Chapter 6

CHAPTER6

“This must be the swamp,” Tristan said, staring off across the marshy landscape. Feather fidgeted and tugged at her reins, making her unease known.

They’d bid the couple farewell in the morning and had received a small sack of bread and chicken-filled buns for their trouble. Opal of course chattered the entire trip, somehow filling up the past few hours with nonsense stories.

The entire past few hours, in which Tristan had tried to fight off a migraine while also somehow pretending to be paying attention even though he offered little more than a few grunts here and there.

The distraction had probably been a good thing, though, because it meant he didn’t have time to think about the night before—not much, anyway. Gods, he’d been so forward with Opal, and so very rough, and he was just a little bit ashamed of his lack of self-control. He should’ve refused Opal, not taken him even more vigorously.

He shook off the thoughts, glancing at Opal to see his reaction to the swamp. Despite everything they’d done last night, Opal still looked extremely well put-together, with a new skirt, hair pulled back into a half ponytail, and shimmering painted eyelids.

Opal’s nose was curled in distaste, marring his beautiful features. “It smells dead. This is wrong. Never mind what I said about a lamia.”

Tristan frowned. “What do you mean, it smells dead?” He sniffed the air. It smelled stagnant and strange, unfamiliar to his city-born senses. “Do you think it’s really undead, then? I don’t like our chances against something like that.”

“Undead, or… something. It’s faint, though, so it’s probably not an infestation?” Opal asked distractedly, his tongue flicking out again.

Tristan watched that tongue, reminded of the previous night once more.

This really wasn’t the time to be thinking about sex.

Opal took a step toward the nearby walkway. The locals had built long wooden bridges to lead through the swamp, so nobody would have to go around it on their travels. It wouldn’t protect anyone from whatever creatures were hiding here, but the shorter distance made it worth it for many travelers.

“Well, that must be one of the cows,” Opal said, pointing into the bog. A half-rotted carcass lay sunken in, its ribs extending out of the water. Flies circled around it, but the water appeared free of other creatures feasting.

No wonder Feather was so scared.

“It’s pretty far away from the farms,” Tristan remarked, patting Feather on the neck to calm her. He led her to a tree outside of the marshy area and tied her reins to a low branch, although she whickered in complaint. “I suppose something would’ve had to drag it here, which is… a feat. Why not just devour it where it was?”

“No, the couple said that Peter, Michael-or-Erik’s son, was here with his cows. Taking them to the market in Littlebirch, probably?”

Tristan hadn’t really intended for Opal to answer, so he was startled when Opal actually replied. He glanced at him, wiping a hand across his sweaty brow.

Opal sighed and approached the carcass, squatting down on the walkway to get a better look. “It’s hard to tell, but it doesn’t look like somebody tore the flesh off. The bones are all intact, too. And it just smells… wrong. Like…” His tongue darted out again, like he was some sort of reptile, and it made Tristan frown. “…Tar?”

“Tar?” Tristan repeated, mesmerized. “I don’t smell anything like that.” He eyed Opal. “What are you?” he asked abruptly. Some sort of minor mage, he’d said, hadn’t he? So why was he so versed in magical creatures? How could he smell death and tar?

Opal stood up and turned away abruptly. “I don’t think we’ll discover anything here though. We should keep going. There’s probably a magical nexus to all this. Or we’ll discover a demon lurking somewhere.” He shuddered. “I hope it’s not a shade. I hate shades.”

“Fuck. I don’t know how to deal with shades,” Tristan said, his hackles up. “Would you be able to handle one?”

Opal looked over his shoulder and smiled awkwardly. “Um. Maybe? But not easily. They’re kind of immune to my… magic.” He shook his head. “We don’t have to do this, though. The compass was pointing more south, right? We can let the next adventurer deal with the swamp.”

Tristan kept eyeing Opal, who looked more nervous than he ought to be—but that was probably just due to the idea of fighting a shade. “No,” he said after a moment. “We should deal with this. I gave my word.” Like that ever counted for anything, especially these days. He felt like his honor was a front now. He wasn’t doing anything for some noble reason. It was all just to avenge his brother. “It’ll be good practice for going up against other… beings.”

“Then the only thing to do is to keep moving.” Opal twisted a lock of his hair nervously. “I think we can probably deal with whatever this is even without a magical sword.” He took another few steps forward, then stopped. “Although, maybe you should lead the way, brave knight?”

