Ander - Part 6: Subchapter 185
185
A deep, low-pitched creaking noise filled the mill. It was the kind of sound you'd hear right before a tree finally fell to the axe. It was the unnerving groan of wood under strain.
Mateo had been pushing his shoulder up against what felt like a solid stone wall for the past minute, trying to keep his mind from shattering while a monster tore into Ander's body right in front of him, when the grindstone suddenly shifted against his weight. It was only a little, but he definitely felt it.
"Braaake's oooooff!" the kid's voice burst out of the open trapdoor like a battle cry, uncomfortably savage.
"Push, Mateo!" Nilia ordered through gritted teeth. "Push like you've never pushed before!"
Mateo pushed. It felt like he was about to push his own bones out through his mouth, but he pushed, suddenly grateful for all the rocks Father had made him lug out of the fields on his back, and the grindstone began to roll, agonisingly slow, bare rock scraping against bare rock with no grain between them to soften that hair-raising sound.
"Go, Mat!" Ander said, but it sounded less like a cheer and more like a plea. Banno still had his arm caught firmly in his mouth, and every time he shook his head it would send beads of blood in every direction. There was even a small crimson river starting to form in the bedstone's groove, following a gentle curve.
Why doesn't he try to break free from that!? Mateo asked himself for the hundredth time, even though he already knew the answer.
Ander was keeping Banno down by sacrificing his own flesh. He had offered up his arm like a worm on a hook just to ensure that Banno would stay where he was.
He was putting his life on the line for all of them.
Mateo pushed, pressing his cheek and shoulder right up against the stone, feeling like the lowliest of worms himself. Had he really believed Ander to be some kind of monster before all this? Now that he knew what a real monster looked like, he felt like taking his old self and punching him right in the gob.
Push, Mat! he urged himself on. Mother is going to hate you if you let Ander die! And so will Nilia! And so will Kiana! Hell, everybody will!
And on the heels of that thought, almost surprising in the way it didn't surprise him at all...
And so will I.
Mateo pushed, rolling the stone along its track. If Banno's head was at twelve of the clock, then the grindstone was at eight. He kept pushing it up to nine, trying to ignore the sickly sounds coming from the shredded remains of Ander's arm, but it was tough. Droplets of blood kept landing on his hands, his arms, his cheeks, and he had no choice but to keep going. It was all he could do.
The grindstone slowly rolled its way past nine and up to ten...
And then something happened.
Banno's eye, which had been shut in some kind of fervour (ecstasy or anger, it was impossible to tell) suddenly flew open, an accusatory ring of bloodied ice, and locked upon his gaze, singling him out and freezing him solid. Mateo could almost hear that deep, ferocious voice in his head, asking: And what do you think you're doing, Fox?
Banno's arm shot out like a viper's shadow and he grabbed hold of the grindstone, wrapping his long, black fingers around the edge, bringing it to a jarring halt.
Mateo kept on pushing as hard as he could, but his feet simply slid along the floor, completely useless.
He just wasn't strong enough.
No... No, gods, please!
Ander punched Banno's arm with his free hand, trying to break his grip, but Banno was clearly a far stronger brake than whatever contraption was up in the ceiling.
They were stuck.
"BANNO!!"
Mateo nearly stumbled and fell right there. That booming voice didn't belong to anyone in this mill that he knew of. He looked over the top of the grindstone, and in the doorway, silhouetted against the glare of the snow, was the bulkiest Wolf he had ever seen. He wasn't nearly as tall as Banno, and his gut had that middle-aged barrel shape to it, but his arms were thick with muscle and his shoulders were broad. Plumes of misty vapour poured from his nostrils in thick clouds, catching the greyish light of the morning. He stepped forward, out of the glare, and Mateo's mouth nearly dropped open.
It was Sorrin, the stoic Wolf who was always with his wife and that little girl, silently fretting over them, keeping them safe. The quiet Wolf whose entire vocabulary seemed to consist entirely of surly grunts and the occasional nod.
And he looked mad as hell.
Sorry for the short upload. The next ones will be longer.
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