Chapter 2

  I am now sitting atop a carriage.

  This is surreal.

  Above me, the night sky. Summer is on the verge of blooming and the wind tastes good, the stars are blinking.

  The carriage moves slower than it should, Francis explained to me. We lost a horse.

  Around us, Francis’ remaining guards walk slowly. They’re tired, Francis is tired, and Lady Manon is tired too. Manon’s two young helpers are asleep on each side of the driver.

  We’re trying to reach the next village, to sleep in an inn. We are nearly there, but as the night grows, the world slows and, for me, we’ve been gone for four hours from the wooden thicket, even though only one hour passed by.

  I think.

  Francis is not a noble, but Lady Manon is. They argued about me, whispering angrily at each other, believing I couldn’t hear.

  I could.

  She argued that I was a monster, incontrolable, a maneater.

  He answered that I was still capable of thinking and control, that I had saved her and everyone, that I was as strong as ten men and swords didn’t work on me, that I could be a great bodyguard, a good investment, just like he was himself.

  He won, but she’s not totally convinced yet.

  I still don’t care. Everyone I love is dead. I left everything I knew behind. This is not better or worse than wandering aimlessly.

  We end up reaching the village without further problems.

  ***

  “What’s happening?” Lady Manon asks from behind my door.

  “It…” A pause, “She has locked herself in the room, my lady.” A guard answers shortly.

  I can hear them from my side. They’re talking at a normal speed. The sun is up, I can feel it behind the closed window, above the ceiling, beyond the walls. This is better than the woods, but now I don’t want to leave.

  For a good part of the night I patrolled around the inn, through the village, but then people started waking up, and I fled to my room. I stayed there, hidden, for gods know how long.

  Francis arrives as Manon speaks, “Girl, what’s this nonsense?” She asks. I can feel a mix of emotions from her. She’s annoyed, on guard, and curious.

  I grit my teeth and drag myself to the door.

  “The sun. It hurts.” I answer shortly, sitting down.

  I hear her shuffling behind the door. She speaks with Francis, the lady and the strange man talk about me. I think they’re discussing about magic and rules. Francis is being diplomate with Manon.

  “Would riding with us in the carriage be enough protection?” He finally asks.

  ***

  I stay huddled under blankets all day, inside the carriage. There is enough space to comfortably accommodate four people, so I take one side for myself and sleep on the banquette. It’s not very big but I don’t care, I’m hidden from the sun by clothes and wood, and this is much better than when I was a vagrant.

  The sun sets at some point, and we arrive in yet another village. I learn that this road is well-used for trade, mostly during the day, hence why I crossed paths with so many people even at night.

  We rest there and, once again, I pace through the village and its surroundings while people are asleep. I’m getting slightly peckish, but there are no evildoers around, and I get back to the inn.

  This time, however, I step into the carriage well before I can see any new light in the sky. Being carried in Francis’ arms inside a pile of blankets was not the nicest feeling, and so I huddle on the banquette and try to catch some sleep before the sun starts to scream at me.

  ***

  Something is off, I can feel it. It’s the end of the afternoon, the sun is still mightily roaring in the sky. I used to love summer, and I still do, at least the cursed nights are shorter, but now it proves to be a disadvantage.

  I can smell old blood and violence, so I force myself to open my eyes, pushing my head out of the blankets.

  Francis is reading a book. Of course he can read. Manon looks bored. I think she's barely a day over twenty-one. I’m surprised she’s not married yet. Francis clearly isn’t her husband.

  “Blood.” I say weakly, startling Manon, who looks at me warily, “It smells of blood,” I precise in a hush, fleeing her gaze.

  “That’s not good. Hide.” Francis tells me before reaching above my head, opening a flapper.

  I hurry to shield myself from the sun, even if it’s just indirect light, “Slow down and stop to make it look like you need to check the carriage for problems, there’s trouble ahead.” Francis tells the guard leading the carriage.

  “You can’t help us?” He then asks, closing the flap, and I nod a no from my hiding spot.

  He clicks his tongue but isn’t surprised, and fetches a satchel from a compartment above, opening it to check its content.

  It stinks! It stinks it stinks it stinks! I hate sulfur!