Brave knight.

Hardly.

Tristan looked down at the ground for a moment, steeling himself before looking back up at Opal. Could he be what Opal wanted him to be so badly, or was Opal simply blinded by his own hopes and dreams?

It made him feel a little guilty about how rough he’d been, and how he could barely remember what they’d done. “Sorry,” Tristan said gruffly. “If I hurt you last night.”

Opal’s expression softened, and he took Tristan’s hands into his own. “I enjoyed last night, Tristan. The way you were so insistent and forceful… I could really feel your passion in every movement.”

Tristan let out a nervous laugh. Had he been passionate? All he could recall was the feel of Opal’s tight hole squeezing him, and the intoxicating taste of Opal’s kisses. “Glad you enjoyed it, then.

“But,” Opal continued, “maybe when we’re in the next village, we can enjoy a romantic dinner, with good food and music and candlelight and—”

Suddenly, a shriek pierced the silence around them.

They both whirled in the direction of the sound. Feather let out a frightened squeal.

“Did that sound like a person?” Opal asked, but Tristan barely paid attention to him.

Tristan sprinted forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. He scanned the horizon, trying to find the source of the shriek, but all he could make out was a blot farther ahead.

He picked up his pace, not caring whether Opal was following or not. He didn’t slow down until he was close enough to see a solitary figure in front of him. He drew his sword and raised it. There was no way it was someone in distress; that shriek hadn’t sounded human at all.

The figure on the walkway started running away from Tristan. It was hard to tell what it looked like, whether it was even male or female. Tristan followed, deeper and deeper into the swamp. The trees grew denser, blocking out the sunlight.

Then the figure tripped and fell into the bog.

“Help!” a clear, familiar voice cried out.

Tristan’s blood ran cold, and he lowered his sword.

He knew that voice better than anyone’s, but… He’d never thought he’d hear it again.

He sheathed his sword, sprinting forward again.

“Evan!” he shouted.

That was his brother. That was Evan, alive and well, and not burnt alive by a fucking dragon. He was right here, and he was calling out for help, and Tristan was the only one who could help him. He hadn’t died after all. He’d only been presumed dead, and even though his sister-in-law had sounded certain, she could’ve been wrong.

Obviously she had been, because Evan was here, and Tristan was going to save him.

Evan looked almost exactly like Tristan remembered him. His thick black hair was styled in thin locs. He had the same soft brown eyes; he had that same thin scar over his lip from when he’d fallen from the tree. He looked so warm and alive, not the burnt or sallow corpse Tristan sometimes had nightmares of.

Evan moaned loudly and extended his arm out to Tristan. “Brother, help me!”

Tristan reached out, desperate to feel his brother’s hand in his again, rejoicing in his life. He’d never take Evan for granted again.

Before Tristan could step off the walkway to help Evan, somebody grabbed his shoulder. “Tristan, stop!”

Tristan tried to jerk away from the touch, but it was firm, too firm. It took him a moment to recognize Opal, and when he did, he growled. “Let go of me! He needs my help!”

Opal shook his head. “That isn’t your brother, Tristan. It’s a demon.”

“Please,” Evan cried, struggling to move. “It hurts. I can’t move. There’s something in the water…”

Tristan swung his fist at Opal’s face, but the man dodged with surprising dexterity. “Let go!” he roared, jerking back with adrenaline-fueled strength. He needed to go to Evan before the thing in the water could swallow him up like it had tried to do with the cow.

“Listen to me,” Opal said plaintively. “Whatever that thing is, it isn’t human. You’re a knight, right? You’ve dealt with monsters like these before—”

“Tristan! Please!” Evan begged. “He’s trying to trick you! He’s the one who isn’t human!” Then Evan sobbed loudly. “I can feel something biting my ankles. It hurts so much, Tristan.”

Tristan couldn’t handle the sound of it. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to. Evan never cried. For him to cry, he had to be in immense pain. He had to be—

He tried to take another step toward his brother, but Opal grabbed him again, pulling him back before he could set foot into the murky water. Tristan jerked, and it ended up sending Opal into the deep.

Opal cried out and landed with a heavy splash. “Fuck!” Opal shouted, scrambling to his feet.

For the first time since Tristan had met him, Opal didn’t look put together. The muddy water dragged his hair down, his clothes were soaked and stained, and his pale skin was covered in filth.

