Fate of the Fallen Read online

  “Please hurry.”

  *

  The entire warren was flooded with the Institute's strange mixture. Every tunnel, hole and niche had been permeated. The effect was swift and terrifying for those afflicted. The need, desire and urgency to get out of the dark tunnels was overwhelming. All rational thought was taken away as each rabbit, male, female, young and old ran, bounced and crashed their way to the surface and into the waiting cages. Sloan had been extremely specific about the effects of the gas, mainly its longevity. Once the rabbits were sealed up in the cages he didn't want them crashing around causing serious injury or even a fatality. These creatures were far too special to risk that. As soon as contact was made with clean air, completely free of the toxins, the effects would dissipate rapidly. Some of them shouted, others cried, not for a second worrying that their most special secret was being heard by humans. Then there were the few to which the truth came almost immediately. That the entire warren was under attack and all had been captured.

  Venatrix Noctis

  The young woman was thrown harshly against the wall of her decrepit shack, causing the wall to crack sharply and mud and dust to fall lazily from the ceiling. Although crudely constructed, the force of the impact was enough to slam the breath from her lungs and she dropped to the dirt floor, where she immediately curled up into a foetal position in an effort to protect her body from any more abuse. She sobbed painfully with the small amount of air she could take in. But there was no rest or respite. A strong pair of hands gripped her shoulders and she was lifted to a standing position and thrust against the wall once more, but facing it this time. The woman squealed in agony as her nose and lips met the wooden slats and split. Blood spilled and quickly stained her chin and poorly kept clothes. The strong hands returned, grasping her wrists and binding them together with roughly weaved rope. Any attempt at resistance or escape had been quelled many a time by the rope itself, the material purposely used to cause serious damage to the skin of anyone it held. Though her nose and mouth throbbed and her back felt constricted every time she breathed, the young woman felt sharp fingers digging into her shoulder and then hot breath upon her ear.

  “How long did you think you could hide from me, witch?” Came the soft voice and with the last word spoken, the woman's captor shook her shoulder, causing a streak of fiery pain to lance down her spine. She was turned to face her dimly lit shack and the woman looked into the dark brown eyes of the one who had found her. Those eyes were captivating and in spite of the fear and pain she was experiencing, the woman found something in those eyes she did not understand. Regret. The captor flinched guiltily, as if the prisoner were suddenly aware of a deep-held secret. A backhand blow was quickly delivered to the young woman's face and she fell to the ground again, but this time she did not stir.

  “I'd heard rumours that you were ruthless, Venatrix.” The voice came from a dark corner of the shack. The figure who had backhanded the woman pulled a pair of gloves from her wide leather belt and eased them on.

  “Did I disappoint you?” She answered in a calm, cool voice, her eyes never leaving the form of her unconscious prey on the floor.

  “Not at all. I've had my suspicions about my sister-in-law for a few years now, and when my wife became pregnant I saw her lustful eyes upon her belly. From that point I knew Rosa was a witch.” The man stepped from the darkness, the corpulent lord of the manor and the woman's current employer. He sniffed and gazed with repulsion about the room. “When you're ready, bring her.” And he pushed through a dirty piece of cloth hung for a door to the clean air outside. The figure crouched down and studied her victim. Leaning forward, she stroked the woman's hair and then checked for breathing. Satisfied, she slowly hauled the unconscious woman onto her shoulders and then with a few uncertain steps to test her new weight, Ellie left the shack.

  *

  “Witches are of course notoriously difficult to put down.” Ellie explained sagely. “The pact they made with the Evil One grants them not only special powers in life, but extraordinary ones in death.”

  Lady Agnes gasped and dramatically laid a protective hand on her swollen belly. Lord Edric nodded in agreement, as if he understood everything that Ellie was saying. The fat lord that accompanied Ellie to Rosa's shack was that special blend of personality that Ellie despised. Stupid, ignorant and in a position of power over people.

