A Feral Darkness Part 24

But Druid stood like a statue, growling steadily, no doubt apparent in his hot glare out over the field. Masera thumbed the flashlight on, swept it over the field, though at that distance, the beam dissipated too much to show anything buta"

Eyes.

Off to the right, on this side of the creek. Eyes reflecting back at them, green, winking in and out with the movement of the attached animal, never steady enough to get a feel for just how many there were.

"Oh, man," Brenna said softly. "Oh, man."

"Stay inside the circle," Masera said, his voice just as low. The grim quality in his words made her wish she was anywhere else but here, inside the circle. Two giant targets inside a bullseye and one small, quickly moving targeta"for Druid had stopped growling, had skipped back a few stepsa"and when she went for his leash he bolted, kicking off his run with a sudden yip of fear and clawing up sod with the vigor of his retreat. She lunged after him, but spun abruptly around with the implacable force of Masera's hand grabbing her arm. "Stay in the circle," he said. "You can't catch a dog that doesn't want to be caught."

"I know, dammit, buta"" She stopped just before her voice cracked with frustration, jerking free of his grasp and turning away, reeling inside with the sudden change of atmospherea"although she could still feel the pulse of the earth against her feet, and wondered if Masera could, too. A faster beat, a stronger tingle, a feel of urgency and danger. She didn't know if it was a warning or merely a reflection of her own turmoil. "If only we could see," she muttered, taking a long step to the center of the circle, where she'd left the rifle. Still loaded. Still armed.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steeling herself to turn around.

That's when she heard Masera's quick intake of breath, and she whirled around, opening her eyes toa"

Light.

Soft, silver-colored light, washing out over the hill, growing to reach across the creek, trickling out over the pasture below. Baffled, she turned a circle, hunting the source.

She didn't have to look far.

The oak looming over the spring, barely leafed out in that slow, taking-things-on-its-own-schedule way that oaks had. A perfectly normal oak.

Glowing moon-silver, growing steadily in strength.

Illuminating the field of battle.

She let her own breath hiss through her teeth and exchanged a quick, wide-eyed glance with Masera. "You know what?" she said. "We're not in Kansas anymore."

"No, Dorothy, we're not." He looked out over the pasture. "Let's just hope Toto is safe at home." And he nodded, taking her attention back to the field.

Of course it was Parker. Parker, striding toward them with all the a.s.surance back in his walk and a pack of pit bulls spread out around him. He'd bypa.s.sed the creek at the road bridge along the house frontage, probably cut through her fence as soon as he was across it. Seven dogs, she thoughta"no, eight. Eight, when one would have done the job. One powerfully jawed dog, trained to kill.

She had wondered if she could kill a dog. She suddenly knew the answer.

Parker himself carried a bat.

"A bat?" she murmured out loud, moving close to Masera again. "He knows I have the rifle."

"Think like the darkness," Masera murmured back; she could barely hear him for the thrum of pulsesa"earth pulses, her own racing hearta"in her ear. "It wants the experience close and personal. It wants to crush and maim and feel the results."

"And how rea.s.suring you are," she muttered. She gestured with the rifle. "This is what we've got. Do you want it?"

He shook his head without taking his eyes from Parkera"halfway across the pasture now. "As much as I'd like to leave you free to . . . communicate . . . with Nuadha, I have no doubt which of us can handle the shooting best. But there shouldn't be any. Don't start anything. Just stay in the circlea""

"No kidding," she said. "But just what makes you so sure they can't get to us here?"

"It's stronger than it was before. He couldn't reach you then."

"That's just the point," she said. "He couldn't reach me. He was stuck on the other side of the creek. It was the darkness that got repelled by the circle. I have no idea whether Parker himself will care the least about our silver marching men."

His response was silence, while Parker grew close enough so the glow of light painted his gold hair silver, sparking off it like bright sunshine. Then he swore a low curse, accepting her argument . . . but not, Brenna was glad to hear, with the G.o.ddamit against which she'd cautioned him.

"Yeah," she said. "So I'd rathera"Iban, if they get any closer and they start running, I won't get them all in time. I'm not used to a moving target."

He nodded. "Start something, then."

