Thorn was reckless, he knew that. For one thing, his patience wore thin with every new entitled client. Those who complained his ears off about the temperature, the speed, how bumpy the road was, the smell of the oxen, why did they stop? Why didn’t they stop? Thorn did his best to ignore them when they were like that, distracting himself by picking at the mud on his boots with his worn rusty knife while they stopped, or counting the scars on his hand until they caught on and shut up.

It was worse when he was hungry, and they didn’t have time to stop and eat. He made it a condition while he was working that he needed to eat, and if he forgot to bring something, he’d be allowed to hunt while on duty. It was important, he stressed. After all, energy and strength were required to do the job. No one disagreed.

And then there was Tomin, the half-brother of a wealthy businessman overseas. And he wouldn’t shut up about it. If it wasn’t that he was “underappreciated” back home, he talked about the absurd amount of trips he could take all around the world so he could collect the rarest artifacts from each place. He even boasted of a jeweled mirror said to be used to communicate with the Gods. Thorn knew it was sacred, kept in a temple just outside Sylvan Hollow. Something that should never have left it to begin with. But of course, this rich guy from across the sea would feel entitled to it.

All this time, he thought his father’s patience had rubbed off on him, but now, with Tomin, every nerve grated from the start of the trip. The human meatsack took his time getting comfortable in the caravan only to moments later hurl himself out, screaming that the jeweled mirror would have to stay with him in the back and not with the other bags up front.

Thorn was tempted to ‘accidentally’ drop the other bags in the mud, but Sahara noticed his hostility, and snatched them before he could, placing them up on the seat. “You can have your mirror,” she said, her steady voice and calm demeanor betraying none of the tension between them.

Tomin nodded to her, and was quick to take her hand in his own pale and buttery soft ones. He looked as though he’d never spent a day outside, let alone done any work with his hands. He was tall, and average, and looked like every other bland rich human they’d carried between the towns. The only clients he really got along with had little money.

They were headed to Linlea, and from there Tomin would likely take a ship across the sea back home. There was so much distance between there, anyone could get lost. And he looked like the kind of human who could get lost on a road only going one way.

While it was rare for Thorn to act on his fantasies, he had them all the same. Imagining exactly how he would end this man’s life. When they’d reach the most isolated part of the trip, that’s when he’d do it. A chase into the woods, a broken leg, and a lot of mockery before the killing blow.

He was so in his head, he almost forgot there were others with him. Sahara, another guard, with amazing knife skills who had probably one of the best client streaks on the books. All of her clients made it to their destinations alive, regardless of losing a few personal items. And the driver, Moloch, he had a little bit of history with. There was a time when Moloch’s father cured his younger brother of illness. Thorn was grateful to their family ever since. That was why, when it came down to the portion of the trip where he had to ruin everything, he felt just a little bit bad about it.

He promised himself he wouldn’t harm Moloch. He couldn’t, not with the debt he felt he owed him. Sahara was tricky. It would bring too much attention to him if she were to go missing in his company.

They stopped yet again for the client to stretch his legs, which he did while droning on about how his family never let him handle any important business matters. He was the one they sent off overseas to see to mundane things. As though travel wasn’t exciting enough on its own. Thorn rolled his eyes, and focused on the symbol of a half-closed eye in a repeated pattern all over the cloak he wore. Adharian by the look of it. He had yet to meet a humble Adharian.

It was the best possible place on the trip, miles from any town. Thorn slipped forward toward the front of the caravan and focused on the trees ahead of them on either side of the road. Their ancient, gnarled roots grew suddenly at an alarming rate, erupting from the middle of the packed earth road in front of them, a tangle of pale beige and deep brown. The oxen shrieked and almost overturned the cart, but Moloch was an expert at his job, and he calmed them down just enough to put everything upright. With Moloch focused on the animals, Sahara went to investigate the roots, ignoring Thorn almost entirely as though he were a rookie. But Thorn had been on his own for years now, and while his reputation was okay, his tendency to kill his richest clients was beginning to get noticed. Not that anyone knew he killed them, it was more like they vanished under mysterious circumstances and of course no one could prove they weren’t vanishing after he dropped them off, or else that they hadn’t simply gotten lost.

