Page 59 of Black Onyx
When we finally crest the hill and look down on the village though, we all bring our horses to a sudden stop. It’s a small village, only a row of shops and about thirty houses dotted around in the valley, and in the early morning light, it’s easy to see that it’s all destroyed, walls are missing, homes are still smoking, blackened and burned. Roofs have collapsed in, and there’s debris everywhere.
The worst part though is that even from here, I can see disfigured bodies lying in the street and surrounded by dark patches that can only be blood.
“Fucking hell. Were we too late?” Loki asks, shock and horror evident in the pull of his lips and frown between his eyes.
“Really late, the fires have burned down, and the blood is dried from what I can smell. We had no hope of getting here in time.” Reaper rumbles.
“Another set up,” Rival mutters, “but why? What the fuck does this achieve, and if he knew about this village, then he knew they needed help way before this.”
“Not necessarily. He could’ve gotten word that the village was decimated and decided to send us under false pretences instead of sending the proper people who can make sure that these villagers get the burial and respect they deserve,” Mayhem finishes with an angry growl. His horse moving agitatedly from side to side, picking up on his rider's upset.
“We can discuss why later. Right now, we need to see if there are any survivors and if whatever did this is still here.” Storm rides off ahead, picking his way carefully down to the village. We all reluctantly follow.
I’m surprised that he doesn’t have his wings out again, but maybe he only likes using them in actual combat situations. Now is hardly the time to ask him; we have bigger things we need to focus on, and he wouldn’t answer anyway.
“Oh goddess, I don’t think it would be lucky to survive this; watch everyone you love die horrifically and then wait it out until help comes,” I whisper.
“Me neither, goddess be with anyone who did survive because this will never leave them.” Loki answers.
The death and destruction are even worse the closer we get. No one has escaped the wrath of the monster that’s done this. Men, women, children, and pets they’re all slaughtered brutally. I force myself to look, it may not be a pleasant thing to do, but one of the easiest ways to determine the monster that killed them is from the victim's wounds.
“Everyone spread out and see if you can find anyone alive. Check any hidey hole you can think of; Children have a habit of finding the most unlikely places to hide themselves and announce your presence and where you’re from in every place you go. We don’t want to scare anyone further. Keep an eye out for whatever did this too,” Storm orders, his stoic façade firmly in place as he moves stiffly through the streets, the tell-tale blaze of fire burning between his horns a sure sign of his hidden emotions.
Instead of carrying forward on horseback, I dismount and, pulling my work mask on; I move towards the body of a young man caught between a shift when he died. My emotions get pushed away to the deepest part of me. I need to know what killed them so I can bring the culprit to justice and help these supernaturals rest easy; I can fall apart and grieve for them later.
“What are you doing?” Rival asks me, the only one who’s stayed behind.
“I’m checking the wounds to see if I can identify what kind of creature did this,” I explain.
“Good idea,” he replies, getting off his own horse and walking over to join me.
My nose wrinkles at the smell of the body. He’s been here a while, at least three days. Which either means he was one of the first to die, or we’re three days late to help. I crouch down next to him, trying not to touch him. Some supernaturals can leave traces behind that damage anyone who touches the body after it’s dead, and I’m not risking it. Fortunately, his clothes are torn thanks to his partial shift, and it’s easy to see his wounds.
“Something strong enough to tear an arm off a shifter,” Rival mutters, his voice clinical, which is the only way to deal with this.
“Claw marks covering most of the torso,” I add, and lean closer, ignoring the stench as I study the wounds.
Something isn’t quite right about them, and I can’t put my finger on what. I move around the body to have a look at them from another angle and frown.
“What is it?” Rival asks.
“Well, normal wounds bleed a lot, and you get a level of bruising around them. All of the claw marks on his body don’t have that, which means they were inflicted after he died and weren’t the cause of death. The severing of the arm wasn’t either. Shifters can heal that with enough time.”
“So what killed him then?” Rival asks, frowning and bending closer to study the body.
“I have no idea; he might be too mangled for us to figure out exactly what it is. Let’s have a look at someone else and see if they’ve got similar wounds.” I suggest.
We only have to walk two metres until we get to the next body, this time, it’s a woman, and there’s no obvious sign to say what supernatural she is. She at least has all her limbs but once again is covered in claw marks.
“It’s just like the other guy; the claw marks were made after she died.” Rival mutters, studying her carefully.
“Look at this,” I say as I spot the wound directly over her heart. It’s about two inches wide and has a thin slit, suggesting it’s been made by a sword, which would only kill a few supernaturals. We’re notoriously complicated to kill. What has me intrigued though, is the dark blue veins spreading out from the wound.
“It’s a stab wound, and I’m guessing they used a poisoned blade,” Rival says, getting up and going back to the other body, he uses a stick to carefully move the scraps of fabric off the guy’s chest, and sure enough the same wound is there.
“Well, this wasn’t done by a Rogue. They use their gifts, never weapons, and their minds have deteriorated enough that they wouldn’t have the foresight to poison the blades first.”
“I’ll have a look in some of my books when I get back. Maybe that will give us a clue as to who’s behind this.”