Brenna raised the rifle to her shoulder, finding the old ball and notch sight, settling it on a broad white chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered, following the approach of that chest, shifting the ball just to the left of the notch to account for the quirky sight . . . she held her breath and gently squeezed the trigger.

Never a loud weapon, the rifle shot seemed somehow muted by the pounding of the earth, the subtle pulsing of the oak's glow. And the dog didn't flinch. Didn't hesitate. Still sighting in, Brenna quickly pumped in a new sh.e.l.l and took the shot again.

Nothing.

"Buck fever?" Masera asked, suspicion in his voice. Not suspicion aimed at her, as he looked out over the field to Parker's big grin.

"No," Brenna said miserably. "He's protecting them, somehow."

"Don't waste the bullets, then."

"I can't just sit here and wait." On an impulse, she spun away from the edge of the circle, took the rifle back to the center, right next to the spring, and thrust it flat against the ground. "Please," she said to the spring. "We've got to fight the darkness." She jammed her hand into her pocket, fishing out the fresh sh.e.l.ls, and scattered them in the ooze of the springa"a crazier thing she'd probably never done. Wet ammo. But they weren't any use to her as they were . . .

She jacked the old sh.e.l.ls out of the gun, scooped up the wet ones, and pulled the rod out for a hasty reload. "Here goes," she said, and gave the firing chamber a quick kiss of a blessing.

When she returned to Masera's side, Parker was just below them. Waiting. For her, evidently, considering the way his congenially self-pleased expression darkened as she took up a shooting stance.

"You were in on this together," he said. "I should have known. It explains a number of things."

"We're together now," Masera said. "No doubt there are others who have their sights on you."

"Apt way of putting it." Parker tipped the bat at Brenna and the rifle. "Except surely you've figured out that won't do you any good."

"Let's pretend I'm slow," Brenna suggested. "Slow enough so I'm going to give you the chance to turn around and walk away."

Parker laughed out loud. "Not much chance of that at all."

"This isn't really you, Parker. This is whatever you raised here four years ago. Following it got your friends killed, and it'll kill you, too." But he'd hear the desperation in her voice. Could he also hear the hurried thrum of the earth, that reflection of her fear? But the rifle, half-raised, remained steady. Masera, at her side, remained steady. She realized that he held one of the silver knives, a dull but slightly serrated knife that could do plenty of damage with enough strength behind it.

"I understand more than they did," Parker told her. "I listened better. And I'm not going anywhere." He scowled, tapped the bat against the ground at his feet. "You think I couldn't feel what you're up to? I can't allow that." He hit the ground again, harder this time, and looked at Masera. "Not that I'd let you live, anyway, after the raids tonight. Mickey's already dead, did you know it? Nothing less than what he deserved, for bringing you into my life."

"The darkness," Masera observed wryly to Brenna, "seems to be somewhat egocentric."

It probably shouldn't have struck her as funny, not at that moment. But she couldn't quite m.u.f.fle her laugh of response, and Parker jerked his head back, eyes narrowed, stung and angered.

Brenna reacted instantly to his expression, seeing in it the imminence of action. She lifted the rifle and squeezed the trigger, and the pit bull next to Parkera"huge of chest, huge of head and jaw, powerful in every hard-trained musclea"gave a childlike cry and collapsed where it stood. Heart-shot.

The tree flared with light, and the world turned suddenly slow around her, even as everything happened at oncea"the dogs, Parker, the bat, Maseraa"all in motion. She targeted a second dog, missing the killing shot but stunning it into aimless wandering, nothing more than a dog in shock. By then the rest of them were moving, surging up the hill with Parker in their midst, and Brenna deliberately side-walked away from Masera even while sighting in a third doga"grazing its flank, pumping in a new sh.e.l.l, taking it down. "Over here!" she yelled at them, thinking only that she had the weapon and that she couldn't allow even one of them to close its jaws on Masera. Rabies. Parker's finest tools, these dogs, Parker and the darkness. Rabies. She whooped at them, an aggravating incitement. Prey noises. "C'mon, dogs! Over here!" She took another shot, took another dog down, astonished at her efficiency, her smooth reactions, the way the tingling power of the earth had turned to energy and strength in her body.

