Claws tore into his belly as he struggled to get free so he could fight back. The bear began to worry his body, shaking him by the arm locked in her jaws, and all he could do was thrash. The meat of his upper arm gave way, tore open in a spray of blood.
No no no
! The bear’s weight smothered his screams. She pulled at his arm, tearing it like cloth until it ripped away. The ragged stump jetted blood over both of them. She let the arm fall and lowered her dripping jaws toward his throat.
A sword flashed, cutting into the bear and rising away in a new spray of blood. The bear shuddered, turned, and stepped away from him.
He could breathe!
Father shouted at him, words he couldn’t make out as he gasped for air and tried to get off the ground. He had to get up, protect his father. He rolled to get purchase with his remaining hand.
The bear roared, threatening Father, who seemed small as a child before her. With one hand, he held his sword up; with the other, he shone the lantern’s beam into her eyes as if to confuse her and keep her at bay.
Gareth struggled to stand up, fighting to do what he must despite all the torn places in his body. The combat was only a few paces away, but as he tried to run, he lost his balance and fell again, jarring the stub of his right arm. Molten agony poured into him from that wound and from shredded places all over his body.
This time he had the breath to scream.
His mind went white from the pain, but still something inside shrieked at him: Get up! Get up!
Gareth got unsteadily to his feet as the bear took a swipe at Father and knocked the sword away.
Can’t run right
. He jumped, covering the remaining distance all at once, intending to grab and distract the bear. He managed to get a handful of her fur and flesh but lost his grip when his hand tore through and ripped her side open.
The bear turned on him, bellowing and lashing out. Gareth leaped back. He saw that his left hand had changed. Instead of their normal, blunt-square shape, his fingers were long, wickedly tapered, sharp—and wet with the bear’s blood. They had sliced clean through both his glove and the animal’s flesh.
I
am
a monster.
The bear roared again and closed in enough that her hot, spittle-flecked breath washed over Gareth. He slashed at her, cutting deep into a foreleg. Rampant, she stood twice his size. She crowded him, swiping at him with her claws. They struck at one another several times, but he kept having to stumble back to avoid her onslaught.
The bear stopped advancing on him to stay close to her cub. She and Gareth eyed each other warily as his wounded arm drained his blood, his life and strength, to the forest floor. She still threatened him but didn’t sweep in to attack. She had to guard the cub. It was over, if only Father would get away before Gareth fell.
As he fought his own body just to get breath and stay on his feet, Gareth willed his father to sneak away, and willed himself to live just long enough.
Slowly, Father! Don’t let her see!
In that moment, while Gareth and the bear faced one another down, he was unable to resist covering the stump of his arm. His palm touched severed flesh and the splintered tip of cracked bone. Redoubled pain seared him, and he cried out. Blood wet his palm, washed over his hand. The edges of his vision went gray and closed in until he couldn’t see at all. He was falling.
His knees hit the ground. The impact jarred him back into the moment and cleared his vision enough to see the bear lunge. Gaping jaws and fangs filled his sight, and he knew he had lost.
Die now
, he thought. Himself or the bear, he didn’t know which.
With the last of his strength, he jammed his left hand into the onrushing maw. The animal’s weight and momentum carried her forward even after his claw tore through her skull.
* * *
Gareth came to his senses in agony from both arms now. The bear’s body held him pinned once more. He kicked and struggled to free himself; then Father was there, pulling the dead weight away.
When Gareth finally got free, he lay looking up at the trees and taking ragged gulps of air. It hurt too much to move. Father knelt over him, playing the lantern’s beam over his body, examining the wounds, saying something, but Gareth still couldn’t concentrate enough to hear above the torment of his injuries and the pounding of his heart.
I
am
a monster
. He closed his eyes.
Die now.
Father grasped his left hand and—
“Aaaaaaaaah!” Pieces of bone ground together, shattering his senses again. He recovered, gasping for breath and unable to understand why Father would hurt him so. He stared in bewilderment.
