Calix grabbed Calion's arm, yanking him back down. "No," he hissed, eyes pinned to the woman singing before the Cairn.

Though his heart felt like a lump of ice in his chest, Calix forced himself to take a slow breath. His fingers went to his belt, stopping when he found the hilt of his sword and of a knife. No chain-whip. He'd forgotten it in the confusion of Calion's arrival.

He squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring Calion tugging at his arm.

"Go back," he whispered.

The tugging stopped. "What?"

Calix turned to look at the soldier, making his voice flat as possible. "Go back. Find Tarquin. Tell him they're here. Bring everyone."

"Find him your bloody self," Calion hissed. He grabbed the collar of Calix's coat, jerking him sideways like Calion was going to drag him back to camp.

Calix grabbed Calion's hand where it gripped the fur of his jacket. Digging his fingers into the meaty part of Calion's palm, Calix twisted his hand back, forcing him to either let go or suffer a broken wrist. Teeth flashing in a grimace, he withdrew his hand, staring at Calix with furious eyes.

Now it was his turn to grab Calion's collar. He jerked the other man in close, speaking right into his ear. "Go. Get. Tarquin. If you don't hurry, I'll die."

With that, he shoved Calion back and  shot up from their hiding place. The singing didn't falter, even as he sprinted toward the black coil of rope waiting just on the edge of the almost-sheer face dropping down into the valley. One end led back into the trees where it was anchored around a sturdy pine. The other lay waiting for him.

His heart pounded and his hands shook as he wrapped the rope around him, just below his hips. He turned just as Calion disappeared into the dark beneath the trees. 

Please. Please let them be fast enough.

With a prayer sent to whatever god might listen, Calix leaned backward until he was perpendicular to the face of the valley wall. Then, he pushed off with his legs, rappelling down the rocks. Sparse trees that grew clinging to the rocky slope rushed up to shield him. All the while he listened to that blood-chilling song.

As soon as the cliff leveled off enough to walk on, Calix untied the rope. His boots slipped in the snow as he skidded from tree to tree, barreling toward the bottom of the valley.

It was by no means a quiet approach. Loose rocks clattered against each other, dead or weak branches snapping beneath his weight whenever he used a tree to slow his descent. But the valley floor offered no good stakeout positions, and Calix had finally ruled that once they saw one of these creatures, speed would prevail over stealth.

Honestly, Calix had never believed they'd be able to sneak up on these women. Which was why he was currently barreling through a moon-washed, midnight forest, dodging trees and leaping brush and rocks.

He skidded to the bottom of the valley, barely avoiding being dumped into the stream as his boots slipped on the icy rock. On level ground now, Calix stripped off his jacket, letting it drop to the ground. He didn't want anything getting in his way or hindering his movements.

The trees blurred, streaks of dark blue against white snow and black earth. Calix snaked along the edge of the river, the cold searing his lungs. The ground was icy and treacherous, but it was also mostly flat and more free of brush and trees.

Around him, the forest vibrated with song, the air heavy and charged like a lightning storm was brewing between the steep walls of the valley. 

The world grew brighter and the trees spat him out into the clearing that surrounded the Cairn. There, Calix stumbled, nearly dropping to his knees as the warmth and courage were sucked clean out of him. His fingers slid to the hilt of his sword, hesitating over the pommel and leather-wrapped handle.

He forced himself to take one step, then another, his boots crunching in the snow like the snap of bones beneath his feet. The maiden only continued to sing, though she had lolled her head back to look at him over her bare, white shoulder. Behind her, blackness seeped down the Cairn, a dark, liquid substance spilling from stone to stone like the pile of rocks had turned into some hellish fountain.

Slowly, the world turned reddish around him.

Calix blinked, passing a shaking hand over his eyes, but the stain remained. The bones in his neck cracked like ice as he tipped his head back to stare at a baleful, red moon directly above. It watched over the scene playing below like a malicious eye.

His breath heaved against ribs constricted with fear, black spots beginning to glitter on the edges of his vision as the maiden turned to face him.

The song. The thought churned sluggishly through his mind. Stop the singing.

He had no idea how he'd manage such a feat. As it was, he could barely summon the willpower to remain on his feet. The maiden cocked her head, her pale lips pulled back in a horrible grin that revealed a thin line of black gums. Her song swelled louder, trying to tear at his mind and overwhelm his heart.

