There was a strange, quiet, cracking noise from the hunter. She watched in fascination as the muck where its face should be started to harden. It turned a lighter shade and began to set, cracks appearing in it. Another worm came halfway out, struggling against the rapidly stiffening mud around it. It thrashed for a moment, then flopped to the side and went still.
The hunter was dead. Whatever it had been, it was no longer a person of any sort. Celia was sure that if she stripped the rest of the strange, red outfit from it, she would only find more mud, worms and perhaps rotten wood.
Tears burst from her.
Some of it was from simple relief at having actually beaten the thing. But more was from thoughts of Lyssa.
Either those that were taken were turned into these things, or somehow replaced by them. Whichever it was, Lyssa wasn’t under that mask. And Celia needed to be the one to tell Greta and Friedrich what she had found.
Chapter 57
“Jamshir,” Jocasta called over her shoulder. “What is this?”
“What is what, my dear?”
“This. This thing out here.”
“Oh, that. It’s one of my statues.”
“Why is it moving?”
“They do that. Sometimes. It’s probably coming to play with you and the Lady Shireen there.”
She shook her head, reminded again of Jamshir’s madness. As if she needed any more.
“What’s he talking about?” Shireen asked.
“He’s got these weird statues in a room upstairs. Except I guess they’re not statues. Or not all the time. Or something.”
“Nice cart you’ve hooked your horse to,” Shireen sneered.
Jocasta glanced over at her. The temporary Head of House Towering Oaks still stood ready to fight, but whether it was with her or the figure in green coming slowly toward them she couldn’t tell.
“This isn’t over,” Jocasta said. “Between you and me. But right now, I need to know what’s going on here.”
“I agree with the last part. The rest I have no idea what you’re talking about. Don’t think I care either. You’re as crazy as that lunatic in there.”
Without waiting, Shireen turned and started to approach the green figure. Jocasta cursed under her breath and hurried to catch up.
The two spread out without discussing it, so that they presented the widest front they could. Jocasta had to admit to a grudging modicum of respect for Shireen for that. Then again, she was Towering Oaks and for all their other faults and high-mindedness, their discipline and fighting ability was never in question.
“What do you want?” Jocasta called out.
There was no answer from the thing, other than a low whistle that changed tunes in a displeasing manner.
“Who cares?” Shireen muttered and launched herself at the thing.
Her movement took Jocasta by surprise. From all reports, Shireen was somewhat hot-headed, but coldly calculating in battle.
Then again, maybe it was for the better. Jocasta leaned against the wall and watched, wanting to see what Shireen was made of. The Towering Oaks scout glanced back quickly, then seemed to dismiss her.
The figure in green stood its ground, making no threatening moves.
Shireen neared, tensed and ready for action, until she stood directly in front of it.
“Who are you?” she growled.
The figure made no movement, a quiet whistle coming from the blank white mask it wore.
It was a standoff. The one in green didn’t try to advance and Shireen seemed unwilling to attack it without further provocation.
“Oh, for…” Jocasta muttered.
She pushed herself off the wall, stepped to the far side of the corridor so that she had a clean line of sight, pulled one of her daggers from her belt and let it fly. It darted through the air, past Shireen’s right shoulder and into the left shoulder of the figure in green.
It took a step back, the whistle changing to a high pitch, then moved forward again.
Shireen glared at her for a moment, then turned back in time to see the thing moving toward her. With a growl she punched it, the same way she had punched Jocasta a few minutes ago.
The effect was less satisfactory, Jocasta was sure. Whereas she was driven back onto the couch, even if only for a moment, this thing was barely moved. Its head snapped back and it took another step backward, but it didn’t fall or seem any more hurt by the punch than it did by the dagger sticking out of its arm.
“Don’t play with it,” Jocasta said, moving up to stand next to Shireen.
She pulled the other dagger from her belt and held it casually in her left hand.
The green figure turned its head, almost like it was seeing them somehow, despite the fact that there were no eyeholes in the mask.
Shireen pushed her, forcing her to the side of the hall and opening up distance between them.
“Some of us have real weapons,” she said, drawing her sword.
For a brief moment, Jocasta almost turned on the other woman for daring to touch her. Instead, she swallowed her rage and kept her eyes on their real opponent. It hadn’t done anything yet, but Jocasta could feel the wrongness coming from it. This was something that didn’t belong in the Greenweald, or anywhere else.
Shireen moved forward and the figure moved to meet her, its arms coming up like it was going to catch her sword. A horrible mistake for anyone who didn’t have a dagger sticking out of it like it didn’t even feel it. Maybe it really could catch it.
Shireen didn’t give it a chance. She reversed her swing, bringing her sword around in an arc and catching it under the right arm. It made
