Path of Lyssa
is being written as part of a novel-writing challenge over the month of November. Please expect poor editing!
Current word count:
16,366
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2 - Friends
At some point, the sun rose. Lyssa missed it. The murky grey clouds hanging over the trees of the forest didn't allow much of the sunlight down to her level, even as midday approached. All she knew was that at some point, passing through a narrow clearing around a ditch coated in leaves, she looked up and saw that the night had passed. She smiled and took a hearty breath of fresh air. Crisp and new, cleansing her pores and wisping through her hair. Around her, some chirruping birds let out their tiny choruses, safe in the knowledge that, stuck to the earth as she was, Lyssa was no threat to them.
So, she'd walked all night. Lyssa believed she should have been fatigued by now, but instead found her steps yet springing, her heart still beating, her focus clear and her mind sharp. Closing her eyes and basking in the gloomy sparsity of the sun, she took stock once more of the shred of power that sat deep in her reserves. Tomas' essence was sugary and sweet, just like the young man himself. And his presence inside her was giving lift to her boots that pushed beyond her need to sleep. Maybe she would never have to sleep again! That was well, since Lyssa had no clue of how far she would have to travel before she was reunited with the lovely man in her dreams. She'd hate to waste time with something like sleep if she could help it.
Lyssa raised a hand and placed it fondly over her tummy, over the deep weight of her womb. She had not known she was hungry until that hunger had been sated. Now, she felt warm content seeping through her muscles, the likes of which she hadn't thought to long for. And yet the void demanded more. She had so much space to fill. Lyssa let out a little shiver of delight and anticipation, briefly joining the birds in their song. Hopefully this Ducal Rout was nearby, and with it the villages that Tabitha had told her about. Those villages would have people, and those people would have what she wanted. She licked her lips.
A scuffling of feet in the undergrowth ahead caused her to open her eyes sharply. Or perhaps she wouldn't have to wait! Perhaps a tasty traveller would happen upon her in her journeying! She prepared for her prey a welcoming smile.
It fell away at once. The creature had once been human, she believed, but had lost the soft wetness of its vital form long ago. The skin was purple and black, wrapping up spindly bones tightly like the bread and cheese in her satchel. The eyes were sunken, rheumy and dull, though they latched onto Lyssa with enough keenness to show her that she had been seen. The hair was sparse, a fallow field's harvest. And on this fragile frame sat a heavy breastplate made of dented, grimy bronze. The long leather coat, stained breeches and mangled boots beneath looked more like a workman's attire. But the heavy, iron-headed club the creature was dragging in its wake was no tool for labour. Those spikes were meant for human heads, and they were already stained black with old blood.
The ghoul, since that was clearly what it was, lurched out of the trees towards her, snapping its few remaining teeth with a click of bone. Lyssa took a matching step backwards. She reached into her satchel, taking up the knife she had stolen from Tabitha's. It looked small indeed compared to the weapon of her enemy. The blade, though sharp, was unlikely to penetrate that bronze surface. And when Lyssa looked down her arm at the proffered weapon, she saw that it was shaking fearfully. She was no fighter, it turned out.
Biting back a curse, she turned and ran, making for the safety of the trees.
They aren't nimble like living people are,
Tomas had said. That meant she could likely outrun one, or maybe lure it into a trap of tree roots. But Lyssa's heart leapt into her throat as she neared the treeline, and a great slam of wooden concussion exploded from in front of her. She tumbled, falling back onto her rear and dropping the knife into the thick grass. A long arrow was protruding from the trunk of the tree beside her. If she'd been going just a lick faster, she'd have been pierced through.
Lyssa turned. A second ghoul was approaching her from the south, also wearing bronze but this time armed with a great longbow. How those cataract-filled eyes were able to sight her so adeptly, Lyssa had no idea. But she knew she only had moments left to live. The ghoul wordlessly tugged a new arrow back along the taut line of the bow and clumsily took aim. At her back, the sound of crunching leaves as the club-wielder also approached. Lyssa scrambled, trying to take cover behind the nearest tree. But the hem of her skirt was now caught on brambles, and a hard yank with her hands wasn't freeing her. Heart racing, she writhed against her natural bonds. And the twin ghouls drew ever closer.
As panic overcame her, Lyssa threw out her hand towards them.
"
Stop!!
"
And something left her. The sugary flame in her void spat forth its cargo, letting it shoot invisibly towards the ghouls. The vital energy sank at once into their emaciated, desiccated bodies. A drop of rain on a parched plain. And... they stopped. The ghoul with the bow slowly lowered its aim towards the ground, and the one with the club let its arm hang limp. Both of them, for all of their decay, held an expression of blissful, serene calm. Their eyes on her were peaceful. Lyssa spat out a manic laugh. What manner of sorcery was this?