  “And to think that she was after our child!” The Lady Agnes said, wide-eyed and possibly close to being overcome. The Lord of the Manor crossed himself and Ellie continued.

  “I must add a most potent recipe to the cleansing fire. It will guarantee that the witch's spirit is taken and not left to dwell here with you.” As if on cue, the Lady Agnes' knees seem to be the bearer of too much weight. The back of her hand met her lips and she let out a high pitched “ooooh.” Her husband caught her before she could even get close to horizontal and Ellie watched with concealed amusement and not a little contempt as his “unconscious” wife tried to help him support her.

  “The sooner the better!” Lord Edric gasped as four servants rushed in to escort Lady Agnes away to her chambers. Ellie nodded in agreement.

  “Where's my apprentice? Isabelle!” She roared. Conversations about the hall ceased and all turned to stare and focus their attention on this strange woman the Lord had invited into his home. As servants led the Lady of the Manor out, a girl no more than sixteen poked her head around the main doors. Ellie's eyes immediately found her.

  “Don't make me summon you twice!”

  The girl came into the hall quickly, as if jabbed from behind by something sharp. The fear in her eyes was clear for all to see, the fear of her mistress.

  “I apologise for my apprentice's demeanour. I promised her parents, people of good standing and long-time friends, that I would take the girl on, but in truth she is nothing but a burden.”

  Lord Edric studied the girl carefully, licking his lips.

  “You know,” he breathed, “I have a place in my staff for a talentless girl such as this. She would be good sport for the young lads around here.”

  Lord Edric swore he had not seen her move, but suddenly he found the woman he knew as Venatrix in front of him, blocking his view of the girl, and he understood in a split second the reason this woman was known by this name. Venatrix, the Huntress. Cold seemed to emanate from her body and Lord Edric shivered. Those brown eyes were hard and unrelenting as they bore into his own eyes, and he could not help but look away.

  “The girl is under my protection. I will give you the benefit of the doubt, my Lord Edric, but any sport or insult on her, unintentional or otherwise, and that person will answer to me.” She leaned in close to the sweating Lord and with a great effort of will he met her stare. He swallowed loudly and coughed to clear his throat.

  “I meant no offence, Venatrix.” He whispered, nodding his respect to her. Ellie held his gaze for a few seconds more before leaning back quickly.

  “Good.” She said loudly and abruptly causing Edric to start slightly. “I'm glad that's settled. Misunderstandings should be avoided where ever possible, don't you agree?”

  Lord Edric nodded, wide-eyed.

  “Now then,” Ellie turned to the girl, “give Lord Edric the mixture to place upon the fire.”

  The girl instantly turned white.

  “I…I'm sorry.” She stammered. “I left it in our packs.” The girl hunched her shoulders instinctively for protection. Edric saw Ellie's jaw clench and was surprised he couldn't hear her teeth being ground together. Her right hand shot forward and seized the girl's tunic. Ellie dragged her until her lips actually touched the terrified girl's ears. Lord Edric and those about the hall were captivated. Edric himself had witnessed the ruthlessness the Huntress applied when she had tracked Rosa to her shoddy home and watched in gross anticipation at what was now occurring. Nobody in the hall heard what was said but all saw the devastating effect as the girl's legs began trembling and then collapsed. The girl, however, did not fall to the fl
oor, and the creak of Ellie's leather clothes was heard by all as she kept the girl aloft. Ellie then let go and the girl fell in a heap to the floor, where she quickly scuttled backwards a safe distance away and rose slowly. Ellie sighed and straightened her clothing.

  “Forgive me, my Lord, I must attend to this at once and deal with my incompetent apprentice. I shall return at sunset and administer the mixture myself.” Ellie gave a quick nod of respect and then without waiting for a response, turned on her heels and marched swiftly from the hall, her apprentice half running to stay ahead of her fearsome mistress.