Opal stood up and turned to Evan. “I will not let you consume my Tristan.” He raised his hand, although he had no weapon save for his nails.

“Tristan! He’s going to kill me!” Evan shouted. He struggled to move, but as before he was stuck, and Opal started advancing on him.

Tristan moved forward, and he grabbed Opal to fling him away from his brother. Evan needed him. “I’ll protect you, brother!” Tristan shouted, raising his sword at Opal.

Opal got up and pushed his hair back. He gave Tristan a pleading look. “Please don’t make me do this, Tristan. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t let that… thing… drag you down.”

Thing.

This thing?

“That’s my fucking brother!” Tristan snarled. As much as he liked Opal, that was nothing in comparison to how much he loved his brother. He wasn’t going to let anyone stop him from saving Evan.

Not now, not ever.

He looked over Opal, positive he could take him in a fight. If Opal tried to interfere, Tristan would have to put him in his place. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but he’d do it without hesitation.

“Fuck,” Opal cursed uncharacteristically. He tried to dash around Tristan to get at Evan, but Tristan was still a knight of the realm. Tristan lunged forward, slashing his sword at Opal.

He missed.

Tristan stared at where he thought Opal should have been, but Opal had dodged with surprising agility, even with his soaked skirt clinging to him. Opal had turned his back to Tristan now, though, intent on hurting Evan.

Tristan shot forward again. Opal gasped and evaded the sword, but Tristan was prepared this time. He rammed his elbow into Opal’s side, grimly satisfied with how Opal doubled over.

He’d expected Opal to fall, though.

“Just… wake up!” Opal shouted.

That was the only warning Tristan received before Opal tackled Tristan. Tristan had to grip his sword tightly so as not to lose it, for all the good it did him with Opal grabbing his wrist and forcing it, and the sword, under the murky water.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Tristan shouted. “Gods, Opal, have you gone mad? Evan is an innocent man!”

Evan, who was still there, who was still crying out for him and begging for his help. He had to—

“I’m sorry I have to do this,” Opal said, bringing his face closer to Tristan—and kissing him.

Tristan’s eyes widened, and he struggled against the kiss, but Opal’s grip was firm. Then the sweetness of Opal’s kiss hit him, and Tristan’s body relaxed into the familiar taste and sensation.

It was wrong, and he knew it was wrong, but there was just something so soothing about Opal that for a moment, he forgot all about Evan. How could he forget about Evan? How could…

“Please tell me that worked,” Opal whispered. “Please, Tristan. Look at that… person, look properly.”

A little dazed, Tristan looked, really looked, at Evan. He expected to see his pain-wracked brother, to hear his cries, but he noticed a certain… strangeness around Evan. He was still trying to move, but there was something holding him back that was at odds with the murky swamp. It was like he was fighting against molasses, or tar, or something equally sticky.

Tristan stared at Evan, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. “Brother? Why is he…”

“It isn’t your brother, Tristan.” Opal let go of Tristan and stood, advancing on Evan once more.

Tristan needed to stop him. But he watched as Opal grabbed Evan. Under his fingers, Evan’s arm began to drip and ooze with something dark and viscous, and Tristan fought to regain his senses. Evan. Evan was dead. But Evan was right there. But…

“Leave him alone, demon,” Opal growled, stalking closer to Evan. His muddy hair clung to his back. Tristan couldn’t see what Opal was doing with his hands, but suddenly fire shot out and enveloped Evan.

Evan cried out in agony at being burned alive. He collapsed to his knees, the echoes of his pain echoing out around them. His hair caught fire, and his flesh began to drip.

“Brother! Help me!” Evan cried out, his burning hand extending out to Tristan.

Opal punched Evan, sending him deeper into the murkiness of the bog, the flames somehow still burning. “Shut up! Show your true self, demon!”

“Stop hurting him!” Tristan screamed. He scrambled to his feet, holding his sword with a shaky arm. He’d use it on Opal. He’d make this stop. He’d save his brother this time.

Gods. He could see his brother’s skin burning, the flesh underneath becoming exposed. Bits of white bone shimmered through his forehead.

Something hard crunched, and Tristan saw Opal tearing half of Evan’s arm off.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Tristan roared, and he leveled the sword at Opal. He’d kill him. He’d fucking kill him for hurting his brother. After everything that had happened, his brother had been trying to find his way home—only to get stuck in the swamp, and now his only chances of survival were being ruined by a madman hellbent on some fucked up romance.

