Chapter Text
Halfway through paying for a 2-liter bottle of water, three sports drinks, and as many bags of trail mix as he could carry, Martin realized that the surveillance camera behind the counter was watching him.
Not that odd on its own. That was what a surveillance camera was supposed to do, after all. But this one was doing its job with a touch more intent than a camera ought to have, and the little light by the lens had taken on a distinct greenish tinge.
Martin stared back defiantly, wishing he could flip it off without alarming the cashier. In the end he simply gathered up his purchases and lugged them back out to the car.
Jon sat curled up in the passenger seat, eyes shut, unmoving as Martin loaded up their meager provisions. “Tank’s full,” he rasped, coughing to clear his throat.
Martin sighed with relief and got back behind the wheel. “I could’ve done it,” he said. “You didn’t have to get up—you need rest.”
“Elias knows we’re here.” Jon’s eyes were open now, fixed on the shop’s glass front. Martin couldn’t know for sure, but he was willing to bet money that Jon was looking at the cameras.
He sighed again, without the relief, and started the car. “Yeah. Drink something, alright? And I got some trail mix, too. You need the protein.”
“‘M not hungry.”
Martin swallowed hard as he pulled away from the filling station and back onto the road. “Yes you are, Jon.”
Jon shut his eyes again and curled up tighter, but eventually reached for one of the bags that Martin had brought up front. The look on his face as he inspected it was less than impressed, but he opened it and popped an almond into his mouth.
“I know you don’t feel good,” Martin said gently. “Even if it’s just a little, it’s better than nothing. And if you can’t handle anything sweet right now, then you can just have water instead of—”
“I can feed myself, Martin,” Jon snapped, and immediately looked ashamed.
Instead of answering, Martin reached across the center console. Jon reached back and held his hand tightly.
It took more than three hours to reach Devon, and it was well after dark by the time they found a hotel that Jon deemed safe—Martin didn’t ask him exactly how he knew. The bored woman at the front desk barely seemed to register his existence, selling him a room for the night seemingly on autopilot. It suited Martin just fine; it meant she didn’t notice him checking for surveillance.
“I hope you’re sure about this,” he said once he’d returned to the car. “I’m pretty sure I saw some security cameras. Couldn’t tell if they worked, but…”
“They don’t,” Jon told him, voice flat with certainty. The water bottle he’d been nursing all day was only half empty. Besides that, he’d been picking at the same bag of trail mix and one convenience shop sandwich.
“Sure you can’t manage more of that sandwich?” Martin asked.
“I ate half of it,” Jon pointed out.
Barely a third, Martin thought.
“I’m alright,” Jon tried to assure him. The effect was ruined by his apparent inability to meet Martin’s eyes. “I’m just tired.”
“You should eat more.”
“I don’t want to make myself sick.”
“I just—” Martin’s throat grew thick. “I wish I—I don’t know how to…” His eyes burned.
Jon’s hand found his again. “I know. I wish I could make it better.”
“Two bloody weeks , Jon!” Martin blurted out. “You should be in the hospital, on a—on a liquid diet or an IV or something, not—not sitting in a car for hours, getting shuttled to a cheap hotel!”
Jon was silent for a while. “I know,” he said eventually.
“I’m sorry,” Martin said miserably. “I’m sorry, I just—”
“I’m scared, too,” Jon murmured.
The words sent a jolt of electricity through Martin’s veins. He opened the door again, suddenly desperate to be upright and moving. Jon was scared, Jon was in trouble, Jon needed him—he needed Martin up and helping, not cowering on the verge of panic. There were a lot of things he couldn’t control, too many things he couldn’t fix—but he could still be useful. Useful was better than nothing.
“I’ll take our things up to the room,” he said. “I’ll be down in a bit to help you too, okay?” He didn’t hear Jon’s reply.
There wasn’t much to carry, just his go-bag and Jon’s. His bag was a rucksack that carried all the essentials—extra clothes, toiletries, passport, cash, all the bare necessities of a quick getaway. Jon had started keeping his own bag at the ready after the second time Elias sent him on an impromptu research trip with less than an hour’s notice.
The thought of Elias made Martin’s stomach churn. Viciously he stamped it out and focused on the task at hand.
As if in answer, an all too familiar pressure began to build behind his eyes.
Martin slammed to a halt in the middle of the hallway, eyes wide. He could feel it in his skull, pressing up against the backs of his eye sockets—an unfamiliar presence hijacking his sight.
Panic felt oddly tranquil as he rushed back down the stairs, out the door, and across the parking lot. Jon was sitting up in his seat, more upright than he’d been all day, as if he knew, as if he sensed it—of course he’d sensed it.
