Rhain had given her a flat-eyed stare. “Don’t be the fourth child lost, girl.”
“I’m not a child,” she said. “But don’t worry. I won’t be the fourth.”
And she wasn’t.
For that night, a three-year-old boy wandered free of his parents’ yard. Their gate had been left unlatched.
A search set the village aflame. Torches were lit, parties set out. Even those who lived as far from the village as Rhain and Branwen heard of it, and Rhain told Mam to lock her doors. He had an old sword from his days in the armies and an assortment of hunting supplies. He armed himself and headed for the village.
Mam went to comfort the boy’s parents, bringing herbs that might soothe the mother’s terror. Once Mam was out of sight, Branwen picked up her dagger and a lantern.
She had never snuck out at night before. As she walked, she pulled her iron-stitched blindfold off. If there were monsters lurking in the night, she needed to see them. She followed the path toward Argoed, but she did not go to the village. Rather, she headed for the lake.
The water looked still and flat as a stone in that windless night. There was no moon, and the stars were blotted out by drifting clouds. Branwen set her lantern on the shore. She walked around the water, waiting. Listening. And looking. But the water remained as opaque as ever. If there was a monster, it did not need magic to conceal itself. The lake was disguise enough.
Frustrated, Branwen picked up her lantern. It was expensive—glass and metal. She pulled off her boots, bound up her hair, and took a steadying breath.
She waded into the water, lantern in one hand and knife in the other. The water lapped around her calves, so cold it stole the breath from her. Once the water was waist-high, Branwen halted.
She twisted the clasp on the lantern to seal it shut. At once, the light dimmed. There would only be a few moments before the fire winked out. With one last gulp of air, Branwen allowed herself to sink beneath the waves.
The world went quiet, the only sound in her ears that of lapping waves. The lantern sputtered but remained alight.
That was how she saw it.
Something was hidden in the silt-soft bottom of the lake. It hadburied itself so that only its eyes were visible. Two golden, toad-like eyes peered up at her. It had been waiting.
Terror ripped through Branwen. She hung, suspended in the water, unable to move.
A llamhigyn y dwr. She had heard them called water-leapers, for they had the body of an enormous toad and the wings of a bat. They were wickedly clever, and often fishermen only knew of their presence because of snapped lines and gutted nets. When one had to be slain, it took a group of hunters and an iron net to drag it to shore. Hunters would pin the monster in place while one brave soul used a long-handled spear to kill it.
It was not a creature to be trifled with.
And its attention was wholly on Branwen.
The llamhigyn y dwr blinked. It was her only warning.
The monster surged from the depths in a cloud of silt. Branwen kicked backward, the lantern tumbling from her fingers. Its light went out. She swam as hard as she could, kicking her way toward the surface. She had to tell the village, get help, find—
Something wrapped around her ankle and yanked her down. Branwen thrashed, gritting her teeth against a scream. She could not cry out lest she lose what little breath she had.
She slashed out with her dagger, but the blade cut only water. The grip on her ankle tightened, and she was dragged deeper.
Her chest was on fire. This was how a llamhigyn y dwr killed its prey. It used its long tail to drown a victim and then devoured them.
Branwen thought of her mam returning home and finding Branwen’s cot empty. She thought of Rhain searching the reeds, only to find a knife and an iron-stitched blindfold.
No.She would be no one’s prey.
Branwen reached down to take hold of the llamhigyn y dwr’s tail. Her fingers curled around the slimy skin before she drove her knife into its flesh and severed the tail.
She felt the llamhigyn y dwr scream. It reverberated through the water.
The creature’s jaws clamped around her shoulder. Branwen let out a howl of fury, bubbles swirling as she released the last air in her chest. With more luck than skill, she stabbed again and again and again, sinking her knife into slimy, thick flesh. Finally, the grip on her released.
Branwen kicked herself to the surface, and when she broke free of the water, she was sputtering and gagging. She swam to the lake’s edge. The knife was still in her hand, dripping with water and golden blood. Branwen rolled onto her side, trying to slow her breathing. Finally, when she was sure she would not fall, she pushed herself upright and looked over her shoulder.
There, in the center of the lake, floated the dead monster.
