“Nope. A lot of them are bantlings and goylestones.”
“Who? What?” Medea asked again.
“Baby gargoyles. They’re not real bright, but they are rocks and they will attack en masse. Soget your rocks ontakes on a whole new meaning.”
Why wasn’t she surprised? Damn. It was as challenging to live here as Kalosis—which was the Atlantean hell realm where you had to avoid all manner of scary things. Things that included hungry Charonte and her parents. “Lovely.”
“And whatever you do, you have to avoid the SOD.”
Medea looked down and shifted her feet as a wave of severe trepidation went through her. “The dirt? Seriously? Why? What’s it do?”
“Not sod.SOD.” He stressed the word as if there was a difference to her ears. “S-O-D. Shadows of Doubt. Cousins to the sharoc, they reach out from the shadows, grab you when you least expect it, and suck the life out of you. You won’t feel them at first. Just a little twinge that you can’t complete what you’re doing. Next thing you know, you’re paralyzed with doubts. Incapacitated and they have their fangs in you. Once they do… you’re theirs. They own you and you’re dead.”
Medea passed a less-than-amused gape at Urian. “And they think Daimons warrant a dedicated execution squad? Seriously? At least we give the humans a quick, painless death. And a choice. We don’t come at your back.”
He shrugged. “What do you want me to say? They’re shadows. No one’s afraid of a shadow—that’s Peter Pan kid shit. But everyone fears the dark. Besides, only cowards and thieves lurk in the shadows. It takes a true warrior to hunt in the darkness where your actual fears and threats thrive, and to kick the ass of real evil where it lives and breathes. That’s a real man or woman. Not some sneaky piece-of-shit coward.”
Falcyn snorted. “Hence the other so aptly named branch of Were-Hunters they use for my brethren.”
BecauseWerewas the Old English word formanand was a shared root word forfearandwar. Meaning that the Were-Hunters were men-hunters or those who hunted what men feared most and weren’t afraid to kick its ass wherever they found it.
And speaking of the great evil… “So where do we find this Merlin?”
“Dad!”
Falcyn cringed at Blaise’s unexpected shout. Not that Medea blamed him. Her own ears weren’t happy about that shrill decibel level, either.
And no one answered the bloodcurdling screech.
Blaise cocked his head to listen. “Weird.”
“What is?”
“My father always answers me.” Stepping back, he put his hands to his mouth to shout louder. “Father? Nimue?”
Again, nothing.
Not even an animal stirred. And now that she noticed it, that was very peculiar indeed.
Medea had that bad feeling again. Something about this wasn’t right. She could feel it deep inside.
Without a word to them, Blaise headed for the trees. “Sylph?”
Curious, Medea headed after him, toward the forest. She’d never seen a real sylph spirit before. Only heard legends and stories about them.
But as the tree came awake with a reddish color and in a twisted form, she had her doubts about all the great beauty they were supposed to possess.
Let’s hear it for creative license.
She thought it was just her being judgy about them until Blaise jumped away with a curse.
“What is it?” Urian asked.
Transforming into a bleeding, demonic body, the sylph advanced on them with a round of cursing and hissing.
Blaise turned pale before he grabbed Brogan to pull her back from the tree. “She’s a gallu! Run!”
7