“Martin—”
“We need to go,” Martin blurted out, almost diving back into the car. “You—you were wrong, I felt him. He’s still there. He can still—”
“Martin, wait—”
“I tried not to look at anything identifying but I couldn’t just run back down with my eyes closed,” Martin went on, throwing the bags into the backseat. “If we leave now, maybe we’ll have time to figure something out—”
“ Martin. ” Cool hands—Jon always ran a little cold—pressed the sides of his face, turning his head to look. Jon’s eyes were on him, far too steady for the danger they were in.
“I felt Elias in my head again,” Martin said desperately. “You’re not safe with me.”
Jon took a deep breath. “That—that wasn’t Elias.”
The hollow, fluttery panic in Martin’s chest turned to lead. “W-what?”
“I didn’t mean to.” Jon’s eyes were haunted, the way they’d looked when the doors opened and Jon had come staggering out, impossibly alive. “I-I didn’t know I could, but—but I suppose it makes sense.”
“That was you?” Martin asked in a small voice.
“I’m sorry,” Jon went on. “I swear I didn’t mean to, I just—I was worried, and you left before I could say what I wanted—I just, I wanted to know where you were, if you were alright, and I just…” His throat bobbed. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”
It was a good thing Martin was already sitting, because he doubted his legs would have held him up otherwise. “You… why does it make sense? You said—you broke the connection between me and Elias, you said —”
“I didn’t—I said I removed it.”
“That’s the same thing—”
“I removed it from Elias,” Jon told him. “And I think—I think I transferred it to me.”
Martin sat back in his seat as Jon’s hands lowered from his face. He probed at his feelings like a loose tooth, wondering what this revelation would kick up.
“Could I lie to you, if I wanted?” he asked.
“No,” Jon whispered.
“Could I hide from you?”
“No.”
“Could—could I hurt you, if I tried?”
“...No.”
“Okay.” Martin breathed. “Okay.”
“Martin, I—”
“Did you know this was what you were doing?” Martin asked him. “Did you know this would happen?”
“Martin,” Jon said softly. “I barely knew up from down.”
“Okay.” He gave his own heart one last poke, searching for the terror and revulsion he half-expected. None came. He was frightened, certainly, but he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been.
“Don’t hijack my eyes again,” he said. “Or at least—just ask first.”
“Of course,” Jon replied.
“And if I say I don’t want to tell you something, stop asking,” Martin went on.
“Right.”
“And… well I wasn’t planning on hurting you in the first place, so that last bit’s not so much of a problem.” Martin took a deep breath. It did little to settle him.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Martin replied. “I know. It’s—it’s not your fault.” Jon’s answering hum suggested strenuous disagreement. “And it is better than before. If I have to be leashed to someone, it might as well be you.”
Jon gripped his hand again. “I don’t want you leashed to anyone .”
“Should’ve thought of that before you put the old ball and chain on me.” Martin waggled his free hand at him—the one with the wedding ring on it.
“ Martin. ” For a split second the tired, wispy tone left Jon’s voice, and he sounded downright scandalized.
In spite of himself, in spite of everything, Martin choked out a laugh. It didn’t take long for it to turn into tears. Not the usual mess of sobbing, thank every god, but enough to get the point across.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too,” Jon replied. The words melted together on his tongue the way only the most familiar words could. “Now, let’s go up to the room. I haven’t touched a real bed in over a fortnight.”
Martin wiped his eyes, sniffling. “I’m going to strangle Elias.”
Martin wasn’t sleeping.
Jon hadn’t noticed while they were in Devon, too exhausted and addled to do much more than sleep, force down food and water, and move from bed to toilet and back again. After three days their hotel room felt more like a rat trap than a shelter, and they packed up and moved on. From Devon they went to Bristol, a circuitous route that they hoped might throw off any pursuers. Martin refused to drive more than an hour at a time before the next stop, with Jon still weak from his ordeal. But as the miles behind them grew, so too did his appetite, and his awareness. Jon slept like the dead at night, while the shadows beneath Martin’s eyes looked deeper and darker each morning.
It made Jon want to scream. How was he supposed to soothe his husband’s fears when he was the one causing them in the first place? He was doing his best. He was getting better, he really was. With each passing day, his strength returned and his periods of lucidity grew in length and number.
But the world was kind of a lot right now.
It wasn’t the torturous cacophony he barely remembered from his first moments of freedom. Sometimes he went for long stretches without so much as a spark in the corner of his eye. Other times, the light and music was all he could see—gardens and farmland blessed by some harvest deity or other, temples blazing like beacons, little roadside altars flickering like lanterns to guide the way, symbols and talismans that gave off a soft holy glow.
