A Storm of Shadows (Fates and Fables #3)

19. Dryston

Chapter 19

Dryston

S igns of Hunters were scattered throughout the forest as they carefully covered their tracks. Dizziness bubbled in his head, and he didn’t know if it was hunger or the events of the last few days catching up to him.

They stopped to drink by a stream, taking a moment to rest, and he let the cool water run over his hands. The winter air bit at his skin, and he closed his eyes against it, thinking of The Darkened City and its cool cave passageways. A pang pressed against his chest, a needling question: Would he ever return?

Onora looked haggard but focused, her brow furrowed in concentration as her keen eyes took in their surroundings, looking for any small details of their pursuers, as she’d been doing for hours. Seeing her in her element was a marvel, and he begrudgingly admitted that if he were to be chained to anyone, she was a very good companion to have in the woods.

They came to a small worn path by late afternoon, following it carefully, hoping it led to some marker he recognized. The clouds turned gray, a deeper chill penetrating his bones.

Then the birds stopped singing.

The set of Onora’s shoulders became more rigid, and Dryston sent out his keener senses, probing for anything amiss. All he was met with was silence. No other sounds of wildlife followed them. Only the breeze through the leaves filled the air, no birds overhead except vultures. His mouth went dry. That was never a good sign.

Dawn light filtered through the leaves when Onora stopped. A clearing appeared before them with black soot coming out like a burst toward them. She stepped forward, carefully looking about. The trees’ leaves were black and warped, the trunks turning around and twisting up.

A clear line delimited the foliage from the sudden and blackened earth that stretched on and on. In the distance was what looked like a structure, rising above it, but it too was so dark that it felt like he was looking into the void.

“Is this what you saw at the farm?” Dryston asked, a keen and primal fear slithering inside him.

“Yes.” She stared in horror, the color draining from her face.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” He knelt, running his fingers over the blackness. It was powdery but stuck like slime, and he quickly wiped it on his pants. “We need to get a better look.”

“It could be dangerous.”

“I need to know.”

She frowned, watching him carefully. Something flickered in her eyes, a challenge, then confusion, before she nodded, following him farther into the clearing. An eerie feeling whispered across his skin, the hair standing on edge, a familiarity that he couldn’t shake.

The lines of lighter black rippled out like a stone dropped in water as they followed them in farther, a growing dread tightening in the pit of his stomach.

In the center were bodies, laying out as if they had been praying, prone, in a sun pattern. They were orcs, hands and feet chained, their skin thin and stretched over their bones as if they’d been drained of all blood, their faces twisted in expressions of horror.

“What is this?” Onora asked.

Dryston shook his head. It was clearly magical in nature, some force that seemed to sweep from this center point outward, warping everything in its path. And if he had to guess, it looked like a ritual sacrifice. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, something like a whisper of a breath blowing there, and an uncanny awareness filled him—something watched them. And it wasn’t Hunters or any normal living being.

“We should go,” he said. “I don’t think any good can come from lingering on this evil for long.”

Dryston followed behind Onora throughout the night, honing all of his senses, listening for any odd sounds, and looking for any odd sights. There were none. There were virtually no sounds. No insects buzzing, no creatures stirring. The dead quiet filled him with more dread than the blasting of a Hunter’s horn ever could.

They stopped to rest, and he stared up at the sky, drops of rain settling on his face in a fine mist.

She asked, carefully, “Did you see anything odd when we were in Evolis?”

He raised a brow. “Everything was odd about Evolis.”

“No, I mean ... like spectral figures at night. Or voices calling to you.”

“No, did you?”

She drew in a deep breath. “Yes, and so did Enid.”

“Have you seen that here? Or since leaving Evolis?”

“I don’t know. The woods are off. My vision in the dark isn’t as good as yours, but it felt like there was always something hanging in my periphery, but when I look, it’s gone.”

A chill ran up his arms. “I’ve felt something but haven’t seen anything.”

He could see the fear in her eyes as she looked away, pensive. “We should find shelter soon. I don’t want to get caught in this storm.”

He was wont to agree—he especially didn’t want to be caught in these woods at night with whatever lurked and watched, no covering to hide them.

The wind howled, sending hollow echoes around them, the empty branches rattling against one another. The rain picked up, and he knew they would have a fitful night’s sleep wherever they rested. They came across another small clearing, nestled near the base of the mountain, and an old, worn-down cabin stood there, the front door rattling against the wind.

They waited a moment, hiding in the trees, observing, until Dryston said, “I think it’s abandoned.”

There were no signs of people inhabiting it. No worn paths shooting out from it in any direction, no care given to it, moss growing on the roof and ivy tangling amidst the front porch. Getting closer, he kept his senses honed for any danger but perceived none.

It was a simple, one-room cabin. Dust and cobwebs covered every inch of it, a slow leak in the corner tapping out a tune as the rain fell even heavier now. There was a small fireplace with a bit of wood and lots of soot and ash. In the middle was a pile of old furs and a blanket, a makeshift bed.

He knelt by the fireplace, muttering a prayer of thanks to the twin moon goddesses, making a sign over his heart, as he found flint and enough wood to at least get them a bit more dry.

He began stacking the wood, and Onora placed a hand over his, stopping him. “Like this,” she said, rearranging the wood in a crisscross fashion, stacking it so there was a hollow spot in the middle where she placed the starter. She held out her hand, and he gave her the flint. It took several strikes and a few annoyed curses from Onora, but finally the spark took, and she coaxed it into a full flame, lighting up the wood and hitting them with glorious heat.

