Patrick W. Marsh

2025-12-05 15:00:00

Beware the Ills: Part 20

He’s surprised by it all, and he’s trying to conceal it.

The woman’s still unmoved. I see her more clearly now since the crowds have separated. Her left arm looks covered in a thin metal, like copper. It’s a vile contraption, digging into the pale skin on her naked arm in greedy punctures. She suddenly bends over on the ground, the deck washing blood against her naked knees. She’s hunched over the gleaming blue vial from earlier.

I love to think of what it can do.

The man still stares at me, trying to calculate and strategize I imagine. Blue has circled around towards them, pinning the entire crowd of peons against the rails. We’ve got them pinned. They’re trapped. Blue breathes hard. Steam rises from his hairy white back. He’s purring in a low song against all the bloodshed. It sounds peaceful, almost tranquil.

Ten men from the cluster charge him under a hail of arrows. Nine left, bones snapping. Six left, more blood rupturing. They’re screaming, and their bones are breaking. Now there is only drinking.

What now? More are beneath the deck and back at the landing. It was a test, there are always tests.

The man with the spear stands up abruptly. He stiffens his back leg. I step back and keep my footing close. The rushing cold has turned the blood into a slick red walkway. He dives at me wildly with the spear. His attack looks undisciplined. This is my victory. I step back slowly as the spear grazes the air in front of me. I’m against the rail, the wind whistles against its edge. I balance myself. He stabs again, in the same combination. I knock them aside easily—another ugly repetition.

The hook, which is skimming the air behind me with each stab, is my move. I increase the parry and nearly assault him with blocks. He smiles and stabs faster at my chest hoping I’ll make a mistake. I twist my body letting the spear and hook pass me completely. I pull my sword in front of my chest, but just outside my shoulders. The hook hammers against it as he wrenches back on the spear. The sword falls out of my hands, to his angry surprise. I catch the hook with my left hand, using the curled gauntlet as a latch. He slams the spear down on my left arm expecting it to be weak, but I can hold the spear above my shoulder rather easily. I crouch down violently pulling him off balance. I grab my sword from the blood-soaked floor.

Still smiling though, he’s still smiling.

He’s aware of his advantage with the spear. The distance won’t allow me to slash anything vital as we are hooked together. Still, stretching myself out, I’m able to slash his pale chin with the tip of my sword, and drag it up into his disheveled nose, nearly splitting it in half. Rushing blood hits his mouth and eyes. He twists himself sharply and the spear breaks free. That’s fine, he’s disoriented, and I’ll kill him in less than a moment.

An original yowl tears the air behind me. I’ve heard screams before, a whole orchestra of them over the years. I’ve caught long, loud, small, quaint, and gurgled screams from every sort of man, woman, monster, and beast.

I’ve never heard something like this before.

It’s her with the vial; the blue-green liquid digging into her arm. Her eyes have rolled back into white pearls. The whites are being eaten by twin glowing blue veins, which match her little bottle. Her hair begins to split with pieces of energy falling between each blond strand. The veins on her arms glow furiously. They shutter wildly under the blushing blue. She bites her lip, blood trickles gently down her pale chin.

She smiles. It would appear she can readily turn into a monster.

She kneels while staring at me and starts drooling blood. The weight of the airship tilts beneath her pale knees. The bodies roll toward the starboard side of the deck. They thump around noisily in wet smacks. They sound obscene against the howling din.

I can’t directly engage her. It would be foolish. She’s holding something behind her. It’s not what I saw before; it’s not that thin, tiny sword. A ruse, a clever trick within a puzzle. It’s an executioner’s axe. I can see the massive blade poking out behind her little throbbing legs. It’s got a long handle, brown and blood speckled. The weapon stands ridiculously big. A poor strategy for someone with such a little frame.

Her body’s throbbing with little blue glimmers of dusty light. She pants hard in low, toothy cut gasps. More drool, but now it’s freezing on her face. The weapon dangles lightly and casually at her side, like a shy behemoth. She stands and the airship’s weight shifts, more dead men roll. The strands of light in her hair hang and tangle against the breeze. The rails behind us ache against the cold, and the wind cries with her.

It likes her, the weather, like they’re one and the same.

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I’ll be releasing my novel Beware the Ills in segments every Friday. You can find out more about the book right here, or check out Amazon’s info. I love this book. Happy to simply share it.

#books #darkfantasy #fantasy #fiction #horror #novels #reading #steampunk #writing

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^{Patrick W. Marsh}