Sentinel (31 page)

“Wondered how long it’d be before you asked,” he commented jovially, immersed in the task. “What gave it away?”

“The tattoo,” Nicholas said. “I saw it the other day when you rolled your sleeves up. It’s a Sentinel mark isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Reynolds said. “Only some of us get them nowadays. They’re a tradition more than a requirement. They’re always on the right forearm, too – the fighting arm.”

“Dad didn’t have one,” Nicholas mused. “Probably thought it’d hurt too much.”

“So you’re part of the brotherhood, too,” Reynolds observed. “Knew no ordinary boy could come away from a clash with Garm quite so unshaken.”

Nicholas smiled, pleased that he might even partially resemble a Sentinel, even if this was all so new and confusing.

“There are more like Garm, aren’t there? Monsters or whatever they are.”

“Garm’s a cuddly puppy compared to some of the things I’ve seen over the years,” Reynolds replied soberly. “There are others, aye, all over. That’s what the Sentinels are for. Things like Garm are always wriggling through the gaps, finding a way into our world, tempted by the smells and the promise of blood. I imagine our world’s a sight more pleasant than whatever hell dimension he’s clawed his way out of.”

“And there are different types?”

“More’n you could ever imagine. They’re all different. There are some, like the Garm, that live on instinct alone. They’re wild animals only stronger, viler, deadlier. You’ve heard of Bigfoot? The beast of Bodmin? They’re all monsters that have been spotted, caught in the act. Normally they’re pretty good at staying out of sight.”

“So most demons just want to eat you?”

Reynolds chuckled. “For the most part, But then there are the Adepts. They’re just as hideous, only they have a calculating intelligence - they’ll
tell
you they’re killing you as they do it.”

Nicholas remembered what Jessica had said about demons being banished centuries ago. Where had they been banished to? And how did they get back in?

“How many are there?” he asked.

“How long’s a piece of string?” Reynolds asked back. “They’re always finding cracks in our reality and forcing their way through. Impossible to count them.”

Nicholas nodded faintly and let this sink in. The casual manner in which both Reynolds and Jessica talked about such otherworldly things still made him uncomfortable. He decided to steer the conversation into less uncomfortable terrain. “Have you always lived out here?” he asked.

“Aye, ever since I was a boy. My uncle raised me. Hard man, fiercely traditional. Taught me everything I know about fighting. Rumours used to be his. Except back then it was an armoury. Can’t say I ever had much taste for weapons, though.” Reynolds paused, perhaps aware that he was contradicting himself as he sat diligently polishing the rifle. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

“Your uncle’s not around anymore, though?” Nicholas asked.

“Oh no, he’s been underground for years.”

“The people in the village,” Nicholas began, “they’re… odd.”

From her log, Isabel sniffed in what Nicholas knew was her usual disdainful manner. Reynolds didn’t notice.

“You could say that,” he nodded. “Orville can do that to people. Sometimes a place has a soul, and Orville’s is a troubled one, no doubt about it. It has a bloodier history than most, and that history can rub off on the people who live here. Terrible things have happened here. Things that’d turn your hair white.” He set the rifle aside. “That’ll do. What say we head back to the shop and get a bite to eat?” He patted his generous belly. “Makes for hungry work, this hunting.”

Nicholas laughed. They hadn’t exactly done much hunting, but he wouldn’t say no to a steaming cup of hot chocolate to bring the warmth back into his fingers. Reynolds reached for the rifle, then stopped when he saw Isabel. Her ears were flat against her skull, and she was staring off into the distance, sniffing the air curiously.

“What you picking up, then?” Reynolds murmured. The cat didn’t seem to hear him. A faint breeze ruffled her fur, making it almost stand on end.

Nicholas was looking at her as well now.

“Think she’s picked up his scent?” he asked eagerly. “Isabel, what is it?”

The cat looked at him, and the boy knew that she’d sensed something even if she daren’t voice it in front of Reynolds. Then he heard it. A stealthy cracking of twigs that only got louder with each second that passed.