“We need to put this out before the rain stops,” he said, “so the Hunters don’t see the smoke.

She nodded, just staring into the fiery blaze, then her gaze flicked to him, scrutinizing, questioning.

“What was that blessing you said?” she asked.

He leaned back, savoring the sound of the embers snapping and popping. “It’s just an old blessing to the twin moon goddesses. Thanks for watching over us and providing what we need.”

“You’re religious, then?” There was a note of derision in her voice, and he rolled his eyes.

“No ... I mean, sure? I always loved the tales of the gods and goddesses growing up. And I like the rituals. I take it you’re not religious?”

She leaned back on her elbows, wiggling her boots off and flexing her feet in front of the fire. His gaze trailed down the length of her, admiring her strong form, the dips and curves, before he looked hastily away, internally cursing himself. She was not his friend, not his ally, she was a reluctant accomplice. He didn’t need to be distracted by her right now.

“I don’t think I ever really have been, but most humans in Venatu attended rites and ceremonies for the Holy Mother. But, well ... She turned out to be terrible, so no, I’m not religious anymore. I’m surprised you are.”

“I don’t seem the religious type?”

“You hardly exemplify the virtues associated with religion.”

“Oh? Like what?”

She smirked and he flexed his jaw, trying to ignore what that cocky expression did to his thrumming blood. “Humility, chastity, honesty.”

He wanted to quip back, to flirt, to say the words waiting at the ready in his arsenal to disarm her, but instead he looked back at the fire. Honesty ...

It shouldn’t hurt. Her opinion of him shouldn’t matter. Yet it did, and he didn’t know what he could do to win her over.

Or why he so desperately wanted to win her over.

She cleared her throat. “Tell me about your religion.”

He frowned, casting her a suspicious side glance. She shrugged, waxing innocent, and he narrowed his eyes. Why in the darkest pit was she suddenly interested in the myths of demons?

“We worship the twin moon goddesses, who are said to have gifted demons the power of shadows during the great trials of the gods.”

It was her turn to frown now. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want to know?”

“Anything interesting. Rites . . . rituals?—”

“The last time demons trusted Hunters with information about our rites, my entire colony was slaughtered before my eyes,” he growled, and Onora paled, shifting a little farther from him. He swallowed, looking back at the fire to quell his anger.

Silence stretched between them, long and tense enough to suffocate him. But he didn’t know what to say to make it better. Onora wasn’t his friend, and he had no interest in laying out everything for her to then weaponize against them. People already knew too much.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, voice soft.

She stared at him, tentative, curious, but guarded.

“By what?”

“That information was given to Hunters and then your colony was slaughtered?”

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I’m not. I don’t know why you said that.”

He glared at her, only to see genuine confusion in her eyes. “You know about my family being killed in Venatu?”

“Yes.”

“Then what more is there to say?” She had to be playing a game, trying to get some extra information from him, find some chink in his armor.

“You seem to believe that the information given to the Hunters was what caused them to be slaughtered. That’s not true.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “My brother told an advisor he trusted that when we perform a ritual, our power leaves us, and then returns. He told the advisor exactly when the power leaves us. At that moment, Hunters ambushed my family, slaughtering them when they couldn’t protect themselves.”

The room darkened with his anger, his shadows swirling around him, around her, and she sat up, startled, as her own swirled out in response. But they didn’t attack. Their shadows played, twirling and dipping, twining and hugging to the point that where one ended and another began was impossible to tell. He felt something odd—a connection to her that filled him with a swell of emotions that overwhelmed and knocked out his own—fear, anger, and confusion.

Her breathing became rapid and haggard, dismay contorting her features as she looked at the shadows. Then her breathing became too shallow, the breathing in too painfully ragged. He moved without thinking, taking her face in his hands and forcing her to look at him.

“It’s okay, just breathe, just let it out,” he said calmly, quietly. “Don’t fight it. They’ll come back inside you soon enough.”

Stroking her face, he was hit over and over again with her fear, her panic. It tasted bitter, some old wound that was bleeding out, and it felt like it had a name. A demon one. Her panic was raw, slicing against him, and all he could do was weather it as he stroked her face, then her hair. Her hands gripped his wrists, nails digging in. He was sure it would hurt later, but he couldn’t care at the moment. All he felt was her feral panic, like an animal caught in a snare, or a rabbit facing down a fox’s maw.

Then he was hit with a heady knowing, as if something inside himself were linked to something inside her, a connection that left him laid bare. Shame and fear filled him, and he knew it was his own, those feelings that followed him always, coming out in angry bursts.

It felt as if she were riffling through his wardrobe, seeing everything inside of him like it was a garment she pulled out and held up. How he never felt he was good enough or doing enough. His fear for his family, his colony, his people. His fear here—that he would die, and that she would also die.

She blinked, the dismay turning to something that softened her features, and she also reached up her hand, brushing her fingers against the side of his face, and his breath caught in his throat.

Then she suddenly pulled back, yanking free of him and sitting as far from him as she could, a flush of red rising from her neck to her cheeks.

Neither said anything. What more was there to say? He felt as if he’d shown her every intimate thought and emotion he’d ever had, and he felt as if he’d peered into her deepest darkest fears.

They sat in silence until the storm ended, long into the night.