  “Fireball diplomacy it is. I’ll try to keep some alive for interrogation…” He tells Manon, then turns at me, “And feeding, I guess?” I nod at him, and he nods back seriously.

  I smell the air. The man needs to unwind. I think he still holds a grudge from being taken down so easily by the surprise attack of the last group of ruffians. That’s what contempt and carelessness get you, when you believe yourself untouchable.

  Manon frowns at the exchange but doesn’t comment. She looks cute and weak, but inside she’s smart and hard. You need to be both, I guess, if you want to be a thriving young noble lady.

  She doesn’t like me but I think I like her.

  Since I’m awake and waiting for Francis to deal with the problem, I take the time to inspect her.

  She’s tall, for starters, taller than me by a few inches, taller than Francis too. She has blonde hair, blue eyes, and the soft skin of someone staying inside. She’s clothed in a conservative dress, a rich clothing of finely-woven linen I think, died an intense spring green. I can’t even think of how much it would cost.

  Her face is sharp, like a hawk, giving her a sort of haughty beauty, while youth makes her cheeks fresh and healthy. She’s beautiful, and moves like the noble lady she is.

  “Have you finished your inspection, girl?” She suddenly asks, turning her head at me and losing her bored look, raising an eyebrow.

  I’m embarrassed, I don’t know what to say, and my eyes flee her gaze once more.

  She looks at me silently, inspecting me in return. I had short black hair before leaving my village, but now it falls on my shoulder. I have blue eyes, like her, but my visage is a bit rounder, and I’m younger than her. I’m seventeen since last winter.

  She turns her eyes away after a while, a pensive frown on her predatory face, and takes out a parchment from a storage behind her, as well as ink and a quill, starting to note things down.

  I’m feeling inspected, an instinct that is soon confirmed, “Tell me, young woman, your name is Camille, right?” I nod, “And from where do you come?”

  “Tellon-Sur-C?te,” I answer, which I think she notes down with a frown. I can’t be sure.

  “I don’t know that village, where is it?” She seems troubled. I don’t know where I am right now, but I sure walked a lot over many days.

  “In the Fyreenes.” I tell her. We couldn’t even see the mountain range from here. Pretty far indeed.

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  She keeps asking questions. I’ve been like this since the end of winter. I left my village because everyone was dead. No, I didn’t kill them. I don’t know if she believes me. I was the student of an alchemist. She’s suspicious about that too.

  All I can do is tell my tale with my genuine emotions, which right now are a hollow despair and a distant apathy.

  I think she gets it, and stops asking questions.

  “The rest will be for tomorrow.” She comments, stowing back her writing apparatii with great care and letting the parchment dry.

  She takes a look outside through a curtain and I hide from the sun. She still looks curiously at me every time it happens. She’s keen, and I feel dissected, the same way my mentor methodically opened a toad to show me its inside.

  For her, I’m merely a dangerous curiosity, Francis’ pet project. Maybe it’ll change, though right now I don’t care.

  ***

  “This smells like foulplay,” Francis says once he’s back, two prisoners in tow. He smells like burned wood and shared flesh, with a pregnant undertone of sulfur. His satchel is noticeably lighter, and I can hear nearby trees burning down.

  I start to suspect witchcraft from him. That would explain why he’s less openly wary of me. From the two of them, he is more welcoming, but deeper I can smell it, he’s also more cautious.

  The more you know, the more cautious you are, since you know better what can go south. It makes sense, that’s also how I feel about alchemy.

  “Three ambushes from bandits, three days in a row? I concur,” Manon nods at him, “Yes, and those men were informed beforehand that some nobles would be passing by around this time,” Francis adds.

  This does smell fishy. “Someone wants to kill you?” I ask candidly, and Manon nods a negative. "We’re meant to be hostage,” She says, pointing at Francis and her, “They’re after something my Father has. Which doesn’t get us anywhere.” She finishes, her tone telling me that I’m an ignorant child.

  They start talking between themselves as Francis takes out a large drawing. Oh, a map. I can’t wrap my head around it, it looks very abstract. They discuss routes and itineraries, and I understand that our destination is the city of Lyenass, Manon’s home if I’m not mistaken. They don’t tell me that, but she introduced herself as Manon of Lyenass, and I may not know much about noble houses but I’m not dumb either.

