Whatever Cora was about to unleash, Assandra knew
Jack wouldn’t stand a chance.
‘Now, lass!’ Gus cried. ‘Do something!’ His voice was
desperate.
Assandra let out a cry of rage and again summoned what
strength remained. She held her arms forward and forced a
torrent of fire out towards Cora, who had been facing away.
This time, the wytch didn’t manage to get up any
protections, and the stream of flame engulfed her. Assandra
forced every drop of energy from her body until, eventually,
the flames ceased. Not even able to hold her own weight,
she collapsed to the ground, and her head lolled back to
the grass. She was unable to move any more and could only
gasp for air.

The sight of the tall, spindly wytch now ablaze like a

misshapen torch was as horrific as it was surreal. Jack had
been running to join the fray, but thanks to Assandra, Cora
now seemed to be in agony. She spiralled around in a vain
attempt to bat at the flames that engulfed her upper body.
The wytch fell forward to her knees and continued to shriek
in pain.
Jack pushed himself forward faster, and soon reached
the kneeling monster.
He raised the machete and swung it as hard as he
physically could. Given her height, Cora’s head was still
just lower than his own from a kneeling position, but that
just made it easier for him to find the side of her neck with
his weapon. The machete buried in deep and caused blood
to spurt free. Jack yanked the blade free and buried it
again. He saw Gus stand up behind the wytch. The large
man reached forward, through the flames, and took hold of
the protruding handle of the sword. After a moment of
effort, he pulled the weapon out. The wytch swung an arm
at him and knocked Gus backwards a few steps, but the
large man didn’t fall. Jack attacked with his weapon once
again, cutting deeper into Cora’s neck, lodging it into the
same spot. Cora screamed anew, but this was more of a
gargle. She was then able to bat the weapon away from
Jack’s hand as the flames continued to lick at her face. She
planted one foot on the ground and began to push herself
back up to a standing position.
‘Jack!’ Gus yelled. Jack looked over just in time to see
the Irishman toss the heavy longsword, which arced
through the air, tip facing the sky. Jack reached out his
hand and managed to take hold of the handle, though the
weapon’s weight surprised him and he nearly dropped it.
He soon took a firm grip with both hands and faced the
standing wytch.
Jack swung.
The weapon felt much sturdier than his machete, and
took more effort to wield, but he was rewarded when the
razor-sharp edge of the blade cut into Cora’s neck, finding
the wound Jack had already opened up. Unlike his machete,
however, the sword kept going, slicing through the flesh
and spinal column, severing Cora’s head completely.
The head rolled backwards and fell from her body. After
remaining motionless for a few moments with black blood
spilling from the neck, the body dropped as well, still
awash in fire.
Jack looked down at the wytch’s head, now on its side,
mouth wide open and moving slightly.
He remembered his boy. All of this had started with
Cora: the spawn, the man who had transformed, Samuel
being ripped in two—all because of what that hag had been
doing out here.
Jack raised the sword and thrust the tip down,
penetrating her engorged cranium and causing a spurt of
black liquid to pop free. He screamed with rage, pulling
and pushing against the handle, causing the steel of the
sword to move about and destroy the brain within the skull.
Eventually, after several moments, Cora’s jaw ceased
moving.
The wytch was dead.

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OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Jack backed away from the head, longsword still in hand.