  Lord Edric released a lungful of pent up air and wiped his brow. Whispers, gasps and raised eyebrows was the first hint of normality to re-enter the hall before the assembled people seemed to realise en-masse that the woman called Venatrix was by now most likely out of earshot, and conversation level started to rise. A man in a long grey robe approached the Lord of the Manor and bowed respectfully. Lord Edric smiled wanly.

  “Venatrix seems like a force of nature, my Lord.” The man offered. Edric nodded and having regained his composure, let a superior look cross his face.

  “Yes, God has blessed us this day and kept my wife and child safe by her arrival.”

  The man in the robe nodded.

  “I promised you your sister-in-law would pay for her wickedness.”

  *

  Ellie shoved the girl through the doorway to their quarters and slammed the door hard behind her. People passing the door could hear the shouting and screaming that the girl was being subjected to, and winced in sympathy. The Huntress was known not only to be ruthless but she demanded utmost respect and perfection from those she encountered in her line of work. Then the noise of the beating started.

  *

  Rosa writhed and fought against the hands that held and led her to the unlit pyre. At first she went limp, forcing her captors to bear her entire weight, but to no avail. They merely let her drop and dragged her across the stone floor until she relented and came to her feet to spare more punishment to her battered knees. Rosa tried begging and pleading for her life. Before being removed from her cell she even threatened the one called Venatrix or The Huntress, promising a horrid retribution from Satan if indeed she was in league with him, unless she was released. All fell upon deaf ears. Her sister and that churchman had convinced that fat, disgusting Lord of a brother-in-law that she was a witch who wanted nothing more than the baby Agnes was carrying to offer in sacrifice to her dark master. Before the guards came for her she escaped into the forest and found a small, crude shack to live in. Every day she'd promised herself to move on, find a way to leave Edric's domain. But she soon realised that she possessed no skills for living off the land. She was the daughter of a Baron, a spoiled, aristocratic young woman, and she resorted to stealing from the surrounding farms kept on Edric's lands by freemen. That had led to her downfall and ultimate capture by the woman in leather who guided her to the pyre now.

  Fear, until this point, had overwhelmed the noise of the crowd that demanded her blood from Rosa's awareness. Then a small boy, no older than eight, jumped straight in front of her and threw a sharp stone at her face. Though not thrown with much force, a jagged edge gouged a furrow in Rosa's forehead and blood trickled into her eyes. She felt no pain, yet it jolted her into noticing her surroundings properly for the first time. The shouts, screams, cries and yells of the mob seemed to merge and somehow fuse together to make the air seem thicker. Even her captors seemed effected by it as they leaned forward against the din in an effort to move. Of all the things that Rosa thought might drive her mad was not the sight of the instrument of her demise, the pyre, but the smell. She could smell her own fear washing off her in waves, but it was close to being overpowered by the strange smell of the crowd. A mixture of fear and loathing. A want, a need for retribution and justice. As if they were tangible objects, made real by the combined will of the crowd that oozed from every pore. Rosa gagged and stumbled forward, sending more blood rushing down her face.

  The Huntress and her apprentice, obviously annoyed at making such slow progress, took matters into their own hands quite literally by lifting Rosa up and carrying her the remaining distance to the pyre. As she was pressed against the rough, wooden pole and bound in place, all energy, fight and resistance fled from Rosa's body. Her mind closed down and she stared unseeing at the people before her. Blood mixed with free-flowing tears and splashed against the wooden stack. The Huntress leaned down and poured a foul smelling powder at Rosa's feet.

  “It won't be long now.” She whispered to Rosa. The Huntress retreated and beckoned a guard with a burning torch forward. Alongside the guard strode a member of the church. The guard passed the torch to the Huntress and the churchman blessed the unlit pyre. Rosa heard one more thing over the mob's cries.

  “May God have mercy on your soul.”

  *

  Flames

  Why?

  Heat rising.

  Why me?

  Putrid stench of rotten meat.

  Not like this! Please!

  Hot blast of air and a shadow before her.