It manifested in people, as well. He passed a woman with pits of darkness for eyes at the breakfast bar of a Days Inn one morning, and no one seemed to see anything amiss. A man filling his petrol tank positively glittered with the light twined around his wrists and throat. Another man was handing out flyers at a rest stop with a pleasant smile, and when he spoke, Jon could see the tide of tiny, crawling black bodies pouring out of his mouth.
Whenever he looked in the rearview mirror, the top portion of his face looked back, thin and scarred and overtaken by glowing green eyes.
(He’d first seen them only an hour after Martin had first bundled him into the car. “They’re brown, love,” Martin had assured him when asked.)
In his periphery, he could see the same color in Martin’s eyes, though it always vanished when Jon turned to look straight at it. It wasn’t blinding like some of the other things his sight showed him. Just a reminder of what he’d inflicted on him. A reason to keep looking at his husband’s face, as his exhaustion showed more and more.
On the morning of their third day in Bristol, Jon woke to find Martin already up, face pale and drawn with exhaustion.
It took far too long for Martin to notice that he was awake. “We should move on again,” he said eventually. His voice was hoarse. “If you’re feeling better then—then we can probably stand to drive farther. We might make it to Scotland by tomorrow, if we push it.”
A thought floated half-formed in Jon’s head, coalescing like a precipitate from a solution. When he tried too hard to grasp it, he only succeeded in giving himself a headache. “Do we know where we’re going?” he asked quietly.
“We’ll figure it out,” Martin replied, barely snapping at him. “We can’t leave the country, so we’ll just have to make do. And if that means living the rest of our lives on the road, then—”
He broke off, voice breaking. He stopped pacing and stood in the middle of the room, one hand over his eyes.
Jon carefully scooted to the edge of the bed, took hold of Martin’s arm, and drew him back down. Martin went with him without a word.
“It’s okay,” Jon told him.
“It’s not.” Martin’s voice was muffled against Jon’s chest. “I don’t know what to do. There’s nowhere we can go. There’s no one who can help.”
Jon ran his fingers through Martin’s hair. Martin shuddered in his arms. “I have you,” he said. “And you have me. That’s not no one.” He felt Martin breathe deeply against him, in and out, until the shaking stopped.
“Is that enough?” Martin asked.
Pain throbbed behind Jon’s eyes, sudden and sharp enough to make him gasp. In an instant Martin was sitting, hand cradling Jon’s face, checking him anxiously.
“Gertrude,” Jon gasped out.
“What?”
Jon went on, barely aware of the words as he spoke them. “Gertrude was the only one who ever challenged him.”
“And look where it got her,” Martin said wryly. “She’s been dead for years, Jon. She can’t help us either.”
“She—she left things behind,” Jon said. “She had safe houses—places she could hide, even from the Eye.”
“If the Eye can’t find them, I don’t see how we could,” Martin said, but he sounded thoughtful.
The feeling passed, and Jon’s mouth was his own again. “That came to me when you mentioned Scotland,” he replied. “I think—north. We should head north.”
Martin carefully swiped away a tear with his thumb. “You’re sure?”
Jon nodded. “It’s something.”
“And… you’re alright?” Martin asked anxiously. “That was from the Beholding, wasn’t it? From… whatever Elias did to you.”
Jon nodded again, not trusting himself to speak.
“Okay,” Martin murmured. Another deep breath. “Okay. Let’s head north.”
He started to get up again, but Jon clung tightly to keep him where he was. “Not yet,” he said. “You need to try to sleep.”
“But—”
“No buts.” Exerting his newly recovered strength, Jon rolled them over so that he was on top. It wasn’t a guarantee—Martin was perfectly capable of lifting him—but the extra weight seemed to take away whatever fight Martin had left in him.
They managed another three hours. By noon, they were on the road again.
“Martin, I think you’d better let me drive.”
Martin shook his head vigorously—whether he was clearing away the fog or simply saying no, Jon couldn’t tell. What he could tell, however, was that the car was beginning to drift in the lane. “I’m still good to drive for a while. We wanted to get as close to Scotland as we could today, right?”
“You only got a few hours of sleep this morning,” Jon reminded him. “I slept through the night, remember?”
“You need more sleep than I do,” Martin argued. “You always have. I’m not gonna break your streak now.”
“Even if that were true—and I’m not saying it is, by any means—it doesn’t mean I need to be unconscious all day and night,” Jon pointed out.
“Still.”
“You’re exhausted,” Jon pressed gently. “At this point, I’m the one keeping you awake. Let me take over.”
Martin drove in silence for a few moments, gripping the wheel with both hands. Finally, he heaved a sigh. “We’re not staying out any later than eight PM, if you’re driving.”
“That is grossly unfair when you’re the one who’s almost dead on your feet,” Jon said flatly.
“I’m not even on my—”
“I can go until at least ten.”