He was so lost in his world, thinking of Samuel, trying to
figure out if he felt any sense of atonement, that he didn’t
notice Theodore approach him and snatch the weapon from
his grasp.
Theodore then looked over to Gus. ‘I didn’t give you
permission to take this,’ he said.
Gus didn’t respond, though his expression said
everything. It seemed to Jack that Theodore was upset he
hadn’t been the one to deliver the killing blow. However,
though Jack had been the one to take Cora’s head, he knew
perfectly well Assandra had won the fight for them,
incapacitating her sister so that Jack could finish her off.
Without Assandra, they’d all be dead.
The poor girl was on her hands and knees, looking
physically exhausted, while panting and sobbing. Jack made
his way over to her and crouched down, then rested a hand
on her shoulder. He didn’t know what to say, so just stayed
silent.
He saw Theodore cast a look around. They could still
hear the moans from the living monolith. Even with Cora
dead, the poor souls trapped within that infernal structure
continued to suffer.
 ‘There’s still work to do,’ the knight said. ‘We need to
destroy that abomination.’
For once, Jack found himself wholeheartedly agreeing
with Theodore. Gus, however, surprised him when he
asked: ‘Shouldn’t we preserve it? Surely there is a lot we
can learn.’
Assandra spoke up next, still breathing heavily, her head
bowed to the floor. ‘It can’t be ‘preserved,’ ’ she said.
‘There is a power behind it we can’t understand. Something
dangerous. Far beyond what we can hope to fight.’
‘Explain,’ Theodore stated.
‘I just know,’ she replied, still not lifting her head. Jack
saw her arms shaking as she struggled to hold her own
weight. ‘Even now, I can hear and feel the pull of the
monolith. Something is calling me through it.’ Finally, she
managed to raise her head up. ‘I think Cora was making
the monolith to communicate, though I don’t know with
what.’
With Jack’s help, Assandra stood to her feet, resting her
weight on him. Her brow was coated with a layer of sweat
and strands of damp red hair adhered to her forehead.
Theodore eyed the woman.
‘The thing you communicated with… how strong do you
think it is?’ he asked. ‘More powerful than your sister?’
Assandra made a scoffing sound. ‘Far more powerful,’
she said. ‘It isn’t even comparable. That thing… it’s like a
god.’
Theodore’s expression hardened. ‘There is only one
God.’
She slowly shook her head. ‘Not anymore. Theodore,
please listen to me. Nothing good can come from being
able to communicate with it. Trust your first instincts—
make sure the monolith is destroyed.’
The knight stayed silent for a while. Finally, he gave a
slow nod. ‘I agree.’
‘You sure, sir?’ Gus asked.
 ‘Of course I’m sure,’ Theodore shot back. ‘Now,
everyone move, we have one more thing to do.’ He then
looked at Jack. ‘Help her,’ he said and motioned to
Assandra, who he then addressed directly. ‘How quickly
can you gather your strength?’
‘Soon,’ she replied.
He nodded again. ‘I believe your gift with fire will be the
quickest way to end this. Let’s go.’
Theodore led the four survivors back to the living
monolith, where those fused to the surface continued their
tortured wails.
‘A few more minutes,’ Assandra said.
‘Understood,’ Theodore replied. He then began to walk
around the object, studying it intently.
‘What are you looking for?’ Gus asked from his position
next to Jack.
‘I’m looking for nothing. I’m looking at everything,’ the
knight replied. ‘If we are destroying this, I want to commit
every detail to memory so that we can produce a record of
it.’ He continued with his inspection, moving slowly around
to the back. Gus stepped forward, away from Jack and
Assandra, towards the monolith.
‘Careful,’ Jack warned.
Gus turned to look over his shoulder with a smile. ‘I’ll be
fine, lad.’
‘I have to ask,’ Jack went on, ‘why did you suggest we
leave this thing here? Don’t you feel for the people trapped
there like that, suffering?’
‘Of course I do,’ Gus shot back. ‘But think of what could
be learned from communicating with a god. You can’t tell
me you aren’t the least bit curious.’
Jack shook his head. ‘The idea just scares me, quite
frankly.’
‘Fear is healthy,’ Gus replied. ‘But we cannot progress
unless we push past it.’
 ‘Well, Assandra is going to burn it to the ground. So
progress will have to wait.’
Gus gave a nod and turned back to the monolith.
‘Shame,’ he said in a quiet voice.
Jack felt Assandra’s body ease away from him. He
turned to see her tentatively take her own weight. ‘Feeling
better?’ he asked.
‘A little,’ she replied.
‘Thank you for your help out there,’ Jack said. ‘I know it
can’t have been easy.’ He hesitated before adding, ‘And I’m
sorry for your loss.’
She regarded him with a slightly surprised expression. A
half smile played over her lips. ‘I’m not used to the
Deathborn speaking to me so kindly. No, it wasn’t easy,
though I don’t suppose it was easy for you to lose your son,
either.’
Jack took a deep breath and slowly shook his head. ‘No.’
He turned back to Gus, who was stepping closer to the
front of the monolith, taking in its details. Jack went on
speaking to Assandra: ‘I don’t think the Deathborn will
bother you anymore. If it wasn’t for you… Anyway, I’m
certain Theodore will see sense and leave you be.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’
Jack paused. ‘I can speak up for you,’ he offered. ‘I’ll tell
my Warden what you did for us.’
‘I don’t want people speaking for me,’ she said. ‘It would
make no difference, anyway. If your kind see me as even a
slight threat, they’ll never leave me alone.’
Jack had no answer for that. He just continued to watch
Gus. Then he frowned. ‘Careful!’ he said again to the
Irishman.
Gus was standing far too close to the monolith, staring
into the eyes of the aged, withered body at the object’s
base less than half a foot away. The man then slowly leaned
in.
‘Gus,’ Jack went on. ‘What are you doing?’
 ‘Can’t you hear that?’ he asked. His voice sounded
distant.
‘Hear what?’
Gus raised his hands towards the body. ‘It’s speaking to
us.’
What is he doing?!
‘Stop!’ Assandra cried out, but before anyone could
react, Gus’ hands touched the grey man’s head.
The second he made contact, Gus’ head snapped back,
so forcefully Jack thought Gus might have broken his neck.
The Irishman’s entire body began to shake and convulse,
his head flopping left and right. His pupils and irises rolled
back into his head.
‘Gus!’ Jack shouted and ran forward.
Gus was screaming. The sound was so manic and
desperate it was terrifying. Still shaking, Gus then began to
bellow out indecipherable words in a strained voice. Blood
started to run from his ears.
Jack thrust his body into the side of the larger man with
all his weight behind him. The impact sent Gus toppling to
the ground, breaking his contact with the monolith.
‘What’s going on?’ Theodore shouted as he emerged
from around the side of the organic structure. Gus
continued to shake and twitch.
‘He touched it,’ Jack answered. ‘Set his hands on it
then… this!’ Jack squatted down beside Gus and tried to
shake him. ‘It’s me, big fella,’ Jack shouted. However, Gus’
eyes were still rolled back, and they eventually closed
completely. His body grew still, save for the slow rise and
fall of his chest.
‘Is… is he dead?’ Assandra asked.
Jack looked over at Assandra but shook his head. ‘He’s
breathing.’ Jack then shook the Irishman again. ‘Gus! Gus!
Can you hear me?’
Nothing.
 Theodore regarded the monolith once more. ‘Jack,
Edwin, move that idiot away from it.’ He then turned to
Assandra. ‘It’s time. Burn it.’
Edwin stepped forward to help Jack, and both men took
hold of Gus’ upper body and dragged him away from the
monolith.
Assandra positioned herself directly in front of it,
breathing deeply, with Theodore beside her. She took a few
moments to ready herself. She still looked weak to Jack,
though a lot better than she had been only a few minutes
ago.
Her eyes turned white. Deep, dark veins appeared
beneath the surface of her face again. The air crackled.
Flames ignited around her hands. Jack had to turn away
as she launched them towards the living monolith. He
couldn’t bear to watch the boy at the top finally find his
peace.

