There were teeth a few inches from her face.
Trish rolled away and to her feet in a swift motion, her magic snagging the antler to send it flying through the air. She caught it in her left hand, fingers still tangled in the cradle. She held the antler out, warding against the banshee.
The banshee crouched low over her pallet, one hand raised- and then lowered as their luminous eyes took in the antler. They slowly sat back on their haunches, lanky limbs folding down.
Trish caught her breath. Putting the antler in the crook of her arm, eyes warily watching the banshee as she untangled her fingers to let the spell cradle hang from one hand, she signed, ‘SSL?’
The banshee didn’t react.
That was fine. She had a second option on hand. She pointed at the chalkboard and chalk by the pallet. The banshee looked at it, then at her. Then they looked behind her.
Trish’s heart jumped when another banshee prowled from behind her into her line of vision… and well within the ward stones. She flinched, absently reaching a hand for the alarm stone until she realized she’d dropped it on waking.
The first banshee’s body language showed deference to the second. Their head lowered, their claws retracted ever so slightly. Trish thought it was most likely a teacher deference. She absently wondered what lessons might be taught before the second banshee looked down at the chalkboard, at her, then flicked it across the forest floor with one long claw. It clattered to a stop at her feet. The banshee sat down next to their student in a relaxed posture and stared at her.
Trish sank into a seated position. Cradling the antler in her elbow, she gently tugged the spell matrix off her hand. She tucked it away in her pocket then set down the antler in front of her and picked up the chalkboard and its chalk.
She wrote in Tlica blindly, eyes flicking away from the banshees every new line to check legibility, “Greetings, ones far from home. I am a men’tuch seeking justice. Two nights ago, a human witnessed the art of weeping. Alas, for he has passed. Art thou responsible?”
She felt confident in most of her effort but hesitated a moment over men’tuch. It was a tricky word. The enclave said weirden was closest to men’tuch, which when translated back into Selton Sign was closest to something like Reeve.
However, it was a poor translation. Men’tuchs were more like bounty hunters than weirdens, and received free rein to act as they wanted while in the field as long as they remained faithful to their god’s broader code of conduct. But crucially, they policed their own community, while weirdens mediated the strange and complicated space of interaction between weird and human. They were not responsible for humans beyond that. She hoped she would have a chance to explain that.
She turned the board around to show them. The student showed a surprise response, feathers on the back of their hands fluffing up, but the teacher eyed the board with no response.
Trish tasted the faint ozone of telepathy in the air as they spoke together. She frowned when she felt a zap of it spark against her mind.
She wrote hastily, “Thou wouldst honor me, but I am bound by oath to not accept unauthorized telepathic communication. Please use the still word.”
She held the chalkboard out, then placed it on the ground between them.
The teacher reached out with one long claw and snagged the board. They picked it up. They eyed the chalk dangling from the board by the string before grabbing it. They rubbed out her marks and began to write.
“First, before all else: my apprentice offers apologies for startling thee. She was merely curious as to how thou smell like demon, yet we see none here. I take whatever charge thou wouldst put against her. My name is Moonless. She is Fallen Leaves. As to thine question, we came upon the signs of the man’s death, but we did not cause it. Nay, we seek the same as thee, men’tuch, as we ourselves are men’tuch. We seek justice. Thou huntest our quarry.”
Trish wrote, “Then thou art from the wilds? Hast thou drawn contract with humans yet?”
Moonless wrote, “From the wilds? Thou mayst say so though in truth I have heard of thine own vast unnatural places. Surely are those not more wild? I met some humans some years since, but that is rare for our enclave. We have no need of contract.”
Trish wrote pointedly, “Then there is no law governing thine actions towards me or those under mine protection? Nothing to appeal to in case of injury or assault?”
The feathers bristled on Fallen Leaves’s hands but Moonless answered gracefully, “There is the committee, of course, and our queen, but personally, there is our own sense of rightness and responsibility. This is a considerable sense, or we should not be men’tuch.”
Trish asked, “And a human might petition the committee?”