“That’s a non-starter,” Martin told him. “Nine, then.”
“Nine-thirty.”
“Don’t push it.”
Jon sighed. “Fine, nine it is,” he said. “Pull over and let me switch with you.”
Traffic was light enough for Martin to pull onto the shoulder. After a bit of obligatory grumbling, he settled into the passenger seat with a weary sigh of relief. “You're sure you’re alright to drive?” he asked, even as Jon pulled back out onto the road.
“Between the full night’s sleep and the napping I’ve been doing out of sheer boredom, I’m perfectly well rested,” Jon said truthfully.
“It’s not just the sleep that worries me,” Martin said quietly. “What about—”
He went quiet, long enough for Jon to think he was falling asleep already. But when he looked over, he found Martin staring listlessly out the window. “What about…?”
“How’s your eyes?” Martin blurted out.
Jon took in the world beyond the windshield and winced.
“Yeah,” he barely heard Martin say.
Jon sat back with a sigh. They were passing through rural countryside. Lots of grazing fields and farmland, more of it blessed than not. It only made Martin’s fears all the more real, even if Jon couldn’t see it quite as plainly.
“My eyes are fine,” he replied eventually. “My vision hasn’t been damaged in any way. I can see just fine. Better than fine, in fact.”
Martin was silent again. Jon glanced over to make sure he was still awake.
“It’s—” His voice caught. “It’s one thing to know intellectually that most farmers pay tribute to some harvest god or other. It’s another to—to see it.”
Even with his eyes on the road, he could feel Martin’s eyes on him. Following his gaze, perhaps, as if he could possibly see things the way Jon did—the way Jon would , from now on. The grip of a god was not easily loosened, and divine sight was not a gift given lightly.
“What does it look like?” Martin asked quietly.
“It… varies,” Jon replied. “Sometimes it’s light, or shadow. Sometimes it’s colors.” He thought back to the man with spiders spilling from his lips. “Sometimes it’s a bit more… physical.”
“Is it… bad? Does it hurt?”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Jon assured him. “At worst, it’s a bit unsettling.”
“And you just—you just see things, right? You don’t… I dunno.”
“I don’t… what?”
“I dunno,” Martin repeated. His voice was getting fainter. “Pass out, or anything. ‘S what happens in movies, you know? Somebody sees the future, says a prophecy, passes out.”
Jon suppressed a chuckle. “I haven’t babbled out any prophecies since I got out, have I?” he asked.
“Not yet you haven’t,” Martin yawned. “Sorry.”
“Get some sleep,” Jon told him. “I’ll wake you when I’ve found a place to stop.”
“Nine,” Martin reminded him. “We promised.”
“No later than nine,” Jon agreed.
Not long after that, Martin’s breathing evened out. Taking a risk, Jon turned on the radio at a low volume and switched to the classical station. It made for decent background music to keep him awake and settled, without the risk of disturbing Martin.
Jon kept his eyes on the road for the most part, but from time to time he let his attention drift upward. It was impossible not to stare. With the sky almost fully dark, the light and color of divinity stood out sharply against the blackness. One would think it would drown out the stars like light pollution, but if anything the stars seemed to shine even brighter. He could even see what color each one was—white and blue, red and orange and yellow, even the faint light of white dwarfs. Between them, a lattice of divinity wove and criss-crossed its way across the sky, rippling and shifting like an aurora.
“They go two ways,” Jon murmured, his voice nearly drowned out by strains of violin. “From mortal to god. On one end, devotion. On the other, divine favor.”
He started, breathing in sharply when he realized he’d been staring at the sky for too long. But there was no danger; the empty road stretched ahead of him, devoid of obstacles.
He shook his head, swallowing hard with a throat that felt suddenly very dry. What was that he’d just said, about mortals and gods? Devotion and divine favor? Where had that come from? Not his own head, certainly. He’d just… said it. Right after he’d assured Martin that he wasn’t babbling out prophecies, no less.
Unease washed over him, and for a split second he considered waking Martin, if only to dull his fears by voicing them. But Martin’s face was peaceful, for the first time since Jon had crawled half-blind and starving out of his prison the chrysalis from which he emerged and into Martin’s arms.
Too peaceful to disturb, Jon thought. He was driving alone on an empty road at night; of course he would be unsettled. The knowledge spilling out of him was unnerving as well, but it was hardly the first time he’d done something like that since his ordeal, and it most definitely wouldn’t be the last. Hardly worth bothering Martin about. He could hold out on his own, then pull off at the next exit and stop for the night. Let Martin get more sleep in a real bed.
But the road seemed to stretch on and on, with no sign of a town or village in sight. There was nothing around them but hills, fields, and the distant shadow of woodland. The only sign of life beyond the car was the light and color and shadow overhead, flickering and dancing.