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 CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Dragging Gus’ body from the forest had almost been taxing
enough to give Jack and Edwin a heart attack. Theodore
had wanted to leave him, claiming the catatonic state the
Irishman found himself in was of his own doing. However,
Jack had requested they try to get the man clear. The
Deathborn had lost a lot of people and needed the
numbers. This, more than anything, had caused Theodore
to relent, but he’d made it clear it was Jack and Edwin’s
responsibility to carry him.
Edwin had been less than pleased.
That, of course, left Theodore and Assandra to carry the
boxes of spawn, which they retrieved from the stream.
After hours of travel, the group finally emerged from the
trees to find their horses and carts. A welcome sight.
Dawn had broken and the light of the morning sun felt
serene somehow.
Gus’ body was dropped onto a cart, then covered from
the neck down by a blanket. The man looked no closer to
regaining consciousness. Every so often, though, he would
move his head and frown, as if in the grip of an unshakable
nightmare.
‘We head back to Whitby,’ Theodore ordered as he
climbed onto his steed. ‘As promised, Assandra, we will
return you home.’
‘I can make my own way,’ she suggested.
He shook his head. ‘Out of the question. I’m upholding
my end of the bargain. You, in return, get to go home. You’ll
stay there in case we ever need you again.’
Jack saw Assandra’s face cloud over.
‘Sir,’ Jack began, ‘don’t you think—’
‘I didn’t ask for your input, Deathborn! Keep quiet.’
Jack clenched his jaw and cast his eyes over to
Assandra. Her look spoke volumes.
Theodore continued, ‘After returning the wytch home,
the rest of us continue back to Durham. I will personally
brief your Warden on what happened, then be on my way to
report to my superiors. Those of you left did relatively well,
all told, but,’ he stressed, ‘some of you have ideas far
beyond your station. That will also be passed back to your
Warden, and I expect the issue to be addressed.’ His eyes
burned into Jack as he spoke. ‘If we ever meet again, you
will be the model of obedience. Understand?’
Jack said nothing. It took everything he had not to attack
the knight. ‘Now,’ Theodore went on. ‘Everyone mount up.
We ride out.’
They packed up, preparing some of the horses and
equipment—the rest would need to be reclaimed later. Only
things considered vital, such as the spawn, were packed.
They had started the trip as a small battalion, and now they
numbered only four—five if the catatonic Irishman could be
counted.
‘Sorry,’ Jack said as he helped Assandra onto her horse.
‘Looks like you were right.’
She took hold of the reins. ‘He can think what he wants,’
she said down to Jack. ‘But I’ll tell you this: I will not live
my life as a slave to you people.’
Jack wanted to defend himself, to say he wasn’t the one
making the decision and that he wasn’t one of ‘you people.’
But he was. Jack was still a Deathborn. So, in the end, he
just nodded. After a moment of quiet contemplation, Jack
climbed up onto his mare as well. He looked to poor Gus in
the cart hitched to his horse. Jack then looked back to the
forest. Exhaustion wracked his body. He again thought of
Samuel, still feeling no sense of peace or redemption at all,
despite everything he had been through.
The group rode out.