Just like the first time he'd seen a death maiden.

Struggling against the desire to fall to his knees and cower before the death sweeping toward him, Calix reached toward his belt. His fingers shook, feeling thick and clumsy as he dragged his knife from its sheath.

The maiden's smile widened, her gait swaying into something predatory as she stalked toward him across the field of ice. Calix lifted the knife, his entire body shaking. Laughter wove through the verses of her song.

Red flashed over silver. Blood sprayed across the crimson snow.

Pain lanced up his arm from the deep cut he'd left on his forearm. Breath rushed into his lungs. The maiden's smile faltered.

Calix snarled, raising his arm before whipping it forward, snapping his wrist as hard as he could. Her song broke with a startled hiss as she threw herself to the side, out of the path of the thrown knife. That was all the reprieve Calix needed.

He drew his sword and lunged forward, his footing unsteady on the ice. The maiden dodged, no longer smiling. Blood spilled down his arm to coat his hand before dripping to the ground as he gripped his sword tightly. 

Speed, he reminded himself, mouth dry as he stared at the creature. Speed is the key.

Don't let her lift her arms.

As though in response to his thoughts, the maiden lifted one long arm, pale fingers webbed by darkness. It was like she held smoke in her palm, floating and pulsating—growing—as she glared at him.

Calix swept forward, bringing his sword down in a mighty stroke. The witch dropped her arm and twirled away, keeping the limb only by the grace of mere inches. Calix recovered and swung, recovered and swung, chasing the maiden round and round the icy field. Every time she lifted an arm—or even tried to—he lashed out, hewing his sword down with every intention of separating her arm from her body.

His breath heaved, sweat pouring down his face in spite of the cold. The muscles in his arms, back and legs began to burn. Still, he chased after the death maiden, knowing that if he stopped, if he swung just one moment too late, he would die.

The red light began to recede, the snow and ice turning slowly to silver beneath their feet. The witch screamed, the sound dismayed and gasped in a breath. Calix knew if she started singing again, he would flounder and his strength would fail.

Suddenly, there was a flare of orange and a shout. The witch cringed and stumbled. Calix sprang forward.

The tip of the sword punched through the skin like it was thin cloth. The lack of resistance took Calix by surprise, the sword driving clean through the maiden's body and sending them both tumbling to the ground. Ice barked against his cheekbone, scraping away skin as he landed. The pommel of his sword slammed into his sternum, the pain exploding like fire through his chest.

He rolled sideways, hand still gripping the hilt of his sword. Black sky sprinkled with silver dust swung above him as he fought to gain his feet. 

"Calix!"

He turned as someone screamed his name. In the same breath, something slammed into his side, driving him to the ground again. He and whoever had tackled him slid several feet across the ice, stopping bare feet away from the Cairn. Dazed, Calix turned his head. One of his legionaries stared down at him, blood dripping from his parted lips. 

Shouts and screams rent the air, interspersed by the metallic snap of chain-whips.

The weight of the legionary's body was ripped off of him, and arms went beneath his shoulders. He was hauled to his feet. Calion was suddenly in front of him, hands cupping Calix's face. His lips moved. "...hurt?"

Calix gave him a bewildered look.

Calion lightly slapped his hand against Calix's cheek and the world seemed to tilt back to the correct position. "Are you hurt?"

Fear and fury sparked inside him, a wildfire that rushed through his entire body, burning away the cold. He shoved Calion away and took a few steps forward before he stopped, eyes widening as he watched the battle play out before him.

The witch snarled and raised her hands, turning this way and that as the hunters circled. Calix's sword was still lodged through her chest. Whips hummed in the still air. Torches snapped and sparks flew as they were jabbed forward, driving the maiden closer to those with the whips.

A lithe, dark-haired figure moved forward, a silver strand of light whistling out before him. The deadly-sharp dart at the whip's end speared through the maiden's wrist. Min followed, arm sweeping in a fluid circle that traveled down the length of chain. The creature's arm was jerked forward, the metal whip wrapping up to its elbow.

Min sank down, anchoring himself. "Vel!" he shouted as his boots slipped, the witch yanking him forward with brutal, terrifying strength

Littera threw his torch at the witch, making her scream and flail backwards. He sprinted to his friend, wrapping his arms around Min's waist, holding him as Min struggled to hold the witch. Calix took another step forward.