Opal whirled around, eyes wide and glowing. “Tristan! Please, this isn’t your brother. Your brother is dead, remember?” His hands were covered in dark ichor.

He wasn’t beautiful at all anymore. He was a monster.

But Tristan’s lips still prickled with the sweet taste of Opal’s kiss. He hesitated, his sword wavering, and his eyes caught on Opal’s hands. They were dripping with something black. Evan’s blood should have been red.

The water of the bog splashed against Tristan’s legs, getting high enough to coat his stomach.

Why would there be splashing in a swamp? There were no waves. The murky water was supposed to be still. Opal wasn’t moving, and Evan… Evan wasn’t flailing.

So where were the waves coming from?

Tristan still kept his sword leveled at Opal, but the rational part of his brain changed like the beat of his heart, Evan’s dead, he’s dead, he’s gone, he’s dead, this can’t be Evan, he’s dead! But Evan was right there. How was he right there if he was dead?

“Tristan,” Opal said carefully, raising his hands palms out. “Do you remember why we came here? What we were told about the swamp?”

Breathing heavily, Tristan hefted his sword a little higher. His heart hammered in his chest, and he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to clap his hands over his ears over the screaming, which no longer called his name or begged for help but simply burned. “No. It isn’t… He can’t…”

He dared look at Evan, who was dripping with something black, who was oozing instead of burning.

How had it felt for his brother to burn to death? To truly burn to death, caught in a dragon’s terrible fire? He nearly stumbled to his knees right there in the water, suddenly weak and unable to comprehend the situation.

Evan stood up and took an ambling step toward Tristan. “Bro…ther… Please… bro…ther…” He extended his good arm, which was more bone than flesh. “I… need… you…”

Tristan’s eyes blurred with tears, and he didn’t know what to think anymore. He didn’t know what to believe. Opal, who claimed this was a demon, who’d reminded him that they’d come here to seek out the undead? Or his brother’s dying body? Why was he even hesitating?

“You’re not Evan,” Tristan rasped. “You can’t be. My brother… My brother is dead.”

“You… weren’t there…” Evan moaned and stepped even closer. One of his eyeballs fell out of its socket, dangling grotesquely. “Please… your… blood…”

“Tristan,” Opal said plaintively. “Step aside, and I’ll destroy it. Don’t let it use your memories against you.”

No. He couldn’t let Opal destroy it. He couldn’t let Opal destroy his brother.

But he’d seen so much, and he knew deep down his brother hadn’t become a walking corpse. This wasn’t right. It didn’t make sense. He needed to plunge the sword into the… the thing’s body and end this farce right there and then, but he couldn’t do it.

Part of him had still clung to the hope that Evan was still alive, but this wasn’t the way he’d have returned. This wasn’t right.

Another splash, and Tristan jerked back, trying to figure out where it was coming from.

“Stop spoiling my fun!” a voice gurgled.

Opal gasped loudly and leapt forward, crashing into Tristan just as a large, black wave slammed down where Tristan had been before.

The swamp rose up and draped itself over the thing masquerading as Evan. It was now a dark figure dripping tar, and the only features on its face were a gaping maw. “I’m so hungry. Feed me, brother.”

“Fuck!” Tristan shouted, trying to regain his balance. “Opal, what the fuck?” No. It wasn’t time to ask questions. It was time to fight. This was the biggest threat he’d ever faced—something inhuman, something bigger than him, something more powerful…

And for a moment, he considered simply giving in. He could join Evan and stop feeling so much pain. He didn’t have to deal with this anymore. He didn’t have to try to drink it all away. He could just… die here and now.

Opal wrapped his arms around Tristan. “Um. I can’t see where its core is. It’s just a small demon. If we destroy the core, we can rid the swamp of this thing.”

This… thing. This thing that wasn’t Evan. This thing that had preyed on his grief to nearly lead him to his demise, this thing that had pretended to be his beloved brother.

This thing that had nearly killed him, this thing that had nearly made him harm Opal.

His thoughts flitted through his head so quickly he could barely make sense of them, but he understood at least a little. There was a core, and they could get rid of this thing. A core. He had no idea what that meant, but he needed to find it and destroy it before this Evan-shaped thing got to him again.

It was still so real, so convincing, and if Opal hadn’t been there, he’d have likely been lured to his end.