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 CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

The Crimson Lord watched from the trees. The group of

men and single woman moved away. He kept low, his dark
red robes wrapped around him to hide his form. Rage
coursed through his body.
They had ruined it.
The Crimson Lord had been forced to watch from the
shadows as those people had slaughtered the wytch and
laid waste to everything that he and Cora had built
together.
With Cora now dead, his plans were ruined.
No, he thought. Not ruined… only delayed.
He paid close attention to the girl with fiery red hair.
She was someone he hadn’t seen in a very long time, yet he
knew she could push his work onwards. She can step in
now that her sister has fallen.
Humanity needed their salvation.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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OceanofPDF.com
DARKFALL: SHADOWS OF THE DEEP
Something is happening in the coastal town of
Whitby. Something… otherworldly.
Jack Bennett has been chosen to assist the organisation
known as the Shadowhand with their investigation. He and
a spy named Max White set off for Whitby to try and find
the source of the mysterious creatures known as the
‘spawn.’
However, unbeknownst to them, there is something else
afoot. The mysterious Crimson Lord has a particular
interest in the wytch known as Assandra, harbouring a
secret that will change her life. And a horrifying monster is
also on the loose, growing in strength with every kill.
All the while, a great and ancient entity lies beneath the
waves, watching… and waiting.
Can Jack and Max unravel the mystery in time, or
will the insidious forces working against them prove
too much to overcome?

Shadows of the Deep is Book 2 in the Darkfall series.

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 OTHER BOOKS BY LEE MOUNTFORD

Darkfall Series
Darkfall: Shadows of the Deep

The Supernatural Horror Collection

The Demonic
The Mark
Forest of the Damned

The Extreme Horror Collection

Horror in the Woods
Tormented
The Netherwell Horror

Haunted Series
Inside Perron Manor (Book 0)
Haunted: Perron Manor (Book 1)
Haunted: Devil’s Door (Book 2)
Haunted: Purgatory (Book 3)
Haunted: Possession (Book 4)
Haunted: Mother Death (Book 5)
Haunted: Asylum (Book 6)

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 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lee Mountford is a horror author from the North-East of England. His first
book, Horror in the Woods, was published in May 2017 to fantastic reviews,
and his follow-up book, The Demonic, achieved Best Seller status in both Occult
Horror and British Horror categories on Amazon.
He is a lifelong horror fan, much to the dismay of his amazing wife,
Michelle, and his work is available in ebook, print and audiobook formats.
In August 2017 he and his wife welcomed their first daughter, Ella, into the
world. In May 2019, their second daughter, Sophie, came along. Michelle is
hoping the girls don’t inherit their father’s love of horror, but Lee has other
ideas…

For more information

www.leemountford.com
leemountford01@googlemail.com

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 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The first thank you is to you, dear reader, for taking a

chance on my work. I sincerely hope you enjoyed the
twisted world of Darkfall.

Thanks also to my amazing Beta Reader Team, who have

greatly helped me polish and hone this book:
James Bacon
Christine Brlevic
John Brooks
Cassandra Pipps Cherry
Karen Day
Sally Feliz
Doreene Fernandes
Jenn Freitag
Ursula Gillam
Clayton Hall
Tammy Harris
Emily Haynes
Dorie Heriot
Marie K
Dawn Keate
Jon R Kraushar
Shaina Langston
Paul Letendre
Jonathan Morrissey
Paul Ostasiewicz
Valerie Palmer
Leanne Pert
Carley Jessica Pyne
 Gale Raab
Justin Read
Nicola Jayne Smith
Sharon Watret

Also, a huge thanks to these fantastic people:

My editor Josiah Davis (www.jdbookservices.com)
Further proof editing supplied by Diane McCarty.
The cover artwork was created by Richard (http://
tentaclesandteeth.com).
The cover was supplied by Debbie at The Cover
Collection.
(www.thecovercollection.com).
The maps contained within this book were produced by
Brian Taylor (of Brian Taylor Cartography).
Interior artwork was create and provided by Matthew
Bryan (https://www.artstation.com/mattbryan) & Thomas
Serginson (https://www.serginsonillustration.com).
All maps and artwork contained within this book have
been used with the express permission of the creators. All
relevant licensing agreements are in place.
And the last thank you, as always, is the most important.
To my amazing family: my wife, Michelle, and my
daughters, Ella and Sophie—thank you for everything. You
three are my world.

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Copyright © 2022 by Lee Mountford
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems,
without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review.

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