The Deathless Dame, Part II

We wound our way like an eight-man serpent under Loccine’s light, filtered through the latticework treetops; under the thick fog that, combined with the hazy enough view I had of individuals who were ‘cloaked’, made me strain my eyes. It is a disarming sensation one first feels when both their visual and aural images are reduced to nothing, but Wondhelm remained a competent leader, and the students competent followers.

We could not have walked for more than a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity, and the creeping invasion of violet upon the landscape as we approached the ley line made this excursion feel all the more otherworldly.

Ere long we came up to a clearing, and spotted our quarry. Even against the ley line’s glow, which by now was less ambient and more harsh backlighting, we could make out their key features: large frames, dark fur, glowing red eyes, long claws and fangs, and horns jutting haphazardly from their floppy-eared heads.

The signal was given for the students and Edgyth to stop; Wondhelm broke off, and Lord Gilther and I pressed on ahead.

Our positioning was perfect. Wondhelm briefly made the air still — the mist froze, as if captured in an oil painting — so Lord Gilther could chant the formula for his Cyclone-de-Feu without making a sound. The hares still weren’t wise to us yet; we were invisible, inaudible, undetectable.

There was only one crucial mistake that we made.

We’d underestimated how sharp dire hares’ noses were.

…Surely the reader can see why we did! You take one look at a hare, and what sticks out to you? The eyes and the ears! Not the nose!

But even by the time Wondhelm had frozen the air, it was too late. The smell of human had passed under the creatures’ noses, and unfortunately my aroma was first in line. I turned around to see how Lord Gilther was doing, and the instant I did, a black furball came zooming in from the corner of my eye—

SHWOKK!

Unable to see us, it knew not where to stop, and its horns and claws collided with me full-force. This was enough to draw some blood, but the mortal blow was dealt when I, tossed backward from the impact, fell and was impaled on a thick branch jutting out from a log. My spell was dispersed, and the first thing those poor students saw was me splayed out on the ground, my ribcage now a swimming pool of blood and guts.

They freaked out, naturally. The one who was an aficionada of mine outright fainted, I heard. Edgyth rushed to my side to remove me from the log; aside from that she was under strict do-not-resuscitate orders (and not like she could have now).

My husband and the captain were not fazed in the slightest — only glancing back and taking note of the damage — and carried on with the spellcasting.

I was not witness to any of this. The little devil, aware of it or not, had gotten the perfect angle on me and eviscerated my heart, leaving the rest of my organs bereft of blood and my breathing labored; pain seized me and quickly dimmed my senses. Everything turned white.

In that blank space my mind’s eye opened fully, and vignettes of those dear to me played out, all in their usual order. First came my party; our triumphs, our blunders, and countless past deaths. Next came specifically Lord Gilther; the times we had shared love and made love. Then, skipping several years, came the children whom I had once called my brothers and sisters: Hild, Adela, Big Bert, Ivor, Little Bert, and the rest of the orphans I had grown up alongside in the village of Hweting.

Then that gentle giant who had reared me, single-handedly, for the first sixteen years of my life: Godshalk, the village parson and my foster-father. His salt-and-pepper hair and beard, and his serene countenance, I could still see clear as day through the decades that had passed.

Last, as was customary, came the one whom I had met not in my life but in my heart: a supremely beautiful woman, with fair skin and eyes, fiery red hair, and a regal countenance. She shimmered like the sun, and a halo was wrapped about her body. The light grew stronger, stronger…

Sweet Barthène… I called out. I’m coming home…

But I never did. Instead the light faded, and a feeling like a deep, cold shock coursed through me as my bones, sinews, and organs all stitched themselves back together, nixing the pain. Edgyth, who had watched me die more than anyone else up to that point, described this phenomenon as the parts of my body that had been ejected, dragging and then skipping along the ground, like little nails drawn to a massive lodestone.

In short order warmth returned, and my heart started its tattoo again. I hacked blood, bile, phlegm, and all other manner of fluid out, wiped my eyes, and I was up. Edgyth breathed a sigh of relief.

Lord Gilther and Wondhelm were still focused on the Cyclone-de-Feu, whose blazing wisps now engulfed most of the clearing. Good; that’d fit a fair few dire hares, I figured. But chaos was erupting behind me; the students were all yelling, and that little monster that had gored me was shrieking right alongside them. I turned around to see the thing darting back-and-forth between the trees, frustratingly quick, while three of the kids took turns hurling fire, ice, and water spells at it. None of them made their mark.

The fourth, the one who had fainted after witnessing my own bloody murder, was awake now, but still on the ground and cowering behind the flimsy shield of her arms. Unfortunately, after throwing her classmates off its tail, as it were, the dire hare now leapt straight for the girl.

It was my time to shine.

I focused on the space just in front of the hare’s next victim, flexed the muscles in my back, and moved my mouth just a bit — going slower, one would have heard me chant my formula, but I was at the point in my cultivation of this spell where it came out like a blur.

From my shoulder blades shot out growths — protrusions — leathery protrusions. I flapped them, and in the next instant—

THOOM!

I beat the dire hare to the punch, grabbed the thing by its upper mandible, and slammed it into the ground with all my might. Then, while it was down, I sunk my nails into its throat, slashing its jugular open.

In another light, those students might have thought me a demon, what, with my ghastly-pale skin, my black bat-wings aglow under the full moon, my gashed and bloodstained dress, and my sudden flash of inhuman strength — but in this moment, they thought me their hero, and after a moment of catharsis, of staring in fleeting horror at the hare’s twitching body before it went stiff, they cheered for me.

…I know what some might ask here now, but no. Good heavens, no. I’m not in the habit of drinking blood in front of others, not now and especially not then! No-one even knew about that back then, save my husband.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was a little tempting, though. I only regretted not having a vial on me so I could take a sample back home.

At any rate, the day was saved, and the Deathless Dame’s list of legendary feats grew ever-longer. Huzzah!