  They start bickering about the best way of action, Francis arguing that they should wait for reinforcement in the next village while Manon proposes to take an alternate route, slightly longer, but also less likely to have bandits lying in ambush.

  “Why not go straight to Lyenass tonight?” I finally ask in a lull of their disagreement.

  They look at me as if I’m mad, so I bite my cheek and explain myself.

  “You saw what I can do at night. Let’s leave the carriage, the soldiers and the servants behind at the next village, you can collect them later with a heavier escort. Meanwhile, you take the horses and we rush the last distance to your city, mylady. If bandits they are, they won’t expect you to travel at night, without your carriage, so we may dodge them that way, and if push comes to shove…” My nails melt and turn into dark claws. I don’t know how this works, only that it is as natural as breathing.

  Manon looks at me with a disbelieved scowl, but Francis is pensive, and starts nodding in slow, measured agreement. “That could work,” He finally says.

  Manon turns a glare at him, and the witch shrugs, “If she wanted you dead or captured, you would already be,” He tells her, “And besides, you’re the one who wants to rush this.”

  If gazes could kill, he would be dead.

  ***

  Ah, this is better. I ate my share before leaving. The full moon shines gloriously, surrounded by her court of stars. I’m looking at Orion while walking. It’s the only constellation I know of besides Ursa Major, and I often find myself gazing at it. I like how the four stars encase the central belt.

  At my side, Manon and Francis ride their mount at a slow-motion fast trot. This late at night, I need to control my speed less I run down their horses. Those two are tired, I can see it, which is not surprising.

  This, right now, is the Deep Night, the moment when all but the most determined of sleepless howls are already in bed, and none of the early birds are awake yet.

  My mentor loved this time of the night, the near-absolute peace of a sleeping world, the perfect moment for the strongest emotions, good or bad, to bloom, for the mightiest creation to be made.

  Surprisingly, and for the first time since I have been transformed, I’m glad that time slows down in this most profound darkness. I can’t ride a horse, and I’m pretty sure the lack of saddle would have been a problem.

  We reached Mont-Le-Fort just an hour before the sun went to sleep behind the horizon, which gave Manon and Francis some respite as I refused to get out before the complete setting of the sun, and since then we’ve been making good progress. It may be less comfortable than their carriage, but riding horses is still faster. Only two or three more hours to go, at least for them. We would arrive in Lyenass just before the sun would greet us.

  I frown, disliking that idea. I didn’t really think this through, did I? I pick up the pace, going just a tad faster, and the two riders adapt to keep up.

  I realize that I enjoy this stroll quite a bit. I’ve been walking alone for who knows how long, months I think, and in a way, Manon and Francis’ presence soothes me just a little bit.

  I’m less hollow than yesterday, of that I’m sure.

  I’m lost in my thoughts when it happens. A whistle cuts through the quiet air. It’s not a bolt, nor an arrow, and I didn’t feel its origin point, but I can see clear as day that it’s headed for Francis.

  I have time to react, but not much. Even in this world of sluggishness, the thing fly fast and true. It’s liquid, I realize, and red. It smells bad… like tainted blood. This makes me angry for some reason, but the emotion is still very distant, much like the other ones floating in my mind.

  I don’t know what to do, so I sprint to intercept the bolt and block it with an open pal-

  SHIT SHIT SHIT IT HURTS SO FUCKING MUCH!

  Ow ow ow, ouch! My hand!

  I squeeze my right hand and when I look at it, I see a mangled mess of flesh and blood, Gods!

  However, the pain quickly recesses as I watch my flesh snap back to my bones in a mix of wonder and horror. I’m hungry.

  I shouldn’t get hit again.

  My turn now. I saw most of the strange projectile’s flight, I know the general area from which it came.

  We’re on a very large, flat hill, on the slope downward, and many trees grow around, with a lot of shrubbery in between. I walk away from the large dirt road, all dusty because of the heat and the lack of rain, my pace turning into a run when I catch a hint of a strange shadow.