Instinctively, Nicholas wrapped his fingers around the Drujblade sheathed at his side. Reynolds seized the rifle, spinning down onto one knee and resting the gun on the log he’d just been using as a bench.

“Here he comes,” Reynolds breathed in a low voice.

Between the trees Nicholas saw a great, hulking shape galloping toward them, crashing through the greenery and kicking up dirty snow as it came. He tensed, standing behind Reynolds with Isabel at his side. The cat moved close to Nicholas.

With a throaty squeal, Garm broke into their little clearing. In the daylight, the creature was even more hideous, scrabbling in the dirt with powerful, sinewy limbs. Its scales were a dull green, the patches of fur that erupted in spikes along its spine the same brown as the mud, and the swivelling eyes were a vibrant red – the red of blood.

Without pausing, Reynolds fired into the mountain of muscle and the Garm snorted tetchily, barely noticing the bullet as it rebounded off its scaly armour. Reynolds fired again, but the monster kept coming, its slimy tongue lolling out of its incisor-lined mouth. The shopkeeper didn’t have time to reload the rifle before the creature was upon him.

As he watched the foul beast throw itself at Reynolds, Nicholas suddenly snapped to his senses. Yelling, he hurled himself at the monster, raising the Drujblade and sinking it into the Garm’s massive front leg, which was pinning Reynolds to the snowy ground. Yellow sparks spewed into the air as the blade penetrated Garm’s armour, and a piercing shriek erupted from the monster’s gullet. It backed off, scraping away from the pair through the mud and snow. Its red eyes burning hate, it licked at the wound and trilled phlegmy comfort sounds to itself.

Nicholas helped Reynolds to his feet, and the man turned breathlessly to him.

“Run,” he panted.

“But–” Nicholas began in protest. Reynolds held up a hand to silence him as he wrenched his own blade from his back. Wielding it in front of him like a sword, he squared up to the Garm, which was already recovering and setting its devious sights on them.

“Get out of here, boy,” Reynolds yelled. “RUN!”

Confused and disappointed, Nicholas backed slowly away from the shopkeeper. He’d thought they would defeat the beast together, but now he saw he’d been stupid to think that Reynolds would let a boy get in the way of his conquest. Nicholas lingered by the log that Isabel was perched on, desperate to see Reynolds in action. A Sentinel in action.

“GO!” Reynolds commanded huskily, and Nicholas didn’t dare defy him. He seized Isabel in his arms and hurtled through the woods.

For once, the cat didn’t complain, sinking her claws into the boy’s thick jacket and clinging on fearfully. As they reached the outskirts of the village, a horrendous scream sliced through the woods.

“Reynolds!”

Nicholas skidded to a halt. That scream. Reynolds was hurt, maybe even killed.

Isabel seemed to read the boy’s thoughts.

“We can’t go back,” she insisted quickly. “We must return to the house at once. That beast will be the death of us.”

“We can’t just leave him out there in the woods,” Nicholas reasoned defiantly. “That thing will kill him!”

“Not our problem,” Isabel said. She squirmed out of the boy’s grasp and landed noiselessly on the ground. “Come, child,” she urged, already hastening in the direction of the Orville high street.

Dragging his heels, Nicholas went after her. He stopped as they came to the street, where a handful of people were bustling about, braving the snow in order to shop for supplies. A thought struck him, and Nicholas hurried over to a burly bald man who was coming along the pavement.

“Please,” the boy said. “You have to help us. The thing in the woods, it’s got Reynolds.”

The burly man didn’t seem to notice him, though, and carried on down the high street as if Nicholas hadn’t spoken at all. Cursing the insolence of the Orville folk, Nicholas rushed up to the next person he saw – a middle-aged woman with short black hair and a puffy blue winter coat who was carrying a full bag of groceries.

“Please,” Nicholas began again with growing desperation. “Please, can you help us?” The woman ignored him and, frustrated, Nicholas seized her by the arm. “Please,” he begged. “There’s something in the woods and it’s going to kill Reynolds.”