The witch swept her free arm out, a wave of black spewing out. Several men dove forward, faces pressed to the ice as they flattened themselves to the snow. The viscous cloud blew over them and they were back on their feet, whips ready.

Darkness flared in ragged strokes around her as she wildly swung her free arm. Men swore and dodged, going down on the ice. None retreated though.

Hair flying, the witch swung herself around and yanked her arm. Min and Littera yelled as they were flung through the air before crashing hard into the ground. Ice cracked beneath them, but Min held onto the whip.

The maiden raised her free arm, eyes glowing white as she screamed at Min and Littera.

Neither man tried to get out of the way, their faces grim and stubborn. Min's hands tightened around his whip. Littera bared his teeth in a defiant snarl. Calix stumbled forward, knowing with a flash of terrible certainty that he was about to watch his men die.

"Tullus, now!" Tarquin's voice rang through the still air. Calix found him charging toward the witch, a torch in each hand. The maiden's hand, shrouded in darkness began to fall.

Another whip sang out, barely missing Tarquin as it flew toward the witch. The dart missed her flesh, but the chain wrapped and caught, jerking her hand to a stop.

"Now!" Tarquin screamed. "More."

Another silver strand flicked forward, wrapping around the witch's left ankle. It snapped taut and the death maiden hit the ground, landing hard. Tullus and Petran struggled to hold one arm, Min and Littera still fighting with the other. She was strong—unnaturally strong. Another chain snaked around her throat, pulling her over backwards until she was flat on her back in the snow.

The death maiden bucked and fought, ice and metal tearing dark gashes in her pale skin. The whips pulled tighter as more legionaries joined in the effort to hold the witch down.

A scream shattered the night, swelling and pulsing against Calix's ears until he had to clap his hands over them. The world seemed to vibrate and twist as the sound grew. Calix cried out—or thought he did—when one of the whips started to slacken.

Something knocked into his shoulder, a dark shadow sprinting across the ice. It skidded to a halt above the witch. It jerked Calix's sword from its place in the maiden's chest. Moonlight flashed over bright steel as the sword came down.

The scream continued to echo, bouncing off the valley walls and up to the stars high above. The sword flashed again. 

The scream died. Stillness reigned.

Wind rustled the dark pines in the valley. The remnants of red moonlight vanished, leaving everything brilliant white and silver, dark blue and almost-black. A smoky breath shuddered out of Calix, every muscle in his body trembling.

Calion stumbled back, dropping the sword to the snow. He managed just a few more steps before he collapsed to his knees. Again, everything fell still. The legionaries stood like statues caught in some wild, enchanted garden.

Then, another scream rang out.

Calix jolted like a startled deer, turning wildly toward the sound. 

One of the legionaries—a man named Spurius—was writhing on the ground near Min and Littera, clutching one of his arms. Another scream shattered from him, a sound so filled with pain and terror Calix couldn't help but respond to it.

He ran forward, sprinting across the ice and skirting the death maiden's body until he reached Spurius. Dropping to his knees, Calix ran his hands over the legionary's body searching for a wound, for blood. 

There was nothing to be found.

Fearing Spurius' thick clothes were hiding a life-threatening injury, Calix tore at the togs holding his heavy coat closed. A familiar hand was laid on his shoulder as Tarquin knelt beside him. He pressed his hands down on Spurius' chest, holding the man still, trying to make it easier for Calix to find the wound.

Finally, he managed to wrestle the man's heavy coat away. There was no blood on his white shirt, but still he screamed and flailed, clutching his arm tightly to his chest again.

"Sir! His arm." Tullus hovered overhead, whip still held tight in his hand.

Moving his attention from Spurius' torso, Calix looked down at his hand. There, he found flesh quickly blackening, muscle and skin shriveling and peeling back to reveal darkening bones. Horrified, Calix jerked his hands back, afraid that blackness would jump from Spurius and infect him.

The screaming grew, Spurius beginning to claw at the arm just below his elbow.

"Cut..." Calix's voice came out faintly at first. He shook himself, blocking his ears to the sound of Spurius' pain and fear. "Tarquin, sit him up. Min, get over here!"