  Behind me, Francis and Manon have realized that something is wrong, and the witch is already taking a sulfur ball out of his satchel.

  The shadow reacts to my arrival, faster than any human I’ve seen, but not fast enough, barely a third of my own speed. It’s still thrice faster than the other two behind me.

  I see the flash of steel, the shadow is taking out a sword and a dagger.

  I’m not a fighter. All the bandits, I have overwhelmed with sheer speed and brute strength. Here, however, my dominant arm is already out of play, and my advantage isn’t as big as usual. I’m just thankful we’re in the Deep Night, otherwise the shadow wouldn’t have been as slow.

  I try to turn around it, but even though I’m faster, it has a lot more fighting experience, and its hands move quicker even than its head, as if it doesn’t need to see me to know where I am, keeping me at bay with its sword.

  I’m afraid. For the first time since I left my home, I’m afraid. I don’t know why. My life has no meaning anymore, no value, so why am I afraid?

  I push the thought away and focus on the ongoing fight.

  I realize its hands are shaking, I don’t understand why. I can’t hear it breathing, it is disorienting, and its face is hidden in the deep shadow of its hood, too profound to be natural.

  Of course. I’m fighting a witch.

  Thankfully, I’m not alone, and soon enough a bright light appears in Francis’ hand. A fireball, aimed at the enemy. He trusts me to dodge it in time, what with the speed I showed him.

  The enemy, however, reacts by throwing its dagger right into the fiery projectile as it leaves Francis’ hands, all the while still keeping me at bay with its sword.

  The shadow’s weapon punch through Francis’ magic and the fireball explode, but the searing dagger doesn’t stop and nestles itself in the flank of Francis’ horse, which reacts violently and unhorses him.

  Now. The shadow just flinched, the flash must have affected it.

  I violently strike the flat of its sword with my closed fist, not the smartest idea, but it works, so I follow with another strike on its wrist.

  Gods I hate lacking a hand.

  It lets go of its sword, and I reach for the shadow of its hood.

  I’m strong now. I was already strong before, even compared to a man, but I couldn’t have done what I’m doing now when I was still human.

  I grab its throat, and raise it from the ground with one arm, choking it in my grasp.

  It fights back, its hood falling back.

  It’s a woman with short red hair in a pixie cut, and green eyes. Tattoos cover her face, faintly glowing red. I’m a bit surprised, but I don’t let her go.

  well, not on purpose. She reaches for my left hand and I lose my grip on her as pain explodes in my limb. Now my two hands are disabled, and time moves faster than before.

  I snarl, I hiss, my vision turns red as hunger grips me.

  I jump at her, mouth open, and the sketch of a scream appears on her mouth.

  I bite down.

  ***

  I wake up to the focused attention of Manon. My wrists rest on one of her thighs as she’s kneeling close to me, one knee on the ground, the other at the level of my head. I’m sitting against a tree, and the noble lady is carefully removing some pieces of foliage that got caught in my flesh as my hands knitted themselves back together.

  Not far from us, Francis is strapping the witch woman to his horse. She’s unconscious, but not dead. I can hear her breathing, a bit ragged. There’s a bit mark on her throat, nearly entirely healed.

  I taste my lips. Blood. I fed and didn’t kill, a welcome development.

  “How long have I been out?” I ask Manon in a daze. Her gaze moves to meet my eyes. “Not long, don’t worry,” She answers me. She’s less cold and distant than before.

  I blink. Her answer was fast, nearly as fast as a normal human would be. I realize that the world around me isn’t very sluggish.

  “I’m tired. I don’t think I can keep up with the horses.” I tell her, and she nods, “Don’t worry, you’ll ride with me.”

  She takes me by the wrists, helping me get on my feet. “Now let us be swift, so you can avoid the sun and I can be safe at home.”

  She’s indeed way warmer than before.

  She helps me get on the horse, and sit behind me. She’s tall enough that she can see above my head. She puts her hands around me, taking the reins. It’s cozy, I don’t mind.

  “And thank you for saving Francis,” She adds a little while later as we set off again.

  Ah. I felt something there, in those words. The love of a niece would devote to an eccentric uncle.

  I’m glad I saved him.