nor murmurs of dissension. The silence frightened him most. If there was no fervor, not one way or the other, Bastian couldn't be sure he'd succeed. He needed commitment from them. Not resignation.
"Then let's march!" Bastian waved his sword in the air. He spun toward the fog and marched off. The sound of reluctant shuffles followed behind him. Bastian's heart thudded in his chest. He knew what hid on the other side of the fog.
Anger grew inside him. How could they be so dispassionate? They knew he was the only one who ever returned. Fear, trepidation, anything would be better than their lack of caring. But this was pathetic. His hands formed fists, but he held them firmly at his side. Taking his anger out on them wouldn't help. If they didn't believe it for themselves, he couldn't force them to.
The fog reached out, caressing Bastian like an old lover tempting him back into a destructive relationship. Tendrils swirled around his ankles, leaving russet droplets on his brown boots. A reminder of what was and an invitation of what was to come.
He could delay no longer. Bastian took a deep breath and stepped into the fog.
Within moments, his vision left him. The familiar darkness overcame his senses. "Don't be alarmed," he called behind him as gasps from his fellow townspeople drifted to him on the light breeze.
The silence of the dead forest combined with the blindness. A familiar disorientation settled over Bastian. Even though it was his third time through, he still felt his stomach turn. Maybe because he knew what was out there, hiding, waiting to devour him.
Long moments passed, enveloped in the damp curtain of fog. Bastian put one foot in front of another, traveling in a straight line toward the end of the fog. Maybe they’d make it through without running into the beast. If killing Vinya was its last act, maybe she’d bought freedom for all of Hutton’s Bridge.
"Bastian."
So it wasn’t dead. It sounded like Tressa, but it was only a poor imitation.
Bastian's lip curled. Did the beast really think the same trick would work on him twice? Maybe that was the only trick it had. At least he was prepared this time.
"Bastian." It came from his left.
"Bastian." From his right.
"Bastian." A screechy chorus of death surrounded him, followed by a cacophony of names.
"Draw your arms!" He yelled to his men. "Don't listen. It'll try to trick you. Make you think you're hearing a loved one. You're not.”
A fury of howls ripped through the mist.
Them. More than one beast. From the sound of it, they were surrounded.
Chapter Fifty
"Now," Bastian yelled. Light from Carrac’s dragon candles blasted through the fog. Twenty beasts stood in a semi-circle in front of the ragtag army.
Their fangs bared, dripping with blood and spittle, the beasts towered over them, twice as tall as the humans, bodies covered in bristled hair, claws longer than Bastian’s sword.
Bastian's legs trembled. His stomach rebelled. But he held his ground, not showing the monsters his fear. Instead he gazed on them with darkened eyes and a fire burning in his soul.
"Bastian."
The voice came from the beast in the center, its lips moving, mocking Tressa's voice. Snarling, its jaw dropped, releasing hideous laughter.
"Attack!" Bastian broke free of the safety of his group and lunged for the beast in the middle. His sword swung in the air, dropping in a deadly arc toward the beast's belly. Roars enveloped him, masking every other sound in the forest. The cries of his people fell away. It was only him and the beasts.
He hacked and slashed, using every ounce of his strength until his muscles shrieked for respite. Fur flew in the air, followed by flesh. The light gray fog quickly changed to maroon, oozing with the blood of the beasts. Or of his companions. Bastian wouldn't turn away from the battle to see.
A wooly, muscled arm flung out at Bastian, knocking him down to the ground, taking all of his breath in one fell swoop. His sword slipped, just beyond his reach. Bastian shook his head, forcing clarity to return.
Through the mist, he saw a pike sticking out from the chest of one of the beasts, one of Bastian's men hung from the shaft, his legs dangling in the air. Still he didn't give up, Tom thrusted with all of his strength, desperately attempting to drive the spear deeper into the beast's chest. The beast howled, sending chills down Bastian's spine.
He pushed himself up to sitting, but his head still swam