But there were never any witnesses.

He simply couldn’t have witnesses.

“Looks like we’re stuck unless we can clear the roots from the road,” Sahara said. “Or else we can try to go around, but the trees won’t make that easy.”

They eventually decided to turn the caravan around and go a different way, and of course Tomin couldn’t stand them at that point.

Thorn grinned a hunter’s smile, exaggerating his gestures until the road behind them was full of jagged spikes stabbing upward from the ground like a cage of giant whale bones.

They were completely trapped.

All were confused, and he decided it would be best to put Moloch to sleep for now. He’d give him a false story later.

He only had to deal with Tomin and Sahara, and only really if she forced his hand. He should knock her out too, he figured, but she was no longer inspecting the road. She was helping Tomin out from the caravan, and even after he was out he clung to her like a parasite.

“What’s the plan?” Thorn asked.

“We’ll have to find a way to get rid of some of these roots. Otherwise, we’ll have to walk to the nearest town to get help,” Sahara replied.

Tomin, who had spent much of the time on the road complaining about every bump and speck of dust, suddenly didn’t seem to care so much that they were stranded. In fact, he seemed quite content keeping a hold of Sahara’s shoulder even after they were both firmly on the ground.

Even as she tried to shrug him off, he persisted. He followed. He stuck to her like he was on a short leash tagging behind her as she examined the thick, pale roots that were once underground. Sahara ignored him, but Thorn felt indignant for her. He didn’t want her to be in the way, she wasn’t his target. But with them practically glued together, he didn’t have a shot at putting her out before he went for a hunt.

Thorn sighed. It was unfortunate she’d be a casualty because of Tomin’s insistence on being a nuisance. He decided to give her a chance to escape. But no witnesses meant no witnesses. If he couldn’t knock her out or change her mind, she wouldn’t get far.

One of the trees at the side of the road shifted its weight toward them. The earth cracked beneath their feet, and a root as wide as two bodies rose above them and slammed into the ground next to Sahara and Tomin. Both lost their footing and they fell in a heap.

Thorn grabbed at the man’s ankle, tried to pull him away from Sahara and into the woods where they’d both be under cover. He turned his back to Sahara as he threw the man forward into the brush as though he were a ragdoll. He stopped to take a breath and stretch his shoulders, when he felt something sharp pierce his thigh. He staggered away, surprised, and looked down. Sahara crawled across the ground, covered in the dirt from the road. She got both hands beneath her chest and pushed herself to her feet, panting. The knife in her hand was coated in his blood.

Thorn forgot about the man for a second, turning on Sahara. He hadn’t felt that kind of pain since his father tested his healing abilities years ago. And she wouldn’t get to try it again. Sahara put herself between Thorn and the man, a mistake on her part. Thorn regained his composure, his face relaxed back into a smile. “You’re gonna want to get out of here as fast as you can,” he said.

Sahara scowled, “That one was a warning. Get the fuck out of here or I won’t miss your vitals next time.” Thorn looked down casually at the wound and glanced up at her just as it began to clot and scar over unnaturally fast. He saw her composure break. His leg still throbbed, but he couldn’t help but laugh as she watched him heal. He stretched his arms again leisurely, “I can’t believe you got me.” He ignored her for a moment to see what befell of the human in the trees. He was still there, a bit shaky, trying to get to his feet. But somehow the branches always impeded him. They bent down to scratch at his face as he tried to stand.

“Don’t you fucking ignore me,” Sahara screamed at him. She would’ve had the knife at his throat if the vines on his back weren’t so reactive. Shoved between them, they tangled her arms and pulled, forcing her down. He crouched down to meet her glare, watched the recalculations in her eyes as she flitted between the healed wound, his empty hands, and the vines trailing out from underneath his shirt. She looked back at the road and put it all together. “The roots in the road, that was you, wasn’t it?” she said, panicking,“You trapped us here-to, what? Kill us?”

Thorn shook his head. “Not all of you, not intentionally. If you go to sleep, ignore me and this whole incident, I’ll let you survive.” It was such an easy request, and if she agreed, he wouldn’t have to risk the consequences if she didn’t come back from the trip. He loosened his grip, his own mistake thinking she would take the more reasonable route.