The woman stared fearfully at him, just as the man at the Red Lion had done the previous day.

Nicholas squeezed her arm encouragingly, tried to soften his voice. “Is there anybody who can help us?” he pleaded.

The woman only gasped in horror, staring right through him as if he were nothing more than vapour. Dropping her groceries, she let out a shriek and jerked her arm free, scrabbling down the street away from him.

“They can’t see you, child,” Isabel said slowly.

Puzzled, Nicholas looked down at her. “What? What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” the cat said, casting an appraising look at the people in the street. “This is no normal village. I don’t know what’s happened here, but I doubt anybody who lives here can see outsiders. They certainly can’t see you or I. Come, we must leave this damned place.”

Baffled, Nicholas stared apprehensively at the villagers going about their business. They couldn’t see him? They could certainly feel his touch, maybe even hear his voice, so why couldn’t they see him? He shivered, recalling how he’d felt when they’d first stumbled upon the village. That feeling of unease, almost like the place itself was aware of him.

“Nicholas!”

The boy snapped back to reality as the gruff voice cried his name. It was Reynolds!

Nicholas turned to see the shopkeeper staggering down the street toward him. His face was covered in blood and he was limping, his left trouser leg tattered and stained.

“The shop,” Reynolds huffed, sweat running down his face, mingling with the blood. “We have to get to the shop. I lost the gun. And the blade. That hellbeast’s stronger than I thought. I wounded it, but it’ll be after our innards now more than ever.”

“No,” Nicholas said. He didn’t want to stay in the village any longer than he had to – especially after what Isabel had just said. “We should go to the house. Come on.”

Isabel shot the boy a glare, but Nicholas didn’t stop to argue, putting an arm around Reynolds’ waist and shouldering the man’s weight. Considering Reynolds’ ample girth, it took a concerted effort, and together they stumbled through the village.

“Come on!” Nicholas yelled at the cat and Isabel hurried after.

As they hastened out into the fields, that familiar wheezing screech sounded through the trees, and all three of them broke into a run.

“I could’ve helped,” Nicholas panted, struggling as Reynolds’ arm dug into his shoulder. “Back in the woods. Why wouldn’t you let me?”

Reynolds winced as pain shot up his leg. “I…” he gasped. “I… wanted to… protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Nicholas cried. “Why does everybody think I need so much protection?” If the shopkeeper hadn’t been in such bad shape, he’d have suggested going back and finishing off the monster instead of fleeing to the house. He knew, though, that Reynolds wouldn’t allow it, especially with that leg.

Another inhuman scream sounded, closer this time, and Nicholas attempted to quicken his pace, pulling Reynolds with him.

The house appeared before them and they hurried to it.

Letting go of Reynolds, Nicholas raced up the steps and threw open the front door. The shopkeeper was right behind him, but he tripped on the top step and tumbled to his knees.

“Come on!” Nicholas cried. He grabbed the man’s hand and hauled him inside.

“Thanks,” Reynolds huffed. He pushed Nicholas away from the door and turned just as the Garm monster launched itself up the steps. It ignored Isabel, who was still at the foot of the stairs, and its claws scraped against the stone like metal.

It went to hurl itself through the door when Reynolds suddenly straightened, threw his arms up and bellowed “STOP!”

The beast skidded to a halt on the top step and glowered up at the man. Nicholas stared on incredulously as the monster’s behaviour changed completely. Its ruby eyes became meek and docile as they blinked dopily up at Reynolds, and it sat there obediently, as if awaiting a command.

“Good Garm,” Reynolds soothed, peering down at the massive beast. He reached out and patted him on the snout. The creature gave an affectionate snort.

“I think you’ve earned your supper,” Reynolds cooed. “How do you like the sound of cat?”

The Garm tilted its head and saliva oozed out of the corner of its gaping maw.

“Go get her,” Reynolds commanded encouragingly. An excited squeal escaped the monster’s throat, and it whirled about on the steps, rushing clumsily down to where Isabel was sitting, still panting and breathless.