“Anyone with voice might,” Moonless wrote.
Trish wrote, “Wouldst the still word suffice? I am deaf, men’tuch.”
Moonless rolled their shoulders inquisitively. “A deaf human. Tis convenient in this instance.”
Trish ignored this and rewrote, “Still word?”
Moonless wrote, “Yes, if it comes to the point that such a request is required, the still word would be accepted.”
Trish tapped the chalkboard then wrote, “Under what circumstance dost thou imagine our quarry to have killed a man? I had assumed accident, but seeing thee here before midnight, I confess a growing sense of dread.”
Fallen Leaves looked up at Moonless, then watched as Moonless wrote, “Alas, men’tuch. Tis not an accident. But neither is it murder. Tis insanity.”
Trish frowned. “Explain this to me, men’tuch. What dost thou mean by insanity?”
“It is removed from its natural state of being by no fault of its own. Alas, it has been such for some years. All efforts have been taken to ease its temperament, but all have failed. Such creatures are evaluated regularly for improvement. It saw none.”
Trish shifted uneasily. “It? An improper name?”
“Yes. It is no longer of us.”
“Thus thou hunt afore the proper times,” Trish wrote, musing. “Is such allowed?”
Moonless wrote, “No. But dispensation and absolution are our privilege as men’tuch. Thou must know this?”
Trish raised an eyebrow. She wrote, “Indeed, no, I did not. In truth I know very little of the ways of men’tuch. But, and I hope you’ll forgive me if I clear the sand, why did they come here? Pure chance?”
Moonless wrote, “This is where its family died.”
Trish startled, dropping the chalk. It swung from its string like a pendulum before she reached out to catch it up again.
Fallen Leaves twitched beside Moonless and reached for the chalk and chalkboard. Trish let her take them.
Fallen Leaves wrote, “Thou knowest the tale.”This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Trish felt a little shaky. “Yes. I was told the story this morning. On behalf of the Selton men’tuchs and the town, please forgive us. Tis one of our greatest shames.”
Fallen Leaves snatched the chalkboard back, scribbled furiously, then looked at her, huffed, and erased the scribbles before writing again.
When Trish got the chalkboard, it read, “Thou canst apologize for that which thou hadst no part in. Thou could not have been more than a larva some twenty years past.”
Trish winced. “Is mine youth so obvious?”
Moonless wrote, “Do not concern thyself with thine age, men’tuch. Wisdom is measured not by years.”
“As thou say… Men’tuch, I have then a proposal for thee. Let us three work in conjunction to find this banshee. I am responsible for the people in the village and I fear for their safety, but so too do I fear for the banshee. Shouldst the people learn it has killed, whether from madness or intent, it will be hunted. Such is the history of this village.”
“Thou art right to fear,” Moonless wrote. “The earth soaked up the blood and it has sunk into the bones of this place. The spirits demand justice, but more than justice, they seek to live again.”
Trish frowned at the chalkboard. “Men’tuch, I do not understand. Dost thou speak of possession?”
“Canst thou not taste it upon the air? Feel it in the dirt? Tis history, men’tuch, come back from between the stars. An eerie spirit, to be sure. Yes, we three shall work together.”
”What first?”
Moonless reared up and sniffed the air. “Come, young human. Gather thine things. Let us be on our way. We’ve no time to waste and though thine nose may be sufficient, I assure thee: mine is better.”
Trish wrote, “Didst they use this nest? I thought they may have, so I set camp here.”
Fallen Leaves wrote, “Perhaps last night or the night before, yes, but it hast moved on. And ‘twas not a wise decision to camp so close, not knowing if it was in residence. Thou knowest now how easily a ward line might be breached by such as we.”
Trish frowned. “Yes.” She was beginning to think she owed Chat an apology.
Moonless’s feathers rippled in agitation, so Trish stopped dallying. She packed up her things, slung the chalkboard around her neck, and took a sip from a stone phial in her pack. She waited a moment, blinking every five seconds to check the working, then signaled she was ready when the world swam into black and white focus. She followed the banshees out of the clearing and into the dark of the woods, her eyes glowing a faint green in the gloom.