A band of silver shifted sharply, and for a split second Jon was blinded. Alarmed, he almost slammed on the brake, only for his vision to clear just as abruptly. Jon blinked, tears falling from his stinging eyes, and when he opened them the woods were no longer distant. The road wove through close, twisted trees with foliage thick enough to block the moonlight. All at once, the headlights were the only light source that Jon could see.
No—that wasn’t quite true. All around him, beyond the pool of light at the front of the car, the shadowed forest was bathed in silver. It touched every tree and spilled out in dappled patterns onto the road, on the car, and on Jon’s white-knuckled hands on the wheel.
At some point in all of this, he’d drastically slowed down. The car crept along at a snail’s pace—slow enough for Jon to look out the window and see the overhanging branches. In the eerie silver light, he could see the odd dappled patterns on every branch and leaf. Not the result of light and shadow—no, this was something different.
One of them raked against the windshield, leaving a thin streak of copper on the glass.
The question of where are we never crossed Jon’s mind. Where they were was far less important than where he was going. And he had to keep going. It was just ahead—what they were looking for. He had to keep going, or face what stalked them from behind.
The driver’s side window was open. Jon reached out and brushed the end of an overhanging branch with his fingertips. The blood on his hand glittered in the moonlight.
And then the world jolted, Jon’s forehead struck the wheel hard enough to see stars, and with a ragged gasp, he woke up.
It was the impact that woke Martin first—not violent enough to hurt, but sudden enough to rattle him—but Jon’s voice and clinging hands that pulled him fully into the present.
“Martin, Martin, wake up,” Jon was pleading. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t—I swear—”
“Jon?” Groggily, Martin glanced around and wondered why everything felt slanted. The answer came as soon as he realized what he was looking at beyond the windshield. It wasn’t easy; the sky overhead was pitch black, and the only light came from the moon. The headlights were out, why were the headlights out—?
Oh. They were in a ditch.
Instantly Martin was wide awake. “Jon? Are you alright? What happened?”
“I-I don’t know,” Jon stammered. “I just—I was driving, and then everything got— weird —and then… then I felt a jolt, and we were here.”
“Did you fall asleep at the wheel?” Martin demanded. “What time is it?”
Jon made a noise of distress. The digital clock on the dashboard read 3:00 .
“We were supposed to find somewhere to stop by nine,” Martin grumbled as he undid his seatbelt. “Preferably a hotel, not a ditch.”
“I swear it wasn’t nine yet,” Jon told him, still clinging to his arm. “I was driving for less than an hour.”
Clearly you weren’t, he wanted to spit back, but held his tongue. It wasn’t Jon’s fault. He wasn’t well. If anything it was Martin’s fault for buckling and letting him drive when he knew it wasn’t a good idea.
“It’s—it’s not just that,” Jon went on. “We weren’t here before.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I—look.” Jon took a deep breath. “I was driving, I couldn’t see any exits for miles, and then I started driving through trees, but then suddenly we were in a ditch, in a field. I don’t know where we are, or how we got here.”
“So you fell asleep at the wheel,” Martin sighed. “Okay. Not gonna say i told you so, but—”
“You’re not listening ,” Jon hissed, on the verge of desperation. “I didn’t doze off, I lost several hours . I wasn’t asleep, and I know what I saw—look, right there, I saw that happen.”
Martin followed his pointing finger to find a dark streak of copper on the corner of the windshield. HIs first, frightened thought was that Jon had gotten hurt crashing into a ditch. But when he reached out to touch it, he felt smooth, clean glass. The stain was on the outside.
“I really hope you didn’t hit someone,” Martin murmured.
“I didn’t,” Jon said in a small voice. “It was on the trees. I felt something ahead of me, and something worse behind.”
“Okay.” Martin ground his teeth. “We’ll discuss that after we—can we get out of this ditch?”
“No,” Jon whispered.
“Have you tried?” he pressed.
“I can’t, the tank is empty.”
“No.” His breath caught. “No, no, that’s—that’s not possible. We were full this afternoon, we can’t possibly be empty already!”
Stuck in a ditch, no petrol, out in the middle of nowhere. If Elias could hijack his eyes to see them again, he’d be laughing.
“I’m sorry,” Jon said softly. He was curled up behind the wheel, arms wrapped around himself, as small as a man his size could possibly be. “I’m sorry. I just thought—if I’d known, I wouldn’t have—”
Martin took a deep breath and swallowed his dismay. “Are you hurt? Did you hit your head when we crashed?”
Jon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “O-only a little,” he said. “I’m alright. Might bruise, but nothing worse than that.”