"Brenna!" Masera's uncertainty laced the word, and then he had no time to question her; Brenna saw from the corner of her eye as Parker headed for her, laying low a section of standing silver with one sweep of his bat, and Masera leapt before him and went into a crouch, trying to be ready for anythinga"a duck, a dodge, to grab the bata"

It slammed into his shoulders and took him off his feet.

"Iban!" she cried, even as she put a shot down the throat of the dog who'd gone for her, blowing out the juncture of skull and spine. Five.

And the sixth dog, changing course to run along the hill from the other side of Parker, eyeing her with more intent and intelligence than a dog ought to havea"more than dog, dog with darknessa"and she heard the bat land again, heard Masera's grunt of undeniable pain, saw him roll away from the blow and then twist himself around to drive the silver knife into Parker's leg, taking another, more awkwardly aimed blow even as the blade sank in and Parker howled and Brenna took a shot at number sixa"

And the pin tapped dully against the sh.e.l.l. Dud. Too wet, too old, too something. Brenna pumped it out but it got stuck in the chamber, stuck enough that she'd never work it free in time.

And then the drumming grew loud in her body, so loud she couldn't hear the snarls, hear Parker's wail as the silver knifea"Nuadha-blesseda"did more damage than any single small blade ought, so loud she couldn't even hear her own harsh breathing and frantic heartbeat anymore. The world slowed and went silent, bathed in the silver light of Nuadha's oak.

Silent, but for the determined gallop of a short-legged dog, launching himself over the crest of the hill. Silent but for his snarling cry of challenge, his fear overcome by fierce and deep devotion. Silent but for the sound of Brenna's own cry, her suddenly far-too-familiar shout of emotional agony as the Cardigan threw himself against a dog more than twice his weight, a dog bred for duck-and-dodge herding offering himself up to a killer. "No, Druida"no!"

The world skidded into motion. Druid tumbled downhill, taking the pit bull with him; Brenna frantically worked the pump, freeing the dud sh.e.l.l and jacking in a new one. And when the pit bull's nature betrayed it, when it hung onto Druid's snowy throat, turning the silvery white fur red and dark, when it clung to Druid's limp and unresisting body, its jaws clamped by instinct and training, Brenna shot it down. Crying so hard she could barely sight in on the dog, she still took it down with one steady shot, and found herself halfway down the hill to Druid before remembering there were two more pit bulls. She whirled around, pumping in another sh.e.l.l even as she brought the gun up, but she knew she'd be too late.

She ought to have been. With Parker sprawled on the ground, dragging himself away from Masera, with Masera staggering, barely on his feet, as the last two dogs leapt over their master to charge Brennaa"

She ought to have been.

She couldn't see how Masera did it. How he had the chance. How he set himself up in front of the lead dog, jamming his forearm at its open jaws, bracing himself, throwing his other arm behind the dog's neck and shoving with one arm, jerking in with the othera"

She heard the crack of its spine from there. And she lost herself entirely, screaming his name, thinking only of the rabies even as the second dog hit him from the side, knocking him back into the circle as it ravaged his neck. Screaming his name as she sighted the rifle, the dog so close to his head, too close for a safe shot. Masera flailed at the animal, reaching for Parker's abandoned bat, his struggles determined but fading, his fingers closing over the handle as all the fight seemed to drain from him and it's got to be nowa"

Brenna slid the ball just to left of the sweet spot on the dog's chest, so close to Masera's head from this angle, too closea"

And pulled the trigger.

The dog jerked back, gave Brenna a puzzled stare, and folded to the ground with the faintest of whimpers.

"It doesn't matter." Parker's voice was jarring, his harsh laugh even more so. He'd gotten himself halfway down the hill, trailing blood that turned the gra.s.s black in Nuadha's light. "It's too late. If he's not dead yet, give him a few days. And then I'll be back for you."

Brenna pumped another round in the chamber. One of the last, most likely; she'd lost count, but knew she'd started with twelve on hold and one in the chamber.

He laughed again. "You won't do it. You know you won't do it. Don't even try to play that game."

She hefted the rifle, then lowered it. He was right about that. He'd always been right. But . . . around her, the ground thrummed with a different song, one she'd heard only the night before, and this time she didn't think it was of Parker's doing. The darkness.

She wouldn't have to do it.

The darkness would use him. It would use him up.

A feral darkness, never under his control.

