absent.
Parris sweated. He could hear his heart thumping against the inside of his chest like a condemned prisoner behind the bars of his ribs, clamoring for release. He was afraid its release would come. For a moment, he pictured his heart bursting through his chest, still palpitating as it plopped on the ground.
97
The Necromancer
He shuddered.
The image was the product of a mind poisoned by the trauma of witnessing similar grotesqueries. It was the product of what that thing had done to those men.
Everything was calm now, and he prayed that it would remain so. But there was a nervous tension building up in the pit of his stomach, not unlike that which he sometimes felt just prior to a thunderstorm. He looked up at the sky. It was as clear as it was fi fteen minutes ago when he fi rst rode up to meet Hathorne and the others in front of Blayne’s house. They had had all the rain they were going to get earlier that day. The rest of the night would probably be clear.
It had been a good fi ve minutes now since Corwin disappeared into the woods with the Vortung chasing him.
Had he been killed? What if he had been? What if that demon caught up to him, slew him like it did the others, and proceeded toward rest of the village? Of course it was hurt, but it was still incredibly strong despite its injuries and had still managed to kill a man since receiving them. If it reached the village... He couldn’t allow that to happen. His family would be in jeopardy. It had been hard enough for him to see what was still happening to Elizabeth and Abigail, whose fi ts were less frequent and intense now, but still present. But he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let that thing storm into the village and take their lives and the lives of the other villagers.
He didn’t know if he’d be able to kill the Vortung, but he had to try.
He started to run, looking everywhere for Corwin and the Vortung, thinking that if it could be injured; it could be killed.
He thought of Tituba. Was this the path she had fl ed down back in December when she witnessed Mary Hobbs’s murder at the hands of Blayne? It didn’t matter. He had to fi nd 98
Fugitives
the Vortung. He had to kill it and send it back to the murky depths from which it originated.
A stitch jabbed him sharply in the side. His lungs burned. The sound of the beating of his heart pounded in his head. It had been a long time since he had had a run like this.
Out of breath, he stopped and stooped over, resting the hand with the pistol on his knee while his free hand held his side where the stitch stabbed him.
Sweat poured from his brow now. A few droplets
found their ways to his eyes, stinging them. He removed the hand from his knee and wiped one eye, then the other, with his back of his index fi nger, still holding the pistol.
He looked up as he continued to catch his breath.
It was there, standing no more than twenty feet before him. Parris stopped breathing. It remained silent and didn’t move. Parris stared at it stupidly, not sure what he should do. It was almost surreal. There was no arguing against the irrationality of this thing’s existence. But it was real. It had killed four men.
A sick, watery heat rolled up the back of Parris’s neck into his head.
“Shoot it! Shoot it!”
The Vortung turned left toward Corwin and roared.
Parris raised the pistol and leveled it at the creature’s head.
“Fire!” Corwin shouted. “Fire!”
Parris pulled the trigger.
The shot ripped through its face, turning it black with its blood, and it fell twitching to the ground.
99
The Necromancer
It stirred. Corwin ran over to the Vortung with his sword and hacked its skull several times with lust and fury until he had cleaved it open and the wormy innards of its brains bled onto the moist black soil.
Corwin stood there a moment holding his dirtied
sword, then moved away from the body and sat down on the trunk of a fallen maple tree. He sat there a couple minutes
Parris sweated. He could hear his heart thumping against the inside of his chest like a condemned prisoner behind the bars of his ribs, clamoring for release. He was afraid its release would come. For a moment, he pictured his heart bursting through his chest, still palpitating as it plopped on the ground.
97
The Necromancer
He shuddered.
The image was the product of a mind poisoned by the trauma of witnessing similar grotesqueries. It was the product of what that thing had done to those men.
Everything was calm now, and he prayed that it would remain so. But there was a nervous tension building up in the pit of his stomach, not unlike that which he sometimes felt just prior to a thunderstorm. He looked up at the sky. It was as clear as it was fi fteen minutes ago when he fi rst rode up to meet Hathorne and the others in front of Blayne’s house. They had had all the rain they were going to get earlier that day. The rest of the night would probably be clear.
It had been a good fi ve minutes now since Corwin disappeared into the woods with the Vortung chasing him.
Had he been killed? What if he had been? What if that demon caught up to him, slew him like it did the others, and proceeded toward rest of the village? Of course it was hurt, but it was still incredibly strong despite its injuries and had still managed to kill a man since receiving them. If it reached the village... He couldn’t allow that to happen. His family would be in jeopardy. It had been hard enough for him to see what was still happening to Elizabeth and Abigail, whose fi ts were less frequent and intense now, but still present. But he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let that thing storm into the village and take their lives and the lives of the other villagers.
He didn’t know if he’d be able to kill the Vortung, but he had to try.
He started to run, looking everywhere for Corwin and the Vortung, thinking that if it could be injured; it could be killed.
He thought of Tituba. Was this the path she had fl ed down back in December when she witnessed Mary Hobbs’s murder at the hands of Blayne? It didn’t matter. He had to fi nd 98
Fugitives
the Vortung. He had to kill it and send it back to the murky depths from which it originated.
A stitch jabbed him sharply in the side. His lungs burned. The sound of the beating of his heart pounded in his head. It had been a long time since he had had a run like this.
Out of breath, he stopped and stooped over, resting the hand with the pistol on his knee while his free hand held his side where the stitch stabbed him.
Sweat poured from his brow now. A few droplets
found their ways to his eyes, stinging them. He removed the hand from his knee and wiped one eye, then the other, with his back of his index fi nger, still holding the pistol.
He looked up as he continued to catch his breath.
It was there, standing no more than twenty feet before him. Parris stopped breathing. It remained silent and didn’t move. Parris stared at it stupidly, not sure what he should do. It was almost surreal. There was no arguing against the irrationality of this thing’s existence. But it was real. It had killed four men.
A sick, watery heat rolled up the back of Parris’s neck into his head.
“Shoot it! Shoot it!”
The Vortung turned left toward Corwin and roared.
Parris raised the pistol and leveled it at the creature’s head.
“Fire!” Corwin shouted. “Fire!”
Parris pulled the trigger.
The shot ripped through its face, turning it black with its blood, and it fell twitching to the ground.
99
The Necromancer
It stirred. Corwin ran over to the Vortung with his sword and hacked its skull several times with lust and fury until he had cleaved it open and the wormy innards of its brains bled onto the moist black soil.
Corwin stood there a moment holding his dirtied
sword, then moved away from the body and sat down on the trunk of a fallen maple tree. He sat there a couple minutes
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