The Sorveti handed his whip to Literra and leapt to Calix's side. His face was white, blood trickling from a cut on his eyebrow. His eyes were wide and afraid as he stared at the rotting appendage. Quickly, Calix pulled Spurius' arm straight out, fighting against him as the legionary's muscles spasmed and he strained to bring his arm back toward his chest. Tarquin held him tightly, forcing the man's face away.

"Cut it off," he ordered Min. He cringed away from the feel of Spurius' desiccated wrist beneath his fingers, but swallowed his disgust and kept a tight hold. Spurius couldn't move at the wrong moment. Not if he was to survive this.

Dark eyes flashed to him but Min didn't balk, something Calix had been counting on. He drew his sword with a silver ring of steel. He brought it swiftly up and then down with all the power in his body. The slightly curved blade sang through muscle and bone, shearing the limb away just above the elbow.

Gagging, Calix discarded the limb. Spurius's screams had turned to sobs as blood spurted from the remaining stump of his arm. Calix scrambled to raise what was left of the sleeve of his shirt. Blood slicked his hands, steaming in the cold as it sprayed onto the snow,

The flesh beneath was white.

"Tullus, a branch." 

Working fast, he stripped the sleeve from the severed portion of the arm. A knife appeared before his eyes and he took it, slicing the sleeve in half before twisting it into a rope. Tullus rushed back, holding a fresh-cut pine branch.

Calix looped the makeshift rope around Spurius' arm, about three inches above where the limb had been severed. His slippery fingers made it difficult as he tied a knot and slipped the branch through the middle. Above the ringing in his ears, Calix could hear Tarquin singing softly in Sorveti.

He twisted and twisted the branch until the flesh of Spurius' arm bulged, angry and red, on either side of it. The spurt of blood slowed to a trickle, but Calix knew it was only a temporary fix. 

Turning his head, he found Min and Tullus closest. "Take a few of the others, build a litter. We'll get Spurius back as fast as we can." He looked down to find Spurius staring at him with glassy eyes from where his head now rested in Tarquin's lap. Heart clenching into a hard fist, Calix rested his hand on Spurius' forehead. "We'll get him to a surgeon. He'll beat us all home."

The only reply was a grim silence and the crunch of boots through snow as Tullus gathered a few men and hurried into the trees.

Tarquin's eyes were remote as he retreated to the still place inside of him that allowed him to bear hardship. His voice quiet and steady, he said, "I will look after him, mindra. You see to that."

Jerking his head to the side, Tarquin gestured to what he meant by that.

Calix heaved a frosty breath and pushed up to his feet. Turning slowly, reluctant to leave Spurius' side, Calix found Calion back on his feet. He was standing over the death maiden's body. When Calix put a hand on his shoulder, Calion flinched, but didn't turn.

"Her eyes are still moving," he whispered. "She's watching me."

Calix glanced down at the witch's body and nearly leapt back. The maiden's body lay on the ice, still and almost peaceful. About a foot away, her head lay, cradled by a small depression in the ice.

The lower half of her jaw had been cleaved away, leaving a gaping mess where a mouth should have been. Calix now knew why the scream had stopped so suddenly. Calion had taken away her ability to make any sound at all.

But those misty eyes were still very much alive, regardless of how impossible that was.

Swallowing hard against his thick throat, Calix crouched down beside the head. The woman's black hair sprayed across the ice like strands of ink spilling from her head instead of blood. In fact... Calix looked between the head and the severed neck.

There was no blood.

There was nothing but bones and skin, her insides hollow and black.

Pushing down his horror, Calix reminded himself of his job here. He cocked his head, meeting those dead eyes, and spoke in Brunian. "Are there more of you? Blink to answer. One for yes, two for no."

It wasn't surprising when the only answer he got was narrowed, malicious eyes.

He tried a few more questions, but knew it was futile and didn't have the mental capacity to continue playing with this wretched creature. Seeing as how she was currently just a head, he didn't think torture would be effective.

Actually, he now knew there was no scenario in which torture would be an effective tool against these beasts.

He pushed himself slowly to his feet, his joints creaking like an old man's. He rubbed at his eyes before remembering his hands were coated in Spurius' blood.

"Burn it," he croaked, turning toward where Spurius still lay bleeding in the snow. "Burn all of it."

The witch's eyes widened in what he hoped was fear.