<hr>
Riven was woken by the smell of rotten flesh.
“Go ‘way, Jessa,” he murmured, swatting a hand through the ghost hovering over him.
Jessa breathed over him again, a rush of chilling rotten air on his neck.
He sat up, about to scold her, when he saw his brother at the window, carefully easing it open. Jessa faded into the night.
“Neb, what are ye doin?” Riven asked, rubbing at his eyes sleepily.
Neb glared at him. “None o’ yer business, kid.”
Riven scowled. “Ye’re goin’ to see Missy, aren’t ye? But ye can’t go out tonight. S’not safe.”
Neb scoffed. “Why? More ghosts? No such thing.”
“Dedicated says I see ‘em.”
“Dedicated says a lot o’ things. Now shut up and go back to sleep afore I knock ye upside the head, brat.”
Riven sulkily said, “Fine. Go ahead an’ let the banshee kill ye for all I care. Mebbe ye’ll be nicer as a ghost.”
Neb clambered out the window.
Riven said, louder so Neb could hear him, “I’ll finally have my own room! I’m gonna tear down yer posters, even the ones in the closet!”
“Ye do that, an’ I really will haint yer ass!”
<hr>
Chatter couldn’t sleep, so they were sitting scrunched up tight in the chimney. The brick was cool against their fur. It was nice and windy. They stared up at the stars, neck curved strangely, claws gently sunk into the brick as they waited in the dark of the night for sunrise.
They were unpleasantly surprised by a howl that rose up and echoed throughout the valley. Their claws sunk deeper into the brick, their ears folded against their skull, and they slowly spidered their way down the chimney.
They emerged in the living room covered in soot and badly surprising Brody, who got off a nasty hex that sat smoldering on their fur for a few moments.
Chatter looked at him.
Brody grimaced. “I think that was a very reasonable reaction.”
“Hm. Then you heard it.”
“I did. The whole village did. It must be within the ward limits to penetrate the walls so.” He paced restlessly.
Chatter waved their hand. The soot flew off them and back up the chimney. “Think anyone died?”
Brody sat on the windowsill and twitched open the curtain to look out. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Chatter said, quietly, “Trish thought it an accident. But this is no accident.”
“Murder,” Brody agreed grimly. “Tomorrow will be difficult. I just hope it won’t be because of a body.”
”You think it difficult without a body?”
“Someone else must have heard it this time. The village will be up in arms come sunrise and I’ll need to answer for it, body or no.”
<hr>
Neb and Missy and a few of their friends jumped at the sudden howl. They slapped their hands over their ears, wincing. They were huddled around a crystal lamp in a little shack in the woods that had been built by some other ancient group of teenagers long, long ago. The location was an open secret, in that all the adults knew where it was but agreed to pretend like they didn’t unless something happened.
“What was that?” Josiah asked, lowering his hands.
“I dunno, but it sounded like it was right outside,” Kristen replied. She started to put away the game pieces into a soft velvet bag. “Pass me the dice, I reckon I’m done here.”
Mal found a handful under a cup. Josiah sheepishly pulled one from his pocket.
Mal said, “I’m sure it’s nothin’, Krissy.”
Missy went to stand. “I ain’t. Gimme a light, I’ll take a look.”
Neb grabbed her arm, his face serious. “Hol’ up, Missy. My brother tol’ me not to come out tonight.”
“Which brother?”
Neb rolled his eyes. “Ye know which one.”
Mal snorted. “The weird one.”
Neb glared at him. “Yeah, the weird one! An’ he tol’ me there’s a banshee out there tonight! So mebbe let’s just be smart and pretend like that horrible sound was a banshee, alright?”
Missy said, “Well, my pa would’ve tol’ me ‘bout a banshee, and he’s not said a word to me ‘bout it. But… well, if yer brother says so, I’m inclined to trust a weirdin’ one.”