“Good.” Martin opened the glove compartment and rummaged through it until he found a folded-up road map. Probably old and out of date, but better than nothing. Beside him, Jon got the door open with a grunt of effort. “Careful!”
Without replying, Jon grabbed his cane and clambered out of the car over the rim of the ditch. Shaking his head, Martin twisted around in his seat to grab their bags.
“Martin,” Jon called out. “Over here.”
“Hang on.” Martin struggled his way out of the stranded car, then up the side of the ditch to where Jon stood leaning on his cane. He’d gotten farther away than Martin would have liked, crossing the considerable distance between the ditch and the road.
When Martin joined him, he noticed two things. The first was that the road was not the paved highway it should have been, but hard-packed dirt and a sprinkling of gravel. The second was the sign posted at the side.
Everchase, it read. 3 miles .
“Everchase,” he murmured. “Odd name. Maybe a village?”
Jon didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on the sign, barely blinking. “Do you… see that?” he asked, gesturing at it.
“See what?” Martin took a closer look at the sign. It was a pretty normal looking sign—though it was made of wood and looked oddly old-fashioned.
Jon touched the surface of it and grimaced. He pulled his hand back, rubbing his fingers together.
“I don’t like this,” he said. “But I don’t think we have anywhere else to go.”
“Wait, we’re going?” Martin jerked his head around to stare at him. “Now? It’s three in the morning!”
“It’s three miles no matter when we start,” Jon pointed out.
“I don’t like you having to walk three miles at all,” Martin grumbled. “We should go back to the car, wait til it’s light.”
“No,” Jon said. “No. We shouldn’t stay here.”
“Will we be any safer walking three miles in the dark?”
“How long has it been since we had the luxury of being safe?”
It didn’t seem fair for him to play that card. But, fair or not, Martin couldn’t think of a good enough argument. With a sigh, he slung their bags over his shoulder and took Jon’s free hand.
Jon said little as they followed the road onward, occasionally leaning against Martin’s side as they walked. He showed no sign of slowing or stumbling, even as Martin felt his own strength flag. Days and nights of too little sleep were beginning to take their toll.
It didn’t take long for Martin to notice how empty the road was, and it only deepened his unease. Where were they? They’d clearly left the highway behind, but how long ago? Since the moment he’d woken up in the ditch, Martin hadn’t seen any sign of pavement, much less other motorists. Jon simply falling asleep at the wheel didn’t account for just how lost they’d ended up. The alternatives weren’t much better.
Eventually there came a change to the horizon. Far ahead, the dirt road snaked through empty fields into clusters of trees that thickened into proper woods. If there really was a village ahead, the forest hid it from view.
Martin’s heart sank at the sight, only to lift a moment later when he spotted moonlight glinting on a bright, hope-inspiring shape just short of the treeline.
“Jon.” Martin paused, squeezing his husband’s hand. “Jon, look. Up ahead.”
Jon came to a halt beside him, swaying against his side. “Hm?”
“There’s a car—a van!” Martin tugged him onward, hurrying toward the parked vehicle.
“What—wait, Martin—”
“I think it’s a highway officer, come on.”
Jon followed with a few muffled, cut-off protests. Martin got it—Elias had friends in the police back in London—but they were a long way from London out here, and so far off course that getting help was worth the risk. They were sitting ducks out here.
It was too late to turn back anyway; the officer standing by the van had spotted them and was heading over to meet them, a beacon in a hi-vis jacket. Martin waved, and a moment later the officer returned the gesture.
“Awfully late for a stroll,” the officer called over once they were within earshot of each other.
“We had a bit of an accident,” Martin replied. Beside him, Jon pressed closer. Martin let go of his hand and put an arm around his shoulders instead. Jon’s hand closed around his wrist, vice-tight. “About… two miles back? We saw a sign for a town. Could you call a tow?”
“Sure thing.” The officer offered a reassuring smile. “Mind coming back with me to the car? I’ll need to make a report.”
“Sure,” Martin replied. “Thanks for the help.”
Jon’s grip on Martin’s arm was becoming painful. His other hand groped behind them for the bags Martin was carrying. Martin heard something unzip.
“You’re welcome,” the officer replied. “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone out here. You’re not from the village, are you?”
“Just passing through,” Martin replied, following him.
“Yes,” the officer said, still smiling. “I can tell. You’re a long way from home.”
They were almost to the parked van, and the forest looming beyond.
“Sorry?” said Martin. “What was that?”
The officer stopped walking, and turned to him. He was still smiling—his face hadn’t so much as twitched—
Jon moved.
He moved too fast for a man still recovering from a two weeks of imprisonment and starvation. Moonlight flashed on the blade of a knife, before Jon drove it into the officer’s torso. Martin was still shocked speechless when he turned, grabbed his hand, and dragged him past the falling body.