Sahara pulled away from him, put herself once more between him and the client. He pretended once more to ignore her. He kept his place crouched on the ground and dug his fingers into the soft earth, sifting it. Sahara watched him closely, brow furrowed. Thorn smiled as she paid far too much attention to what he was doing and not what was coming for her.

The gnarly bough of an ancient tree at the side of the road knocked her down and pinned her face forward in the road. She squirmed and inched out from under the branch as it seemed to hold its place rather than pressing her deeper into the terrain.

She barely had time to deflect a thinner, incoming branch that whipped at her arms, leaving red marks. She panted heavily and dodged another one. The movement drew her close enough to Thorn, he could almost reach out and touch her.

Without getting close however, she couldn’t hit him again.

She tried regardless, aiming low.

The vines slipped from his back again, smooth and green and strong enough to catch her leg and pull it out from under her.

She lost her footing with one vine, and her knife with another.

Thorn crouched to put the knife against her throat this time. “Looks like you lose,”

“What the fuck are you?” she spat.

Thorn sighed because he was sick of hearing that. “Such a boring question from someone about to die.” He could hear the blood pounding through her. His other hand was against her left shoulder, pinning her down. Thorn could practically feel her heartbeat as it drummed against her ribcage.

“You need me to save your ass if you want to keep your job,” she hissed.

“I doubt you’d choose to help me. As you implied, I’m not human. You’ll just turn me in, and they’ll have me killed for potential murder.” Thorn mused, “Or murder if they look too deep.”

“I-I-'' she stammered, barely getting the words out. “I could be your witness! I’ll tell them it was a bear, a stormcat,” Sahara said. “Maybe he was even fine when we dropped him off in town,” her pitch got higher, her voice faster as she came up with ideas on the spot. “He must’ve missed the boat, gotten lost, maybe someone in town got him?”

Thorn paused. She was begging, sure, but not even for her life. No, it was to help him cover up the eventual murder that would happen whether she was alive to see it or not. “I don’t trust you,” he said.

“So why not wait and kill me after? You can-” she hesitated, “you can even tie me up, I’m not sure what you did to Moloch but-”

“He’s sleeping,” Thorn cut her off. “I don’t want him to be a part of this.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Then let me talk to him when he wakes up. I can convince him that we’re doing the right thing. Cover ups are my specialty and people in the guild trust me enough that they would overlook your presence on this trip.”

Fear oozed from her voice, and he felt the thudding of her heart more as her body tensed, bracing for uncertainty. “If I end up dead, what will Moloch think? We work together all the time. I don’t know why you want to keep him out of it, but-” desperation showed with her rapid breathing and wide eyes. “I-please, I swear on my life I’ll help you.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

Thorn thought about it. “If you tell them anything about it, I promise you’ll be dead.” Thorn pulled away, keeping the knife. He watched her slowly get up and go to the caravan, sifting through the man’s bags. She held up the mirror.

“I forgot to mention, that mirror is going back to Sylvan Hollow,” Thorn said.

Sahara begrudgingly wrapped it up and nestled it carefully in one of the bags. “Can I at least take the rest of the valuables?”

Thorn shrugged. He really didn’t need them this time. He turned back to the client’s spot on the ground. Though he had plenty of time to try and get up, the trees kept playing with him, keeping him crawling on his belly slowly across the forest floor so he hadn’t gotten very far. Thorn allowed the branches to hold off and planted a foot firmly on his back. It would be far too boring to hunt down a man who couldn’t even run.

“Do you see that tree over there?” Thorn pointed to a very distinct, gigantic tree with the largest root system visible above ground. “Can’t miss it, right?” Thorn ground his boot harder into the man’s back, pushing him down deeper into the mud. “I want you to run to that tree. If you make it before I catch you, I won’t slit your throat. Does that sound good?” He removed his boot and stepped away, allowing the man time to get to his feet and start running.

Thorn leaned back against a tree and watched. He could feel the life flowing through the whole forest, from the ends of roots to the tips of the canopy. The trees connected, communicated with each other like synapses. He could feel, hear, the vibrations of heavy footsteps as the human ran for his life.