  No! No! It can't be true!

  Lifted, torn away from the fire.

  Help me!

  Darkness. Cold. Empty.

  *

  Lord Edric kicked his way through the smouldering ashes. The smell of burnt meat was almost too much, but with watering eyes he took grim satisfaction in knowing that justice had been served on his wife's wicked sister. He was still shaken by the appearance of one of Satan's minions who had tried to save the witch, but the Huntress' methods had scared the beast away. Until his dying day, he would remember the great wings unfurled over his courtyard and the mighty roar of terror it bellowed at those assembled.

  A cough caught his attention and outside the edge of the fire's remains stood the church's representative and the Huntress. In the flickering light of the few torches still ablaze, those eyes of hers made his heart flutter in fear. He stepped over to his two guests.

  “My thanks from all of us. My wife is especially relieved to have this vile business done with.”

  The Huntress nodded her acceptance. Edric cast a nervous look at the church man and fumbled at his belt for his purse, his fingers suddenly careless with tension.

  “Uh, a small contribution to your cause, Venatrix?”

  The Huntress cocked an eyebrow.

  “I think it more appropriate that the funds are given to the church. Her and her people are in greater need wouldn't you agree?”

  Edric nodded quickly and the church representative bowed low to the Huntress.

  “Farewell to you both.”

  Both men watched the Huntress depart.

  *

  Ellie!

  No need to shout, I am awake!

  Sorry. Are you and Isabelle okay?

  Of course, we're leaving now. Remind me I owe Isabelle a new dress for getting me out of that man's presence earlier! I'll let you know when you can come and get us. Is the girl okay?

  Rosa? Yes, a little singed around her clothes and a bit bruised, but she'll be fine.

  I guess.

  What's wrong?

  Playing the Huntress isn't easy at times. I hurt that woman.

  And you saved her life, you and Isabelle.

  I know. That fact doesn't make it any easier.

  When it does become easy let me know, I'll eat you.

  Ha ha. I love you, Cole.

  I love you too, Ellie.

  Ellie

  Ellie gasped and stumbled, her mind foggy and confused of her whereabouts. Taking deep breaths, she realised she was still continuing her journey home from Isabelle's house, and despite the pounding heat of the day she broke out in a cold sweat.

  “What was that? A daydream? Venatrix?” She questioned out loud. Her own voice sounded alien to her ears, as if she hadn't heard it in an age.

  That was me.

  Ellie became completely still in an instant. Her eyes shifted slowly from side
to side as she attempted to discover the source of the voice. There was nobody to her front or sides so she slowly turned, half expecting to see a horrid or weird manifestation left over from her daydream or the nightmare Isabelle had created. But there was nothing. A few people were on the pavements now all pointing and wondering about the helicopters that were paying such an interest in their village, but none were close enough for her to hear. Ellie took a calming breath and massaged her forehead.

  “Okay.” She said quietly. “Just a daydream then.” And she rolled her eyes, not quite believing that was all it had been.

  Actually it was a memory.

  Ellie spun quickly this time.

  “What the he….?”

  Down here, came the interruption.

  Ellie felt a hot pulse in her hand and she looked down as she lifted the orb. It was pulsing soft to bright orange. It reminded Ellie of Jack's nightlight. The soft glow inducing a calming effect. Ellie relaxed and completely unselfconsciously addressed the glowing ball she held before her.

  “Was that you?”

  The orb flashed brightly.

  No. It was the orb you're holding in your other hand.

  Ellie blinked and gave her free hand a quick look before flushing with embarrassment. Her gaze once again settled on the orange orb and she cocked an eyebrow at it.

  Humans the voice sighed.

  *

  The voice of the orb Ellie listened to as it explained itself was quite bizarre. It fluctuated from male to female, from a single voice to a chorus all speaking the same words. To increase the ever-bizarre situation was the voice bypassing Ellie's ears completely and talking straight into her mind.