“You broke your arm. Had to set the bone.” Father was still breathing heavily. He used the back of his gloved hand to wipe sweat from his face, unaware of the streak of blood it left behind.
“I’m not dying?”
“Well, your arm’s not bleeding anymore. You’re a right mess, but if you’re not dead yet…” He shrugged and pulled the gloves off.
Gareth looked at the torn place where his right arm should have been and saw that the bleeding had indeed stopped. The bone that had been splintered when he touched it still protruded from raw meat, but it was now smooth. “What’s happening?”
Father’s fingers brushed the skin of his thigh. “Your clothes are torn, but the blood just wipes off. Can’t find no wounds.” Father pulled up the shreds of Gareth’s chemise and ran a hand over his belly. “Nothing!”
Gareth raised his head to look down at himself. “No, she clawed me all over! I felt it.” But when he touched himself on the stomach and leg, he could find none of the deep gouges he expected. No gashes or scratches or scrapes.
He realized Father was staring at his hand, and he remembered the claw. But when he brought the hand to his face, he saw that the fingers were normal again, not the great, thornlike talons they had been while he was fighting. His hand was coated with blood and slime, but it was his hand once again. He looked at Father in confusion.
“Don’t that hurt?” Father asked.
“No, my fingers are…like always.”
“I’m talking about your broke arm.”
“Oh!” Gareth rested his head back on the ground and lifted his left arm over his face to look at it. It seemed perfectly normal. He shook it like a bird flapping its wing. Solid.
“Well, if that arm works, let’s do something with these bears. You can’t lie around all night.” Father left the lantern on the ground for a moment and began putting his gloves on even as he stood. As if he had already forgotten Gareth’s suffering.
Gareth opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. What was there to say?
Is he crazy? Am I
? How could Father pretend nothing strange was happening? He used his remaining arm to lever himself up and stood.
The pain had gone, leaving not so much as an ache in its place. Except for his lost right arm, all the torn places were whole again. Gareth’s clothes were ruined—Mother would be furious—but he felt normal as long as he didn’t touch the exposed meat of the severed arm.
He and most of the surrounding vegetation were slick with blood. Most of it had come from his own body. That should have been frightening, but it was the least terrible of all he had seen and done in the past few moments.
An arm, all saints,
his
arm, lay dead on the forest floor. Seeing it made him sick in his stomach. How would he do his work now or even climb out of the cellar? What use was he now?
Father shone the lamp into his eyes, making him squint. “Are you coming?”
Gareth took a few tentative steps. His legs worked normally again, but because of the missing arm, he had to move deliberately in order to keep his balance.
He helped his father work for a little while in silence and tried not to worry. When next he looked at the stub of his missing arm, he saw that the wound was covered with fresh, green skin, from which protruded five rubbery little nubs.
Seeing them gave him hope. A crazy, stupid hope that proved to be true. Long before they reached home that night, the arm had grown back.
Chapter Three
Evin was pleased by the day’s progress. He’d been asked to collect a particular fungus that grew on the soggy trunks of fallen trees. Today was a perfect day of the season for finding it. He would be returning early with more good specimens than Madame Tabeau, the village apothecary and his master, perhaps expected.
Picking fungi was a tedious task, so his mind often wandered. The thought of Madame Tabeau’s wizened face brightening with pleasure when she saw today’s harvest had barely faded from his mind before his thoughts returned to a lewd memory he had been enjoying in the few days since his last “hunting trip” with some friends.
The outing had actually been fun, a rare thing these days. Tyber had almost been kind, because he wanted Evin to cooperate in learning a new way to serve him and Johan at the same time. And the new trick had felt glorious, the way Evin held them both inside. Maybe it made him look forward, at least a little, to the next time.
It was easier when Tyber only brought one friend to share him with. More than that and the others would sometimes compete to see who could best debase him. Serving several in one night could be unpleasant. And the things they required of him could be very unpleasant if someone decided not to wash properly. Because of its proximity to water, the riverside campsite they had chosen was an excellent place for their revels. He hoped they would return to it.