He shook himself free of the despair that had threatened to overtake him. “The core,” he repeated. “I don’t know what that is, Opal.”

“Don’t listen to him! He’s the monster!” the monster said with a wet rasp.

Opal shook his head. “Ignore it, ignore it. The core has to be near here. It had to lure us to this place, after all. Maybe a… a stone of some sort.”

“How the fuck do you narrow it down to a single stone?” Tristan snapped. His sword arm had grown heavy, and he felt the weight of it down to his bones. He couldn’t do this for much longer—but he had to. He had to free the people of this threat. He was ashamed of himself for hesitating, for snapping, and he fought to clear his head. “I can’t stab every stone,” he said, his voice still strained but much less vicious.

The creature lunged forward, and Tristan barely got out of the way before it could sweep him off his feet and send him tumbling into the swamp. It obviously wasn’t going to just stay there and let him and Opal plot its demise, but he had no idea what to do. He’d never faced anything like this before in all his years of being a knight of the realm.

He had trained to fight threats like this, though, so he could fight dragons. Surely this was less than a dragon. He looked around, scanning his environment, and spun around.

“I have an idea!” he shouted, trying to pinpoint where the waves were coming from.

It wasn’t directly in the middle of the creature—the demon—where he might’ve expected it to be, but a little to the left. He sloshed through the murky water to try to get closer, and the demon shrieked again, rising up.

“More fire!” he called to Opal over the creature’s inhuman hisses and moans.

Opal froze for a second—long enough for the demon to lunge at Tristan. Tristan cursed and slashed at the demon, his sword cutting right through it.

Then the fire came, and it engulfed the demon once more. It let out an ear-piercing wail, but it turned its attention to Opal.

“Devour… devour…”

“I’ll keep it distracted!” Opal shouted. “You do your thing!”

The creature seemed to come back together, the tar coming back first in tendrils then in ropey strands that built it up. Tristan cursed, scanning the swamp for the source of the thing’s power. As long as Opal had it distracted, though, he could search for it.

There was a subtle gleam under the water, and he trudged through it to get closer. The creature howled and leapt for him, but Opal’s fire caught it unawares and it screamed again and again.

Tristan could hear Evan’s screams in that moment, and he almost faltered.

He’d die if he failed. Opal would die too—beautiful, romantic, fierce Opal who had fought Tristan to save him from being devoured by the demon, who thought of him as noble and dashing even though he was far from it.

Fuck.

He continued through the water, looking for where it bubbled and splashed, and he slammed his sword directly down into it.

Tristan felt the thing crack and splinter. The demon’s wails got even louder, so loud that Tristan wanted to cover his ears, but he stabbed again, even harder, and whatever was underneath his sword broke apart even more.

For several long moments, the entire bog was plunged into darkness.

Then it was gone, and Tristan was left staring down at peaceful green water.

“Tristan!” Opal cried out, dragging himself through the marsh toward Tristan. He hugged Tristan fiercely. “You did it! You saved us!”

Tristan stared at the water, at where the broken remnants of a corpse bubbled up to the surface. He thought he was going to be sick.

Rotting, burning flesh filled his nostrils, and he couldn’t be sure whether he still smelled it or whether it was a memory.

“You did more than I did,” Tristan said numbly, because what else was he supposed to say?

“No, um… I only helped a little. You did all the real work,” Opal said, looking down. He let go of Tristan and reached into the swamp, no care at all about the corpse in the center of it all. When he raised his hand out of the water, he held a cracked locket in his hand. “I suppose this was the source. I wonder who this person was, and why they drew the demon? If we wanted to know what kind of magic was in this thing, we’d have to ask a real sorcerer though.”

Tristan took in a deep breath, only to cringe as the stench of rot filled his nose again. At least this time, it was only the marsh’s natural odor and not the body’s, but even so. “I think it would bring us more trouble than it’s worth. It seems to be destroyed, at least.” He shuddered, and he pointedly did not reach to take the necklace from Opal’s hand. Normally, he’d have taken it upon himself to care for it properly, but with Evan’s burning corpse in his mind, he didn’t want a reminder of this day. “Let’s get out of here.”

He started to splash toward the path, wishing very much that he could take a bath. They’d have to find an inn.

Opal nodded and dropped the necklace back into the water before following Tristan. Good riddance to that fucking thing. Opal mercifully didn’t say anything as they made their way back to Feather and their supplies.