"You're right," she said. "We'll play another game instead." And she tossed the rifle inside the circle. Then she stumbled down the hill to Druid, moving as fast as her suddenly wobbly legs could take her without risking a fall.

She didn't think she could get up if she fell.

There he was. His head lolled back, his sightless eyes half open and already glazing. Sweet Druid, dog of her heart. Quirky Druid, overcoming his fears long enough to sacrifice himself for her. Courageous Druid, sent through time to give his spirit to her.

She pulled off her vest and wrapped him in it, avoiding the blood, moving as quickly as she could, her body operating independently of her stunned and ravaged emotions. His long body hung flaccid in her arms; the hanging brush of his tail grazed her knee at each steep stride back up the hill.

And all the while the darkness gathered around them, angry and building up to power, with Parker just beginning to realize it.

To see that he didn't have control this time.

He scrabbled his way down the hill, stopping short of the bank as he saw he couldn't navigate it, tried to rise and failed.

Brenna had no eyes for him. Inside the circle, the warmth of Nuadha's earth and light enfolded her, showed her just the right spot to lay Druid. And grieving, fearful, she turned to Masera, where he lay limply, one foot twitching, his uninjured arm moving aimlessly, its goal some purpose she couldn't fathom. Maybe just to move. To prove to himself he was still alive.

She sank to her knees as she reached him, taking that groping hand in hers, and felt new pain tear across her chest when he didn't return the squeeze she gave it. "Iban," she whispered, close enough to see that his other arm, flopped across his stomach and badly ravaged, was too obviously crooked not to be badly broken. Close enough to see his shattered gla.s.ses bent beneath the body of the dog beside him.

Close enough to see that his neck pumped steady blood into the earth, that his eyes had rolled back in his head, that his breath was no more than a shallow gasp. "Iban," she said, brushing his cheek with her fingers, unable to stop herself from threading her fingers through his thick and ever-ruffled hair. "Don't go, Iban."

Rabies. Better this death than that. But stilla" "Don't go, Iban," she pleaded, while the darkness rose around them, raging against the circle, desperate to break through and gain access to the spring and its unlimited power.

Willing and able to use up every last bit of Parker in the doing of it.

Brenna saw it all, silent beyond the shelter of the circle, and yet saw none of it. Dark whirling winds, buffeting black power, raging anger spinning out its stored chaos. It didn't touch hera"not its fear or its power or its violence. Only one thing held her now, this face with its expression she'd never seen before. Faded. Without the force of personality Masera had brought to every word he'd exchanged with her. Every touch.

"Please don't go," she said, so close she could feel his faltering breath on her cheek. "Not yet. Not yet."

With impossible effort he brought his eyes into focus, and then his hand did tighten down on hers, somehow the trigger for tears to spill over her eyelids, one after another and each holding unvoiced misery. He said somethinga"a few words, but no sound behind them, and she had no idea what they were. "I know," she told him anyway. "I'm here." She kissed him, carefully, and said into his mouth over and over again, "I'm here. I'm with you. I'm here," and at some point his breathing grew strange and erratic and then suddenly eased.

Gone.

She looked up, blinked, looked around. Gone. All of them. No sign of the pit bulls. No evidence that Parker had lived a last few frantic moments by the side of the creek, trying to escape his own darkness. Druid, gone; no sign of his furry body anywhere. And the shining silver of Nuadha's light had been replaced by the wash of a gentle rose dawn.

Nothing but Brenna and a knapsack and a b.l.o.o.d.y vest, surrounded by a circle of marching silvera"some lurching, some flattened, all gleaming with an odd sheen in the morning light.

It was as she sat numbly, contemplating what do to next, coming to terms with the fact that there was no st.u.r.dy little Cardigan to bury, to say good-bye to, that she realized the implications of it all.

The dead, gone.

Masera, by her side.

Nuadha, the healing G.o.d.

She threw herself back down beside Masera, frantic for signs of life. Let me be right, oh please let me be righta"running her hands up and down his chest, seeing for the first time that the horrifying wounds at his throat were closed and healed, the scars there shiny but already fading to white, the broken arm still mangled but not bleeding as it once had been. And his good hand, twitching around a fistful of air as though he expected to find something else there.

She slid her own hand into it, and neither of them were alone anymore.

Chapter 19.

RAIDO.