Evin realized that once again he was reminiscing instead of working. It was nice to have a good memory every once in a while, but he needed to stop indulging it. He should finish up and get back to the shop. He picked the last few shelves of fungus from the tree he was working on, placed them into his sack, and started back to the village.
His village was called Laforet. It had started long ago as a small, palisaded fort and had grown to boast several cabins and work buildings all constructed with the thick trunks of oak that grew in the region. The village’s major buildings—aside from the mayor’s cabin—were a wood mill, a workshop, and the fort that served mostly as a warehouse. Tyber’s father, the mayor, said Laforet was well-known for the fine furniture the villagers produced.
The mill and workshop were occasional trysting spots for Tyber, his friends, and Evin, because they stood dark and empty at night. The villagers zealously protected the warehouse, where they stored all the valuable, finished pieces, but the mill and workshop were patrolled by a single guard. These days, they were guarded by Nicolas, one of Tyber’s friends. Tyber simply traded Evin’s favors for access.
Evin entered town. In front of the mayor’s cabin, a group of men talked excitedly to an unfamiliar horseman. Tyber stood with them, taking an animated part in the discussion. He didn’t spare a glance as Evin walked by. Evin always grew uncomfortable when unexpected strangers arrived, so he was curious to know the man’s business. But he knew from experience that Tyber wouldn’t like it if he tried to join the group.
Johan also sometimes worked at the apothecary shop. Evin found him there and asked what was happening.
“Where have you been? The news is all over town already!”
“Working, of course.” Evin hefted his bag of fungus onto a high worktable. “I’ve been in the woods. Now tell me.”
“Well…it’s bad news for the Josselins,” Johan said with relish. “Madame Josselin’s sister lived in Daubrec, right?”
That was another village roughly a day’s travel from Laforet. Evin nodded.
“Well, the Josselins haven’t heard from the sister for a while, and it turned out that no news was coming from Daubrec at all. Nobody lives there anymore!”
“Everyone left?”
“No. The queen sent Cydrich, the demon hunter, to find out why messengers sent to Daubrec never returned…and guess what he found!”
“Surely not a demon!” Evin imitated Johan’s breathlessness.
“Yes! It killed everyone in the town. And the messengers and animals too. Maybe fifty people before Cydrich destroyed it.”
A demon! Not even an ordinary creature from the underworld. This was sad news for the Josselins, of course, but no wonder Tyber and the men were excited. The men of Laforet liked blood-soaked tales as much as anyone. Demons featured in many ancient legends and superstitions, but it seemed they were visiting the world of men far too often these days. The
sorceler
, Cydrich, had become famous throughout the kingdom for his work eradicating them. Years ago, after Cydrich had discovered and slain a few, the queen honored him with the title of demon hunter and a reward. He worked directly for her now, researching, tracking down, and destroying demons. And he’d found one only a day’s ride away!
Oh yes, exciting news for the men of Laforet.
Evin had no doubt that Tyber’s excitement would express itself in more ways than one. Perhaps he could expect another of Tyber’s hunting trips soon. He just hoped it would be fun for him again like last time.
* * *
For a few days after the fight with the bear, Gareth moped through his chores. At times when he might have gone near the village to see if he could find Evin or one of the others doing something interesting, he went instead to a place high on the mountain where he could sit looking at the stars, pondering his fate and condition.
Many times he had heard the story of the disaster of his birth. Whenever she was angry, Mother reminded him of how his family fled into hiding to protect him—the boy who had grown to be such an ungrateful, disobedient, and troublesome son. Father had found this place where they could have peace for a time. A mountainous patch of land that didn’t interest the local people because the trees they used to build things didn’t grow well on it. Father won the right to trap here, and until the local lord or mayor took an interest in the mountain, they would be safe.
He knew the story by heart and never questioned it. Yet in the battle, he had seen impossible things. His hand, transformed into a monstrous claw. His arm, regrown just minutes after the bear tore it off. After seeing these terrible things, hope weakened and pulled further away from his grasp. What if he really was a monster and nothing more?