Editor’s note for audio version.
Please note that the date is incorrect in the audio version. It reads Harvest 71, but should be Sleep 11. Where the seasons of Waking and Growth have 90 days, Harvest only has 60, and Sleep has 120.
Sleep 11, 855
Tuag ran full speed across the snow, enjoying the flex and pull of his form. He stretched his long legs longer to eat up the distance, his claws leaving four short lines as the only sign of his passage across the snow-covered lake. The ice here would shatter beneath him if he weighed anything, and he took smug pleasure in defying the trap the lake set for the unwary.
Hunting had lost its appeal, the scent of home faint and paltry compared to what the boy created with his spells. Tuag didn’t need to eat, and killing animals didn’t give the same thrill as bringing an end to soldiers. But he couldn’t cause trouble for the boy by tearing through the countryside, killing indiscriminately. He needed him intact.
Since the day in the lakeside village, Buu had tried twice more to send him home, with similar results to the first. Each attempt hurt, but Tuag never showed it. He didn’t want the boy to stop trying.
Still, he had taken the evening off, the endless monotony and idleness of Buu’s life grating on him. He had needed to run, to take in the world one stride at a time and smell new smells. The moon had risen, glaring down at him, but he ignored its baleful face as best he could.
By the time he tired, the stars had moved, marking the night as half-through. Tuag turned back, scanning the horizon for the walls and buildings that marked his destination — dark hulking forms that blotted out the lowest stars, replacing them with blinks of torchlight. He spotted it, jaw going tight as he noticed flames, loose and wild, dancing along the walls.
The grimm released a low growl, launching himself into another sprint. The distance between him and the school would have taken a man a full day to cross, but Tuag covered it in minutes, legs pumping, flying over terrain that would have slowed or even killed a human.
The smell of blood reached him before the battle cries did. More idiot soldiers swarmed the top of the wall, dark dancing shapes between patches of flames. He saw a crowd of them pushing in through the open gate, thrown wide like a gaping wound, letting the intruders in.
It would have been a tempting sight, if he hadn’t smelled the boy’s magic. Only a whiff at first, that peat and smoke smell. But then a blast of scent hit Tuag, the pull of it something he felt in his claws. In his teeth. Wild, decadent power, curling away from the stables in arcing loops, strong enough for Tuag to see.
The grimm charged through the soldiers, causing shouts of alarm as he melted straight through body after body. He would have liked to leave a trail of blood in his wake, but it would only slow him, and the boy needed him now.
As Tuag rounded the corner of the stable, ghosts blocked his vision. A great host of the dead crowded on a single point. The heads of two soldiers poked out above the spirits further on, oblivious to their presence and wholly occupied by the two undead horses standing watch over Buu, reeking of the uncanny.
Tuag waded into the spirits, shoving them aside and snapping at their heels. They scattered, leaving just enough room for the grimm but closing the gap behind him and pressing from all sides, the allure of Buu’s magic stronger than their fear of Tuag.
When he finally laid eyes on Buu, the boy looked like a broken bird, delicate frame splayed at odd angles. The spirits pawed at him, reaching for something within but unable to find purchase. The way Buu twitched and squirmed, their touches must have hurt.
What are you doing? Tuag wondered, watching the dead. Now that he could see the boy and protect him, the urgency had left Tuag. He had no talent for healing, and he doubted he could find the professor that had helped Buu when his old master had beaten him near death.
The spirits scrabbled at Buu right up until the grimm forced them aside with a series of hard nips. Their tenacity surprised Tuag. The dead usually kept a respectful distance, instinctively aware that he could end them more permanently than any death. What could be so important about this moment? Why were they hurting the boy?
Then it occurred to him: they were provoking Buu.
Tuag thought back to the lakeside town. To the spirit that Buu had banished. To Buu’s urgency and fear when he’d done it. The ghosts knew something the grimm did not.
But the grimm was no ghost. He was not dead in the traditional sense, but had physical tethers, like how humans had their bodies. He belonged beyond, with the dead, but not as one of them. But perhaps, if the boy could hurt him, could break his ties to the physical, like killing a human from its body…
Tuag jabbed his nose into Buu’s side. Hard.
The boy yelped, pitiful as he tried to curl away. The smell of fear, of pain, radiated off him, reminding Tuag of prey, but he kept his focus. Today, the predator needed to die. Tuag tried not to think about what it would mean if Buu couldn’t kill him, or if the tethers holding him to his claws and teeth didn’t snap. He didn’t know if he could handle another failure with this much death around to taunt him.
Snarling, he poked at Buu again, willing him to understand, to turn his magic to the task of his death. The boy squeaked something in the human gibberish, Tuag catching his name in the jumble of sounds. The scent of magic did not rise.
Tuag opened his jaws, placing them around Buu’s neck and growling so deeply and so loud that he saw the militiamen flee. He knew that Buu could see and feel him in a way that no one else could. He knew the boy would smell him, would feel the hot wind of his breath, the wet promise of his fangs.
To Tuag’s surprise and delight, Buu growled back at him. The boy’s small body shook like a leaf in high winds, but the sound vibrating from him smacked of frustration and anger. Perfect. Tuag tasted the tang of sweat, tightening his jaws slowly until he smelled magic.
All four of Tuag’s feet left the ground at once, a wave of force rolling from Buu’s prone form. Tuag barely opened his jaws in time to avoid bringing the boy’s throat with him as he flew end over end into the stable wall. Dust erupted in a cloud around him as he fell to the ground in a dazed heap.
Tuag remained firmly in the world.
Not pausing to catch what passed for breath, the grimm returned to the boy, ready to badger him into another attack. But Buu’s eyes had fallen closed, his body relaxed as he floated into sleep and beyond Tuag’s reach. The scent of Buu’s magic had an acrid tinge to it, like mortal vomit. The smell of something unwell.
Why? Tuag fumed, baring his teeth at the sky. Why doesn’t anything work? His vision swam, a red fog overtaking him in a hot rush. Chest tight, breathing hard, he cast about for a way to release his anger.
The undead horses made no sound and did not struggle as he tore them apart. Unsatisfying. The sound of combat had moved from the walls, the outsiders pushing into the courtyard. The grimm saw new, confused spirits joining the crowds already milling, invisible among the living fray.
The screams of men reached new heights as the grimm waded into their squabble. He tore limbs from their bodies, rent holes through men’s chests, indiscriminately shattering the fragile bodies without thought or direction. It didn’t help.