Mal said, “But I can’t sit here all night just cause his weird brother tol’ him there’s a banshee. Doesn’t he see ghosts? Why is he sayin’ there’s a banshee? What, is it a banshee ghost now? I’ll tell ye what, he’s been listenin’ to ol’ Alsom too much.”
“That’s my pa, ye know,” Missy growled, her eyes narrowing.
Mal said, “Oh, no offense, Missy, but ye know how it is.”
Josiah said, “Yeah, well, I gotta get home soon. I’ll be in so much trouble if I’m not home afore sunrise. Banshee ghost or no.”
Missy snapped, “Ye’ll be in worse trouble if ye die afore ye get home, ye great potato! And it’s not a banshee ghost!”
Kristen shushed them. “Do ye hear that?”
They listened intently. Something was scratching at the door. Scratch. Scratch. Scraaaaaatch. They froze.
“It’s a banshee ghost,” Josiah whispered, his eyes filling with tears. “Sweet lady of the meadows, we’re goin’ die!”
”No such thing, dummy!” Kristen retorted.
Missy stood.
“Missy,” Neb hissed.
They all looked at her.
She took a step towards the door. Neb reached out for her as she took another step outside of his reach.
“Missy, stop,” he pleaded.
She bent down and looked through the cracks of the door.
She met the luminous gaze of a creature stood outside. They stared at each other. Nothing moved. There was no sound. It was only a second, maybe two, stretched into infinity.
Then the eye came close, leaning towards her. Missy froze. Her eyes stung. She smelled something rancid. She heard a faint snick below.
“Missy,” Kristen said.
“Banshee,” Missy said, feeling floaty. “Oh, Pa, what now?”
“Missy!” Kristen said, her voice high.
Missy heard something scrape below and slowly looked down. A needle poked through the door crack, just to the left of her leg. It was white and shiny. It could have stuck her. She watched it blankly as it started to slide up the door crack, wondering where a needle could have come from.
Oh. Of course. It was a claw.
She watched the claw glide up the crack as though from a distance. She had a dim realization that it was going to hit the simple latch that kept the door closed. If that happened, the latch would lift up and the door would open. If the door opened-
“Hm,” she said, and dreamily placed a hand on the top of the latch just as the claw reached it and started to lift it up. She pressed.
The claw stopped. She looked out the door to see the banshee’s eye right against the door, staring at her wide and horrible. She inhaled sharply but kept her hand on the latch. A tear fell down her cheek.
The banshee pushed up harder. She pushed down with one hand, then with two. She strained.
“Neb,” she gasped, and he was there, helping her push the latch down. Then Kristen, and Josiah, and Mal, so there were five of them struggling to keep the latch down. The door groaned from the strain.
A shot rang out. The banshee screamed and the claw pulled back. The group winced but didn’t dare cover their ears.
When her ears stopped ringing, Missy pressed her face to the door to look through the cracks. She saw only the dark trees.
”It’s gone.”
The teens sagged against the door in a puddle of relief. Except Missy, who kept staring out.
Neb looked up at her. “Ye think it’ll come back? Someone shot-“
He paused and slowly leveraged himself to his feet. “Someone shot it.”
Kristen said, “But who-“
Missy startled back. “Oh!”
Something banged on the door, startling them all.
A voice bellowed, “Y’all alright in there?”
Missy started to shove them away from the door. “Go on, get, we gotta open it for him.”
Mal grabbed her arm. “Are yer thoughts snarled?”
The voice boomed, “I can’t hear ya if y’all are a-okay, just so’s ya know. Put some wax in to keep from having ma brains drain outta ma ears. If ya don’t want me, I can continue on ma way but I thought I might offer ma services first.”
“Let him in,” Josiah said.
They looked at him.
He flushed. “Well, he ain’t a ghost nor a banshee, right?”
“We can’t exactly leave a man out there now that we know what’s what,” Missy said stoutly.
”But-“ Mal began.
”Oh hush yer butt, sour puss,” Kristen said, and opened the door.