Thorn felt the kind of energy that only surfaced during a good hunt. He stepped deeper into the woods, surrounded by the sounds of birds and wind and life. And then there were the smells, overwhelming to a human, but not to him. He could pick out each one, and he followed the man with ease, slowly, allowing the woods to close in around him.

The human was hopelessly lost by the time Thorn caught up with him. Running in endless circles as the forest kept him in place. It was too easy though, and he allowed the forest to let the man through to find the tree. Thorn slipped his boots off to feel the dirt, mud, and flora between his toes. The smell of human fear lingered in the air. It wasn’t always a pleasant smell, but the taste of the meat was divine enough that it didn’t matter. He knew the exact right way to gut a meal.

The human tripped over a branch sticking out of the mud, not even something Thorn controlled, and Thorn burst out laughing behind him. The human mewled like a lost baby animal, crawling along the ground on his belly. Thorn tried, barely, not to keep up. “You don’t want me to slit your throat, right?” he hissed in the man’s ear. “Then try harder.” Thorn stepped back, giving him some space, waiting for him to get to his feet at the bare minimum.

The tree didn’t seem that far away. Mere yards away, but the time seemed to drag on for Thorn. By the time the man made it to the tree, panting, hands on his knees, doubled over with exhaustion, Thorn was barely a foot behind. He strolled up, clapping his congratulations. He didn’t run very much, did he?

The man, his hair disheveled, his face slick with sweat, looked into Thorn’s eyes defiantly and laughed. “You said you wouldn’t kill me if I made it to the tree,” he said confidently.

Thorn grinned, showing just how sharp his teeth really were. “I said I wouldn’t slit your throat,” he replied "I didn't say I wouldn’t eat you.”

The man’s smile dropped, his face paled. Thorn allowed the silence to hang there until the human couldn’t stand it anymore. He turned and ran deeper into the woods, trying hard not to scream for help. There was no help out in the middle of the woods, after all.

Thorn’s smooth vines slithered from beneath his shirt to loom around him like a cloud of snakes. The trees nearby shifted together, wove their branches into nets, scratched and clawed at the human as he ran blindly. He stopped and pivoted and tried to duck under the weave but they grew around him like a spider’s web. No matter how hard he tried to move, he just got more and more scratched up. The branches spit him out at Thorn’s feet, a mess of thin bleeding cuts and throaty sobs and screams. Vines shoved him up against the rough bark of a tree, one pushed into his mouth as he screamed. It was about the size of an adult human fist sliding down his gullet. It glided easier as the man’s saliva glands worked overtime to provide enough lubrication to avoid tearing the soft, slimy flesh on the way down.

The vine stopped and tiny spines extended along it, traveling all the way down into his throat. He couldn’t scream, the vine too thick, no air reaching his lungs. Thorn ripped it out and with it came flecks of torn flesh and gore. The human spluttered, coughed, the meat of his esophagus shredded and undoubtedly painful.

The spines retracted, and Thorn ran a hand over the dirtied vine to wipe it clean. The blood came off on his palm, tangy and sweet, someone with too much money to spend.

The man doubled over on the ground, retching a thick red stream of foam and stomach acid. A high keening noise came from his ruined throat. He covered his mouth in an attempt to keep his insides in, but only managed to vomit all over himself.

Thorn removed his shirt and set it away from the thick slough of body fluids and viscera. No one else was around. No one who would live to see what was about to happen. He pressed a finger into his stomach, feeling the crease of the mouth he rarely used. He curled his fingers into it, coaxing it open until his whole chest seemed to split in half. Rows of sharp teeth at the ready. A sudden intense wave of hunger hit him.

The vines from Thorn’s back lashed around bloodied limbs and the man’s torso. They pulled him forward, toward the gaping maw. His scream was wet, gurgling. Blood bubbled up on his shredded lips and pooled from the side of his mouth, a thick red drool.

Limbs popped from sockets, and Thorn no longer heard the screams, the man’s body going into shock. Parts found their way to the mouth-arms, legs, torso and head-until all was devoured.

No one had dared follow him into the woods. He preferred it that way. He cleaned himself up and went back to the road where Sahara and Moloch were waiting. “It’s done,” he said. They traveled the rest of the way in silence.

THE END

A Thorn in One’s Side

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