But she couldn't wonder for long, as a dark shape burst out of the trees to the south of the glade. Lyssa caught a flash of faded blue, the rich brown of wood and a sparkle of metal. She fought back a wail in her throat. Another ghoul? If so, it was much faster than these others!
But this one was roaring. Lyssa stared as the figure ploughed into the dead archer and slashed a curved axe down into its shoulder. The heavy iron crunched into the bronze armour and cleaved the plating messily, then passed straight through to the bone. The ghoul collapsed forward under the mighty weight of the attack. As it fought to right itself with its one remaining arm, the warrior pulled back on a large, circular wooden shield, studded with metal around its edge. A vicious slam downwards brought the shield's rim onto the back of the creature's head. A smashing of bone, and it was still.
Next, the blue-garbed warrior lunged for the ghoul with the club. Their steps were powerful lunges, a back-and-forth that suggested they were meaning to keep out of any likely blows coming their way. But the ghoul didn't move. It was still staring at Lyssa. As such, the warrior's upward crescent swing met no resistance as it severed the creature's head from its neck. The head landed softly in the grass, then the body toppled lifelessly over.
Lyssa stared up at her rescuer. He was very much alive, which was a relief. He was three or four years older than Tomas, by her reckoning, making him closer in age to herself. A ruddy young man, with hair thick and black like bracken tied at the back of his head. A wide set of shoulders, held tall and strong by a suggestion of tight muscle beneath his clothing. Red cheeks from the exertion of his combat, and brown eyes like the richness of the earth. His tabard was navy blue and marked with a white symbol that Lyssa's eyes couldn't pick out from the grime and tear in the old garment. Below, a coat of chain that disappeared under leather gauntlets, a pair of tight trousers and metal-tipped boots. His shield was unvarnished, a labyrinth of cuts and scrapes. And his axe was a nasty, threatening curve of metal that extended over his knuckle. The deadly iron looked blunt and old, but the weight of the young man's attacks had ensured it was none the less effective.
"Y-You alright?" he gasped down at her, wiping his brow with the back of his glove. He had a crisp, musical voice, made slightly gravelly by his fatigue and the rush of battle.
Lyssa finally pulled herself free of her brambles, then rose quickly to her feet. The thorns had sliced through her skirt, leaving a great rip up one side that, when standing wide as she was now, indecently exposed some of her leg. She recognised the flash of interest in the lad's brown eyes as he quickly took notice of her exposed skin. And suddenly, Lyssa was afraid no longer. She beamed that smile she had been preparing.
"Now that I have been rescued by a handsome warrior?" she said. "Oh, I am very well indeed!"
The young man swallowed a lump in his throat, and Lyssa watched the movement of his neck muscles with keen attention. Then, the warrior grinned a flatteringly foolish grin.
"Great!" he laughed. "I'm relieved!"
At his back, a new shape emerged. The woman was of an age with the nameless warrior, and dressed in a long, tan travelling dress of thick wool. She had wavy hair down to her shoulders, red like the honey from Tabitha's cottage, that she held in place with an iron circlet about her temple, and she had a half-cape of deep green tight about her shoulders. Lyssa caught the shine of some sort of jewellery around her neck, dangling beneath the hem of her cape, as well as the glimmer of curiosity in her pale blue eyes on seeing Lyssa. A glimmer that hardened as she also took in the smile of the young man. The older fellow unconscious on the girl's shoulders, Lyssa barely registered at all. But a wary, predatory sense at the back of her mind took note that this girl would have to be unusually strong to carry a middle-aged male on her back as she did.
"It's not safe," the girl stated firmly. "Come with us."
"It shall be my pleasure." Lyssa grinned, unable to hide her excitement. There was no reason to turn these two down. She needed a place to recover from the closeness of death, and her void was now empty. Both were maladies that these two new friends could help her with. Two new friends to play with... how thrilling!
---
"My name is Lyssa!" the dark-haired woman introduced brightly, and Claire couldn't help but narrow her eyes. She'd sprung back from a near death experience awfully quickly, especially for a young woman of nobility, as she appeared. Her dress and belongings were rustic, but that gorgeous black silk she had for hair, her creamy cheeks and high-society manner of speaking all spoke of a rich upbringing down in the cities. The grace of her movements, even the idle gestures she made when conversing, were careful and arresting like a dancer's.
