2 Chapter 2 - In Mud and Blood

His first life ended with a sword thrust to the heart, from behind. Cold rain streaking down his face, his whole body chilled to the bone with water and mud, the only warmth he could feel was the hot blood rushing from his wound, and the precious fading heat from Victoria's body, cradled on his lap.

Their broken carriage lay on its side nearby, the side door splintered open, the unfortunate coachman and horses crushed underneath. His eyes darkened and his last sight had been Victoria's lifeless form sliding from his strengthless arms.

How had events slid sideways with such finality into tragedy? Only five years from now in his original timeline, everything came to an end, on Victoria's twentieth birthday. Their last peaceful moments together had been a carriage ride home from a country ball, a minor event, loud and boisterous and insignificant, on just an ordinary night.

Pierce had been asleep when a terrible, deep roar and the sound of horses screaming had wrenched him awake. He had just enough time to grab for Victoria in the darkened carriage, wrapping his arms and body around her to shield her from the coming impact. When the coach had tumbled over, the shock had ripped her from his arms, and the hollow thud of her head striking wood was as loud to him as any other of the nightmare sounds in the dark.

For a few moments, he lay with the breath knocked out of him, unable to move, except to dart his eyes around the dim interior of the carriage. The sudden silence from outside concerned him deeply - James, the coachman, was making no noise, and there was nothing from the horses, who only a few moments ago had been so loud, their screams rending the night.

Then a wave of pain broke over him, forcing him to take in a deep, gasping breath. At least one of his ribs was broken. After a few more moments, Pierce was relieved to realize that his airway was clear - the broken rib had not stabbed through his lung. He scrambled up in the dark, one hand holding his side, the other reaching for Victoria.

Finding her shoulder first, he reached gently up to her head, fearing the worst. He inadvertently sucked in a breath when he felt the warm blood seeping down the side of her face and into her hair. Frantic, he pressed his handkerchief against the side of her head, but without light it was difficult to tell if she had any other injuries, or even how bad her head wound was. Cursing himself silently for his uselessness, he searched inside his breast coat pockets for matches. If Victoria was conscious, she would have been able to conjure light herself, but Pierce was useless at light magic or its wilder variant, fire magic.

Finding the small metal matchsafe, he drew one out and lit it against the striker. The tiny glow was very welcome in the dark. Victoria's face was still and cold, the wound at her hairline covering part of her face in a dark mask of blood. He quickly searched her and found no other obvious injuries, and so returned to treating her head wound. It appeared to be a heavy blow, bleeding profusely, and already starting to swell. The match burned down to his fingers, searing him, and he dropped it. Feeling his way, he managed to drag her upright, cradling her head and propping her up, wincing at the pain, but grateful it wasn't his arms or legs that were broken.

He needed to wrap her head, but he also needed to determine if they were still in danger.

Pierce lit another match, half-standing carefully, shifting his feet to feel the broken glass of the carriage window under his feet. He was tall, and if he fully stood without caution, he would strike his head against the opposite carriage door. Reaching above his head to try the handle, he found it wedged closed, the door distorted by the crash. The angle made it difficult for him to apply his full strength to force it open. He rattled the handle experimentally, to see if he could force it loose. When the match burned close to his fingers again, he dropped it to the floor.

Expecting the tiny spark to be immediately snuffed out, Pierce was horrified when instead a pool of flame appeared. It was only then that he identified a thick smell in the air - it was the kerosene from the lantern. It must've broken in the crash, leaking its contents over what was now the floor of the coach. Grabbing one of the carriage blankets, he managed to snuff out the flame, but realized that water was beginning to seep through the frame and broken window of the door that now rested on the ground.

He must get Victoria out of the carriage and to some sort of safety. If she did not regain consciousness quickly, then she would be in danger from both her wound and the cold water.

He reached for the handle again, but before he could touch it, the door was ripped away into the night, splintering. Bits of shattered wood fell on his face, and he covered his face against the falling debris before looking up again.

At first, he could only think that it must be James the coachman who had pried open the door, and was now looming above, blocking the doorway, and all light from outside.

But the shape was far too large.

Too inhuman.

The exterior running lights, the lanterns that hung on the four corners of the coach, that provided them with some small light in the dark and warned other carriages of their presence, must have broken and spilled the oil on the ground as well. A faint reflection of firelight gleamed against the shape of the creature crouching over the doorway, illuminating long, muscular limbs covered in thick, dark hair.

Two baleful yellow eyes shone in the dark, and a deadly set of sharp teeth glimmered. A low growl reverberated through the small interior of the carriage, vibrating in Pierce's bones, and the monster leaned closer. With a speed born of desperate instinct, Pierce drew the dagger he carried at a sheath in his lower back, and slashed at the long-taloned fingers gripping the side of the doorframe.

The blow struck true, slicing into the creature deeply, and it snatched its hand away, snarling fiercely. Pierce readied himself, dagger held out above him in a defensive stance, waiting for it to swipe its wicked claws down into the carriage.

A sound echoed through the night, an edgy, ominous buzzing, like the angry hum of a wasp nest heard through a wall. The creature whipped its head to the right, raising up its head and body to better pinpoint the sound, its growls subsiding to an intense silence. Without any other noise than the crack of hard claws against wood, it was gone.