Half Discovered Wings Read Free

shoulder again. Bethany’s knees buckled, thighs
pressed against the creature’s crooked knees.
    Gabel bellowed
and, when the figure heard it, it threw Bethany’s limp body over
the bench. It crouched, and suddenly was in the air, leaping from
the centre of the square onto the roof of the inn.
    The hunter felt for the pistol by his waist and touched his
dark-bladed kris instead. He tore the wavy-bladed dagger from its
sheath and screamed at the theriope, which couched on the edge of
the roof, torn trousers pulled taut over its thighs. It wiped blood
from around its mouth with the back of its hand.
    ‘ Get down here and fight!’ Gabel roared, but the roar was lost
in the thunder, or else the blood in his ears was making him deaf.
He felt claws in his back and, when he could see, he saw the
creature gone from the rooftop. He twisted in pain and lashed out
with his fists. The kris was knocked from his hand.
    His left wrist was grabbed and held tightly, and then the
right, and he couldn’t break from the were-creature’s grip. He felt
his feet lifting from the ground. Lightning again, this time from
behind him, and it illuminated the creature’s face, which was flat
and pale. Bethany’s blood stained its thin lips. Its tail snapped
through the air behind its flank, whipping against the bony
protrusions on its back and lashing Gabel’s calves.
    The lightning was like a strobe now, unnaturally frequent,
making the theriope’s movements seem broken and spasmodic. He could
see the creature leaning toward him for his throat, but then
suddenly his toes struck the ground, then his knees and hands, and
his hat fell from his head and the rain was suddenly cold on his
hair. He felt it soak his back, dampen the backs of his hands. He
looked up and the theriope was gone.
    Then he saw the bench, with the body – Beth’s frail body –
slumped over it. By her feet was the leather jacket, crumpled and
bloodied along the collar.
    As lightning flickered he thought he could see her moving as
she lay broken over the wooden bench, but it was just the light
making the shadows dance. He walked over in the dark and stood
looking down. He saw the swollen bloody mess that the creature had
made of her. Then he bent and picked her up – still feeling heat
through the dress, though the rain had cooled her somewhat – and
put her carefully over his shoulder.
    ~
    When he pounded on the door of the church he found that he
was crying. The door took forever to open, and finally Father
Dayle’s face appeared. Gabel pushed him back and, before Father
could get a look, took Bethany to the room opposite the one that
Rowan occupied. He kicked the door shut behind him.
    A sudden silence; the rain was muted by the window, the
thunder barely a rumble, and no other sound could be heard except
for Bethany’s body being laid on the hard thin
palliasse.
    Gabel took off
his belt and removed the kris.
    Early. Oh so early for him to be doing this; he could wait
until tomorrow night, if he had to. No rush, but … to get it over
with now would be best.
    The kris was heavy in his hand, the sturdy waved steel
ashamedly bloodless. Carefully, he turned Bethany over so that she
was face down, and he began to untie the laces of her dress. He
pulled it open to expose her neck and back, the join of her
buttocks. Blood was still slowly running down her
shoulder.
    He counted the
lumbers of her spine, and rested the point of the kris just to the
left, fifth one down. It barely depressed the skin: the tip was so
finely cut. He held his breath.
    The sound was thick and hollow. Immediately blood seeped up
through the wound and, before it got too soft, Gabel slammed again.
He heard the scrape of the blade’s tip touching the inside of her
breastplate.
    For a moment
he looked at the dagger, and then released it, leaving it sticking
half-in, half-out of her back. He gathered a cloth – regrettably
filthy – and put it around the blade. He then pulled it out, with
sticky