Page 66 of Artemysia
With a raised palm, I signal to Delphine and the others without looking back, and the hoofbeats behind me go silent.
I hear growling.
The three of them follow as I circle downwind into a dense grove of hawthorn and oak, stopping behind a particularly wide trunk. In the clearing ahead, the snarls and roars of an enormous band of Syf shake the otherwise silent forest.
The Syf have taken down prey of some sort, and they’re scrambling over each other like cockroaches over their fresh kill. They have a fire pit going, but while they wear clothes and carry weapons, they don’t look like an organized group. They wrestle away the spoils from each other, faces bloodied from feeding. Raw meat dangles from their claws, and they bare their sharp teeth in competition for the spoils, which explains the loud growling and fighting. When one of them turns away from the others, I see her gnawing on what appears to bea leg with a boot.
Oh, shit. The sight makes me sick.
They’re either feeding on human flesh or one of their own.
Disgusting creatures. There’s no way in hell I could ever be one of them.
I’ve never seen them this far west in the forest, though, and for a horrifying second, I dread that I’ve made a mistake in navigation.
This must be the remaining fifty Syf that Olivier’s group observed. Is it possible to sneak around them, or will they catch our scent despite the distraction of their meal?
Delphine dismounts. It’s protocol to do so when Syf are near, since they are able to bend an animal’s will to their favor. But I want her to be ready to gallop away should they attack. Throg and Ivy follow her lead.
I shake my head no and gesture emphatically for them to get back on their elk.
Delphine’s eyes flare, insisting I dismount mine.
She moves two fingers, relaying that we will continue on foot around them, even backtracking the way we came to wait until they move on. But they could go anywhere, including toward us, and I don’t want to deviate from the caves we need for the night.
It doesn’t matter anymore because the clearing has gone silent.
When I squint through the darkness, the Syf are gone.
“Get back on your elk. We’re going to have to make a run for it,” I hiss.
It’s too late. Syf charge from between the trees, and we’re surrounded.
“Head north to the caves!” I holler. “I’ll fend them off. Go!”
Delphine protests. “No, we stick together. We fight together. You can’t take on fifty of them alone.”
Who knows if I can fight fifty Syf or not, but she needs to get out of here.
“Stop arguing. I need to know you’re safe. If you stay, I’ll be distracted. I can do this alone.”
“That isn’t my command,” she insists stubbornly. “We stay. You’re never alone. Not in my squad.”
That’s the last thing I hear her say. Out of the darkness of the trees,the Syf descend, shrieking louder than the colossal mountain bats that migrate in the summer.
Syf are tall, long-limbed, and lean. They’re made to fit within the shadows of the old trees. Damn beautiful faces, both the males and females. Dark hair, light eyes. They dress like us, in trousers and tunics or shirts. Some are clean, and others appear as if they haven’t washed in weeks.
While they are strong and well built, they are on the slender side, unlike Throg and the bigger men of the outer riverlands. Their wings seem to be decorative, or perhaps like birds, the colors are used to attract a mate. From what I’ve seen, the iridescent shimmer and scale patterns are unique to each Syf.
I don’t give a flying fuck about the colors right now as I charge on my elk, who has never failed me. I’m hacking away, cutting down any Syf who dares come near and have already lopped the heads off three.
Four. Five. Six.
Delphine sticks to protocol and fights on foot. It’s a ridiculous strategy I refuse to follow.
She looks livid when I stay mounted, circling around to protect her, Ivy, and Throg.
I can do this myself.
