Read Online Freya the Huntress (Europa #2: A Dark Fantasy) by Joseph Robert Lewis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joseph Robert Lewis
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“Get away from here! Get away from me! Go, now!”
Freya lowered her spear, watching the man stumble through the tall grass as fast as he could. And she was still watching him when Wren let loose a stone from her sling and caught the man in the back of the head. He went down hard, dropping the sheep and falling down the bank to the stream’s icy edge.
Wren slowly wrapped her sling around her wrist and glanced at Freya. “What? Gudrun told me to do it.”
Freya shook her head and went to the edge of the embankment to look down at the man, who was crawling out of the water and rubbing his head. She was about to turn away and suggest that they keep moving, perhaps in search of a sheep of their own, when a mournful whine cried out from the mill.
It was a pained sound, a frightened sound, a hungry sound.
It was not a human sound.
The man by the stream froze, Freya and Erik dashed to the edge of the slope with their spears at the ready, and Wren grabbed Arfast before the shying elk could bolt.
“No, no, no!” The man waved his empty hands at them. “Stay back! It’s all right!”
“Nine hells, you idiot!” Freya shouted. “There’s a reaver in there!”
“NO!” The man threw himself across the stream and stumbled to the doorway of the mill. “No! Please! It’s my brother!”
Freya stopped and stared at the man, the same disgusting man who had tried to buy her sister just a moment ago with a dead sheep, and she lowered her spear. “Your brother has the plague. How long has he had it? Is he very far gone?”
The man nodded. “He was bitten last winter, and he changed soon after. But it’s all right, because we knew what was happening, and we chained him to the wall before he changed, to keep him safe.”
The huntress grimaced. “He’s been chained up inside there for a whole year?”
The man nodded. “Yes, yes, and I feed him and take care of him, to stop the changes, to keep him as human as I can.”
Freya glanced at Erik with wide eyes and trotted down the slope to the edge of the stream. “You can stop the changes? How? You have an antidote to the poison? Did a vala give it to you?”
He shook his head. “No vala helped me. I helped myself. It wasn’t hard. One look at him and I knew what I had to do. It’s nasty work, but he’s my brother, after all. I had to do it. You can come and see if you want. Just keep your sister away. I don’t want her smell on this place.”
Freya called back to Erik, “Stay with the others. I’ll just be a minute.” She jumped across the water and leaned her spear against the wall of the house, and with both hands on her bone knives, she ducked inside the mill behind the man. As she stepped into the shadows, she kept her eyes on her host, watching his hands for some sign of treachery, but he stood back in an empty corner, his hands empty and shaking and running through his greasy hair. Up close, she realized he was younger than he had looked before, and against her own better judgment she felt a slight kinship to him, a young man trying to save his plague-bitten brother, alone in a desolate land.
Then she looked to the far end of the room. For a moment she froze. Then she yanked her knives from their sheathes and shoved the man against the wall with one blade to his throat and the other to his belly as she snarled, “What did you do to him?”
The thing at the end of the room shivered and whined, its chains scraping softly on the stones and earth of the walls. The floor around it was carpeted in old hair and dried blood, and the air stank of urine and feces. The creature edged forward away from its wall, its chains rattling, and the light fell upon it.
It was stretched and crooked like a reaver, the shape of its body elongated and knobby like the beasts Freya had fought in Denveller. But there the similarities ended. This reaver had no fur because it had been shaved with a knife, which had left the creature covered in gray stubble and festering red cuts
Freya lowered her spear, watching the man stumble through the tall grass as fast as he could. And she was still watching him when Wren let loose a stone from her sling and caught the man in the back of the head. He went down hard, dropping the sheep and falling down the bank to the stream’s icy edge.
Wren slowly wrapped her sling around her wrist and glanced at Freya. “What? Gudrun told me to do it.”
Freya shook her head and went to the edge of the embankment to look down at the man, who was crawling out of the water and rubbing his head. She was about to turn away and suggest that they keep moving, perhaps in search of a sheep of their own, when a mournful whine cried out from the mill.
It was a pained sound, a frightened sound, a hungry sound.
It was not a human sound.
The man by the stream froze, Freya and Erik dashed to the edge of the slope with their spears at the ready, and Wren grabbed Arfast before the shying elk could bolt.
“No, no, no!” The man waved his empty hands at them. “Stay back! It’s all right!”
“Nine hells, you idiot!” Freya shouted. “There’s a reaver in there!”
“NO!” The man threw himself across the stream and stumbled to the doorway of the mill. “No! Please! It’s my brother!”
Freya stopped and stared at the man, the same disgusting man who had tried to buy her sister just a moment ago with a dead sheep, and she lowered her spear. “Your brother has the plague. How long has he had it? Is he very far gone?”
The man nodded. “He was bitten last winter, and he changed soon after. But it’s all right, because we knew what was happening, and we chained him to the wall before he changed, to keep him safe.”
The huntress grimaced. “He’s been chained up inside there for a whole year?”
The man nodded. “Yes, yes, and I feed him and take care of him, to stop the changes, to keep him as human as I can.”
Freya glanced at Erik with wide eyes and trotted down the slope to the edge of the stream. “You can stop the changes? How? You have an antidote to the poison? Did a vala give it to you?”
He shook his head. “No vala helped me. I helped myself. It wasn’t hard. One look at him and I knew what I had to do. It’s nasty work, but he’s my brother, after all. I had to do it. You can come and see if you want. Just keep your sister away. I don’t want her smell on this place.”
Freya called back to Erik, “Stay with the others. I’ll just be a minute.” She jumped across the water and leaned her spear against the wall of the house, and with both hands on her bone knives, she ducked inside the mill behind the man. As she stepped into the shadows, she kept her eyes on her host, watching his hands for some sign of treachery, but he stood back in an empty corner, his hands empty and shaking and running through his greasy hair. Up close, she realized he was younger than he had looked before, and against her own better judgment she felt a slight kinship to him, a young man trying to save his plague-bitten brother, alone in a desolate land.
Then she looked to the far end of the room. For a moment she froze. Then she yanked her knives from their sheathes and shoved the man against the wall with one blade to his throat and the other to his belly as she snarled, “What did you do to him?”
The thing at the end of the room shivered and whined, its chains scraping softly on the stones and earth of the walls. The floor around it was carpeted in old hair and dried blood, and the air stank of urine and feces. The creature edged forward away from its wall, its chains rattling, and the light fell upon it.
It was stretched and crooked like a reaver, the shape of its body elongated and knobby like the beasts Freya had fought in Denveller. But there the similarities ended. This reaver had no fur because it had been shaved with a knife, which had left the creature covered in gray stubble and festering red cuts
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