“ Jon! ”
Jon looked back just long enough to meet Martin’s eyes, his face frozen in a mask of terror. “Run.”
What could he do but follow?
Together they sprinted for the parked car. Jon flung himself against it, yanking at the locked door to no avail. Martin caught up with him, head spinning with fear and confusion, until he followed Jon’s wide-eyed gaze to the van’s interior.
The light was on inside, illuminating the blood-spattered front seat. In the back, a dark sheet covered two crumpled forms.
“What—” Martin gasped out, and looked back at the officer they’d just left behind.
He was rising to his feet again. Martin watched as he stood up. And up. And up.
“ Run! ” Jon shouted, and Martin caught his reaching hand and let himself be dragged off the road and into the trees.
Branches whipped at him from all sides. Roots seemed to reach up from the ground to trip him. All he could hear was his and Jon’s ragged breaths, and the heavy, uneven footsteps behind them. When Martin looked over his shoulder, all he could see of the thing chasing them was shadow and silhouette—a tall, elongated form with limbs that stretched and bent in unnatural ways. Thin bones, pale stretched skin, too many joints and fingers.
Martin stumbled mid-stride. The only thing that kept him upright was Jon’s tight grip on his hand, and the knowledge that if he went down, they both would. He was running blind, crashing through underbrush, stumbling over roots, flinching and whimpering at every reaching branch that caught on his clothes and hair and raked at his face. His only guide through the darkness was Jon’s hand, still pulling him along. All Martin could do was follow.
It was because of this that his attention strayed, catching flashes of movement on either side of them. They weren’t alone, he realized with a jolt. The stretched, elongated thing behind them wasn’t alone. There were others in pursuit, not behind them but alongside them, keeping pace with a smooth speed that Martin’s clumsy flight could never hope to match.
They were surrounded.
Martin sucked a high-pitched breath down his parched throat to call out a warning—
There was a crack, and a crash of vegetation behind them. The uneven steps of the inhuman thing faltered, and it let out a ragged scream that seared itself into Martin’s memory. He stumbled with a cry, falling against Jon.
Voices joined the scream—shrieks and snarls and a sharp barking sound that Martin barely recognized as laughter. He looked back, just in time to see a dark shape charging out of the shadows.
With a yell, Martin threw himself between it and Jon. It cannoned into him, knocking him to the ground with ease. Somewhere above him Jon cried out, before the edge of a knife pressed against Martin’s throat.
Martin froze, barely breathing. It was too dark to see his assailant’s face, but he could feel the force of their gaze on him.
After a moment, they let out a deep, raspy grunt. If Martin didn’t know better, he would have thought they—he?—sounded disappointed .
“This one’s human,” his attacker said, in a thick Manc accent. “How’s yours, Jules?”
“Human,” a woman’s voice replied. “Bit scrawny. Not much of a catch.”
Nearby, the screams had died down to silence. Another man’s voice hailed them from the darkness. “Oi, Trev, I think it’s dead.”
“Ananya got the last hit in,” someone piped up proudly.
“Didn’t mean much,” someone added. “I think it was already dying after Debbie hit it.”
“Right in the guts!” someone else, possibly Debbie, crowed.
“So how’d the two of you wind up in our woods?” the man asked. His breath smelled like stale cigarette smoke.
“Car went in a ditch,” Martin rasped, struggling to speak when every movement of his throat and jaw risked drawing blood. “W-we saw the sign for, um. Everchase?”
“We followed the road to the woods,” Jon said quietly. “When we met—that—it was pretending to be a National Highways officer. It chased us into the trees.”
“And it didn’t catch you?” Jules asked incredulously. “We saw how slow you two were running.”
“Hey Julia,” one of the others called over. “There’s a knife sticking out of this thing, and it’s not one of ours.”
“That’s—that’s mine,” Jon said.
Julia let out a rough bark of laughter. “I think I like you. Trevor, let him up before he pisses himself.”
The knife left Martin’s throat, and he was too relieved to protest that he was not, in fact, about to piss himself. He sat up, ears still ringing with leftover panic, just in time to catch Jon.
“Are you alright?” Jon murmured, patting anxiously as if searching for injuries.
“Fine, I’m—ow.” Jon’s probing fingers reached his neck, shocking him with a spark of pain. The knife must have broken skin.
“Sorry about that,” Trevor said, not sounding very sorry.
“It’s fine,” Martin said automatically.
“You didn’t quite answer the question, though.” Julia stepped into view, rummaging around in her pockets for something. Moments later, a small plastic camping lantern clicked on, illuminating their immediate surroundings. Martin could put faces to names now; Trevor was a lean, older man with hunched shoulders, a pink, unblemished face, and a somewhat scraggly gray beard. Julia was taller, dressed plainly in old leather and denim, with short brown hair cropped close to her head. Her eyes flickered in the light of the lantern, watching them with mild interest.
