@JDH97As the others followed Dmitri, who seemed to have taken charge after Will became oddly quiet, Herbert stood, still slightly awestruck by the beast. It was not until Bizbee began to nudge and screech in his ear that he stirred, and the others were almost out of sight.
“Let’s get after them then,” Herbert said, as much to Bizbee as himself. However, even after he began in the others’ trail, Bizbee still prodded his neck and cheek with its bony maw. The chirps were frantic, and the creature was restless, as much so as when they were in the altar room.
“What is it?” Herbert murmured, looking at the creature with one part irritation and two parts concern.
Bizbee ceased to chatter, sitting quietly on Herbert's shoulder for a few moments. The wind shifted, they could no longer hear the sounds of the rest of the group descending down the mysterious tunnel, when the breeze settled Bizbee moved.
Bizbee shot into the air and into the flurrying snow behind Herbert. It went as fast as its little bony wings would carry it. For a moment it seemed Bizbee was simply flying into the open air... until a spot in the snowy landscape seemed to
shift Icarus. The quietest member of MERCY. The quickest.
He snapped out his hand. His perfect reflexes knocked the little creature straight out of the air as it shot toward him. The movement saved him from being struck by the little bony creature, however, it compromised his camouflage.
Bizbee was knocked aside and into the icy cliff face. Where it struck it broke apart. Crumbling bones fell into the snow.
Icarus, knowing that he had been seen, allowed his skin to change… He was like a chameleon. A strange ripple in the landscape shifted and faded into the shape of a man. Bald. Covered from head to toe in intricate tattoos. His eyes were black and predatory, and set upon Herbert, his prey.
Herbert’s eyes darted between what used to be Bizbee, his hope of unraveling the mysteries of life and death, and the man, with shifting, inked skin. There was something about him that sent alarm bells off in Herbert’s mind, even in his shocked state, beyond how he seemed to appear out of nothingness. It was in the way he held himself, in his corded muscles, in his dark eyes. Something primal and raw. A shiver ran like bolt lighting down Herbert’s spine, cutting through the growing despair of Bizbee’s demise.
He worked his suddenly very dry mouth until he felt to form words.
“That was my skeleton.” Herbert said numbly. “I needed him.”
Icarus looked perplexed for a moment. He didn’t understand what Herbert was referring to at first. Perhaps he mistook Bizbee for a strange chunk of ice or hail that had fallen off the mountain. He didn’t let the confusion preoccupy him for long, he had a purpose. He advanced through the snow toward Herbert. Icarus didn’t ask questions. He did not converse to determine if Herbert was friend or foe. That was Twain’s job: To chatter. Icarus’s job was to catch things. He was a hunter.
The silence was not a good sign, and the way the man walked, like some animal stalking its prey, was even worse. Herbert reflexively raised his hands, even though he doubted he could fight the man off.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble.” The others were out of sight and he doubted they would hear him shout with all the snow muffling.
Icarus frowned, the jaguar painted on his shoulder licked it’s lips. Easy prey. When he was close to wrapped his well muscled arms around Herbert. It was a short quick movement that swept the man off his feet and into the snow. Icarus held one of Herbert's wrists, twisting it behind. The other hand forced two fingers into the back of the old man’s neck.
A snake inscribed around his arm loosened began to writhe. It coiled around his arm, as it slithered it emerged from the skin, sliding and spiraling down and the well muscled arm and onto Herbert’s neck. Its maw dripped, impossibly and somewhat cartoonishly long fangs stretched apart and threatened to sink into the soft flesh of Herbert’s neck...
“Dios Mio Icarus!”
The snake hesitated. The illustrated man hesitated. Herbert felt tiny droplets of liquid touch the skin of his neck.
There was a woman in the snow, her hair red and wild about her caramel colored face. She was covered in soot, her hair was singed away on one side as well as her cloths on that side of her body. The exposed was puckered, and charred, gooey and wet, bubbling and swelling, a mess of red and black and purple and orange from it’s time exposed to dragon fire. She was carrying an unconscious teammate over her back.
“Don’t look at me like that. I know I’m not your boss anymore, but I do know my place… and I know yours. It is shameful for you to take such pleasure from hunting one so much the weaker. Not that you care for honor… Though… Perhaps you would care to that there is a
dragon in the air? You may need your strength for a far more worthy prize...”
Icarus let go of Herbert, and stood upright. The snake sunk back into his skin and ceased to move.
“Did you find anymore?” Rozalind asked in a quick commanding tone.
Icarus nodded.
“They are all secured?”
Icarus nodded.
“Is
this one any threat?”
Icarus hesitated, then shook his head.
“Alright. Let’s get him and us to Twain. Then, perhaps he will let you loose upon that dragon.”
Icarus smiled. And helped Herbert to his feet.