“Sorry, what?” Martin asked.
“How’d you wind up in our woods?” Trevor asked again.
“We were chased—”
“No, we got that bit,” Julia cut him off. “But how’d you find the sign for Everchase? We’re a bit off the beaten path.”
“I-I don’t understand…”
“This place is an anti-map zone,” one of the others called out. “People only find this place when they know where they’re going.”
“We come when we’re called,” said another.
Martin’s heart sank deep as the pieces fell into place. They’d run from one god, one cult, straight to another. And it was a powerful one, if it could make its territory unchartable.
“No one called us,” he replied. “We just—we got lost. And we ended up here. That’s it, I swear.”
“No… no, there’s more to it than that.” Trevor crouched down in front of him, eyes boring into him like thumbscrews. “You’ve been running.”
“You’ve got that look about you,” said Julia. “Both of you. What’re you running from?”
“We escaped a… a rather unsavory cult,” Jon replied. Martin bit back the instinct to silence him—it was already out, there was no taking it back now. “Its leader protested rather strenuously against our departure.”
“Oh, rather strenuously, huh?” Trevor echoed, mocking Jon’s RP drawl. “Anyone after you?”
Jon and Martin exchanged nervous glances.
“Don’t be shy,” said Julia. “We won’t be upset if there is. We’re always on the lookout for new prey.” Martin’s alarm must have shown on his face, because she laughed. “Relax, we’re not interested in hunting you. Obviously.”
“I don’t mean to offend, but… why is it obvious?” Jon asked cautiously.
Trevor gestured toward the proceedings behind them. Martin could hear rustling, the rasp of metal, ominous wet sounds like a butcher cutting meat. “You went and brought us an offering, didn’t you. Led it right to us.”
“Baited it, more like,” Julia chuckled.
“Oh,” said Martin. “Well. Good?” With Jon’s help he managed to lever himself up on shaky legs. Reluctantly he turned around, and immediately regretted it. There were five others gathered around a bloodied pile of creature on the forest floor… field-dressing it.
“Lot of limbs on this one,” a tall, hulking woman remarked, drawing her arm over her forehead. It left a streak of reddish-brown on her face.
“Wonder what it is,” the man beside her remarked.
“A wayward fragment of a god with many faces,” Jon said quietly, eyes fixed on the dead thing. “Created to do their bidding, left to satisfy its lust for death and deceit.”
“Jon?” Martin said softly.
“Interesting.” Julia’s sharp eyes were fixed on Jon. “You know about these things, do you?”
Jon’s throat bobbed. “More than I’d like to.” His eyes kept flickering back to the corpse, as if physically pulled. “What—er. What exactly…?”
“That’ll be dinner for the next few weeks,” Trevor said blithely. Martin almost gagged.
“Oh fuck off, Trev,” Julia said fondly. She winked at Martin. “He’s taking the piss, don’t worry. Now that the chase is over, all that thing’s good for is trophies.”
“And tribute,” the woman with the bloody forehead added.
“Tribute to what, exactly?” Martin asked.
“Our god, of course.” Julia’s hand strayed to her collarbone. In the light of the lantern, Martin spotted two things. The first a chain hanging around her neck, and the talisman dangling at about sternum level. It looked like a vial of something.
The second was the handle of a gun, tucked into the inner pocket of her coat. Unconsciously, Martin pulled Jon closer.
Julia glanced down, following his gaze to the gun. “Don’t worry,” she said, tucking it out of sight with a smile. “That’s full of meteor iron. Hard to come by—I wouldn’t waste it on the likes of you.”
“Oh.” Martin didn’t let go of Jon.
Trevor and Julia exchanged glances, conferring silently with each other. After a moment, Julia turned back to them. “So. You’re a couple of fugitives, then. Lost in the woods, car’s in a ditch. Guess you’re looking for a place to stay?”
Martin and Jon held their own silent conference. “We wouldn’t want to impose…” Jon replied.
“We’ve got room,” Julia told him. “And like I said—you brought an offering before our god. He’s a hungry thing, and you just helped us feed him. And if you happen to bring anything interesting chasing after you…”
“We can’t make any promises,” Jon told her.
“Still, you’ve earned your keep for now,” Julia said with a shrug. She turned to go, lantern in hand. “C’mon. The others can handle the corpse.”
Martin turned away from the butchery, stomach churning. Jon’s hand found his and gripped it tight. With one last look at each other, wide-eyed and pale in the wee hours of the morning, they followed the hunter deeper into the woods.
He didn’t like the way their eyes lingered on Jon when they saw him limping.